Chapter 38: Private Bedroom at the Bottom of the Lake
This was the first time Hermione Granger had entered a boys' dormitory.
Draco's bedroom.
Of course she was curious. Everything about him made her curious, let alone such a private place?
However, Hermione couldn't just look around the place without restraint.
So, after discussing the basilisk's conjecture, she held the steaming cup and stared at the upright tea leaf in the cup again: When will the party outside end?
"I'm going to go out and find out what's going on." Draco hesitated for a moment and said, "Don't be afraid, I won't lock the door. You wait here for a moment, okay?"
"Do people come in to see you?" Hermione asked. "Just come into your dorm or something?"
"No one dares to trespass," he said bluntly. "However, on rare occasions, Blaise and Theodore do show up uninvited."
Seeing the vague worry on Hermione's face, he said lightly, "It's okay. They are all very busy today. They probably won't come to see me."
Draco knew that Theodore was home for Christmas, and Blaise, as long as he could have a verbal fight with Pansy, would never spend time with him.
The boy walked out and closed the door quietly.
Hermione turned her head and studied the silver fish outside the window for a while, then stared at the big octopus swaying its tentacles in the corner of the window. Finally, she couldn't help but cast her eyes on the interior structure of this spacious private bedroom.
The style here is very different from the flamboyant and lively atmosphere of the Gryffindor dormitory. The elegant emerald green and silver fill the entire room, which is very Slytherin.
She was surprised to find that this color combination was not offensive but calming.
Are all Slytherin dormitories this elaborate? Hermione was puzzled.
If you think this is a corner of an antique exhibition hall, I guess those Muggle tourists will believe it.
The walls are inlaid with many exquisite silver candlesticks, and the flickering candlelight reflects a mysterious glow throughout the room.
A large white marble fireplace, covered with intricately carved relief patterns, stood quietly. In the center of the fireplace, within a carved black marble baffle, dancing flames warmed the entire room.
Across the room, on a foldable, embossed leather desk, stood several intricately designed silver candlesticks.
Hermione walked over, picking and choosing on the desk, and finally picked up a silver cherub candlestick with curling grass and flowers. Using the flickering light from the candlestick, she admired the smooth inlaid wood and the French Baroque bronze carvings on the desk for a while.
The hand-embroidered medieval tapestry hanging on the wall, depicting Slytherin's adventures, was a bit too complex, and the mermaid swimming outside the window looked a bit ugly. The fully stocked silver floral and scroll-leaf bookcase was more attractive.
Hermione perked up immediately when she saw the books. She ran over excitedly to look at them, holding up the candlestick to illuminate the titles of the books: "A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi", "Magical Potions and Spells", "Dark Powers: A Guide to Self-Defense", "Forgotten Ancient Magic and Spells"...
He looked like any other exceptionally studious young wizard—except for being a little obsessed with the Dark Arts. Hermione shook her head secretly.
At that moment, there was a slight sound from the keyhole of the door. Was it him—or someone else?
Hermione panicked.
Subconsciously, she quickly placed the lovely candlestick on the table, opened the closet door beside her, and hurriedly stepped in. However, after hiding in it, she found that the closet door could not be closed from the inside.
Embarrassingly, it was too late to move. She heard the door open. She couldn't even let go, or it would open wider.
She could only use one finger to close the small gap little by little, secretly praying that this inconspicuous gap would not be discovered by others.
The slow and steady footsteps were getting closer.
Her finger was pinched.
"I got you." The boy's voice came from outside the closet with a slight smile.
With a creak, the Rococo-style wardrobe door slowly opened. She peeked out from behind a robe that smelled like a boy's, only to find Draco tilting his head and looking at her intently.
"What kind of weird habit is this, hiding in the closet—pretending to be a little dream demon?" He couldn't help laughing, as if he was amused by her current appearance. "I don't mind you living in there, if you don't find it boring."
"I didn't plan to live in it. I thought someone else was coming!" Hermione came out from behind his robes, put on a proud look, and hurriedly explained, "I didn't want to be discovered--"
"Yeah, that's the right thing to do." He released his grip on her fingers and naturally raised his arm so she could support him as he jumped out safely. "If you had figured it out earlier, you wouldn't have been discovered running in, and you wouldn't have fallen into my hands."
She landed lightly on the carpet in front of the wardrobe and glared at Draco with a frown upon hearing this.
He glanced at her slightly angry face and asked in a slow voice, "Are you hungry? I made some avalanche strawberry cake."
"I'm not hungry--" she said stubbornly, ignoring the grumbling of her stomach which had expressed dissatisfaction during the quarrel.
"Then eat with me for a little longer," he said lazily as he walked towards the tea table in front of the fireplace, where some snacks he had just brought in were piled. "It's because I didn't really enjoy the dinner and didn't eat enough."
Hermione followed him reluctantly.
She felt he was implying something, but had no evidence.
Besides, the cake does look good, as do the delicate little treats next to it.
"Where did you get all this?" Hermione asked in surprise. "Did you pack the table for Christmas dinner?"
What was she thinking? Draco shook his head. She actually thought he would pack up other people's leftovers for her?
"No. They're all freshly made and never served," Draco said briefly. "They were obtained through some special channel."
—a channel for house-elves, he smirked.
"It starts again... special channels... so mysterious." She frowned and muttered softly. She couldn't help but taste the cake. A satisfied look appeared on her face, and she scooped up a big piece with a spoon.
Draco raised the corner of his mouth and glanced at her knowingly. "You've been thinking about how to get in all night, haven't you?"
Look how hungry this little girl is.
Hermione lowered her head guiltily, pretending to study the strawberries in the cake, and did not answer.
Draco sat on the sofa behind the coffee table and stared at her for a while, not touching the food at all.
"After you finish eating, go to bed and have a sleep. The bathroom door is over there, and there are new toiletries and bedding in the cabinet next to the sink." He said to her in a very stylish manner.
Seeing Hermione nodding at him obediently, he became even happier and refilled her tea. "I guess they'll keep making noise for a while longer and won't end the party so soon."
Hermione had wanted to fight the sleepiness for a while longer.
But after she finished her cake, fatigue and sleepiness gradually set in. She had already experienced so much emotional upheaval and tension today, and the sudden relaxation of her mind made her feel naturally tired.
She yawned quietly and looked at Draco. "What about you?"
"I'm going to stay in the lounge outside for a while. I'll call you when no one is around." Draco took out a woolen blanket from the closet and placed it in Hermione's arms. "New."
"Wait—" Before she could finish her words, Draco left quickly.
Of course he had to leave. Any gentleman would give the girl enough space in this situation.
Hermione stood there in a daze for a few seconds, then decided not to be so pretentious. She went to the bathroom for a quick moment, then climbed onto his bed and covered herself with the blanket embroidered with the silver Slytherin snake.
Never mind, it's better to rest for a while. Even if I can't sleep, it can relieve my fatigue, Hermione thought.
She had thought that she would not be used to sleeping in a strange bed and would toss and turn for a long time, just like she had done in the first few nights after arriving at Hogwarts.
But unexpectedly, she obeyed Hypnos' call almost as soon as she touched his pillow.
In her sweet and comfortable dream, she was completely unaware.
It was not until four in the morning that Hermione vaguely felt someone shaking her arm.
That must be a dream.
In the dream, there was an enlarged, delicate face. Light eyebrows, golden hair, deep eyelids, light grey eyes, a raised nose, and thin, pink lips—like a delicate doll.
Hermione wasn't even awake yet.
With hazy eyes, she reached out and tugged at the doll's ears, ruffled its hair, and muttered in her sleep, "Cute."
She curled up in the blanket, tilted her head, and fell asleep again.
Draco's ears turned red from being pulled by her.
Hermione Granger, this daring little girl! Who else would dare to talk to him like this?
However, he didn't even have time to stop her! Everything happened too suddenly.
She barely opened her eyes, and didn't even have the chance to notice the deliberate alienation in his eyes.
Draco stared at her sleeping face, at a loss as to what to do.
"Okay, go back to sleep, considering you praised me." He muttered softly and left the bed again.
The next day, when the sunlight filtered through the Black Lake and cast dim shadows through the floor-to-ceiling window of the dormitory, Hermione finally woke up from her dream.
As she gradually regained consciousness, she felt the soft, warm bed, the hazy, soft light, and the faint, refreshing smell of watermelon surrounding her...
Sniffing the pillow contentedly, Hermione didn't want to open her eyes and planned to stay in bed for five minutes before going back to her studies.
She seemed to be still immersed in a dream. She was practicing flying, and the boy in front of her had platinum-blonde hair...
As she recalled the broken dream, she gradually woke up.
She stared blankly at the dark green flannel silk curtain above her head, wondering why it was not the usual deep red.
Looking at the silver-embroidered bed sheet beneath me, I felt even more confused.
Where is she?
Suddenly, she remembered everything.
Oh, crap! She's still in Draco's dorm room!
Where is he?
She jumped down from the springy four-poster bed and glanced around the room in panic, spotting him on the long armchair by the fireplace. She tiptoed quietly over to the boy who was curled up on it.
He was covered with a Slytherin green blanket, and his platinum hair was no longer as shiny and sleek as before, but was fluffy and messy, sticking to his face and eyebrows, making him look confused and cute.
That was nice, she couldn't help but smile.
He is not the heir of Slytherin, but just a smart boy with an extremely sharp mind and some interest in dark magic.
Overnight, the thorny vines that had bound her for a month finally withered and fell off from her heart.
A bloated balloon seemed to float in her chest, light and swaying, filled with happy gas.
Hermione crouched silently in front of him and studied the boy for a moment.
It was a rare opportunity for her to see him so unguarded.
He was not cold at the moment and looked very obedient.
Cute, isn't it?
Hermione's eyes lit up. As if bewitched, she suddenly poked his smooth face with her index finger.
Soft.
And his slightly wrinkled brows. With a barely perceptible smile on her lips, she stretched out her fingers to smooth his brows.
That was more like it – he looked better without the frown, Hermione thought.
Next is the corners of the mouth.
The corners of his mouth drooped slightly, as if something in his dream made him very unhappy.
When she wanted to touch the corner of his mouth and lift it up, her wrist was suddenly pinched.
"Stop it." He mumbled incoherently before opening his eyes.
He moved his head, and the faint light hit his face. She finally noticed the faint shadow under his eyelids.
Hermione suddenly realized something - he didn't seem to sleep well last night.
After all, she occupied his bed and he could only spend the night on the sofa.
She didn't even know what time he returned to the dormitory or went to bed; maybe he had just fallen asleep not long ago.
At this moment, the boy in front of him was struggling to open his eyes.
"Who?" There was a hint of caution in his tone, and he frowned again, as if he was not used to someone touching him casually.
"It's me, Hermione," she said, feeling him squeeze her a little tighter.
"Oh, you're awake." Draco pushed himself up, sat up on the sofa, opened his sleepy eyes, and muttered softly, "I tried to call you earlier, but you were sleeping so soundly."
"Sorry—" Hermione sat down beside him, her wrist still held by him.
Although it is not as tight anymore, I still hold it.
At this moment, she was not thinking about her wrist, but was busy explaining. "Sorry, your bed is too comfortable."
A faint pink appeared on her face, which reminded Draco of the pink roses named after Hermione that bloomed in his own manor.
"It's okay," Draco said lazily.
Only then did he realize that he was still holding her wrist.
A wrist so white and slender, without any flaws, that it would break if pinched.
He pulled her to sit on the sofa, then let go of her, feeling a little uncomfortable.
Draco subconsciously tucked the hair that was blocking his view behind his ears. Then he remembered that his hair, which he had always carefully groomed, was now a mess. "Oh, no!" he sighed.
"What's going on?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
"My hair is so messy and unpresentable—" Draco blushed and covered his hair, "—I need to tidy it up."
"I think your hair looks good without wax. Waxing at a young age will increase the chance of baldness in middle age!" Hermione said seriously.
"It's not that exaggerated, is it?" Draco's tone was full of doubt.
Bald head—he couldn't imagine it!
He treasured his hair the most and no one was allowed to touch it; he could not imagine the possibility of "going bald".
Hermione looked at the platinum blonde hair between his fingers and smiled brightly. "That's what my father said. You should consider a change of style. Your current hairstyle looks quite flattering on you."
Did she find him so endearing? This question gave Draco an inexplicable sense of satisfaction.
"Okay, I'll think about it," he said in a pretentious tone.
It's not that he can't accept a different hairstyle if it's flattering.
"Very good," Hermione said with satisfaction, completely ignoring his awkward tone.
After a series of exchanges yesterday, she gradually found a trick to getting along with Draco: you need to ignore those sarcastic words and pay attention to his thoughts hidden beneath the words.
He never speaks his mind directly, but always goes around in circles to express his concern or approval for you.
Awkward boy! Looking at his uncomfortable and thoughtful expression, it was obvious that he had listened! She was keenly aware of this.
However, Hermione didn't have the chance to feel proud of this for long.
On the desk not far away, the silver-plated, gilded, hollow-embossed, amethyst gem musical clock suddenly began to chirp. Through the purple enamel dial, she could clearly see that it was already seven o'clock.
Hermione was immediately flustered by the time and asked him anxiously, "How are we supposed to get out now? Is there still time?"
"Relax. It's Christmas, no one's going to be up early. Oh, and by the way, Merry Christmas." Draco said calmly, glancing at the pile of presents at the foot of his bed.
"Merry Christmas!" Hermione smiled brightly.
He was the first person to wish her a Merry Christmas, and for some reason, that little thing made her feel a little happy.
"Your Christmas present," Draco stood up and took out a small box wrapped in dark green from the drawer of the desk and handed it to Hermione. "I think since you are already here, there is no need to send an owl again."
Hermione opened the box and found an exquisite sterling silver engraved hand mirror placed on a black velvet base inside the box. The back was engraved with intricate Rococo-style curlicues and wave patterns.
"It's quite old, made in France in the 19th century. Witches seem to want to carry a mirror with them wherever they go." Draco smiled. "My mother has one."
"I'll put it to good use." Hermione had to admit that the pattern on the mirror was quite pleasing.
She always liked these old things, and—
Draco watched her put the mirror away in the inside pocket of her robes and agreed. "That's right, carry it with you. Now that we have a general consensus that the monster of the Chamber of Secrets is a basilisk, it can move around through the pipes that are everywhere in Hogwarts. If you ever reach a corner in the corridor, it's best to take a look in the mirror."
The happy smile on Hermione's lips and the extended understanding of the mirror in her mind suddenly disappeared, and a look of confusion and fear appeared on her face.
Ah, that's what he meant by giving her the mirror.
He makes a lot of sense.
But these words turn the joyous gift-opening moment into a bombardment of terrifying realism.
The shadow of the Chamber of Secrets fell upon her again. Yes, there was still an Heir of Slytherin at large somewhere in Hogwarts, and she had no idea what it was.
The only thing to be thankful for is that it wasn't him.
The boy before her didn't stop talking because of her disappointment. His pale red lips continued to move as he spoke, his words ruining the mood. "If you must encounter a basilisk, I hope you'll at least be petrified, not killed."
If she was unfortunately petrified again, he could still save her. Draco buried this worry deep in his heart and tried to look at her with an indifferent expression.
"Draco!" Hermione huffed. "Do you really want me to be petrified?"
How could he be so annoying! He was bringing up all sorts of issues! He had completely ruined the Christmas atmosphere.
"Don't be angry, I was just joking." Draco raised his hands in surrender and smiled at her with one corner of his mouth raised.
"That's not funny!" Hermione puffed her face up like a guinea pig.
Kind of cute, he thought, staring at her with interest.
"It's really not fun. To be honest, I'm worried about you. You must be careful." Cute as he was, Draco still said to her with worry, "If the basilisk is really like you guessed, and it will move around along the pipes, then danger is everywhere."
"I know! But, speaking from a probabilistic point of view, the probability of Hogwarts students encountering a basilisk is equal! It has nothing to do with bloodline! I always educate people about this, but no one listens to me! Don't children of wizarding origin learn arithmetic?" Hermione said angrily.
"Arithmetic is considered preschool knowledge and is not part of the Hogwarts curriculum," Draco advised her. "You can't expect everyone to be like you."
We can't expect all parents to push their children as hard as Mrs. Granger.
"So, have you learned? Do you know how to add, subtract, multiply and divide? Do you know what probability is?" She looked at him as if he were a fool.
"Of course. Do you think I've only known how to laugh since I was a child?" Draco was annoyed and resentful.
"Very good. Then you should understand what I mean." Hermione said proudly, "Normally, the probability of all students encountering a basilisk should be equal. It's just because the sample size is too small and the students who are infected happen to be Muggle-born students that rumors of 'cleansing Muggle blood' have spread. Unless the basilisk can sense the difference in blood, this is all nonsense, isn't it?"
"You're right, speaking purely from a probability perspective," Draco said, "there's no evidence that the basilisk has the ability to distinguish wizarding bloodlines. However, I don't believe there's such a thing as 'coincidence' in the world. The heir must have made the selection and selection."
"You mean, the heir needs to know who the Muggle-born wizards are, right?" Hermione thought of a possibility. "Then the heir must be familiar with the victims! Only by being familiar with them can we find out whether they are Muggle-born or not!"
"Oh, Hermione." Draco was stunned. "You're right. Exactly. Blaise also said earlier that we should start with Filch's enemies. The internal logic is similar. At the very least, we have to know them, or even be familiar with them, and possibly have a grudge against them."
"Then let's play some logic! Mrs. Norris, Colin Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Nearly Headless Nick..." Hermione said with interest, sitting next to Draco and thinking hard. "Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff kept saying that he was going to Eton College. He was a Muggle-born wizard. It was an open secret."
"Then let's not consider him. Let's consider Nearly Headless Nick first. Do you think he was affected or targeted?" Draco said. "To be honest, the people who know him best are probably the Gryffindor students, right?"
"Let's just say he was affected. He's already a ghost! And he's always been kind to others, he doesn't have many enemies." Hermione glared at him, expressing her dissatisfaction with the tendency in his words. "Don't forget Colin Creevey, he's a Gryffindor."
Don't always think about looking for suspects in Gryffindor, there are many victims in Gryffindor! Hermione thought unconvincedly.
"Not many people in Slytherin know he's a Muggle-born. They just know he hangs around Potter. I guess the situation in other houses is similar." Draco said calmly, "Does he have any enemies?"
He didn't dare address Colin Creevey by name. In his past life, Draco had seen his lifeless face in the ruins of the castle. The thought of this child weighed heavily on Draco's heart.
"No," said Hermione wistfully. "His greatest passion is certainly to hang around Harry. No one says anything, except Harry, who's unhappy about it. Almost all the Gryffindors know he's of Muggle descent, because when he's pestering Harry in the common room, he always tells them he's the son of the Muggle milkman. No way—is he really a Gryffindor?"
Panic appeared in her eyes. She was frightened by this possibility.
Draco noticed she was in a bad mood and immediately asked about something else. "Don't jump to conclusions yet. And Mrs. Norris, she's Mr. Filch's pet. How many people in Gryffindor know that Mr. Filch is a Squib?"
"Neither the three of us knew, nor did many Gryffindor students. When Harry saw the correspondence course in his office, he had no idea what it was." Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "We didn't know about it until Mrs. Norris got into trouble and he yelled at Harry."
"But isn't Harry the only one who went to his office?" Draco reminded her. "There must be others who went there and knew about this. Perhaps we should find out who was given detention by him during that time. Not just Gryffindor, but people from other houses as well."
"That's right, let's do it." Hermione said with a serious face, approving of his idea. "Besides this, I will also ask around to see if Colin has had any quarrels with others or anything."
"Of course you would," Draco whispered.