Since childhood we think of ourselves as the center of the universe,
The crown of Creation, the crown of former generations.
Everything is around us, everything in the world happens for us.
For us the stars go out and the sun rises in the morning.
With this faith we erase all boundaries in our minds,
Thinking that we choose our own path.
And we don't understand, so blindly proud of ourselves,
That we are only puppets, guided by someone else's hand.
Life turns strange sometimes.
Hermione sat in a deep armchair in Dumbledore's empty office. "Help Malfoy." Help Malfoy. The phrase itself sounded ridiculous!
"You will be next, Mudblood!" a grimace of hatred contorted the face of a twelve-year-old boy.
Help?
Hermione sighed. Six years. Six years of burning hatred. Not a day at school without thinking about him. A fair amount of their company talk around him. Hate, hate, hate.She burned her heart, pushed her to crazy deeds, squeezed her chest.
Help?!
"Never!" said Hermione loudly. "He doesn't deserve. No one is to blame for the fact that he is a bastard. Let him live as he wants now."
"Is it really no one's fault?" an inner voice asked softly. "You saw his family. This parody of the family. Has anyone ever raised a hand at you? Have you ever felt hate in a parent's voice? Have you ever been manipulated under the guise of your loved ones? "
"Trust me," a quiet and confident voice.
The girl threw back her head and looked somewhere through the high vault of the ceiling.
Reflections of flame leap across the face and bare shoulders of the blond youth. He looks like a rebellious angel: handsome and cruel.
"Trust me."
Hermione suddenly realized that she would do what Dumbledore asked, whatever the cost. Otherwise he will die. His world is too cruel, too many figures against him in this terrible game called "Life".
The girl resolutely drew the old album to her. For some reason, she wanted to look at Lucius Malfoy. What was Draco's age? With one last glance at the photograph of Harry's godfather, the girl touched the page with her wand. The Gryffindors disappeared and four emblems appeared. Hermione firmly touched the silver snake against the green background.
In the same instant, a collection of Slytherin photographs appeared in front of her eyes. The girl began to carefully study the unfamiliar faces. She wasn't sure if Lucius was the same age as the Marauders. She just acted at random, and, as you would expect, she was wrong. Hermione was about to delete the pictures when her gaze caught on the name "Black." Before she could be surprised, she remembered that it was Narcissa Malfoy's maiden name. Hermione looked at the young sorceress with interest. To say that she was amazed is to say nothing. An amazingly beautiful and surprisingly cold girl was looking at her from the glossy surface of the picture. An indifferent look, a slight smile. Flawless icy beauty that does not evoke sympathy. The image of the young Narcissa matched very well with the of the Quidditch World Cup. This was the only time Hermione had seen Draco's mother up close until today. And for some reason, the girl in the picture did not at all resemble the touching girl that Hermione had seen several hours ago in Draco Malfoy's room. How can one person combine such incongruous things? The answer came by itself. This was the only way to survive in their harsh world. Malfoy exactly the same.
Hermione turned the page and touched the Slytherin crest again. This time she was lucky. Lucius Malfoy. He was strikingly similar to their son. Only ... Hermione couldn't explain what was wrong. The same facial features. Draco's hair color, perhaps, had a slightly different shade, closer to Narcissa. And the thin scar did not cross the bridge of Lucius's nose, unlike his son. And also the eyes ...
The girl could not understand what was the matter, but with all the external similarity, they differed in something most important. This was the core that Narcissa was talking about. It was strange to understand that this handsome seventeen-year-old teenager would become a murderer, turn the life of his own family into hell, and "raise" his only son with unforgivable spells. It didn't feel right. The young heir to the old council. What did he lack in life? Why turn into such a bastard?
Hermione slammed the book shut. She made the right decision.
With these thoughts, the girl went to the prepared bed and decided to lie down. Five minutes later, she was already asleep in a sound, dreamless sleep.
Morning! The girl opened her eyes and found that she was in an unfamiliar room, and bright sunlight was pouring from a huge window. Hermione tried to remember yesterday, and her heart jumped. Yeah. The girl quickly swung her legs off the bed and rushed out of Dumbledore's office. She walked briskly to the infirmary. True, on the way her had to wrap in the toilet room. Looking at herself in the mirror, Hermione noted that, despite what had happened, she looked quite healthy. She thought that she would go crazy from the experience. The girl's gaze slid over a black sweater with a grinning dragon. It needs to be removed. Hermione pulled off her sweater and began to tidy up her clothes with spells. Malfoy had lent her his sweater. The world has turned upside girl rolled up her sweater, tucked it under her arm and continued on her way to the infirmary.
The school corridors were unusually deserted. The only sound that broke the centuries-old silence was the rustle of light girlish steps.
The infirmary door swung open with a soft creak. The girl stepped inside and immediately froze. Harry was lying on the bed in the empty infirmary. Hermione rushed to the young man and, barely holding back tears, squatted down by the bed, tossing the sweater on the next one. Harry was asleep. His sleep was childishly serene. Long black eyelashes cast shadows over her rosy cheeks. The girl reached out and gently removed the bangs from his forehead. Harry stirred slightly. Hermione stroked his arm. Her heart sank. He could have died, and what is more, he would have died, if not for Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.
Harry stirred again. Hermione stood up and kissed his forehead. The young man smiled sleepily and whispered softly:
"Mother."
Hermione felt tears welling up in her eyes. A man who had been an orphan for sixteen years of his life called her mother. He had a happy unknown dream. Perhaps Dumbledore is right in his desire to shield, protect. Hermione ran her hands over her eyes, wiping away unwelcome tears.
"Hermione?" Dumbledore's voice made the girl turn around and once again think how he manages to appear out of nowhere at the right time. "Good morning! I believe you have come to some decision."
"Good morning."
The girl got up from the floor and met the director's gaze. He waited. Hermione bent down and picked up a black sweater from the next bed.
"Since my memory has been erased, I want to ask You to return this to Malfoy. I can't do it myself. "
"Thank you, Hermione," the director picked up the sweater. "I will fulfill your request. You have chosen a difficult path, and no one can guarantee that your choice is correct. Just know that you can always turn to me for help. "
"I'm not sure if I can help Malfoy. I don't know how to do this, but I'm ready to give it a try. Do you need it? "
"We all need him. Draco might be too formidable a weapon in Voldemort's hands. "
"Weapon?"
Hermione lowered her eyes. It was so scary to realize that great people so easily play with the lives of mere mortals. "Weapon." A man with his thoughts and feelings was for them only a weapon, a trophy of war...
"We all need him."
Hermione turned away and looked at Harry.
"What do we have to do?"
"First, have breakfast. I suppose you haven't eaten since dinner yesterday."
Hermione was surprised to realize that he was right. She really hadn't eaten for almost a day. Strangely enough, her didn't feel like eating at all. But out of respect for Dumbledore, Hermione obediently took a sandwich from the tray that appeared and began to chew it down with hot tea.
Having finished her breakfast, she looked inquiringly at the director.
"Now try to remember yesterday morning as much as possible. What you did, what you talked about."
Hermione closed her eyes.
Mom's light kiss. My father took me to a side street. Harry bangs loudly on her room door. She throws herself on his neck with a joyful squeal. He embarrassedly slaps her on the back and smiles, smiles. She offers to take a walk in the park. He agrees. There is still time.
The sun. The bright sun is reflected from the glasses of a tall, dark-haired boy. He says something about some movie, I think. Then he walks briskly to the ice cream stand and returns with two portions in hand. They eat ice cream, which melts quickly and stains them with chocolate. Hermione takes out a handkerchief and tries to wipe Harry's chin. He laughs and says that she herself looks like a chocolate dessert. He snatches the handkerchief out of her hand and begins to wipe it with a laugh. They have fun and joy. And then ... Hermione goes to the trash can to throw out the candy wrapper and ...
The girl opened her eyes.
Dumbledore nodded and, stepping closer, put his hand on her shoulder. He grasped the sleeping Harry's wrist with his other hand.
A dash and they're in the middle of sun-drenched Central Park. Dumbledore sat the still sleeping Harry on the bench and turned to the girl.
"Harry didn't sit," said Hermione.
"I will make it so that he will remember how he sat down here. Look, is it all right?"
Hermione looked around. The same girl with cheerfully protruding pigtails tried to roll her stroller, and her mother kept trying to support her by the elbow. On the left, the boys were throwing the same bright ball into the air. So this is how the carefree park looked like ten minutes after the tragedy broke out here. Cheerful faces, carefree smiles ...
Hermione looked away from the dove bathing in a puddle and nodded to the headmaster.
Dumbledore stood behind the bench where Harry was sitting.
"Hermione, remember. You are cheerful and happy. None of that happened. Harry is fine now. The rest is up to you."
Hermione bit her lip and nodded. Dumbledore made a gesture with his hand and disappeared. Harry opened his eyes and stretched blissfully.
"Today the weather is such that it is easy to fall asleep."
He smiled, looking up somewhere.
Hermione hesitantly walked over and sat on the edge of the bench, peering into his face.
Harry finally looked at her. His gaze was calm and serene. Dumbledore knew what he was doing. It was August 30th for the whole world. And for all this is the only reality. Everyone except Hermione Granger.
"What?" Harry asked cheerfully. "Do I have chocolate on my face?"
"No," Hermione shrugged.
She felt uncomfortable. She perfectly understood that she was behaving strangely, but she simply could not help herself. She didn't even ask Dumbledore how it went, did she? How is Malfoy? It wasn't necessary yesterday, she was worried about Harry. And today ... This also turned out to be important. Harry was with her, safe. Malfoy today, too, but tomorrow morning at six in the morning he had a visit to the fencing hall in this cursed castle. And even after Harry disappeared. It was hard to imagine what Lucius Malfoy could do just in anger. And if he still learns about the role of his son. The stomach contracted.
"Are you feeling well?" Harry worried. "You have a strange expression on your face. Did I offend you in any way?"
He got up abruptly from the bench, nervously fiddling with the watch on his wrist. Hermione also got up and threw herself on his neck. She buried herself in such a familiar and warm shoulder and ... burst into tears. The brave Hermione Granger who so rarely cried. Over the past day, she cried out, probably, the annual limit.
Harry was taken aback. At the first minute, he tensed and awkwardly touched her trembling shoulder:
"Hermione, please ... What have I done? Well, don't ... What can I do to stop you crying?"
Hermione pulled away abruptly and looked into Hope-colored eyes:
"Promise me, promise me Harry, that nothing will ever happen to you. That we will always communicate. In twenty, thirty, fifty years. Say it."
Harry was completely confused. He clearly did not expect such an impulse from the always balanced and pragmatic Hermione.
"Hey, it'll be okay," he managed to say.
"Promise!"
"Hermione, I can only promise what depends on me. We will always communicate, in twenty, fifty, one hundred years. Honestly."
"Nothing will happen to you, will it?"
"There's a war going on, Hermione," Harry said quietly but firmly. "I can only promise what depends on me. Until this is over, no one can be sure of anything."
The girl wiped away her tears and looked at Harry. He was instantly transformed. The sparks of laughter disappeared from his eyes. Now it seemed that they were just imagining. Heavy eyes, tense shoulders. Yes. Harry was no longer that vulnerable and shy teenager. Everything has changed. Now he too knew how to hurt, he learned to hate. This scared Hermione the most. When everything was good and rosy, it was her Harry. But sometimes ... That look, gritted teeth. At school, Harry used to be like that in the presence of Malfoy. The sixth year was a nightmare. They had encountered such a countless number of times that the girl lost count. Moreover, Malfoy was not always the instigator of the quarrel. It's just that after the death of Sirius, some thread disappeared in Harry, which still held him within the framework. Hermione sometimes thought he might kill Malfoy. The Slytherin for Harry embodied all the hated Death Eaters, whom he blamed for the death of his godfather. Looking now into the strained face of her friend, Hermione realized with horror how hopeless her idea turned out to be. Choosing between them ... Harry. Definitely
Reflections of flame leap across the face and bare shoulders of the blond youth.
Hermione shook her head. Dumbledore asked for help for both.
But how? How? If they immediately grab the sticks when they see each other. If at such moments all kindness and humanity disappears in Harry, and all aristocracy and upbringing flies from Malfoy at once. Two angry beasts ready for a terrible battle. Hermione reached out and brushed the wet spot on his shoulder. Tears.
"I got your shirt wet," she smiled.
Harry didn't smile back. You need to be able to quickly move from irritation to fun. Malfoy could do it, Hermione thought inappropriately.
The girl took her friend by the wrist and looked at her watch.
"Oh, we gotta go. Ron is already waiting."
Harry followed her gaze and nodded.
"Exactly."
The road to the cafe where they had agreed to meet passed in silence. Harry hummed something suspiciously depressing, and Hermione scolded herself for her lack of restraint. When they entered the cafe, they immediately saw Ron. The red-haired guy happily jumped up to meet them. He shook Harry's hand tightly and patted him on the shoulder, then turned to Hermione.
"Hi, you look great."
"Thank. Well, you grew up, "the girl sincerely admired.
If Harry was half a head taller, then talking to Ron, Hermione realized that she could barely reach his shoulder.
"Ron," the girl said with a laugh, "where are you growing up?"
"To the sun," the guy joked, "I love it very warmly."
He jerked his head towards the table.
Hermione sat down at the round table and looked at Harry. To her delight, a faint smile played on his face, and the tension of her tears seemed to release.
Ron plopped down on a chair and announced:
"And I thought you were being taken hostage. I wanted to contact Dumbledore and organize a rescue operation."
"Ron, don't joke like that," Hermione said accusingly and shot a quick glance at Harry. The man chuckled.
"What kind of jokes are there?" the young man responded. "You, Harry, mind you, recently you have been ordered to be late for meetings. Do you know, for example, you overslept, and the whole Order is already on your ears: Where has the Magic World's Hope gone ?!"
Hermione glared at Ron, then at Harry. Ron grinned. Harry grimaced at his phrase.
"Let's order something already," he suggested, taking the menu from the table.
The dinner passed calmly. Everyone except Hermione. She couldn't help herself. And, looking at the clock, all the time she recalled the second reality. What she did, what she heard, what she saw.
Thank Merlin, she was not required to participate in the conversation. Harry and Ron were discussing the new model of the broom that Ron had seen at the sports store today as he got to the cafe. Harry hadn't seen her yet and listened with interest to the enthusiastic roulades. Hermione had no interest in Quidditch or broomsticks, so she just sat and thought about ... Malfoy. Strange, but she was worried about him. What's the matter with her?
He brought Harry back to reality, who pulled her hand with the words:
"Good morning! We're leaving."
Hermione nodded and got up from the table.
The day had passed in an aimless, in her opinion, stroll along the side street. Naturally, they immediately rushed to the notorious broomstick. Hermione was automatically wandering around after friends and thought that another version of this day was much richer.
In the evening they finally set out for Burrow.
There was a hot dinner, the sincere joy of Ron's parents ... Hermione felt warm and comfortable. There was hardly anyone at home. Percy never returned to his parents' shelter, Charlie and Bill were somewhere on a mission for the Order, the twins now lived in London. The Burrow was unusually quiet and outrageously cozy. After dinner, Hermione firmly decided that she wanted to sleep, but Ginny, without listening to any objections, dragged the girl into her room to show her smart robes. It was presented by the twins, only so that the little sister would amaze everyone at the Christmas ball. Hermione looked at Ginny with envy. From a clumsy gray mouse, which she was in her first years, Virginia Weasley turned into a dazzlingly beautiful girl. She often changed fans and drove many Hogwarts youths crazy. And Hermione was jealous. With all her intelligence, erudition and pragmatism, she, like a girl, was jealous of the only daughter of this friendly family. At sixteen, Ginny tried so much. And Hermione, at almost seventeen, saw a half-dressed guy once. "But Malfoy right away." The thought made me smile.
At night, Hermione slept dreamlessly. Probably fatigue and nervous tension affected.
The last day of the vacation passed quickly. After breakfast, the girls settled down on some sort of sun lounger in the back of the garden. The boys went flying.
Ginny was reading a magazine, and Hermione just lay there with her eyes closed. She herself did not notice how she fell asleep. Ginny woke up with an eerie screech. My heart sank. Something happened! And within a second she felt what it was. A stream of icy water hit the sun-hot body. Hermione screamed and jumped to her feet. Harry laughed uncontrollably a couple of meters away, holding an empty bucket in his hands. Next to him, Ron with the same attribute was dying of laughter.
"Ronald Patrick Weasley," Ginny announced loudly, "you are a corpse."
The girls looked at each other and turned to the former executioners, who in a matter of seconds turned into victims. Harry was the first to figure it out and, throwing the bucket, he dashed through the garden, dodging between the trees like a hare. Ron thought a little longer. Ginny had time to kick him before the start.
Hermione rushed after the fleeing Harry. Yes, with his physical training, she is unlikely to catch up. Hardly? Ha! Why wand? Recently, Hermione has not parted with her. For the next hour, the neighborhood was filled with malevolent laughter of girls and screams of tortured victims. The enchantment of tickling, the enchantment of never-ending dance, the enchantment of levitation. And this is just a small list of what two students had to practice so unexpectedly. The burrow and its surroundings have also become unbearable due to recent events. Therefore, one could safely use magic wands without fear of the owls from the Ministry.
Fun and light. But the first of September could not but come.
Sitting by the window in the back seat of a Muggle taxi (they decided that this was the best conspiracy), Hermione looked at the landscape running by and was terrified of the moment when she would have to find herself on platform 9 and ¾ to the cramps in her stomach. Harry and Ron were arguing about something.
"Earth is calling Hermione Granger," Ron snapped his fingers in front of the pensive girl's nose. "We're arguing if you have runes this year?"
Hermione tried to grasp the essence of the matter. And then I realized that the guys were arguing about the subjects studied in the seventh year.
"Yes, there is," the girl nodded.
"I told you!" Harry threw up a fist in joy. "He will argue with me!"
"Who cares about dragging the runes?" growled Ron.
"By the way," Harry nudged Ron against the back of the seat with his elbow and leaned forward to see Hermione, "do a lot of people use them at all?"
"Eight people," Hermione responded with a smile at the scene. She loved it so much when they acted like ordinary teenagers.
Ron threw off Harry's hand and pushed Harry in the side.
"Eight people ?! Go crazy! So many people waste their time on such nonsense."
"Ron," Hermione said reproachfully, "the ancient runes are very interesting. They allow ..."
Ron hastily pulled a candy from his pocket and handed it to Hermione with the most sincere expression on his face.
"Help yourself," he said, smiling happily.
Harry chuckled.
"Bored?" Hermione wrinkled her nose.
"There is a little bit," Ron nodded and put his arm around her shoulders. "But we love you like that too. Don't we, Harry?"
"Exactly," he confirmed with a smile.
Ron removed his hand and asked:
"And yet who walks on these runes?"
I just asked, but Hermione replied:
"Mostly Ravenclaw - six people. Me and one Slytherin."
Harry bent down again and said:
"Don't tell me that Crabbe or Goyle know about ancient runes. I can't live with that."
Ron snorted.
"I'm surprised that Crabbe and Goyle understand the English alphabet, and you're talking about ancient runes," said Hermione. "No. Malfoy visits them from Slytherin."
Hermione regretted answering Ron's question. There was a tense silence in the car. Harry leaned back abruptly and turned to the window. Ron studied his nails carefully.
Oh, how difficult it was!