A/N: Some comments and power Stone would be nice
Chapter 61: Onion Soup and Felicity
"Oh, Mom, of course I want to go home early, but this opportunity is very rare... Yes, Draco is with me, but that's not the point... Please, don't say that... Mom, he is not mine - Mom? Are you still listening to me?" Hermione's voice came from the other end of the living room through the open door, and it seemed to be getting lower and lower.
In Draco's suite at the wizarding spa, a long telephone cord stretched from the study to the sofa in the middle of the living room. Hermione held the receiver at that end of the line, trying to reassure her worried parents.
There is no doubt that any parent of a thirteen-year-old girl will inevitably feel anxious about the possibility that her daughter may stay out all night, no matter how legitimate the reason.
"Oh, Dad, thank God! You finally got the phone. It's like this, because the potion is very special and can't be exposed to light, it can only be brewed at night. It's not that I deliberately want to go home late..." Hermione's tone softened and explained into the receiver.
Draco was in his study, replying to long, boring letters.
It was nothing more than Blaise going to a party with his mother and finding out some gossip about a classmate in the academy; and Pansy rolling up her sleeves and fighting with some wizard girl and scratching her face.
Crabbe and Goyle, one showed off that he had cooked a few more bowls of rice today, while the other asked pitifully if he could take a look at his homework.
And Theodore, who had successfully brewed a hiccup potion during the summer vacation, was far beyond the capabilities of a prospective third-year student. This was worthy of Draco's effort to write a few words of praise - considering that he had eagerly written a letter to show off - it was a rare moment for this introverted boy to feel "happiness is not shared by anyone" and lonely.
"Mom, can you please give the phone to Dad... Please, don't speculate about me with such delusions... No, this matter really has nothing to do with him... He is not related to me... Why should I let him answer the phone? Does this medicine really need to be brewed at night? Am I the kind of girl who lies?" At this moment, Hermione said angrily.
Draco would pause from time to time to write with his eagle quill and listen to the sounds in the living room - where Hermione's voice was rising - and couldn't help laughing to himself.
It seems that she has recovered.
Hermione wasn't lying. All Potions Masters knew that Felix Felicis had to be brewed away from sunlight, so it was best brewed at night. This was the fundamental reason why Slughorn, the cautious Potions Master, had asked them to come to him at night to learn how to brew Felix Felicis.
However, Hermione didn't want to go home today. Besides the potion-making lesson, there was another reason - she didn't want to make her parents worry.
She had just cried for too long in the garden and her eyes were swollen. She was now applying the ointment Draco gave her to try to reduce the swelling as soon as possible.
Draco was somewhat disinclined to continue the fight. After hastily replying to a few letters, he couldn't help but walk out of the study to see if this angry girl needed any help.
Hermione was sitting on the sofa, wearing a pair of funny glasses, with a circle of sticky yellow paste on her left eyelid. The smell of the ointment was not pleasant, a bit like the smell of gasoline in the Muggle world.
She was absentmindedly listening to something with the phone pressed to her ear, seemingly at a loss as to what to do about her overly active mother; at the same time, she was applying oil to her right eye in front of a hand mirror.
Seeing him come out, she wrinkled her nose and mouthed to Draco in desperation, "Help me..."
Draco suppressed his laughter and pretended to ignore her silly look as she applied the ointment. He sat down next to her in a very stylish manner, reached out and took the receiver from between her shoulder and ear, and said frankly to Mrs. Granger on the other end: "Monica, it's me... Yes, that's right, it's true... You can rest assured, I have booked a room for her next door, and she can check in anytime after the potion is made... If it's finished early, I'd also like to take her home... Of course, this is what I should do... You're welcome... It's not a bother at all... Okay, no problem, I will take good care of her..."
Finally, he put down the receiver and tapped the back of it with his fingers. As if it had self-awareness, the receiver flew back to the base of the old-fashioned telephone in the inner room with a whoosh.
"Alright," he said as if it was a simple matter of fact, "she agreed quite readily. It wasn't as difficult as you make it out to be."
"That's because she was deceived by your appearance!" Hermione said with a pout, "Mom tends to judge people by their appearance. She has always had a good impression of you..."
Draco was in a good mood. Her words seemed to hint at her approval of his appearance. He casually picked up a green apple from the fruit tray on the coffee table in front of him, twirling it in his hands. He looked at Hermione and said, "One?"
"No thanks," she said listlessly, still studying the circles under her eyes.
Then her stomach growled, a disastrous sound. She blushed, raised the mirror, and completely hid her face behind it.
Draco chuckled. He grabbed a Baroque-style silver handbell from the coffee table and rang it a few times. With the melodious jingle, a piece of yellowed brown paper suddenly whizzed through the crack in the door and floated lightly in front of them.
"Mr. Granger treated me yesterday, so of course I can't let his daughter go hungry. Don't be shy, order some food, just to keep me company - I'm starving." He said nonchalantly, then took a bite of the green apple in his hand, and the sweet and sour juice instantly filled his mouth.
His hunger was temporarily relieved. With a sigh of satisfaction, he gestured to Hermione to look at the vellum.
It was a menu, with the names of some food and drinks jumping on the menu. He had not forgotten that he had to go to Slughorn's study in the evening. It was definitely not an easy task, and no one could survive without eating something beforehand.
Hermione glanced at him, convinced by how he was enjoying his apple. She looked at the menu in mid-air with interest, studying it for a moment before turning back to him hesitantly. "What should I order?"
"Oh, you just tell the menu what you want to eat..." Draco said easily. The brown paper menu swayed in the air, as if agreeing with him.
"So—French onion soup, Brussels sprouts, cherry jam tart…" she said cautiously to the menu.
The menu swayed in the air a few times, and the name of the meal Hermione ordered gradually appeared on the blank space on the back.
"Anything to drink?" Draco asked.
"Anything is fine." Hermione said nonchalantly as she observed the words appearing on the back of the menu with curiosity.
In that case, Draco calmly ordered her a large pitcher of iced watermelon juice - considering that the girl said she liked the smell of watermelon.
Why did Hermione like watermelon? Did she like this fruit? He thought her favorite was strawberry. Puzzled, he casually ordered a roast lamb chops, Yorkshire puddings, and a pot of Keemun black tea.
The menu quickly took note of his words. When Hermione lost interest in the menu, Draco rang the bell again, and the brown paper shook and flew out from under the door quickly.
Hermione picked up the hand mirror beside her and wanted to observe her eyelids.
"By the way, where did you get this ointment?" she asked curiously. "Why have I never heard of it?"
"Oh, it's an ointment obtained from a special channel." Draco reassured her, "It's been tested and the effect is good. You can rest assured."
The Weasley brothers had sent Draco the anti-swelling ointment, a bruise-healing ointment from hitting someone with a telescope. He'd never expected it would come in handy here. Draco had great faith in their product—it healed bruises instantly, and reducing swelling was no problem at all.
"Do you think the swelling will go away before nine o'clock?" she asked worriedly, turning slightly to ask, "Look, is it better now?"
When she was learning to brew the "Felix Felicis" at night, she didn't want to leave a bad impression on a potion master like Mr. Slughorn.
"Come closer," Draco said softly.
At this moment, the sky outside the window was dark, and the bright yellow candlelight in the wall lamp of the room suddenly jumped out. Hermione moved closer to him; Draco stretched out a few fingers, supported her chin, and turned her face directly to him, looking closely.
And she let him play with her face, not realizing there was anything wrong.
The dim candlelight flickered, bringing her a drowsy feeling. She stared at his face blankly, her mind a little dull, only a few vague thoughts emerging from it:
His hands were warm. His face was so close to hers that she could see his deep eyelids and thick eyelashes.
His eyebrows seemed a little darker than before. His eyes looked a little deeper in the dim light, and he was looking into her eyes without blinking.
His face seemed to have grown a bit, no longer the little boy he had been in first grade. He had lost the little bit of baby fat he had, leaving only a pointed chin and well-defined cheeks.
But the lips were still so thin, tightly pursed, with a slight wave shape and a very rosy color.
All these details were too clear, too touching. Hermione looked away uncomfortably. Her eyes moved up, across his straight nose, and focused on his hair.
It seemed that he had not used hair wax to comb his hair straight back for a long time. Instead, he let his hair down casually. The platinum-blonde hair ends softly covered part of his eyebrows and ears, making him look gentle and lazy.
It reminded Hermione of a cat, the kind you wanted to pet.
She forgot her previous nervousness and couldn't help but smile and said, "I like your hairstyle now."
His dark eyebrows rose, and his eyes were filled with a bright smile. Somehow, she knew that this was a sign that he was in a good mood.
"Are you complimenting me?" he asked cheerfully. After scrutinizing her for a moment, he finally, contentedly, lowered his hand from supporting her face and told her, "Don't worry. The medicine has been completely absorbed, and the redness and swelling are no longer noticeable."
"That's great. Thank you!" she said happily, holding up the hand mirror again and trying to wipe off the remaining sticky ointment.
Draco sat on the sofa staring at her. He suddenly felt his palms were empty.
At this moment, he realized that he had touched her face today - although it was for reasons such as wiping tears or looking at ointment - which seemed a bit too much.
Earlier, he had held her hand while stirring the potion, so close to her that his face could touch her hair.
He didn't know what was wrong with him today. Why did his body and limbs seem to be out of control and he kept unconsciously wanting to get closer to her.
Maybe it's because I've smelled too many love potions.
Yeah. That's about it.
But why didn't she reject him? Why did she let him get so close to her? Why didn't she have any vigilance at all?
He glanced at her, his heart twisting like two threads: one was the worry that she had no guard against the boy, the other was the inexplicable joy.
Why happy?
It was definitely not because at this moment, his coat still wrapped her tightly, as if hugging her all the time. And she, hiding her skin comfortably in his clothes, still had a matter-of-fact expression on her face.
This expression made the boy's heart even more twisted.
After a while, steaming hot meals appeared out of thin air on the restaurant table.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the restaurant, you can see the lights twinkling in the garden. There are some thumb-sized fairies humming softly and flying around in the rose bushes with small lanterns in their hands. They flap their wings and look very beautiful.
Boys and girls sat side by side, enjoying the night view of the garden while savoring the meals.
"It's like a dream..." Hermione's eyes flashed with curiosity, and she couldn't help but sigh. If she hadn't been short of time, she really wanted to go to the garden to study those magical species.
Draco smiled.
Is it just this kind of sight that makes you so excited?
If this girl arrived at Malfoy Manor and saw the famous huge garden and the endless magical creatures hidden in the garden, what kind of stunned expression would she have?
He took a sip of hot tea, and his smile widened a little as he imagined her surprised look.
Hermione turned around and was about to say something to him when she caught his sudden bright smile.
In a moment, she swallowed all her words back into her stomach, and she only felt a little thirsty.
She lowered her head absentmindedly, trying to drink some onion soup, however, a strand of thick hair hung down from her cheek disobediently and almost slipped into the soup.
"Be careful!" Draco saw it in time. His hand brushed past her earlobe and quickly grabbed the naughty hair, preventing it from falling into the tragic fate of the soup.
Hermione's face flushed red.
"Thank you..." She looked up at him in a panic and said in a tone of sudden awakening, "My hairband! I seem to have forgotten it on Mr. Slughorn's potion table..."
Draco raised an eyebrow and continued to gently hold her hair with his left hand. Although the hair was a little curly, it was still well-behaved and felt good to touch.
"My hands don't mind playing the role of a headband for a while." He said casually, with a strange sense of fulfillment in his heart.
It was as if an invisible corner of emptiness had been filled by the hair. His palms no longer felt empty.
Even more strangely, his face seemed to be infected by her, with a suspicious red tinge. Covering up, he scooped up a piece of Yorkshire pudding with his right hand and put it into his mouth. Draco did not dare to look at her again, did not dare to look at her face, her hair, or his clothes she was wearing.
He had to pretend that these things were not surprising.
The girl murmured twice, as if to thank him softly again. Her hair was being firmly bound and tangled by his hands, and she didn't seem to mind it. Hermione was only focused on drinking the soup mouthful by mouthful, and her earlobes were slightly warm.
Time passed exceptionally quickly in the summer evening. By the time the stiff-pose potion apprentices, who dared not look at each other, finished their delicious meal, it was almost nine o'clock.
With excitement and anticipation, they hurried to Mr. Slughorn's room and formally began to learn how to brew the Felicis Felix potion under his guidance.
Today they need to process potion ingredients such as belladonna extract, lemon juice, snaking bird egg shells and eight-eyed spider venom under Slughorn's guidance.
These materials were incredibly rare, and gathering a complete set was a real challenge. There was little chance of them being damaged or wasted through mishandling or improper handling. Yet, Slughorn chose to trust them and boldly let them handle the task. His confidence stemmed from their skillful handling of the ingredients used to prepare the Water of Life and Death that day.
In order not to disappoint Slughorn's trust, they took extreme caution.
Hermione finally found her headband. As she retied her loose hair, she said to Draco, "I don't want a hair to get in there and contaminate the material—"
"Oh, actually, there's a strand that didn't go in, look—" He hesitated for three or five seconds, then picked up the strand of hair from the crook of her neck and passed it between her fingers.
"Oh, thank you..." she said hurriedly, untying her hairband and tying it again.
"You're welcome..." He said in a floating voice, turned around and started to process the materials first.
Then comes the busy, intense, and time-consuming process of preparing the materials. After that, they need to mix these materials in a crucible according to a specific order and technique and heat them over a slow fire.
"It's turned bright orange." Draco stirred it evenly with a stirring stick, his voice a little tired; Hermione heard this and carefully began to add salamander eggs to the crucible.
"One, two, three..." She counted quietly; he also counted for her in his mind, fearing that he had added too many or too few.
"Okay, that's enough," he said - and she stopped delivering.
Holding his breath, he continued stirring until Hermione said, "It's turning red."
"Excellent!" Mr. Slughorn, who had already finished a whole box of pineapple preserves, came over, waved his wand, stabilized the flame under the crucible to a simmer, and announced to them, "Then we'll heat it slowly for three days."
The wall clock chimed twice. Amidst the busy day, it was already early morning.
"It's already so late. Children, go back and have some rest. You can come back at the same time in three days." Mr. Slughorn yawned and said tiredly.
Hermione and Draco nodded silently. A night of potion brewing and a long period of tense nerves had left them exhausted.
They finally didn't have the energy to think about anything else and blushed randomly.
When they walked back to the suite exhausted and prepared to have a good sleep, something went wrong with the room originally booked for Hermione.
The door wouldn't open; the magic key didn't seem to fit.
You cannot open the door of a room in any magical hotel, motel, or sanatorium using a door-opening spell such as "Alaho".
Nearly all doors are protected by powerful counter-charms to ensure guests' safety and privacy.
This meant they had to go to the front desk and find the relatively nice female receptionist to get a replacement key.
However, when they walked over, they found that the place was empty, with a wooden sign on the counter saying "Temporarily closed." They stood there waiting for a while, but no one came.
"There's supposed to be a 24-hour staff member here," Draco said angrily, drumming his fingers on the counter for a moment. "I'm going to file a complaint."
"Forget it, Draco. Let's go back." Hermione said gloomily.
A sudden downpour had just fallen in the corridor, and the wind was a bit chilly. Draco saw her shiver slightly, then sneeze a little.
"Okay." He finally made up his mind. "Go to my room and rest first. Come back and argue with them tomorrow."
They went and came back, walking through the long corridors again.
It was very dark here, with only a few candlelights in the corners of the walls. Hermione was a little scared and quietly pulled at the corner of his clothes.
"If you're scared, you can hold my hand and walk away." Draco was drowsy in the dim light. He yawned, and all the worries in his heart were swept away by sleepiness.
He took her hand without hesitation. Those slender fingers were a little cold, and he subconsciously wrapped them around them, trying to transfer some warmth to them.
"I'm not scared. I'm just not familiar with the road." Hermione argued in a low voice.
"That reason makes sense." He seemed to be trying to suppress a laugh.
Hermione's face felt a little hot. Thankfully it was dark so no one could see her face clearly.
The darkness and the cold rain magnified her senses. Her heartbeat suddenly became intense, making a loud noise as she walked through the corridor.
The fragrance of roses blooming at night, mixed with the moist moisture after the rain, rushed into her nostrils without hesitation, bringing a gentle caress to the loud noise.
Perhaps because she was too trapped, she tried to create a reasonable explanation for the abnormality in her heart.
She could feel his hand, slightly larger than hers, soothing her coldness with warmth and strength. On his ring finger was a snake-shaped ring, which seemed to be a birthday gift she had given him not long ago.
"You're still wearing that ring?" Her tone became inexplicably cheerful.
"Oh, yes, I like it very much," he said lazily.
So she felt a sense of satisfaction in her heart and followed Draco back to the warm and bright suite.
"As usual, I'll stay on the sofa for the night and you sleep on the bed," Draco said. He walked into the living room and habitually took out his wand, trying to make the sofa longer, but he froze.
The owner of this sanatorium had apparently cast some kind of spell on the furniture, preventing it from being enlarged or reduced in size at will.
He could understand this rule perfectly well, because otherwise, some wizards might expand a bed or sofa endlessly to save Galleons, until they could cram their entire family into one room.
But in this situation, this rule seems a bit inhumane.
Draco shook his head, giving up.
"That's fine, I can make do with it." He frowned and glanced at the short and narrow sofa, then turned to look for extra pillows, quilts and blankets in the bedroom closet.
"Draco...thank you for letting me sleep in your bed...to be honest, this bed is quite big...I mean..." She followed him and said hesitantly.
"What?" He turned around in front of the wardrobe, holding a pile of bedding, and looked at her puzzledly.
"I think... it's not too big for two people to sleep in that bed... Otherwise, you can... come with me..." She faced his gaze, staring at the carpet, and said the words.
There was no reason to cause him so much trouble and then have the audacity to ask him to give up his bed.
Draco seemed to be someone who had very high requirements for sleep - she still couldn't forget the pair of faint dark circles under his eyes when she saw him in his dormitory last time - he was definitely not the kind of person who could "fall asleep casually on the sofa".
What's more, the sofa looks even more uncomfortable this time.
Hermione Granger—was this a warm invitation to share his bed? Was this reasonable? Draco's mouth half-opened, his expression extremely unnatural. "This is not a gentlemanly act."
"We're friends, aren't we? I trust you." Hermione glanced up at him quickly.
Naive girl! Draco stared at her.
She looked at him with trusting eyes, as a friend who would never hurt her.
"I don't trust myself. What if I punch you or kick you in my sleep..." He said half-jokingly, trying hard to hide his helplessness.
"I will forgive you, as long as you forgive me in advance. Because I might also punch you or kick you." Hermione was amused by him, and her face was no longer embarrassed, but flashed with some innocent liveliness.
The boy and girl looked at each other and couldn't help but smile lazily at each other.
At this moment, Draco saw more bedding piled in the cupboard and suddenly had an idea. He put the extra pillows in the middle of the bed, dividing it into two halves.
"Isn't this better? At least there's a barrier, which reduces the possibility of us punching and kicking each other in our sleep." He said in a light tone, feeling that his brain was really unable to work.
"Very good, let's do it." Hermione nodded in agreement, with a hint of fatigue in her tone.
They took turns going to the bathroom and washing up briefly. At three o'clock in the morning, as they had agreed, they each covered themselves with a blanket and slept properly on either side of the pillow. They soon fell asleep in the toss and turn of sleep.
Hermione Granger dreamed again that she was learning to fly in the sky. It was always a heart-pounding and thrilling dream.
She hugged the person in front of her tightly. Subconsciously, she always believed that with him by her side, she would definitely not fall. The pleasant, light, refreshing smell lingered in her nose, making her feel safe. She was not so scared anymore.
The sleeping girl leaned her head forward and felt something itchy on the tip of her nose. She frowned unhappily and finally opened her eyes.
What caught my eye was a platinum-blonde head. A few strands of hair were playfully sticking up—brushing her face—and that was the culprit.
Half asleep and half awake, she rubbed the hair, which was soft and fluffy and felt good. She sighed contentedly, moved her head, found the most comfortable position again, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath of the pleasant smell.
Wait a moment!
When the second hand moved about thirty or three hundred times, she suddenly woke up. She could feel that what she was hugging was not a quilt or a pillow, but a living thing with breathing!
She opened her eyes and found herself resting her head on the boy's shoulder, her hand pressed against his chest, her face close to his head. He had his eyes closed, and his trembling eyelashes were cast with tiny shadows from the morning sun.
Hermione exclaimed softly, sitting up suddenly and seeing the pile of messy pillows that had been kicked to the foot of the bed at some point.
She hurriedly picked up two large pillows and put them where they belonged. She breathed softly, feeling a little thirsty, so she covered herself with a blanket and tiptoed to the kitchen to get some water.
Before walking out of the room, she glanced at the bed worriedly. Draco's face was flushed, and he was still sleeping neatly in his place, covered with a blanket, as docile as the pillow in the middle of the bed.
It seemed as if the scene just now was a figment of her imagination. She secretly thanked him for not waking up, and then slipped away from the scene of her crime like a guilty cat.
Draco, who remained motionless, would never admit that he woke up much earlier than her.
The sight he saw was perhaps even more disorienting than Hermione's: she was like a delicate kitten, facing him, curled up in his arms, her thick hair covering his pillow, her little head resting trustingly on his arm, her delicate hands clutching his shirt.
As for him? His self-control was completely lost in his sleep: his face was buried in her hair - which seemed to emit a sweet and delicious fragrance; although his arm was pressed by her head, his hand had its own thoughts - it was happily holding a handful of her hair; the other arm was also damned busy, loosely wrapped around her, with his hand on her waist.
The worst part was, he could feel her breath. Her face pressed against his neck. Her lips parted slightly, breathing faint, hot air against his collarbone, as if tickling him.
These unprecedented complex situations intertwined together, giving him an indescribable feeling - an empty stomach, a hungry mouth, and an inexplicable anger.
Merlin! He's not made of wood! He's a normal boy!
At one point, he wanted to give up struggling. He wanted to just hug her tightly, hug her even tighter, until he could embed her in his arms and never let her go.
But he couldn't. His rationality roared back, telling him: You can't do this to her.
You hurt her like that before.
She never liked you.
At this moment, she trusts you, smiles at you, and treats you as a friend.
Isn't that enough? Draco Malfoy, how much more greedy do you want to be?
He froze for a moment, trying to calm his body and mind. Later, he finally mustered the courage, carefully pulled his arm out from under her head, and tried to stare at the ceiling without distraction.
Before he could even think about where the pillow in the middle had gone, she had taken the initiative and found him again, hugged him, pressed him down, and muttered something, burying her face in his hair and nuzzling his burning ears. She even took a deep breath, as if she was quite satisfied with all this.
It was almost as if she enjoyed smelling him.
It was almost as if she enjoyed touching him.
It was like she enjoyed cuddling him.
Then, with his heartbeat like a drum, she gradually woke up. He quickly closed his eyes, because he didn't know how to face her.
The next second, she bounced away from him.
See, she was startled. Her reaction wasn't deceiving. She didn't like him at all. It was just an illusion.
Draco felt a pang of bitterness. He dared not move, let alone open his eyes. He had endured everything.
Only after enduring Hermione's screams, the dull thud of the pillow hitting the bed, and the sound of Hermione putting on her slippers and stomping away did he dare to slowly open his eyes and let out a soft, slow, and dejected breath towards the ceiling.