The morning began unexpectedly nice, old friends come rarely. Given that this is generally one person who is expected here and who is always welcome. Zabini didn't look the same as from their last meeting: a tired look, a haggard face, sunken cheeks, his swarthy face seemed gloomier than usual. Do not be outwardly so different, he is sure, put their souls nearby, they are an exact copy of each other. The whole week won't be enough to catch up with each other. How bad Draco missed him.
Malfoy was trying to show that he is quite all right, perhaps even scared a friend away from him. Zabini was hoping for the usual sincere conversation, because frankly, he no longer had anyone to share all the internal sufferings that didn't give him the rest. But it seems that he is not the only one who wants to share something. Bursting silence was not long enough.
"You look terrible, Malfoy."
"Thank you. I wanted to tell you the same thing"- he tried to squeeze a smile.
"Why did you call? After our last meeting, I was recovering from the headache for a day, no less, Malfoy, If we carry on drinking like that, we... " - the outpouring of the soul was interrupted with a raised hand, meaning that he is not the one doing talking.
"Want to have some fun? "
"What do you mean?..." He looked into the blond's eyes, hoping to find an answer in them.
"Yesterday night I spent time in the company,"- Malfoy wondered how to properly submit information that the listener would hardly like. - "Guess a riddle. Potter's shabby know-it-all, who shamefully escaped to others of her kind" - he finished it and casually glanced around the ceiling of the room in search of sanity.
"You ... "- the only thing that Zabini could squeeze out of himself, it seems that his heart beat with a crazy rhythm.
"I? You think I'm Potter's whore? Enchanting. Here, without options, a simple, feminine, Muggle, disgusting name. "
"Granger," the guy said in a whisper, as if the walls were now spreading the news throughout the magical world.
"She's the one. Still alive, Gryffindor bitch. I got her there," - he stared at the floor. His voice was so calm that Blaise wanted to beat him up. Apparently, Draco does not understand what he is doing, does not understand that it cannot be said even to the closest ones, if only for the sake of their good. It is dangerous.
"You are fuckin' asshole, Malfoy! Why do you need to have weight of the world on your shoulders "- the guy visibly picked up the words to argue, to convince. His hopelessness reflected on a disappointed face.
"I want to end this ... all of this. Zabini, don't you get sick of that your life is in the hands of some kind of neurasthenic who puts you like a stick on a board? I don't care what happens when he finds out. I want to belong to myself, I am not a pawn in his fucking-exciting game,"- he spoke so impressively that he did not believe his voice, his breath caught. - "For this, here is this mudblood bitch, who owns the necessary information." - Each word was given with difficulty, right now it opens itself to a man who, fifteen minutes ago, turned into ashes the family of traitors literally two blocks from his house. So wanted to trust someone. He's still a friend.
Zabini silently looked at his friend, carefully looked at his shoes, considering the information in his mind, as if looking at it from all sides. Both wanted to say everything that was spinning on the tip of the tongue, but for some reason they were silent.
"Do not make yourself an undertaker," the blond finally decided to break the silence.
"Eh? "
"This look. You just measured which coffin is right for me after you tell Voldemort everything."
Zabini was taken aback, did he really think ...
Their eyes met, Malfoy was calm and Zabini was irritated by his friend cold attitude to everything. Where is that explosive boy?
"How could you think? You know, whatever happens, I'm ready to help. I still have no families left, what about I should care?"
There's resignation in the air. And really, for what they fight? Mother Zabini was destroyed as an unnecessary thing. Malfoy remembered the day when his friend was forcibly brought in and thrown in front of his mother, who was terribly crippled. The lord promised to let her go if he finally accepts the mark. Otherwise, their family will die out. Voldemort was deceiving, Malfoy knew this and said nothing. He stood, looked at his friend and waited. As the last carrion, not deserving to Blaze even talked to him.
"So you will not report?" - In the voice appeared a note of doubt, which he immediately suppressed in himself, carefully peering into the dark eyes of the interlocutor.
"I will not report." - An awkward, it seems, inappropriate smile appeared on her face.
Outside the window it was dark, the large room was filled with regrettable gray light. The moon was in no hurry to save this time, only a small crescent, the light of which was enough except for a distance of one meter. Zabini left, promising to come back next week. He understood that a friend is now not in the most colloquially capable state. Blaise never learned to cope with the aftertaste of the murder, everything was hard for him. He was amazed how Malfoy could forget which family he killed, the fifteenth or twenty-fifth. And he, in turn, tried not to ask unnecessary questions. Compassion was unpleasant for both of them. Easier to be silent.
He remembered compassion when he glanced at the glass of water on the bedside table. The stupid elf left him here. He promised to bring her water, forbade the little house to help her, only to wash off the blood and process her wrists. You cannot do this.
Granger quite comfortably settled while I risk everything, for the sake of her unnecessary heartbeat. With this thought, he took the glass in his hands and took a big, greedy sip, although he did not want to drink at all.
Sees Merlin, he descended for five minutes, barring the desire to turn around and leave each time getting up on the step.
Another minute went on not to break the glass on her head when she turned her face away, feeling his presence.
Why not to entrust it to houselves? Lowering the glass, he rested his palm on her knee, again in search of a look behind an impenetrable black bandage. The girl abruptly turned away, moving nervously on the chair.
How dare she! He grabbed her chin and forcibly turned her face towards him. Thin, pale, with no trace of yesterday's dirty blood. So much better.
Then he took a glass of water and pressed it to Granger's lips, throwing back his recalcitrant head a little higher. She squeezed her lips, tried to pull her chin out of her rough fingers, but choked on water. The glass fell to the floor, splashing the trousers.
Draco hid his hands in his pockets, restraining his impulse to make a battered, insensitive doll out of a weakened body. He picked up a glass and put it on a lonely chest of drawers in the very corner of the room.
"Malfoy, is that you?"
Her voice hung in the air and pricked right under the skin the biggest needle. Now he decided to play in silence. There was no desire to say something, for some reason Draco did not hurry to leave.
"Let me go, Malfoy. I know that no one will come here except for you, it sounded frightening, doomed. Even he felt uneasy, he had to stop in front of the chair and carefully look at the person who so cleverly states the facts. - I asked to give the opportunity to go to your parents, you said nothing. I ask you to let me go back home, you are silent again. What do you need?" - voice trembled, but she picked up every word, afraid to say the wrong thing. There was a feeling that she appeals to an insane person who himself does not know what he needs.
Draco sat down on the floor, leaning against a rough wall, contemplating his object called "conscience." She thought for a moment that there was no one in the room at all. She frantically turned her head in a gesture of disagreement and dropped it again.
Malfoy's mind threw up colorful pictures of Granger's house: broken mirrors and a fallen chandelier right on the body of her father. The frozen, dead-blooded face of a mud-blooded mother, expressing horror and regret. Gryffindor lying by the stairs. He did not know that he would go to their family, it was just a specific address. Names do not need to know, this is superfluous. Let this to Zabini. He had long ceased to write down who and when he would have to kill. But the last thing he wanted was to go to this house, to a girl who, all his young age, flashed before him with Potter, who had given everyone hope. And then this hope was crushed. She ran away without giving him a chance to try his luck and save himself.
Last hope lurked in the Mudblood. Malfoy postponed their meeting, every time he found excuses that he did not want to visit the Muggle world. No matter how dirty and ridiculous the world has become magical.
But that morning turned everything around as soon as their eyes met, as soon as he crossed the threshold of this house, which he had been afraid of so many months to enter. It all came together, it is no coincidence.
"You're not ready to talk yet, Granger." It's not time yet, - in a quiet voice he spoke against his will, watching how scared the girl was. He did not remember how many minutes or hours he sat silently, staring at the parquet.