Chapter 42: The Special Little Mudblood
"Okay, there's no danger." A platinum-blonde head was the first to turn the corner, glanced into the empty corridor near the library, and said casually, "Let's go."
"Honestly, you don't need to be so cautious. In terms of probability," Hermione came out from the corner and said to Draco, "I think the probability of me encountering a basilisk near the library..."
"Haven't we already reached a consensus that this matter has nothing to do with probability?" Draco said bluntly, "Please don't go to the library by yourself, okay? Or just don't go to the library at all——"
"What are you talking about?" Hermione said irritably. "I'm not going to abandon the library just because of some monster that might show up at any moment!"
"Okay! It's up to you to go, I'll accompany you to the end. Don't refuse, don't be impatient, at least let me walk with you, okay?" Draco's tone also became irritable, "I really don't think you should act alone! Aren't you afraid? You should be more vigilant than others-"
"Should I be grateful for your special consideration, or should I be angry at your certainty that I'm about to be a victim?" Hermione said with a smile. "Anyone can be petrified, so why are you so obsessed with the idea that I'll be next? Why do you just follow me and go through this extremely tedious process?"
Of course Draco had to follow her. He couldn't help but worry about her.
He could never forget one thing: according to the order of his past life, she would be the next petrified victim. At that time, she was attacked near the library.
He would always remember her petrified face, that cold, stiff, lifeless face.
"Because you didn't take this matter to heart, and you didn't even use the mirror I suggested." Draco felt guilty and made up an excuse. "I've walked this corridor so many times, and I've never seen you use it..."
"Are you exaggerating? You're worrying about me for no reason?" Hermione said helplessly. "I'm not three, I'm 13. I can take care of myself. I always carry that mirror with me. Look, it's in my pocket. I just don't have a chance to use it because every time I go to the library, you follow me and even check for me before I turn the corner..."
"I—I just happened to be going to the library too!" He stuttered, a rare occurrence. Afraid she'd discover more of his thoughts, he quickly emphasized, "It was a coincidence! I didn't follow you on purpose."
"Yeah, I don't believe you." Hermione rolled her eyes at him, but she felt a little happy in her heart.
It's hard to say no to Draco Malfoy, Hermione thought.
You often don't know what he's thinking. You don't know where his stubborn insistence comes from. You also don't know how many mysteries he has that need to be solved.
All you know is that his pretentious face always shows you a certain kindness and warmth that is different from others, as if you are some unique existence.
He occasionally lets slip a hint of his concern for you, then flatly denies it and quickly hides it. When you think you're overthinking things, he'll stare at you with those clear, complex grey eyes and ask, "Library? Together?"
Couldn't he be a normal friend like Harry or Ron? They never cared whether she went to the library or not, and they never thought she couldn't take care of herself, let alone that she was afraid!
"I have to say, I'm not afraid at all," Hermione said proudly, walking side by side with him as they were about to pass a silent statue. "I'm not that fragile -"
"What are you doing?" Draco yanked Hermione behind him and glared at the boil-covered twin brother who suddenly jumped out from behind the statue.
"Don't be so serious, have some sense of humor!" Fred laughed and put his arm on his shoulders, not at all serious.
"For Merlin's sake, don't scare everyone you see, okay?" Draco said with a wrinkled nose, quietly loosening Hermione's sleeve.
Hermione grabbed his robe tightly at the back and tilted her head from behind him to look at the Weasley twins, looking frightened. "Yeah, George, why do you always scare people like this?"
This was embarrassing, Hermione thought. One moment she said she wasn't afraid, and the next she was hiding behind him. She prayed he wouldn't notice.
"Sorry, Hermione." George shook his boil-covered head and smiled at the girl, whose expression was gradually returning to normal. "We actually wanted to find him, and scaring you was just a side job."
"I wasn't scared! I just didn't react!" Hermione said stubbornly, and before anyone could refute her, she quickly changed the subject, "George, actually, I was just about to talk to you about Ginny. You really shouldn't scare her anymore. She's been upset by the series of accidents and has been crying all day... Are you sure she can understand your sense of humor?"
George shrugged at her. "She seemed in better spirits the last time we came out in our furs to scare her..."
Meanwhile, Draco was whispering to Fred, "Is there still no way to get the mouse?"
"That's what I was going to say," whispered Fred, rather helplessly. "We were going to steal the mouse while he was gone, but he carries it everywhere with him."
Throughout January, the Weasley twins' "rat-catching" was not going well. Draco watched from the sidelines, feeling how obsessed Ron was with the bald rat.
"He must like that mouse very much." Draco was a little troubled.
"I think he's in love with it!" Fred said with an exaggerated expression, shuddering under the boils all over his face. "Think about it, it might actually be a wretched old man!"
Draco didn't want to imagine the kind of scene Fred had revealed, but every time he saw the name "Peter Pettigrew" on the Marauder's Map, he felt as if he had been splashed with undiluted Babo tuber pus, which was extremely uncomfortable.
Fortunately, the mouse didn't seem to have any intention of escaping. Having spent so many years at the Weasleys', it might have lost its sharpness and vigilance. All they needed now was the opportunity for Ron to forget to bring his precious mouse.
Before that opportunity came, Draco had to divert his attention, look less at the Marauder's Map, and focus more on studying the Herpo Notebook.
Thanks to Hermione, he had translated almost everything there was to know about the basilisk.
Unfortunately, the notes do not contain any methods to restrain basilisks, but only explain how to hatch them.
"Using toads to hatch eggs, ugh..." Hermione said with disdain. At this moment, they had said goodbye to the twin brothers who had jumped back behind the statue and sat in the hidden "study corner" of the library - this was their unique name for Draco's private space.
Hermione was feeling nauseous at the crude translation. "It's hard to imagine that this method can actually hatch a basilisk. I mean, what is the specific logic behind this? It doesn't conform to the scientific principles of Muggle biology at all..."
Draco didn't ask what Muggle biology was, but he roughly understood what Hermione meant. He said, "This method is unusual. It probably won't always work. It might require many hidden and demanding conditions. I imagine the chances of breeding a basilisk must be very low."
Reproductive isolation between species is common even in the magical world, and this method of reproduction across species is very suspicious.
"So many years have passed, and basilisks have never been bred on a large scale. It can be seen that it is very difficult to operate. I even suspect that the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets is the one bred by Herpo." Draco pondered.
Hermione nodded sympathetically, agreeing, "I think we should translate it a little more precisely, though the general meaning should be pretty much the same."
Just as they were about to find some supplementary books to help them understand those strange texts more easily, some whispers from the students inadvertently floated into their ears.
"I've said it before, only Muggle-borns will be attacked by monsters, Justin is an example." Through the gaps between the bookshelves, they saw Ernie MacMillan from Hufflepuff educating the students next to him.
Why is this McMillan always so gossipy? Draco frowned and thought, he's always the one spreading rumors. Just a few days ago, he was still making up stories about Harry...
"Oh, Ernie, who would do such a horrible thing!" gasped a blond second-grade girl.
"Hannah, don't be afraid, you are a pure-blood wizard!" Ernie comforted her, "I think if it wasn't Harry Potter, it might have been done by a Slytherin student! They are the most unfriendly to Muggle-born students."
Here it comes again, bad things must be done by Slytherins, no matter what he thinks. Draco smiled tiredly.
These days, the Slytherin students have been living under the strange gazes of students from the other three houses. In this environment, for those rebellious and arrogant children, doing something bad would be a shame to face the overwhelming suspicion. In his previous life, Draco had thought this way.
"Yes, I heard Millicent Bulstrode from Slytherin call Hermione Granger from Gryffindor a 'mudblood' that day. It was at the fighting club..." said the girl named Hannah.
"That's so rude!" Susan Bones said angrily. "That's not something a decent wizard would say!"
Draco suddenly agreed with Bones. He also felt that Bulstrode was rude.
Did Bulstrode not only hit Hermione hard that day, but also call her that? He had no idea. It seemed that he had not been too gentle when he pulled Bulstrode away. Draco frowned, suddenly feeling irritated.
At this moment, he noticed from the corner of his eye that Hermione's expression froze for a moment when she heard the word "Mudblood".
Then, she silently retreated from the bookshelf, without taking any more books, but returned to sit on the sofa in the study corner, lost in thought.
"Are you okay?" He sat down beside her and asked her. He didn't know what to say to comfort her, or what position to use to speak.
Once upon a time, he had been one of those who called her a "Mudblood." Back then, they weren't friends, but what he considered himself to be "enemies."
He had envied her. The little auburn-haired girl, the know-it-all who could answer any question the professors asked, outshining everyone else. She always outperformed him on the tests. Aside from her pedigree, she was so perfect he had no reason to attack her.
Back then, they were always enjoying their bitter exchanges: she'd lash out at him, saying he'd paid his way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team and had no talent at all; and he'd been so furious that he'd racked his brains to come up with the "Mudblood" thing and retaliate harshly.
From then on, the situation got out of control and the two became at loggerheads with each other.
They were busy arguing with each other throughout the second grade.
"I looked up the meaning of 'Mudblood' in the library. It's a derogatory term for people of Muggle-born origin—people whose parents are non-magical." His keen concern made Hermione feel extremely aggrieved, which she had thought she had concealed well.
She lowered her head, her long eyelashes covering her wet eyes. She whispered, "It's a terrible name, isn't it? It means dirty, inferior blood."
"I'm sorry." Draco's pale grey eyes flickered uneasily.
Merlin! In fact, he didn't think she was dirty or inferior. He was too stupid at that time to use such words to attack others.
Every time he thought about it, he felt extremely regretful. Perhaps he had regretted it a long time ago, but was just too ashamed to admit it.
Draco suddenly remembered what Dumbledore had said in the Astronomy Tower in his previous life. At that time, Dumbledore seemed very weak and would collapse in the next second, but he was still correcting Draco and asking him not to call Hermione a "mudblood".
"Please don't use that insulting word in front of me." Dumbledore said to Draco.
Every word of this wizard who remained calm even at the brink of death was engraved in Draco's mind.
For a moment, Dumbledore's blue eyes seemed to see through all his disguises, but he pretended not to know because of some kind of pity for him, or out of protection for her.
At that time, Draco let out a hideous laugh because of the shock and fear deep in his heart.
Yes, "Mudblood," he had always insisted on calling her that in his past life.
Once he regretted it and stopped calling her "Mudblood", it would mean that his insistence for many years was wrong. He was wrong from the very beginning when he called her "Mudblood" for the first time.
How foolish and proud Draco Malfoy had been.
By then, he could no longer bear the turn, the admission of error—he had come too far, too far to turn back. They were all far away, all of them, in some ridiculous confidence, chained to the Dark Lord's madly speeding ship, with icebergs floating around them and no room for maneuver.
Although it sounded like a poor and despicable excuse, or some kind of unfunny hellish joke, Draco had to admit that he had only ever called Hermione "Mudblood" and no one else was worthy of being called that.
Merlin, he knew this sounded arrogant, sickly, and completely unpleasant, but, honestly, Hermione Granger had always been special to him.
She was the only little Mudblood in his heart.
The little Mudblood that made him grit his teeth and had to care about him.
No one knew what this meant, not even he himself.
He didn't even want to delve into it, busy hiding the underlying secrets and emotions.
What was the point? In that situation, they were rivals, sworn enemies, objects of mutual disdain from different camps. What change would clarifying those emotions bring?
So he retaliated by calling her "Mudblood," reinforcing his own perception over and over again that they were opposites. He didn't need to care about her, or anything she said.
He had his own mission to fulfill, just as she had her ideals to uphold. In the chaotic state of his previous life, the only thing he could be sure of was that she was special to him.
So special that, if he had the chance to do it all over again, he would never call her "Mudblood" again.
He would never say it again.
no way.
"Sorry," he said again, frowning.
"Why are you apologizing? You didn't scold me." At this moment, Hermione said to him with a sob. Rain was falling in those warm eyes, and the pervasive moisture made him feel bitter.
It turned out that she was so sensitive to this word. In her previous life, she had acted stubborn, proud, and indifferent in front of him, as if this title was nothing special.
But now, she was crying. She was heartbroken because of this word.
Draco suddenly understood that perhaps all her nonchalant attitudes in her past life were just a protective facade. After all, she was so proud that she wouldn't even admit her fear, so how could she be willing to expose her vulnerability to others?
How could such a proud girl bear such an insult?
Just like the proud Draco couldn't stand being called a "stinking Death Eater", nor could he stand being mocked by others, saying that his father was in Azkaban and that he was the "son of a criminal".
Those words were like a sharp knife, cutting bleeding wounds in his heart until the scars were so numerous and intertwined that it was impossible to tell which was the latest injury. In the end, he learned to act nonchalant, but that was not because the blade was so blunt that he could not feel the pain, but because too much pain made people numb.
In his past life, he'd called her that time and again. How had she managed to endure it? Was she like him? Scars overlapping in the endless pain, a heart bleeding beneath a numb exterior? Regret surged like a tide, drowning his heart in an instant.
"I should apologize. For myself, for some of my classmates, and even for my parents, elders, and ancestors. Ultimately, this is a stubborn prejudice passed down from the time of Salazar Slytherin." Draco said hurriedly, handing her a light gray handkerchief. She buried her face in the handkerchief, her shoulders rising and falling with sobs, her back looking so thin and pitiful.
He tried to pat her back or shoulders to comfort her, but his hand stopped in mid-air.
He doesn't dare.
The look of disgust she had given him in her past life lingered in his mind. He had been a filthy Death Eater, and he should never have touched her.
After being reborn, he had been careful not to touch her. He was afraid that she would look at him like that again.
In a hurry, he would sometimes forget about this matter. But as soon as he remembered it, and remembered the disgusted look she gave him in her previous life, he would quickly leave.
Even though she didn't know about the past, even though she trusted him completely, Draco still remembered everything. He remembered every single thing, how he had hurt her, how she hated him. These memories carved irreversible scars into his heart.
She was still crying. He still didn't dare touch her. To him, she was some kind of transparent, fragile, delicate glassware, and he was really afraid that if he was not careful, he would break her.
Hermione raised her tear-stained eyes and looked at Draco's solemn face with confusion. In an instant, his contradictions, fragility and powerlessness were exposed to her.
Yes, the unspeakable timidity and long-hidden sadness were all captured in her casual glance. And he even had to think twice before comforting her, for fear of being disgusted by her.
Her sad and desolate eyes made him completely lose the courage to touch her.
He slowly clenched his fist, then quietly lowered it. He felt a pang of pain inside, trying to justify it all. "Some wizards always feel they are superior to others because they are so-called pure-bloods. This is especially true of Slytherin students, because that's the philosophy their family upholds. Pure-blood wizards hate Muggle-born wizards and don't want to associate with them, due to certain historical reasons and the education they received since childhood."
The girl's eyes flashed with a strange emotion, followed by a look of sorrow and inquiry. "What about you, Draco? Do you think so too?" She sobbed, unable to help herself, her tone anxious and her expression gloomy.
"I have to say that my parents also believe in the idea of 'pure-blood supremacy', and they raised me that way since I was a child." Draco frowned, feeling guilty and annoyed. "I have to admit that I once believed in this idea when I was young. Now I know that it's not true. The idea they uphold is wrong. You are very good, and you excel in every subject. You were able to brew Polyjuice Potion in your second year. I've never seen anyone so talented in Potions at this age. Charms, Transfiguration... you do well in everything..."
"Oh, Draco, stop praising me." The dark clouds of sadness that had been lingering in her heart were completely dispelled by his straightforward praise and compliments. She burst into laughter, her nasal voice still thick, "You probably forgot that I'm not very good at flying."
"Well... I think as long as you don't play Quidditch, you'll be safe on your broom." Draco was relieved to see her mood improve. He locked away his hopeless, regretful, and dark emotions with brain occlusion and tried to start telling jokes to tease her.
"I don't think I've ever congratulated you on catching the Golden Snitch in the last competition. Your flying has always been great. Harry told me that even without that naughty Bludger, you would have had a great chance of catching the Snitch." Hermione wiped away the remaining tears with the handkerchief. She didn't dwell in the lake of sadness for too long. Instead, she turned around to take care of Draco's emotions.
Draco, he's so nice. Hermione never thought he would comfort her like this.
He clearly had a father like that, but he was almost saying that his father was wrong. But not every child has the courage to say that and deny the correctness of their parents.
If she had run into Mr. Malfoy in Diagon Alley that day, would he have called her "Mudblood"? According to Ginny's description, he was a sharp-tongued, arrogant man. Of course, he could have called her that.
This wouldn't surprise her. It might have offended her.
But it was just unpleasant.
But if Draco called her that, she probably wouldn't be able to handle it. She might feel like her heart was being torn apart. She didn't even want to consider the possibility; it was heartbreaking.
Fortunately, Draco was not like his father. He gently comforted her, praised her, and even apologized to her for those who hurt her. He was always very good to her, very good.
At that moment, the boy who treated her so well was slightly raised-up on his lips, secretly happy because of her words. "Next Quidditch match, the one between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, can you cheer me on? I really need a little encouragement." Draco said uncertainly.
Slytherin was in a situation where everyone was calling her out. The Chamber of Secrets incident was escalating, and the other three houses were becoming increasingly suspicious of Slytherin students. Combined with the insulting names some Slytherin students used against her, he wasn't sure if she was still willing to cheer for a Slytherin.
But he couldn't help but ask.
He had an inexplicable hope that at the moment of his victory, she would look at him with those happy eyes, cheering, jumping for joy, and being happy for him, just as she had been ecstatic about Harry's victory.
"Of course," said Hermione cheerfully.
The tip of her nose was still a little red from crying, and her big brown eyes looked bright now - perhaps because they were soaked with too much moisture - like Rudolph, the red-nosed Santa Claus in the Muggle story, innocent and lovable.
The deer-like girl looked at him with a calm and happy look and smiled at him with her lips pursed.