A minute. A Fragile Moment of Good

So fleeting and so expensive.

Instant full of heat,

Memories of sweet graves.

He'll break up like a crystal,

Leaving my soul without salvation.

But each time, gathered in the distance,

You'll remember that moment.

It seemed that the world just froze, shrinking to the size of this room.

From the moment the heavy, antique leather-bound album flew through the open window into Narcissa's hands, the atmosphere in the room had changed. Narcissa made herself comfortable on the edge of the huge bed in front of the window, while Draco sat on the floor with his back against his mother's feet and his head resting on her lap. Narcissa uttered some kind of incantation, and the album hovered in the air opposite them so that both could clearly see.

Stretching out her hands, Narcissa ran them through her son's hair and thoughtfully fingered the strands that looked like silk. The room fell silent. The album was waiting for a command to act, but it was forgotten for a while.

The memory took Narcissa twenty years ago. One of those rare days when she found herself at Sirius' house.

The same size room. Only Draco had perfect order, in the same room everything was upside down. Its owner did not like house elves, preferring to take care of the cleaning of his estates himself. It is clear what was included in the concept of cleaning a fifteen-year-old wizard. Things are not lying underfoot - and okay. They sat in the same way: Narcissa on the edge of the bed, and Sirius on the floor with his back to her feet. What did he show then? Koldografiya? It is unlikely that Narcissa would have remembered them. Probably another book about his stupid Quidditch. This passion of Sirius Narcissa did not understand. She herself was afraid of heights, and, except for flying lessons, did not approach the broomstick. Exactly! It was a book about the England national team that came out for the World Cup. Narcissa did not remember a single word, not a single picture: only her thin fingers tangled in her blue-black hair.

"I'm going to purr like a satisfied cat," the voice of her son brought her back to reality. It turns out that all this time, while she thoughtfully fingered his hair, Draco enjoyed an unprecedented caress, throwing his head back into her lap and closing his eyes. Seeing his contented face, Narcissa laughed.

"You don't look very much like a meek, purring cat. You remind me more of a tiger, ready to growl at any moment."

"Well, you continue to make a mess on my head, and I will surprise you: either I will fall asleep, or I will just purr."

"Rather the first," Narcissa said with a smile, stopping to play with his hair. "Let's look at the pictures."

The son, with a mournful sigh of the sentenced to death, opened his eyes.

This was followed by half an hour of confusion and fun:

"Not! This bag cannot be me. Horror!"

"As much as you can."

"I look like a monkey! This is a forgery! I couldn't be so ugly."

"Draco, stop it! All children are one month old."

"Don't tell me that this girl is me too," Draco reached out to take out the photographic prints.

"Not a girl!" the mother was indignant.

"Look carefully and tell me where you saw such stupid caps on the boys?"

Narcissa grabbed him by the shoulders with a laugh and yanked him back. He tried to get up, but she began to intercept his arms. No, Hermione would never say that this is a mother and son, much less members of the Malfoy family. Just two naughty teenagers, very similar to each other.

"Is that Marisa?" the son was distracted by the next picture and automatically brought Narcissa's right hand, which he squeezed in a fit of struggle, to his left shoulder.

"Yes, she's seventeen or eighteen here. We went to the sea with you," Narcissa left her right hand on the shoulder of her son, hugging him in front of the neck. Draco didn't take his hand off hers. The mother leaned over and rested her chin on the top of her son's head. Hermione saw with pity that this newfound intimacy was very new and fragile.

"You've been here for three years. Look how happy you are. Marisa dragged you for a parachute ride. Merlin ... I almost died of fear then. You turned into a small dot, and you laughed so merrily ... Do you see here? It's the same evening at the picnic."

"Hey! Why does she shake me so! I'm not a doll. I do not like this."

"Draco, look at your face. You really enjoyed it."

"I don't remember this trip at all," Malfoy said quietly. "I didn't even know that we were at sea together."

"That time was the only one."

His mother's voice made Draco move. He took her arms off him, moved away and, turning, squatted down at his mother's feet. He just looked at her. Narcissa stared back silently. Hermione thought they were talking with their eyes. Then Draco looked down at his mother's feet and ran his fingertips over her knee.

"I always wanted to ask, where did you get this scar? He should have remained after a wound that was poorly healed," the son said thoughtfully. "It just always seemed to me that your childhood was spent in a kind of cocoon, and you had no opportunity to run, jump, knock your knees ... Or was it under Lucius?"

There was tension in his son's voice. Narcissa smiled.

"No, that was before Lucius. It's just that there was a day in my childhood when I escaped from this cocoon. A very happy day. The last happy ..."

"The day you cracked your knee so terribly, do you call it happy? What were the others ..."

Narcissa laughed.

Heck! Doesn't want to stick ...

"Sirius, you need to remove the protective film from it. Let me do it myself."

"Quiet! This is all because you are in the way!"

"A-ah. It turns out that your Potter is always quietly lying unconscious while you give him first aid? Am I too easy a case for your practice?"

The dark-haired youth looks up. His brow is furrowed and his gaze is focused.

"Potter is Potter. And you are you. I may be worried."

"Well, let me ..."

"Do you consider me a worthless doctor?! By the way, I stopped the blood."

Finally, after much suffering, the plaster flaunts on the knee: crooked, with uneven edges and an incomprehensible shade - at the last moment Sirius decided to give it the color of her skin. Then there will be the mother's horror, indignation, how it is possible to be so disfigured while walking in the garden, not understanding what she is so happy about, because an ugly scar will remain ... But all this later. In the meantime, an impossibly handsome blue-eyed boy sits at her feet and critically examines the work he has done. She looks at him and smiles. She is happy, because at her feet ... the whole world.

Meeting her son's eyes, Narcissa suddenly asked:

"How are you doing with Blaise?"

The question made Draco rise to his feet and walk to the window, facing away from his mother.

"Draco, I'm not going to remind you that it's very impolite to turn your back during a conversation, especially with a woman."

"Thank you for not becoming," he said, looking out the window.

Narcissa also got up and threw off his warm robe from her shoulders.

"I went to Hogwarts at the same time as the Zabini twins, brother and sister. You know, Blaise looks a lot like her aunt. With the only difference that she was a Ravenclaw."

"Mom," Draco turned around, "I wouldn't want to talk about Blaise. She's a sweet girl, and pretty, but let's not talk about her now. Okay?"

"But this is your future, Draco, you cannot afford not to think about it. However, your words "cute" and "pretty" explain everything. You don't love her." that was not a question. Narcissa argued.

"Did you love Lucius when you got married? Or maybe you love him now?"

"Draco, I would not want you to get the wrong idea about your family," Narcissa was clearly struggling to find her words under her son's tense gaze. "I really ... respect your father and …"

Draco laughed impolitely in response. Approaching his desk, he pressed the corner of the parchment with his index finger to the polished surface and began to twist it around its axis.

"Mom, don't. I'm not three years old."

"You have an-other girl? Narcissa asked suddenly. Draco froze. Hermione too. She desperately wanted to hear the answer to this question.

"In terms of?" tried to play for time Malfoy.

"А girl with whom you would be interested, whom you would like to protect, protect, hear her voice, fall asleep and wake up with the thought of her ..."

Draco chuckled.

"You know, I never thought about girls from that angle."

I understand perfectly well that you meet with girls, spend evenings with them ...

And nights, added the shrewd Hermione to herself.

"You know, Mom, none of them fit your definition of the only one. If you look at it from your side, then Blaise Zabini is the only girl with whom I can communicate for more than half an hour without risking her health. I think if there was another ..."

"You wouldn't agree to be engaged to Blaise," Narcissa said confidently.

"Did I have a choice?" Her son raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't need him then. But I'm afraid that you want to change something."

"Why are you afraid?"

"Because I know you, Draco. You can go against Lucius. You are already doing this without even realizing it. And I know you can do it. Because it is you. Lucius at your age was in love with Aunt Blaise. Strong, violent. But he didn't say a word to Edwin to call off our wedding. Maybe he wanted to, maybe even tried. But he didn't go all the way. And you would go.

"Why did you marry him?" Draco asked in a choked whisper.

Narcissa went to the window and stood with her back to her son, as if she had not been talking about etiquette five minutes ago. She stood with her arms around her shoulders, and the night wind blew her blond hair.

"I was sixteen when the engagement took place. Before, I had not seen anything in life, except the care of loved ones, and did not think that somewhere it could be otherwise. I gave my word to my father. With marriage, I gained a position in society, a noble name, gave birth to a beautiful son, was able to do charity work ... Only many years later I realized that I had lost something very important and that I could not return it. Aunt Blaise has a wonderful name - Frida."

The wind picked up the last word and carried it away.

"With your permission, I'll go to bed," Narcissa said.

There was no longer a cheerful girl. She was brilliantly brought up and from this some kind of lifeless and distant woman.

"Of course," Draco said politely.

He quickly reacted to his mother's change in mood and headed for the far corner of the room. Picking up the album on the way, Narcissa followed her son, not noticing that a picture had dropped out of the album. Draco scanned the tapestry on the wall by the fireplace. There was a door behind him. Whispering a spell, Malfoy threw it open, letting his mother go ahead.

"Make yourself comfortable. Call me if you need anything. True, I'm not sure that everything works in the bathroom - I haven't used it for two years."

He spoke from the doorway. Keeping my distance. There was a splash of water and Narcissa's voice:

"Working. Thanks Draco. I will summon everything you need myself. Goodnight."

"Good night," Malfoy said and closed the door.

"Like this: no kiss before bed, no kind word," Hermione thought. She herself was literally carried in her arms at home, trying to surround her with care and love. As, indeed, and Ron - Mrs. Weasley had enough love for all seven children. There was also Harry and Hermione. Harry had no family. Everything is clear here - there was no one to kiss him goodnight and wish him peaceful dreams. And there was Draco Malfoy, a representative of the oldest and richest family, the only heir to a huge fortune. An orphan with living parents.

Malfoy turned and walked over to the bed and picked up the photographs that had fallen from the album from the floor. He looked at the picture for a long time, then turned it over and began to carefully study the turn. Then he went to the window. Looking into the darkness, he whispered softly, "Freedom." Hermione realized that she wasn't the only one who translated Frida Zabini's name.

"Malfoy," she said as she climbed out of the closet. It turned out very pitiful. He turned sharply.

"A-ah-ah ... is that you?"

"Did you expect someone else?" the girl could not help but be sarcastic.

"No, I just thought: what if it was a nightmare, and you won't be there."

"You are terribly nice," the girl was angry.

"Granger, the fact that I still haven't turned your head away is, in my opinion, the height of any courtesy."

Realizing that a polite conversation would not work, the girl asked:

"Can I use your bathroom?"

"What?" Malfoy even deigned to turn away from the window. "Heck! What an idiotic day today. I have a choice?"

"Not!" Said Hermione firmly. "Not the slightest. Although, if you refuse ..."

"Enough! I don't want to listen to anything. Go wherever you want!"

"Thank you," said the polite Hermione.

There was no answer, of course. Once again, the girl thought that the rumors about the brilliant manners of Malfoy Jr. were greatly exaggerated - for example, for all six years she had never heard a single kind word from him addressed to her. Well, do not care! The main thing is that now she has obtained permission to use the premises she needs.

Closing the bathroom door behind her, Hermione looked around. How much cosmetic nonsense! Not to mention that this bathroom was larger than Hermione's own room in her parents' house. Incredible!

Having finished with why she was so eager to come here, Hermione gladly rinsed her face with water and looked at herself in the mirror. What a view! Tangled hair, frightened eyes. The girl tried to smooth her hair, then decided that nothing would help her. Unsurprisingly, she's not on this proverbial Malfoy list. Thoughts jumped from the list to its compiler.

I was ashamed to admit, but in her incomplete seventeen years, Hermione had never seen even a half-naked guy. Harry in a T-shirt doesn't count. And so today I saw Malfoy without a shirt so close. Today? It seemed like an eternity had passed. I suddenly remembered what his shoulders, back ... Solid muscles. Probably, his stay in the scout camp affected. But in appearance you can't say that he is so ... Oh! To cool her overly raging imagination, Hermione splashed water on her face again.

"I'll go," she decided.

Opening the door, the girl heard voices. Draco and Blaise spoke.

Hermione wisely decided not to jump out of the bath like a devil out of a box - hardly anyone would appreciate it.

"Repeat! Malfoy's voice was low and tense."

"You heard right. The Dark Lord decided to have an heir for himself and chose Narcissa for the role of his future mother. Everything has to happen today. It was planned that way. True, I don't know where Narcissa is. Draco, are you listening? You look like this ... Do you want me to stay with you?

"No, I need to think."

"Yes ... there is something," Blaise responded nervously and immediately added uncertainly, "not everyone is assigned the role of the brother of the heir to the Dark Lord ... You, in general ..."

"Blaise, thanks for the information ..."

"Yes of course. If you want to…"

"I know where to find you. Excuse me, okay?"

There was the sound of the door closing, and the stunned Hermione was finally able to leave the bathroom.

What she saw made her heart tighten. Draco Malfoy, vaunted by Draco Malfoy, stood with his forehead and palms pressed against the closed door. Several seconds passed. And then, without changing position, he suddenly shouted so that Hermione jumped up:

"Mom?!"

He pushed his palms sharply away from the door. He rushed to the tapestry and, without waiting for an answer, opened the door. Hermione wanted to remind her that she was still here, standing in the middle of the room. But something made her remain silent. For some reason, she decided that she was unlikely to be heard. It seems that the news from Blaise completely stunned Malfoy, having a far greater effect on him than the news of Granger in his room or Potter in the dungeon had previously.

"What does all of this mean?"