If she wanted to evaporate once on the very place where she had to stand, today it would be most welcome. Stepping through the fireplace, she caught a dozen stares, each of which stabbed a knife into the body.
The corset squeezed the ribs to such an extent that they could wipe the lungs into powder. Hermione caught her heel in the carpet and she almost flew face to the floor if she wasn't grabbed by a strong hand.
"Fine, let's start right away with failure," Malfoy said so softly that she could only read his lips.
Just pull yourself together. You can. When your life depends on it, you have to. This thought stimulated her, and she, throwing back her smooth hair back, smiled with a corner of her lips, portraying the most contemptuous smirk that was peculiar to Pansy, perhaps, it came out even much colder.
"Good evening" - Zabini came up first and examined her with an appraising glance, according to which she concluded that the image completely coincides with the original, and was able to calmly exhale as much as the corset allowed.
The black dress was long and at the same time fucking short. Yes, Pansy was able to combine everything incompatible. The back slit fell down with soft silk and touched the middle of the heel, and the front hem seemed so short that it barely covered the middle of the thigh and if it was her body, she would die of shame.
The huge living room contained in itself four dozen Eaters, she could admit that she had seen many of them more than once and regretted that she did not have a magic wand.
Hermione walked over to the table with the drinks and took a glass of water. Sweaty fingers slid along the glass, and on the shoulders weighed the load of an unsure girl who was drowning under Parkinson's mock confidence. Zabini's eyes pierced the object behind her, an object called Malfoy, her Malfoy. The killer, with whom she shares the bed, breathes at night with one hot air, touches his body and allows him to control herself, a similar idea drove her into disgust and fear. She realized that everyone was looking at her. Apparently, expecting that at the meeting she behaves differently than throwing away his hand and moving away to the side.
Turning to him and almost touching his raised chin, hoping to avoid his touch, she didn't read anything like that on his face, it seemed he was even happy about this behavior. But because of the captivating closeness to her enemy, the girl automatically pulled back. Sometimes his complacency led a dangerous game with life. Fear leads to failure.
A silent plea for no one to hear her heart beating loudly, but one person in the hall felt distinctly and it was Malfoy. All his insides were burned by the desire to pull out this organ of life, so that the familiar body went limp and fell like a bag of rot.
Granger stretched out her long arms and laid them on his tense shoulders, pulling him closer, cheek to cheek, inhaling the smell of cold body, gunpowder and perfume. Ron never used perfume, she was not accustomed ... Scarlet lips whispered in his ear, pretending that the words were passionate:
"Erase your indulgent expression, otherwise they will kill us before I take a step back," - she said it gently, through a smile, and both of them understood that whispering into the ear, was a necessary maneuver from her side, although this action delivered a portion of anger all over his body.
He looked at Hermione and saw only Pansy, everyone in the room ceased to exist, losing texture and color. And the worst thing he has already imagined how he would take his wand and …
Hermione, who has now become taller, could look into his eyes without raising her head, and read disgust at them perfectly which she was used to seeing to a certain degree, but this time there was something different in it. Something brutal, sharp, into the very depths.
It turns out his view, expressing the full wasteland, may be different, strikingly different. She turned around and the Eaters made a sharp effort over themselves, engaging themselves in conversations and tearing their eyes away from her.
Malfoy disappeared from sight as quickly as she moistened her lips with a glass of water to wash away the touch to someone else's body, feeling betrayed by the fact that her lips remembered the coldness of Malfoy's skin.
Hermione shoes were terribly uncomfortable and it felt like her feet were on fire, while their owner just stood near the fireplace and showed with all her appearance that everyone was indifferent for her. Zabini kept an eye on her all the time, as if fearing that she would jump on the table and scream who she is.
A tall man was walking toward her, looking at her legs and occasionally looking at her face, as if her body was dismembered, and at the bottom was the most interesting part of it. It was not hard to understand that Parkinson is a girl of not moral behavior, but to correspond to this for the sake of an imaginary promise to Malfoy is too much. She abruptly rushed into the company of five Eaters standing against the wall and darkly discussing something, then hiding behind a gray column, headed to the other side of the hall.
How silly is that? Cat-and-mouse and I am one mouse among the hungry rippers. She has already regretted everything and wanted to find Zabini, so that he would at least explain what kind of guy went to her purposefully and what kind of woman who often obsessively looks in her direction, and what kind of ...
Head over heels, the moment she saw the photography hanging in the darkest place behind the column. Almost at the entrance to another room. After scratching the dust, she spotted the one Malfoy she remembered in the second year of school. Mother and father are on either side of him, gently hugging their son. Narcissa's eyes expressed maternal love, and the face of Lucius - unbearable pride in his son. Those who she tried to forget after what happened in this very house looked at her. Only now she realized that it was here that she could die when all three of them stood and watched how their relative bullied her. A bitter lump formed in her throat, and she tried to chase away those memories.
Alive, with beating hearts, looked at her in ways they never allowed themselves to look at the mudblood in their home. Leaving the magical world, she forced herself to believe that when a person dies, the soul evaporates and bursts like a soap bubble. Nothing remains, only a miserable shell, rotting for several years without a trace.
It was easier because she left Harry, left the dead and cold. Hermione did not bury him, could not take a step to see the face of the deceased, it was easier to think that he had disappeared. Just went out and forgot to return, forever. But if now a friend is watching her despite the hopes that this is not so, then she is terribly ashamed of herself. To betray the already dead Harry meant to spit on their friendship, to pound themselves in his pit called "disappointment."
Someone came up from behind and leaned the palm against the wall a few inches from the frame with the portrait.
"Interesting, right?" - instant hit by a voice, as if the guy from the smiling photo came out and stood behind her.
Hermione could not turn and look at him, since he did not provide such an opportunity, holding her between the wall and his body. The turn meant that she would have to face his face, it was not part of the plans. Judging by the voice it was clear that he had no emotions towards this portrait or he hopes to hide them, in full confidence that no one knows anything about the death of the Malfoys.
"I look and think what a distortion on your face?" - She ran her fingers over his image and hit her fingernail on the place of his smile. She was irritated to no end from the fact that he always so drastically deprived her own space.
He did not bother her with the answer and after a couple of minutes of awkward silence, she decided to leave him alone with his dead parents. Maybe he is not a lost cause.
Granger grabbed the firewiskey and drank two glasses in a row, but the intoxication did not come.
"Listen, I haven't seen you for a long time," a squeaky voice slammed into her ears, and she almost dropped the glass, which she pressed to her lips for more than a minute, considering the reflection in the silver bowl.
A short, green-eyed blonde demanded close attention because she was obviously a friend of Parkinson, and this made it difficult for Hermione to be around.
Thank you, Malfoy, for the detailed instructions. After taking a big sip and putting the glass on the nightstand, Hermione had to answer sooner or later.
"Sorry, I ... I didn't have time," she caught changes in the face of the interlocutor immediately after the word "forgive" and added, "sometimes time can be spent with much greater benefit than ..." the coldness in the gaze was typical of Parkinson , so she just led it through the blonde, mentally cutting her in half.
"I understand," the blonde pointedly fixed her gaze on Malfoy and tried to smile, showing with her whole face that she was aware of their relationship, waiting for a detailed story.
"I doubt it ..." Parkinson's voice gave the answer a nasty color, but in Granger's thoughts there was only sadness.
"Why didn't you answer my letters?" I have not been able to contact you for several weeks.
Hermione didn't know what to say. Start with the fact that her friend is long dead and the very Malfoy, on whom the blonde had placed so much hope in their relationship, was a direct or indirect killer.
"Why don't you write to Malfoy, if you are so sure that I was with him?" - she herself did not believe in what she said and took a sip of firewiskey.
"What are you saying? .." the girl went into a whisper, "it's only you who are allowed to talk to him like that, and if I — well, why should you explain — you know everything." Although we are friends, but my life is dearer to me, I thought that he did bad things to ..." -The blonde turned pale, but immediately came to balance, smiled, realizing that she was mistaken. - "There were rumors".
You were not mistaken.
"What makes you ..." she shrugged at the coldness of her own voice, "us, are afraid of someone who previously did not command respect and was the weakest.
"You're funny today". - The girl patted her on the shoulder and regarded this question as a joke.
"I think we shouldn't intersect anymore ..." the company's unnatural laughter from the right interrupted Hermione and she had to look back at them.
"Let's go to. You need to unwind, you're kind of weird today".
Granger wanted to refuse, but the girl grabbed her elbow and persistently pulled aside five young men and two women, who, at their sight, began to discuss something louder. How she wanted her ears to lose their ability to hear, but phrases about the murder and laudatory remarks from all sides tore her apart. A little more and she will not be able to remain silent, a little more and she will twist her neck so as not to be involved in this discussion. Her new acquaintance smiles mischievously and looks at her in anticipation of some kind of replica or approving nod. It seems that Parkinson was not averse to profit from such stories and throw a couple of her own.
Hermione, waiting for help, silently threw a pleading look towards Malfoy, who noticed this and because of his own stubbornness, pointedly started a conversation with a red-haired woman, and so unexpectedly that she turned pale from a sudden appeal and clutched the wall with her hand.
"And if tomorrow they tell you to kill each other?" - All eyes turned to her and there was a burning silence. It was so damn typical for Granger, to stand out and get into the very ass of this situation.
"In terms of? " - Blonde grabbed her arm.
"If tomorrow they tell me to break your neck, what do you think I will do?" - the girl loudly swallowed and, without stopping, looked at the pseudo-Parkinson. "I will come to you at night and slowly grab your fragile bones with my fingers, feeling each vertebra, turning them slowly, following orders," she bit her lip contentedly and enjoyed the looks full of fear.
This is how, at a time, she tore out their joy and drew what they carefully tried not to remember, and deny.
"I thought so. You all are too weak".
Hermione turned on her heels and slowly walked around the room, sat in back chair hearing a whisper in the back. The mood did not improve, but pride sang her song. A simple person also has his own magic, this is the magic of the word, with the help of which you can wound and trample. Hermione has someone she could learn from.
She has glanced at the clock, needs to hold out for about thirty minutes. Later she noticed Malfoy in the hall, who leaned against a gray wall, looked at the firewiskey, from boredom almost ready to start a conversation with a glass . If someone was honored by his gaze, it was at the level of "What is the dirt under my feet." Nothing to do with that photo, now he has the stone face of an inanimate person.
The black suit was sitting perfectly, a blue shirt could be seen under the jacket, the collar of which was unnaturally evenly smoothed, the gloomy colors made the already pale skin of frightening. Eyes studied his wrists, family cufflinks on the sleeves, apparently inherited from his father.
A stranger man, who was walking across the hall to her, suddenly plunged into the chair next to and scanned the girl with a look full of questions. Hermione had to tear her attention away from a more interesting object that she wanted to poison, to a boring and flat object.
"You're strange, Pans."
"Why?" - She twitched in the place and straightened her back.
"If you think Malfoy will notice us ... This is stupid. He sees nothing further than his work. I just wanted to talk. "
She grinned, amusing herself that the magnificent Malfoy was cheated by his own girlfriend and he did not know anything about it, believing in his superiority even above the inconsistency of Parkinson.
"Let's talk". - She grabbed his hand and gently squeezed fingertips, absolutely not looking in his direction.
"Do you want to die right here?" - His hand awkwardly tried to break free, but he didn't try too hard, looking around in hopes that no one would notice.
"You know, to some extent I'm already dead". - She turned her face to her opponent and pressing her chin to the shoulder, smiled tightly.
"You're crazy". - His eyes were stuck on bare legs, to the decency for a long time, and he did not try to hide it. Then his attention turned to Malfoy, and his face stretched into a jubilant smile. As if he threw Avada into the back of the Eater without paying anything in return.
"Do you like crazy ones? Have you been sleeping with me for a long time?" - She crossed her legs, feeling a sharp attack of nausea because of the person sitting next to her and because of her own body.
"You are drunk. You need to rest".
"You take me to the bedroom of Malfoy's parents and fuck me on their bed?" - incomprehensible anger on own body and the fact that he does not deny any of her words said that Parkinson did just that. By betraying Malfoy, she also cheated on him physically. She is absolutely sure that she has no right to feel pity for this family, but she is unable to ruin her sensitivity even under the circulating potion.
"What are you talking about ..." an awkward smile and his thumb stroking her wrist, obviously not just a friendly touch.
"About how Malfoy used a used toy," Hermione said this louder than reasonable and the Eaters standing nearby turned their gaze to them, which made the brunet blush and finally pull out his hand.
"What are you saying, Parkinson," an awkward chuckle broke from her lips, but Granger covered. She wanted revenge on absolutely everyone and started out small.
"What is it like to know that you are sleeping with the girl, that is the favorite for the person who can kill you right now" - She jumped to her feet and barely stood on the heels but did not look away from the angry guy.
"You're out of mind". - He tried to get up, but her palm pushed him back into the chair, blocking the way. The brunette was reaching for the wand, and then she almost realized that she was being foolish, but to show it meant to open her fear to everyone.
Her wild laughter tore up the last pieces of Granger inside, and it seems the body acquired not only habits but Parkinson's mind, a mind-blowing madness that could ruin everyone now, including herself.
"I think he's going to be sick when he finds out ..."
"Almost," a petrified voice hit in the back.
The flow of her phrases was cut off by one word, and she, not daring to turn around, stands still
"Get out of my house."
The noise in the hall stood from the light music and the din of those present, but after a loud phrase everyone was taken aback and froze.
Their eyes meet for a second and in Malfoy's eyes silent rage is read. Panic cold runs through her back.
"I do not want to repeat. You got up and went to hell, everyone". - He took out his wand from his pocket but kept it down.
The first to get up was the guy who, a minute ago, wanted to get a portion of revenge for Malfoy using Parkinson.
"Reception is over". - He grabbed Granger by the hand and pushed her behind the column. - Thank you for a nice evening, dear friends.
Zabini took a few steps in his direction, trying to say something but Malfoy interrupted him, spitting out:
"You too!"
Then Hermione felt horror, her body was covered with a cold perspiration, and the corset had already completely blocked off all the oxygen so much that she had to grab hold of the wall and stand still. She glanced hopefully at Zabini, but he, without even looking in her direction, moved towards the exit. The last hope had already left and Hermione realized that she almost lost consciousness.
Malfoy gave Pseudo-Parkinson a long look and she felt her cheeks flush but she didn't look away, despite everything, indicating that she didn't care.
Having pressed his back to the life-saving cold column, on the other side of the lifeless girlfriend, in order not to see her face, he raises his wand up and weakly shouts a spell, which extinguishes the light throughout the house.
They both drowned in the darkness of the room.
Darkness - protection, that can be a shield from your contrived problems and unhealthy psyche. Perhaps, yes, but not for him and not today.
He hit the back of his head on the column and pressed his spine into the marble with such force that the body could grow into the stone, leaving nothing behind. Nothing can console him. His heart was beating on lungs, like that snitch in a damned cage.
The sound of her breathing, the seizure of the general air through her mouth, with her disgusting mouth. Red lips, which previously also captured his lips, tongue, fingers ...
Touching her hand with his own is embarrassing. He found a corset from the third attempt in the dark and teared off the suffocating knots hearing the crackle of fabric and her sob, and then a heart-rending sigh, like the last one in life. He hears her lungs open, her mouth dry, gasping for air, and the rustle of her dress as she runs to the open window, throwing off her shoes, slapping her bare feet on the floor, almost falling out of the window sill.
Just do not look. It's the first time when the moon seems unnecessary and superfluous, it could show a forgotten face, the last thing he wanted was to touch his past. It is impossible to endure, the whole evening is a torture of the remnants of his soul. Those remnants that he carefully shores and just doesn't want to show to her.
This is Granger, just Granger.
Never in his life Draco wanted to feel the Mudblood next to him. But the potion was still working, he did not see, he felt. Eyes in stone, in darkness and emptiness.
As one's own footsteps are heard from the vacuum, they are distributed around the deserted hall and hit on self-control.
Stop, he said, stop. In the dark Malfoy can see only the open window and her silhouette, he bumps into a chair and almost flies to the floor, but he doesn't care. It is possible to fall and hit his head on the edge of the table, maybe it will make him stop.
He stands near her. He closes his eyes for a second and then stares at Pseudo-Parkinson. A brunette girl with disheveled hair, in a torn corset, bare legs, rubbed to the bone, and a cut palm, the blood from which flows through the fingers, right into the parquet. How did she manage to cut her palm he didn't know, but it's Granger's thing to dirt everything around her.
"Granger, stop dirtying my house."
An improbable tone of neglect, a husky name pronounced, as if everything inside resists to call this body so ... so foolish.
"I'm Parkinson," there was nervousness in her voice . "You never came over the whole damn evening to help ... as if it was me who was to blame for death ... I needed help, at least presence."I'm at the lowest point of my life - she switched to a scream, and he echoed around the room, hitting both. - "I needed your presence. Did you help me?" - Bloody hand is across his face from temple to chin, leaving a wet red smear, as if the artist had spoiled a beautiful portrait. She was sick to look at his perfect face.
Get it.
His fingers slid carelessly in the traces of blood on his own face, and Draco carefully examined the red abomination, exposing his fingers to the light of the moon. His face turned to stone, not expressing either disgust or anger. With the same fingers, he grabbed the window frame and looked the girl in the eyes.
"Tell me, Parkinson, fucking Parkinson, why did you allow yourself to touch that bastard?"
Stupor. Draco had just almost felt her dirty blood, felt it with her hand, let him mess himself, she might have hit his lips and he could feel her taste. And he asks about ...
"I don't have any poison that I could put in firewhiskey, or my wand, by the way, because of you. And what could I do, throw glasses in them, how you did?" - The Granger notes in the voice were scanty and the emotional strain that overwhelmed her , could not be reflected by the timbre of Pans.
"If you feel better about it. Merlin, as if I do not give a shit. I did not know ..." - the voice cracked, and he paused, urging himself to calm. "I knew nothing about them until tonight." - Fingers clenched on the latch window, and Malfoy slammed it with such force that the shutters rattled, barely holding the glass in place.
They both looked out into the street and did not really see anything, digging into each other. Hermione drowns her mind in pity for the Death Eater who killed her parents, to the person who lost his parents before her ... to the scum who killed Ron, to the person who was betrayed by everyone he loved. Man - Death Eater. She had already concluded that he was not worthy of pity but a stupid phrase has already escaped from her mouth:
"I'm sorry…"
Her frightened eyes followed his reaction, watching his face while he was silent, long and painful. All this time, she stood without making a sound, measuring the distance between them and the ability to jump from the window. His gaze slowly dropped to her hand, bloody hand, wrist, higher ... higher ... higher ... mark.
Only now she is looking at her hand, only now she sees the damned label that she wants to be combed into the blood. Lightning pierced the body, black and stinging, filling everything with acrid smoke.
"This is ..." She put her hand behind her back and looked at the floor.
"This is beautiful ... I think you wanted to say that way." - He grabbed her hand from behind his back and looked at the black drawing, feeling pity and gloating,
conflicting feelings.
"Let go."
He squeezed her hand so hard that Hermione screamed and could not move her hand, in full confidence that she would lose it. Tears flowed from her eyes, dripping onto the mark, flowing slowly to the floor. This is clearly not the tears of pain, these are the tears of that she soiled herself for almost a day with this filth
But Malfoy still thought that this shit was caused by a touch, and abruptly freed her hand, waiting for those nasty sobs to end. Otherwise, he has to personally clean the floor of this abomination.
"Do you feel sorry for me?"
Malfoy's mouth is obstinately compressed, as if he is trying to hold a goddamn heap of words.
"If you hope that I will give up my words, then nothing. Yes, I'm sorry. Sorry for the pathetic Malfoy" - She had to make an effort, trying not to betray the trembling voice.
"Perfect"
Draco ruined his bloody face with a still grin, she didn't look at him, she just knew. Each cell inside felt that next to her is a moral monster, with whom it was useless to talk, and she turned her back to the window so that their eyes could see different things.
In one second, he is opposite her in wanting to catch his eyes on an embittered face. Hands on both sides of her hips, forcing to squeeze into the window sill and shrink back, Hermione hits the back of her head against the glass, just not to find his face so close to hers.
"Have pity on me, Parkinson. Catch him and fuck."
She literally heard how tense he was. He smelled of alcohol and anger, yes, the smell of anger is something salty in the air when you start to feel depressed and fragile.
They stood in the dark and stared into each other's eyes.
"I'm not going anywhere. Get away from me."
His hand went up, and she, pressing even more into the glass, closed her eyes, her breathing stopped. Knuckles on her cheek, almost not touching.
"Please, let's go back home. Bring me home, Malfoy," - the husky in her voice gave way to Granger's insistence and she slowly opened her eyes to look at his hand.
"At the cemetery? You have many friends there. You know, I sometimes want to go there myself. But not with you."
"Please."
The girl tried to turn away her face and grabbed his hand to remove, to deprive her body of unpleasant contact.
Get the hell out of here, repeating her gaze.
"Look into my eyes."
After this phrase, an invisible fist slammed into his lungs, and Draco began to choke. Likewise, he said Parkinson when he last saw her alive and was refused ... if, if she didn't look, he was absolutely certain that he would kill her.
But Granger fulfilled the request, lightning fast, even for herself.
"What do you want?"
His eyes were blue, bottomless, a wave of untimely vile heat ran down his belly. At that moment she wanted to go blind, she dreamed.
"Kiss me, Parkinson." - The corner of his lips crawled upward, but instantly his face became icy again.
He knows that I am not her. What for? As if this humiliation gives him inexpressible pleasure.
"Get away from me. This is no longer funny, Malfoy. Do you want to kiss the Mudblood?" - the last word she cried out, trying to reach him.
"I want to…"
He pressed against her, feeling her heart beating, feeling the warm breath from his lips. Pressing into her body and pressing into the glass, like a predator pushes the victim between themselves and the cold window sill.
His lips are too close, his body is tense, ragged breath burns her cheek. She tries to suppress a quiet panic attack and opening her mouth to breathe in, shakes her head, barely noticeable, but feels a wild protest.
Long fingers touch her neck, squeezing harder with each passing second, so that she can no longer take a single breath, gasping for breath that treacherously eludes her and the skin under his fingers begins to burn.
The look is petrified, melancholic, straight into her face, eating her pupils and passing through. Dry lips touch her mouth and then nothing happens, just frozen time. And both of them, stiffened like statues. Sticking into each other's eyes, deadly strongly.
He pulls back slightly, a trace of lipstick remains on his lips, and she seems to be vomiting now. Turn out all the insides that are dirty by him, to death. The heart jumps out through the throat, and it remains without a drop of oxygen, thoughts get confused, and Hermione, deciding to force him to remove his lousy hands from her neck, sharply presses her lips to the edge of his lips and kisses. kisses,that were barely perceptible and so gently that he choked on his saliva and weakened his grip. And then Malfoy's lips enveloped her, owned her. A fire ignited inside as their lips moved felt the blood course through her, hot and thick.
When he pulled away he wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, rubs to such an extent that now only bones remain in place of the skin, then for some reason he wipes her lips with his hand, smearing red lipstick on her chin and tilting her head to the side, fingers examine the purple skin after his own touch.
She seems to have died, it was at that moment that she died for herself. Other people's touches border on physical pain, and the girl slowly closes her eyes, falling into shameful emptiness. Feeling the thoughts intertwine into one poisonous knot, and inside there are so many words, so many unspoken words, that she silently exhales them in his face, still feeling how close he is.
"I know everything," she blurted out, looking at the dry lips that touched her face a second ago.
He stopped in confusion and looked gloomily in her eyes, not giving the opportunity to look away. It lasted so painfully long that she lost the ability to breathe again.
Therefore, I am sorry.
His eyes were restless, tired. Just try to regret me, they said. All the blue in them was washed away with gray, prickly ice.
"Keep quiet."
"For what I said about them before, I really am sorry. Do you hear?"
"Don't talk, Granger."
She wanted to say that five minutes ago she was Parkinson for him, but she bit her tongue in time.