Your closest person ...
He is here - and no more is needed.
Let the night be angry, let the light dim
Let the blizzard circle without stopping.
You are protected! You are not alone!
You are not afraid of anything.
You are invincible to enemies
As long as you feel it.
Narcissa looked very defenseless, and this did not fit well with her carefully created image.
Hermione had seen her only once before, at the Quidditch World Cup, on vacation before the start of her fourth year. Then they found themselves on the same podium with the Malfoys. I remember the girl was struck by Draco's mother. She combined completely incompatible things: amazing beauty and cold arrogance. It is difficult to somehow definitely relate to such people. In any case, Hermione would not have the desire to communicate with this cold woman, even if the opportunity presented itself.
And now she stood on the threshold of the room ... and not she. The same bewitching beauty, accentuated by a light silvery dress of an intricate design and expensive jewelry. But this was a different woman. The difference was in the worried look she turned to her son, and in the way, a moment later, Narcissa rushed to Draco and impulsively hugged Draco's neck. For some reason, this impetuosity did not fit in any way with her outfit and general appearance.
"Draco, you're bleeding," Narcissa said in the same words Hermione herself had ten minutes ago.
Malfoy immediately stepped back, freeing himself from his embrace, and touched the split lip.
"Nonsense!"
"Lucius was here," Narcissa gazed at her son. She didn't ask. She argued.
Draco shrugged vaguely. This gesture could mean anything.
"So it is at your request that I am here!" finally dawned on Narcissa.
"You look great today," her son interrupted suddenly. "What's going on? Why are you wearing this outfit?"
"Draco, your father had some plans, and you broke them with your request. Why did you do that? You know how it could end up for you."
"Nonsense!" cheerfully, he thought, Malfoy repeated. And then his voice became serious. "What are these plans?"
"The blood must be stopped!" Narcissa announced and walked resolutely towards the closet.
Hermione's heart sank into her heels, but as it turned out, Narcissa was heading to the nearby bathroom. A minute later she appeared, carrying a bowl of water and a clean linen cloth.
"Come here," she called to her son.
Draco obediently approached and froze. Hermione was surprised to see this picture. Now, as Draco stood opposite his mother, holding a bowl of water in his hands, while she carefully wiped the blood from his face, they were remarkably similar. But even half an hour ago, Hermione was ready to claim that Draco is a copy of her father.
After the scrubbing of the blood was done, Narcissa began to study her son's face carefully, gently touching it with her fingertips. Mother and son were the same height, although Draco was quite tall. It was probably all about Narcissa's heels.
"I can't even heal your face," Narcissa said in frustration. "The blood is no longer coming, but it will hurt for now. A bruise will appear here."
Narcissa gently touched the redness on her son's cheekbone.
"Well, that's great! Scars adorn a man," Malfoy said cheerfully.
"But not when there are so many of them," Narcissa ran her index finger down the bridge of her son's nose. From the thin white scar, Hermione realized. "It's after we spent a day at the beach in June, right?"
So Hermione guessed correctly. Malfoy didn't have this mark before. She would have noticed.
Draco Malfoy grabbed his mother's fingers, pulled them away from his face, and turned away, placing a bowl of water on the writing table. Narcissa remained standing, waiting for an answer. Malfoy turned, looked at his mother and gave his verdict.
"I don't like your hairstyle."
Realizing that there would be no conversation in the way she proposed, Narcissa easily accepted her son's presentation.
"You're inconsistent. Five minutes ago you complimented me. Or were you lying?" there was a humorous threat in her voice. "
"Me? I don't remember saying anything about your hair five minutes ago. The compliment was more about the dress and jewelry. Although ... on closer inspection, I don't like them either," he finished critically.
"Draco!" Narcissa was indignant. "You can't say that to a woman!"
"What if I'm painfully honest," Malfoy lowered his head humbly. "There was no need to instill in me such strict moral principles from childhood."
Narcissa giggled in response, just like a girl.
"You're the only one who could say that in this house."
With that, she raised both hands to her hair, there was a click, and thick hair fell over her shoulders. They sparkled in the light of the fireplace and reached Narcissa almost to the waist. The show did not end there. The woman tossed an expensive, jeweled hairpin onto Draco's wide bed. A minute later, a necklace, earrings, and a bracelet followed. Seeing that, Draco laughed.
Hermione was startled by his gaze. She would never have thought that such tenderness could be seen in the gaze of this disgusting subject. For the first time that evening, Hermione felt uncomfortable and clearly realized that she was ... spying on someone else's life. She badly wanted to be away from this strange room and these strange people, whose peace she unwittingly disturbed. With some sixth sense, she realized that such gatherings in the Malfoy family were rare. It was evident in Draco's slight awkwardness, Narcissa's stiffness in gestures ...
No one enters this wing except the house elves and me.
Is that what Malfoy said? It was evident that Narcissa was an infrequent guest in her son's room. She clearly did not orientate well here, and now, shaking her blond hair, she was trying to look around. Hermione noticed that Narcissa Malfoy's cleverly styled hairstyle contained frivolous bangs. Having freed herself from the hairpin, she now fell over her eyes, and Narcissa now and then straightened her and threw her aside. This gave her the look of a very young girl. Who are these people? Son and mother? Hardly. They looked more like brother and sister. Moreover, Narcissa looked like a younger sister - she seemed so defenseless, having lost her sparkling jewelry and a cold look. Draco, on the other hand, seemed somehow older. Probably because he was called to protect and protect this fragile creature.
Narcissa walked slowly to the opposite wall.
"I don't remember this picture," she said.
Only then Hermione looked at the canvas hanging over the fireplace. It's funny, she spent the whole evening in front of this picture and did not notice. Although, on the other hand, until now she was not up to the decoration of Draco Malfoy's room.
The canvas really attracted attention. It was a seascape. However, no, rather, Ecumenical.
"It's called Attraction," Draco Malfoy said, standing next to his mother and looking at the picture as well.
The landscape depicted the sea, only its surface looked spherical. It was as if this sea was located at the very end of the earth. And above the water the sky was playing with crazy colors. Probably, all the shades that the artist's imagination could draw were collected here. An inky purple color faded into a fiery orange. Crazy sky over crazy land. And all this whirlpool and riot of colors were held only by some invisible whim of the author, ready at any moment to drain, to merge with the sphere of the earth. Everything was held in place by a fragile attraction, a delicate balance that seemed too easy to break. And then the world will merge. From her little artistic experience, Hermione knew that the moment this whole crazy palette was mixed, the world in the picture would turn dirty gray.
"When did you buy it?" Frowning her brow, Narcissa turned to her son.
"Last summer."
"But you were in the scout camp. Did they sell paintings there?"
"Well, I can't just ride on a broomstick and knit sea knots for two months. I ran away for a few days to the nearest more or less large town: eat normal food, sleep on a bed, not on hard ground, go to a couple of exhibitions. There I saw this painting. I don't remember the author. I just liked it and bought it. "
"Amazing," Narcissa said and tilted her head to the side, wanting a better look.
Draco mirrored her gesture so accurately that it made Hermione laugh.
"She is very…"
"It really stands out from my interior," said Draco Malfoy. "It's just that this picture is the only living thing in my room. Besides, it reminds me ..."
What thoughts this picture brings to its owner, no one knew, because at that moment there was a knock on the door, which made everyone present shudder. Narcissa stepped to the bed, Draco headed for the door.
An elf appeared on the threshold, who informed the young owner of the need to appear at six in the morning in the fencing hall to talk with his father. After making sure that the order was delivered, the elf disappeared into the corridor. Draco violently slammed the door shut and furiously began to place Colloportus on it. Hermione already realized that the inhabitants of this house can perform some simple magical actions without the help of a magic wand. Apparently, it was a charm on the lock. After the seventh or tenth spell Draco uttered, Narcissa gently remarked:
"If you want to open the room by six in the morning, you have to start it now."
Draco stopped and looked back at his mother. Fury burned in his eyes. Meeting her gaze, he lowered his head.
"Sorry, I shouldn't have ..."
Without finishing, the young representative of the Malfoy clan began to rake the consequences of his own disgrace - to remove the locking spells. Narcissa watched her son in silence. From the reactions of both, Hermione knew that such an open outburst of rage for Draco Malfoy was truly a rare occurrence. She couldn't know for sure, but it seemed to her that Narcissa saw it for the first time.
"Draco, I told you you shouldn't have ..."
"Mom," Malfoy's voice and gaze were completely calm, as if he wasn't the one who raged here two minutes ago. "Everything will be fine," he said articulately.
"Your last visit to the fencing room before leaving for camp ended, to put it mildly, not well," Narcissa said stubbornly.
"How do you know?" the son asked sharply.
"From the house elves who healed you."
"Damn! This is all nonsense, they just lied."
"Draco, house elves don't lie, they just can't. And you, for that matter, too. What happened there? I need to know."
"Mom, why do you need this? Nothing interesting, really."
"Draco Regulus Malfoy! I am your mother. Yes, I was her only nominally all seventeen years of your life, and you have the right to punish me for this. But two months ago I realized that I have a loved one who needs me and who I need it. I have to know what's going on with you. I want to know that, and if you don't tell the truth immediately, I will immediately remove your damn remaining colloportus and go to the rendezvous with the Dark Lord that you so recklessly canceled. "
While uttering this angry tirade, Narcissa stepped on her son, jabbing her finger in the chest. Draco was taken aback.
"An ordinary crucio," he muttered displeasedly. "You just don't need a rendezvous. By the way, this is blackmail!"
It was evident that he was deeply impressed by his mother's words. He clearly did not expect such frankness and such a fierce manifestation of maternal feelings on her part. This did not fit in with the usual coldness and restraint. But if Draco Malfoy was dumbfounded, what to say about Hermione. She was impressed by the whole scene from start to finish. Starting with the maternal fierce attack and ending with the phrase "ordinary crucio." Some kind of madhouse! They seemed to be talking about a couple of flip flops on a soft spot.
"You're lying," Narcissa said more calmly.
The son raised an eyebrow inquiringly.
"There are no traces of the crucio," she explained, "you were covered in cuts, some of which have left traces, despite all the efforts of the elves."
"I'm not lying," Draco Malfoy said tiredly, walking to the window and looking up at the starry sky. "It's just that a stained glass window was smashed in the hall, and there were a lot of fragments on the floor."
Narcissa gasped, and Hermione floated before her eyes. She was reading the description of the effect of this spell. When using it, there was no difference: a strong person or a weak one. There was no man at all. There was only the body of a wounded animal, which, having fallen, writhed in agony. The strong one could only last a little longer.
There were many fragments on the floor.
Hermione felt dizzy. Her brain refused to accept such cruelty. Opening her eyes, she noticed that Draco turned to Narcissa, who was shivering chilly, clasping her shoulders.
"How's Marisa doing?" he changed the subject.
For several minutes the silence was broken only by the crackling of wood in the fireplace. And then Narcissa looked up and smiled.
"She's doing great," she said cheerfully.
Draco smiled back.
Hermione went wild. How can you go from horror to fun so quickly? And then she realized: only with such an attitude towards life could her mind be saved in this terrible house.
"Sit down, I'll look for something warm for you," Draco said and motioned Narcissa to the bed.
She sat down and began to unbutton her sandals.
"Imagine, Marisa and I went to a Muggle movie," her face brightened up and she looked like a girl again. Draco smiled into her sparkling eyes.
"It was very cool there. I don't know how they do it, but there is a screen on the wall and people are moving on it. Something like a picture. Only they move for a long time. They say something, do it."
"It's stupid," Draco said with a laugh.
"No nonsense!" Narcissa argued. Her cheeks were flushed and she gestured enthusiastically.
Draco, still smiling, made his way to the closet.
"We watched horror movies. There were monsters, similar to our nozzle tails, only worse."
"What could be worse than nozzle tails ... Ah-ah-ah!"
Seeing Hermione, Malfoy shied away from the closet. She hid behind her robes in time. How could you forget about her again?
"What happened?" Narcissa was surprised.
"I just have too much vivid imagination," Malfoy tried to recover, holding his chest. - Here the mantle fell.
Narcissa laughed. And Hermione thought that in this closet she would be worse for Malfoy than the nozzle-tails. Draco unceremoniously pushed the girl aside, removed his warm robes from the hanger and, without looking at Hermione, closed the closet door. The girl has only to watch as Malfoy heads towards Narcissa and throws the robe over her shoulders.
"Do you know what I found at Marisa's? You won't believe it!"
"I will believe!" Malfoy promised solemnly.
"Do you want to see your children's pictures?"
"Did I have baby pictures?" the young man was surprised.
"Did I have a childhood?" heard Hermione in this question.
Narcissa looked serious in an instant.
"Draco, don't say that, of course, there were. The fact that they are not in this castle does not mean yet ..."
"Yes, yes, I know. In this castle, I will only be immortalized in a stupid dusty portrait, when I do a deed worthy of the Malfoy family. And then I will look at my snotty descendants for centuries and scare them with evil laughter. Although, at such a pace, my descendants are like You won't scare me with nonsense. I probably won't have them, "Malfoy decided. "I will be nailed before immortalized."
Narcissa angrily stamped her bare foot on the carpet.
"Sometimes you are just unbearable. Don't you dare say that!"
"Sorry," Draco Malfoy slapped his lips several times, grimacing slightly in pain, "I take my words back."
"There was too much bile in them."
"Sorry," Draco repeated, "I didn't mean it at all."
"No, you meant exactly what you said," Narcissa said bitterly.
For several minutes there was a deathly silence, which, gathering his courage, was broken by Draco.
"So what do we have with the photographs? I'm not sure if I will like them, but, so be it, I agree to contemplate."
"Come on, they're really funny," Narcissa smiled. "Akzio, album!"
She held out her hand. Curiously, Draco took a step towards his mother, and Hermione felt like crying again.
The girl, for the umpteenth time during this long day, felt superfluous.
From the translator: "The Color of Hope" is the most popular fanfiction on the dramione. 12 years after his epilogue, the author decided to write a sequel - "The Color of Faith". Which I also plan to translate into English in the future.