Sometimes, wanting to know the answer,
We rebel and protest.
Everything is simple for us: Darkness and Light.
He chose the other side.
But is the Darkness blacker than him
The prejudices of our Haze?
What do you and I know about her?
What's on the other end of the needle?
He knew he could prove to us
That he is not just a slave to desires.
His choice is to remain silent.
He's too proud for excuses.
Lifting his head, he met his father's gaze.
For some reason, he knew what was about to happen.
Hermione had never seen such a look before. If Malfoy Jr. had been, she would have darted away, heels flashing. The whole question is where? For some time now, it seemed to her that Draco Malfoy himself would not mind getting out of the house, no matter how he swagged and no matter what he said.
Through the carved wardrobe door, Hermione watched as if from a horror movie, the protagonists of which were these two strikingly similar people. For the first time, Hermione had the opportunity to look at Lucius Malfoy. If you do not take into account the fear and dislike that this man inspired, then he could be called beautiful: aristocratic facial features - light weightless and at the same time very courageous, proud posture, lazy relaxation in movements, and he was dressed tastefully ... Hermione gazed at a man for whom it was in the order of things to raise an only son with the help of a crucio, and tried to match this knowledge with what she saw. The picture and the mental image were poorly combined, as if they were talking about completely different people. But Hermione caught one thing for sure - with the appearance of Malfoy Sr., the room became somehow cold and joyless. Although the only thing he did so far was to open the door and meet his son's gaze.
"What will happen if he finds out that I am here?" thought Hermione in horror. She immediately remembered the elf Malfoy had ordered to keep quiet about her. A chill ran down my spine. Elves, of course, cannot violate direct orders, but who knows? These are the Malfoy elves. Suddenly they too have brains on one side. Take Dobby, for example. It became scary, very scary.
"Draco?" finally, Lucius broke the silence. "When did you arrive?"
"Hello Father," Malfoy said flatly. "About an hour ago."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Lucius stepped into the room, walking around his son and interrupting this incomprehensible game Hermione - who will review whom. His question sounded mundane and monotonous. However, it was not even a question, but, as it seemed to Hermione, rather a statement that the son made a mistake, and the father noticed it. Draco Malfoy remained silent, apparently agreeing with Hermione's assessment.
"It smells of female perfume ..." Lucius said, looking out the window, "something light and inviting. I'll have to ask Blaise. She came to see you, but she didn't tell us anything. "
"Presumably she didn't like the visit," Malfoy said carefully. "We had an argument."
"You've been arguing too much lately."
Hermione thought there was a threat in those words.
"What to do? The adolescent age, the depressive throwing ... "Draco began to list. He still stood at the open door, not taking his eyes off his father's back.
"My son is a strange man," Lucius interrupted in a slightly surprised voice, sending the phrase into the darkness outside the window. "Sometimes it seems that ..."
What seems to Lucius Malfoy remains a mystery, because at that moment a voice similar to the hissing of a snake rang out from the corridor. Both Malfoys turned sharply. Lucius bowed his head in a respectful bow, while Draco unremarkably shied away. Laughter came from the corridor. Hermione got worse. Even the thought that Harry was not in danger at least at this moment was a very weak consolation. She gazed with mad hope at the thin figure of a fair-haired youth across the room. Strange, but at that moment Hermione clearly understood that her life was in his hands. She thought about it from the moment she found out in whose room fate prepared her shelter. But then the danger was rather nominal. Hermione understood that Draco Malfoy could somehow be persuaded, begged, promised something, despite the fact that he had brought her down from heaven to earth, making it clear that she was of no interest to him. But he could set some conditions. I don't know - losing all Quidditch matches to Slytherin ... Stupid thought ... But Hermione believed that it would be possible to come to an agreement with him. After all, he was, albeit unusual, but still a teenager. He did not yet have a thirst for murder, for enslavement. For some reason, Hermione believed that. And it so happened that now only he was her salvation. It's funny, but here, far from Hogwarts, when she was left all alone, the Enemy became dearer and closer. It was just that he was well known, he was dear, if you like. The last thread connecting with the familiar world. And Hermione, holding her breath, peered into this painfully familiar silhouette.
Meanwhile Draco Malfoy came to his senses. He bowed his head politely and said:
"Good evening!"
Hearing his even and calm voice, it was difficult to imagine that even five minutes ago, like a scalded one, he jumped away from the door at the sight of a guest.
"What has always amused me about your son is his good manners in every situation," the voice turned to Lucius.
"I tried very hard, my Lord," he replied.
"I think he tried even harder."
The phrase hung in the electrified air of the room.
"Today is a great day, Draco," the same voice addressed the young man, "for you and your mother."
Malfoy Jr. looked up at his father, and the voice continued.
"Where, by the way, is Narcissa? Or did she forget to announce her arrival too? "
"She is waiting for you in the library, my Lord. Everything will be ready as you order. "
"Today is a Great Day!" repeated the voice. "In honor of this, you can ask me something, Draco."
Lucius Malfoy got all the way. Hermione stopped breathing too. Chance?
"I haven't been to the estate for about two months," Draco began in a low voice, "and would like to spend tonight with Narcissa ... my Lord."
It seemed to Hermione that the last appeal, like bowing of the head, was given to him with difficulty.
"It's impossible," Lucius said sharply, "you don't know what you are asking for. You want to break ... "
"Lucius ..." the voice sounded calm, but Lucius immediately submissively fell silent, limiting himself to an attempt to drill his son with a glance.
"An unusual request for a seventeen-year-old boy. At this age, you should strive to spend time with your girlfriends. Moreover, you don't need to go far - the charming Miss Zabini is in the castle. You prefer ... Truly, your father is right, Draco. You are a strange person. Let's hope that your desire is dictated by silly sentiments, and not by any intent. Lucius, I will grant this night to your son. We can return to the dungeon for now. "
"This is such an honor… my Lord," a hard glance toward his son.
"Thank you, my Lord."
"It's my kindness to blame," came from the corridor, and receding footsteps announced the guest's departure.
"Kindness! And this Lord of theirs has a sense of humor! " thought Hermione. Her gaze froze on the boy. If Hermione hadn't been watching him so closely, to the point of pain in her eyes, she wouldn't have seen how his shoulders relaxed after Voldemort's words.
"I hope you understand what you have done now and what awaits you soon?" Lucius Malfoy hissed as well as his master. "The Dark Lord had plans for this evening concerning Narcissa."
"Do I have less rights to my mother's time than the Dark Lord?"
A whip-like sound ripped through the room. Hermione almost screamed. Who would have thought that Lucius Malfoy would enlighten his son in such Muggle ways. His right hand struck the young man in the face with a sharp backhand, once and twice.
For symmetry, Hermione thought stupidly.
"You have no rights. Generally. And the sooner you understand this, the better it will be. For all."
Hermione heard some hidden meaning in his last words.
Draco Malfoy didn't answer. He did not even move at all, except for the inertial motion from the blows. It looked like a statue of some rebellious angel. Everything about him expressed protest: straightened shoulders, a raised chin, a look.
"Oh," thought Hermione, "yes, he looked at me, you might say, with love." There was something in her eyes now. Strange, he was clearly facing punishment, and it hardly consisted of a ban on eating candy for three days, but looking at this guy, Hermione would never say that he was scared. Lucius apparently came to the same conclusion. Walking slowly to the door, he turned around.
"Are you not afraid of pain at all?"
It was a rhetorical question. It was evident that in the life of Lucius Edgar Malfoy there were not so many things that were beyond comprehension, and this was perhaps the most important. Without waiting for an answer, he left.
Closing the door, Malfoy rested his forehead against its surface and froze. Hermione stood in the closet and had no idea what to do. She wanted to crawl out to death, because she was already just sick of Malfoy's clothes, but on the other hand, something told her that now it was better not to touch Malfoy, though ...
"We can get back to the dungeon for now," a voice said.
Hermione abruptly threw open the closet door, because of the whim of this bastard, they will now torment Harry again! He wanted to be with mommy! Hermione was furious. It happens often. The danger passed, and Draco Malfoy from the only acquaintance, and therefore the closest person in this room, again turned into the hated head of Slytherin.
"Malfoy, because of you ..."
He shuddered and turned sharply to the voice.
"He forgot about me!" Hermione couldn't believe it. She nearly lost her mind with fear in those few minutes. She even thought for a minute that he was trying to save her, distract their attention and force her to leave the room. And all this time he simply did not remember about her existence.
Thoughts overlapped one another, making the girl tremble with indignation. It wasn't even the thought of Harry that made me rage the most. Not! Something else ... Just at the moment when Malfoy was talking in such a calm voice with the most terrible dark wizard of our time, as if challenging, albeit not in words ... But obvious to everyone! At that moment, Hermione even forgot who was in front of her. He looked like a knight from fairy tales ... There princesses always sat in captivity with evil wizards, and brave knights rescued them. As it turned out, Malfoy really cannot be denied courage, only he was not saving the princess at all. And in general, with his idiotic manners and upbringing, you cannot call him a knight even under the empire. Gad!
"Granger," the frustrated knight said almost in a whisper. Hermione met his gaze, and an angry tirade flew out of her head. She realized that this would be followed by an insult: well, if by word, but then as if not by action. But this is not why she froze.
One thing suddenly became clear to her. For all her six years of watching Draco Malfoy, it was only now that she clearly understood that he was just a human being. And the conversation with the guests did not pass without a trace for him. The mark was not even in the form of a split lip and redness on the cheekbone (apparently, Lucius's hand was decorated with a ring or signet). Not! He looked like a man who had run a hundred meters. His uneven breathing made his chest rise and fall. And his face was even paler than usual.
"Malfoy, you're bleeding," Hermione told him the obvious.
"If you ever get out of this house alive, which I personally doubt, you're not like this day, you'll forget your name," Malfoy promised evilly.
Hermione gasped from such impudence.
"I'm not willingly in this damn house," she began to get angry.
"And for whose, I wonder?" Smiling unkindly, Malfoy inquired.
"By the will of your sadist-daddy, who made no one knows who out of you, and now also ..."
It was not destined to finish. Malfoy took a step forward and grabbed her arm painfully just above the elbow. Hermione thought that if she went to school, she would probably be sporting a brand new plaster cast. It could also hit Malfoy with it.
"Do you have a poor understanding of good treatment?" Malfoy asked, barely audibly.
"Let go! You hurt me."
Malfoy laughed angrily and pushed the girl away from him sharply. Losing her balance, she fell onto the bed.
"If you wanted to be pleased, you would have broken into another door."
"For sure! I'd rather meet Zabini than crawl into your room. "
"Granger, I didn't mean the door to the room, but to the lock."
"How I hate you," the girl squeezed out of herself, rubbing her hand. "How can you be such a bastard?! You can do something. Instead, you stick around here and mock me. "
As he listened to this tirade, Malfoy looked at the girl strangely. He ran the back of his hand over his lips, rubbing the blood over his face even more and looked like a sinister vampire. Fireplace fire sparkled in his hair, staining it a strange color. The color of pain and despair. Hermione couldn't describe the shade in words. It's all the fault of the art school in the Muggle world. Even after so many years, Hermione perceived the world around her through colors: she played with them, characterized. And she felt at the same time according to what she saw. Now, for example, she wanted to fall into despair.
"Malfoy, why are you silent?"
He didn't answer.
"Why do you hate me so? After all, I have not done anything bad to you. I have never offended you, never insulted you. Well, only in response. And Harry too ... "
He chuckled.
"Your Potter is not as perfect as you see him. He deserves it all," Malfoy said harshly, supporting his words with a wave of his hand. "As for you," he shrugged, "I don't hate you for a long time. I must admit that I remember your existence only when you appear before my eyes. "
Hermione was hurt by those words.
"Then why are you insulting me at school?" the girl asked in a trembling voice
"Well ... Sometimes you annoy me. It's also a great way to get hold of Potter. "
"Why do you hate him so much?"
Draco Malfoy's revelations were worth a lot, and Hermione was not going to miss the chance. But before she finished the question, she realized that there would be no answer. The condescending grin disappeared from Malfoy's face, and it hardened again.
"Only stupid Gryffindors can ask a bunch of questions, knowing that their memory will be erased anyway. I'm not going to waste time entertaining you, Granger. "
There was a soft knock on the room. Both shuddered.
"A minute." shouted Malfoy loudly. "Now my mother will come in here, Granger, and you will silently go to the closet and sit there until greening while she is here. Maybe all night. I hope it's not worth explaining what will happen if you make at least a sound? Narcissa is not Blaise Zabini. Clear?"
"Malfoy, let's tell your mother everything. She is a woman, she will help us. "
Draco Malfoy grimaced in annoyance in response to this sensible suggestion and, turning Hermione, pushed her in the back towards the closet. Fortunately, it is not strong, and the girl even made the rest of the way on her feet. Closing the closet door behind her and leaning her face towards the familiar carvings, Hermione wondered why Malfoy had reacted this way to the sensible suggestion. Malfoy, of course, is a bastard, but still somehow better than his father. For some reason, Hermione thought that if Lucius knew about her presence in this house, he would not have become very almond-shaped. Instead of a warm wardrobe in a damp dungeon, she would sit now, and have a heart-to-heart talk with "pleasant" personalities. So-so alternative. Perhaps the best part came from Narcissa? Hermione realized that now she would have the opportunity to find out. But she could not even imagine how surprising her discovery would be.
Malfoy, meanwhile, threw open the door. Only then did Hermione realize that she shouldn't have told him about his appearance. He himself seemed to think little about it now. Yeah ... What kind of mother would be pleased to see a bloodied child? But even Hermione hadn't expected such a reaction.
The door flew open, and the blond youth made an inviting gesture with his hand.