Chapter 86: Petting in the Library
Draco has always kept his distance and been wary of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, the werewolf Lupin.
He had no intention of exposing Lupin.
Since Professor Dumbledore hired him and Professor Snape was willing to brew wolfsbane potion for him, why did Draco Malfoy rush to join in?
A qualified Slytherin always stays out of things, watches from the sidelines, and does not cause trouble.
However, now there is a variable: Hermione Granger, using her clever brain, deduced from some details and learned the truth that "Lupin is a werewolf".
"What are you going to do? Tell him, or keep silent?" He asked her again on the snowy road from Hogsmeade village back to Hogwarts Castle.
Draco was curious about what choice a Gryffindor girl who prided herself on being brave would make.
Should I stay out of other people's business like him, or should I face the challenge head-on and make it known to everyone for the sake of my sense of order?
Hermione hesitated.
She deliberately pulled on his clothes, walked slower, and fell far behind Harry and Ron before she whispered to him, "What do you think will happen if I tell everyone that Professor Lupin is a werewolf?"
"Oh, it's no big deal. Hogwarts won't be affected in any way. As for Lupin, he will lose his teaching position." Draco said as if it was commonplace. "Those parents will definitely flood Professor Dumbledore's office with owls, asking him to replace the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Why?" Hermione's face turned as white as snow. "Because he's a werewolf?"
"That's right, because he is a werewolf." He said slowly, leading her to a flat place.
"But he didn't do anything wrong." she asked anxiously.
"Weren't you scared when you first learned that Lupin was a werewolf?" Draco turned and looked at her with interest. "Why? Now you're standing up for him?"
"I was just too shocked! Not scared." She opened her brown eyes wide and retorted seriously, "I've recovered now! Think about it calmly. He's quite talented, isn't he? And he's also very responsible. He even has to teach Harry the Patronus Charm! He's a good professor, isn't he?"
"He's a 'good professor' now," Draco said calmly amid the crunching sound of snow. "Once he transforms, he'll be a 'dangerous element'. He's more harmful than you can imagine."
"I know werewolves are dangerous. But think about Professor Lupin. He has such a gentle personality. I find it hard to believe that he would turn into a violent werewolf." Hermione raised her head and said seriously, with a hint of innocence in her eyes.
This day really made him nervous.
"Hermione, you can't take any chances on this matter. After a werewolf transforms, it will lose all its sanity and all its humanity. It is difficult for wizards to deal with werewolves head-on, as they are highly resistant to magic. If you encounter a werewolf transforming, you might end up dead without a burial place." Draco stopped and said to her solemnly.
"I know, I've read it in a book. Professor Snape also asked us to write papers when he was teaching." Hermione was a little confused. Why did he look like he was facing a great enemy?
"Then you should also know that the best way to avoid being harmed by werewolves is not to encounter them." Draco was extremely serious. "Hermione, stay away from those werewolves, understand? This is not a joke."
"I know." She said impatiently, "Do you think I would go near a werewolf on my own?"
You didn't go near the werewolf, you summoned it directly! Draco rolled his eyes, thinking about their past life's outrageous actions, actually calling the Dark Lord's name directly, and being caught by Greyback, it was so stupid!
"So, do you want to expose him, Gryffindor's female warrior?" He asked as he walked forward in the gradually darkening sky, leading the confused girl who was tugging at the corner of his clothes.
This was the third time he asked her that day. He was very curious about her thoughts and her decision.
Hermione was silent for a long time, then asked him a question: "Draco, what kind of professor do you think Hogwarts needs? In terms of character, talent, teaching ability, and teaching attitude, who is more qualified to be a professor at Hogwarts, Professor Lupin, or Professor Quirrell or Lockhart before him?"
"He is indeed talented," Draco said disapprovingly, "but it is too dangerous for the young wizards at Hogwarts to have a werewolf as a professor. No parent would want their child to live near a werewolf. The risk is too great."
"But the risk is controlled, isn't it? He drinks wolfsbane potion every month." Hermione said puzzledly, feeling her hands a little cold.
"Yes, he drank the wolfsbane potion, minimizing the risk. However, this doesn't solve the fundamental problem—being born a werewolf is a sin." Draco's tone was firm. "Once the truth is known, the only outcome is dismissal."
"That's why I hesitated," Hermione said slowly, a hint of vulnerability emerging in her tone. "I don't think a talented person who has never hurt anyone should be treated like this. So far, he's done nothing wrong, teaching responsibly and trying to control risks. It's a pity to deprive him of his right and opportunity to be a professor just because everyone is afraid of his werewolf identity and afraid of a mistake he might never make in his lifetime."
Draco glanced at her. She was shivering from the cold wind, her body and voice trembling.
But, her eyes burned, her unyielding gaze fixed on him, and she trembled in the cold air as she asked him, "Is it true that a person's talent, personality, and thoughts are unimportant? Is it true that a person's hard work, sweat, and knowledge are meaningless? Is it true that simply because he's a werewolf, we should reject him and sentence him to social death?"
Draco suddenly understood what she was thinking and shook his head slightly.
"Hermione, sometimes I think you're very cute and naive," he said coldly. "There are only two options in this matter. One is to expose him and fire him; the other is to tacitly keep it a secret. The situation you envision, where 'everyone knows his identity and they accept him as a professor', doesn't exist."
Hermione stopped in her tracks. She loosened her grip on his shirt.
Draco saw through her thoughts.
Then, he mercilessly mocked her, calling her "naive." He punctured her thoughts, just like puncturing some colorful dream she had woven, like a soap bubble.
How could he be so cruel? Was his thinking too extreme, or was he exposing objective reality? She suddenly felt a sharp pain in her heart.
Draco only felt the edge of his clothes lighten.
He turned around and looked at the girl who was standing in the snow, refusing to leave. She frowned, looking a little confused and a little angry.
This stubborn and persevering girl possesses a fascinating complexity. She is clearly afraid of werewolves, yet she refuses to admit it. She worries about innocent people being harmed, yet she also feels sympathy for them.
It's contradictory, yet fascinating.
Just like what she did to him in her previous life.
He sighed and turned back to look for her. He stood straight in front of her and looked down at her.
He watched her stubborn lips pressed together. He watched her long, slender, dark brown eyebrows knit together. He watched the tip of her nose turn slightly red from the cold. He watched her face turn pale from the cold. He watched the gradually falling, tiny snowflakes settle again in her hair. He watched her neck, bare without her scarf.
"Where's your scarf, Hermione?" he asked her softly, softening his tone.
"I forgot to wear it." She whispered, shivering slightly in the wind. She curled her lips, suddenly feeling aggrieved.
So he took off his scarf and wrapped it around her neck several times until her neck was wrapped tightly and not a single breath of cold wind could get in.
Hermione looked at the boy in front of her.
She felt exhausted and numb from the topic of werewolves, her heart choked and cold. She thought her heart couldn't possibly race under such circumstances. But her heart still beat tenaciously, persistently, and vigorously, beating with his every move.
At one point, she was angry with him, and it seemed she had always been angry with him, angry at his concealment, his calmness, and the harsh reality he had just told her.
But he took off his scarf and let the cold wind carrying snowflakes blow into his neck.
He wrapped her in a scarf that carried his remaining warmth, tightly and snugly.
He looked at her with such gentle eyes that he seemed to be comforting her, although he didn't say a word of comfort.
"Draco, I suddenly realized that I'm not brave at all." She looked at him with tears in her eyes and couldn't help saying, "I'm not what you call a female warrior. I can't even solve any problems. I always feel that I don't like these two paths. The path I like is not accessible here."
Merlin, why is she about to cry? Was his words too harsh? Draco panicked.
"No, no, that's not the case," he said hurriedly, brushing the sandy snow from her hair. "You're very brave. You've learned a little bit of the cruel truth of the world, discovered the problem, and are willing to try to find a way to solve it. That in itself is a kind of courage."
"Is that so?" She bit her lip, a mist flickering in her eyes.
"Of course! A coward like me, upon learning the truth, would run away, cover my ears, and not want to hear another word. I never thought about solving any problems." Draco made a face, trying to tease her, "I'm a coward, right?"
As expected, Hermione was amused by him and smiled a little, and she held back her tears.
"Draco, you're always like this! Always like to belittle yourself." She buried her face in his scarf, feeling that there was a little refreshing and pleasant smell on it - enough to restore her inner peace.
She took a deep breath and said to him, "I don't think you're not brave. I think it's also very brave to be able to see through the cruel reality, embrace it, and even explain this cruel reality to me seriously."
Draco raised an eyebrow, and the corners of his mouth couldn't help but curl up. He was in a good mood, but he still wanted to play the devil's advocate. "No, I'm still the same uncouth Slytherin. Don't forget this, I will never be a Gryffindor. I will never be associated with bravery."
Hermione didn't rush to respond to him, but just looked at him quietly with an inquiring look, which made him uncomfortable.
Draco lowered his head, frantically trying to find other topics. "Oh, your hands are shaking too. Are the gloves too thin? Why don't you put them in your pockets?"
The girl blushed slightly, lowered her eyes and said nothing.
He suddenly remembered that she had been tugging at the corner of his clothes. So he impulsively put one of her hands into his pocket and said, "Look, are you warm now? This way I can carry you and you won't feel cold, right?"
She buried her face in the silver and green scarf and uttered a muffled "hmm".
"Let's go, it's getting late." He said happily, and slowly walked along the slippery ice and snow road with the girl who buried her hands in his pockets.
They didn't speak again. They walked silently in the snow, dodging slippery ice and muddy potholes. Both of them pondered the concept of courage, wondering if they were brave enough, yet at the same time savoring each other's words of affirmation and feeling a sense of comfort.
It was not until they walked through the gate of Hogwarts and into the castle hall that Hermione took her warmed hand out of his pocket and spoke again solemnly.
"Draco, I'm not angry now, not at all. I no longer mind you hiding my 'werewolf' secret from me. Because, I just suddenly realized something." She looked up at him with a smile, her eyes twinkling with bright stars - although there were no stars today - very dazzling stars.
"What's the matter?" he asked uneasily, feeling that there was some kind of trap in her eyes that was about to trap him.
In the torchlight of the hallway, her face gleamed with pride, her eyes gleaming with determination. "You haven't told anyone about this! You're keeping it a secret for him, aren't you? In your heart, you want to preserve this opportunity for him, don't you? You say the most ruthless and cruel words, seemingly opposed to him and hoping he'll leave quickly; but in reality, you're very kind. You don't want to hurt him, do you?"
Draco glanced at her in panic. There was indeed a trap in her eyes. Beneath the trap was a gentle blade. Using her words as a blade, she dug out something from his soul that had never been there before.
"I - just don't want to meddle in other people's business!" He shrank back like a snake about to be caught at its weakest point.
"Yes, that's right. You are not brave, nor kind, nor even gentle." She agreed with him with a smile, her expression somewhat meaningful, not at all as if she really agreed with him.
She seemed to be saying something sarcastic that he couldn't understand.
Draco exhaled briefly and wanted to put on his mask of indifference and say something to save his face, but she got there before him, untied the silver and green scarf, put it back in his hand, and announced to him in a cheerful tone:
"I also discovered something today that has been bothering me for three years. It turns out there's no difference between a silver-green scarf and a gold-red scarf. They're both equally warm. They're both—very delightful. Thank you, Draco."
Then she smiled shyly at him and walked quickly into the auditorium.
Only a dazed, bewildered, and agitated Draco Malfoy was left, tightly clutching the scarf - the silver-green scarf stained with her remaining warmth - feeling that his palms were no longer empty and his heart was no longer desolate.
Hermione, oh Hermione, how can you say that?
It's like you don't hate me at all.
It's like, you think I'm likable.
He stood in the hallway in a daze, clutching the scarf tightly, his body as stiff as the armor in the castle that had not been moved in years, unable to speak or move.
He was stunned for a long time.
It was so long that when he went home for Christmas, he sat in the armchair in front of the fireplace in his own library, still staring blankly at the book called "A Study of the Development of Modern Witchcraft".
He couldn't read. He was still thinking about his conversation with Hermione before the holiday.
He had no idea when his mother appeared, and how long she had been gazing at him silently.
"Little Dragon—" Narcissa hesitated for a long time before finally speaking.
"Oh, Mother?" Draco was startled and blurted out subconsciously. Because of the suddenness of Narcissa's call, he didn't use the tone of a little boy now, but the tone of his 17-year-old self in his previous life.
Narcissa was stunned, her mood subtly disturbed for a second by this slightly formal address.
"Xiaolong, you've grown up before I knew it." She quickly put away the distracted look on her face and smiled slightly. She walked over to her son and sat across from him. "You're no longer the little boy who begged me for bedtime stories and pestered me for candy. You can read such long books and brew such complicated potions on your own. You're also so good at Quidditch, aren't you? Last time, at the tea party, the wife of a school director was praising you to me, saying that you always caught the Snitch for the school."
Draco put the book down and smiled at his mother. He switched back to the familiar address Narcissa gave him, "Mom, why do you seem a little sad today? Are you in a bad mood?"
"Nothing." For a moment, a mist welled up in Narcissa's blue eyes, and then quickly dissipated.
It was a complex emotion for a mother: a mixture of pride and loss, pride in her son's increasing success, and loss that she was becoming less and less needed by him.
She choked up a little. "I—I heard you were attacked by a Dementor on the Quidditch pitch. You never mentioned it in your letters home before."
Her little dragon, I don't know where he learned this bad habit from, he always only reports good news and never bad news.
She had learned about the Dementor attack from the wife of the school director at the tea party; Lucius had known about it earlier than her and kept it a secret from her. However, this did not mean that her son and Lucius were closer, because Lucius had also heard this frightening news from other school directors.
"Mom, I'm fine. Professor Dumbledore and the others stopped the Dementors." Draco said casually, trying to soothe the worry on his mother's face with a smile - this was why he chose not to tell her, he didn't want her to show any worry on her face.
She should be happier.
"Little Dragon, I know you don't want to worry Mom, right? But Mom doesn't want to be the last to know about your injury." Narcissa said softly, trying to smile at him. "At salons and parties, some mothers occasionally show off. They - talk about everything with their children. They seem to know everything that happens at Hogwarts, or at least more than I do. I don't want to hear about your injury from others and then feel like a heartless mother, kept in the dark."
"Mom..." Draco was a little stunned. He didn't expect that Narcissa in this life would still be troubled by this matter.
In his previous life, Draco had shared with his mother almost everything that happened at school, no matter how big or small. However, his mother always acted indifferent to his troubles, most of which were related to the Potter trio, agreeing casually without taking it too seriously.
(In her past life, Narcissa's inner thoughts: Talking the same thing over and over again, complaining about the Muggle-born girl, Scarhead, and slug-spitting Weatherby every day, anyone would be indifferent, right? In her past life, Narcissa's usual tactic was: "Little Dragon, after all this talk, aren't you thirsty? Have a cup of hot cocoa. Mom has her own tea party tomorrow. Be good, drink it and go to bed early. Stop complaining.")
He had always thought that Narcissa was impatient to hear these things. In her previous life, she would only show strong interest when she heard about his good academic performance or when he received honors, and her face would show a little bit of pride.
In this life, he would only tell her these things. As long as she was proud, happy, and satisfied, that was enough.
However, Narcissa in this life is not satisfied with this.
"Little Dragon, if you have any troubles, please tell me about them, okay? Anything is fine. Besides your good friends in the academy, your teammates on the sports team, and the 'O's you got in your classes, don't you have anything else you want to talk about? Have you ever had a quarrel with any friends? Have no senior students given you a hard time? Have no professors been harsh on you? Is Quidditch training tough? Are some classes dangerous? Do you have a crush on a girl? Have you never thought of telling me about these things? Have you never been troubled or confused in your heart?" Narcissa said, with some anticipation in her eyes. "Anything is fine. Tell me about it once in a while, okay?"
Draco looked at his mother in surprise, thinking that she might have a shrew - its cry could drive people crazy - and had just heard it call.
Did she wish misfortune for her son? Did she have to hear something distressing?
Narcissa glanced at her son and continued, "The other ladies envy me for having such an outstanding child like you. They always ask me how I raised you, how I managed to make you strive for success instead of being lazy and slacking off. I can't answer that. I can only say that you were born to be hardworking. They ask me how you deal with those problems, the quarrels, bullying, criticism, dangers, and troubles that children encounter. I have no answers either, because you have never complained to me, and I haven't even had the opportunity to help you solve those problems..."
"Oh, Mom—" Draco's expression was complicated.
It wasn't like he hadn't asked these questions before, and it wasn't like his mother hadn't helped him. In a previous life, his mother had given him a lot of advice, some right, some wrong.
He already knew all her answers to these questions, he didn't need to ask them again, but she didn't know.
Narcissa studied him carefully and said tentatively, "You don't have to tell me everything. I know your schoolwork is getting more and more demanding. Occasionally, pick out one or two important things and tell me. You can also tell me about any worries or difficulties you have. I can give you some advice from time to time, okay?"
The tone was even a little humble. Draco could hear his mother's care for him. He felt deeply moved and couldn't help sighing again.
Can he rely on his mother's care for him to support him and let her go against the Dark Lord?
No, at this point, she probably wouldn't object. She would probably follow the Dark Lord—which would be more profitable for the family—just like she had in her past life.
She might use her son's memories as a bargaining chip to gain a higher status for the family among the Death Eaters and in the pure-blood wizarding community. She would sincerely instill some worldly advice full of pure-blood prejudice into him in the name of "I am doing this for your own good", while continuing to treat him as a child who knows nothing about the world, keeping him firmly under her wings and believing that his ideas are naive and foolish.
Unless it was absolutely necessary, my mother would never stand with non-pure-blood wizards. In her previous life, she had never concealed her contempt for them, nor her fear of Dumbledore.
She is a purist, as traditional, stubborn and bigoted as her father.
She is a Malfoy who puts profit above all else and only makes choices for the benefit of her family, regardless of right or wrong.
She is still a pure-blooded Black, with madness flowing in her intelligent veins, and when she is mad, she will do anything.
Although Narcissa looked at him with those gentle blue eyes, which were full of sincere love for her son, Draco Malfoy knew that if he wanted to safely protect the people he cared about, he had to be reserved with his dear mother.
"Oh, Mom, there is a worrying thing," he cheered up and began to play the most reassuring and spoiled boy, "Mom, the Christmas gifts have used up all my pocket money! I want lots and lots of gold, I want to buy candy..."
Narcissa chuckled, and the gloomy mood that she had been brewing with great difficulty was dispelled by his unreasonable request.
How could she think Xiaolong had grown up?
This is clearly still a child! A child who is particularly good at acting spoiled and loves to eat candy!
"Silly boy, what's there to worry about? This is the easiest problem to solve. If you need money, just tell your mother! I'll give you 20,000 Galleons first. Is that enough? Look at me, I didn't even realize I didn't have enough pocket money," Narcissa said kindly, feeling relieved at having successfully solved a problem for her son. "From now on, I'll transfer 50,000 Galleons to your Gringotts treasury every month as pocket money. You can buy whatever you want..."
"Thank you, Mum," Draco said, pleased with his mother's generosity. For a woman with such a large budget as Narcissa, to whom money was nothing more than a string of arbitrary sums, these Galleons were but a grain of salt she sprinkled between her fingers.
"By the way, Xiaolong, when giving gifts, did you follow the gift rules I told you?" Narcissa asked with interest.
"Of course, the students and professors all complied," Draco said.
"That's right! You have to be especially careful when giving gifts to professors. After all, they can directly affect your academic performance. No matter what kind of teacher they are, they won't refuse a Christmas gift that touches their heart. No matter what, we have to respect our teachers." Narcissa was at ease. After nagging her son about the "experience" of gift-giving, she left the library contentedly.
Narcissa, the mother, always doted on her only son. As long as it didn't involve issues of principle, any of Draco's childish and rude requests would be met, or even doubled up.
In this life, she was even more eloquent and generous than in her previous life, especially when her son's honors—top of the grade, winner of the Order of Merlin, the only Seeker in the Serpent Court who had never lost a single Snitch—satisfied all her dreams and vanity as a mother.
Draco had taken his mother's generosity for granted. He thought all children lived like this, at least with endless pocket money. But when he gradually learned about the pocket money of children his age, when he discovered that 5,000 Galleons could buy a small house and 2,000 Galleons could invest in a very good magic trick studio, he had to admit that Narcissa was doting on him too much.
It was the same in the previous life.
His extreme material comforts made him unable to empathize with certain things. He once ridiculed Hagrid's smoky, uncouth wooden house, Professor Lupin's tattered clothes, and the Weasley family's choice to live in a tasteless place like the Burrow. He even wondered why their children always wore second-hand robes and bought second-hand books. Couldn't they just live a little more decently?
When he asked this question, his father Lucius told him, "Because they are poor."
"Why are they poor?" he asked his father. Lucius narrowed his grey eyes and said haughtily, "Because such people are inherently inferior, because they are blood traitors."
Poor = shabby = tasteless = lowly = pure-blood traitor.
This was the cognitive equation that his father had maliciously instilled in Draco, and that Draco thought he understood.
Young Draco had not yet understood one thing: a person's nobility or baseness had nothing to do with wealth or poverty.
At that time, he was only thinking: he didn't want to live in poverty, didn't want to be tasteless, didn't want to be inferior to others, and didn't want to be a pure-blood traitor despised by his father.
Therefore, Draco Malfoy in his previous life was a spoiled boy who treated everyone with arrogance. He used the values of his father whom he admired, mixed with his own specious cognitions, and arrogantly hurt everyone he knew without realizing it.
He had once sneered at Ron's family, thinking they were hopeless, but it wasn't until this life, when he came into close contact with the Weasley children, that he realized that, although they were poor, they were never lowly.
George and Fred have the ability to make people laugh, and being with them always makes people feel happy involuntarily; although Ron is a big-mouthed and stubborn person, he is very loyal. He is willing to take out the limited pocket money in his pocket and make a bet with others for Draco.
Draco understood too late. In his previous life, he had never had the means to understand all this, to understand the other side of the world; by the time he discovered that there was another side to the world and wanted to understand it, he had already become an unwelcome, evil Slytherin.
He had no choice. In his ignorance, he was forced to embark on a path he did not want to take at all. At that time, he had no idea what it meant to have the Dark Mark on his arm.
That's not glory, that's a scar.
It's ridiculous that he thought it was a brave man's badge, but he didn't know it was the mark of a dragon.
Not in this life. I will never be so ignorant again, I will never help the evil, I will never watch the Malfoy family's ship sail into the storm.
Narcissa Malfoy was still immersed in the peaceful atmosphere that Draco had painstakingly created.
She knew nothing about the unpredictable future, and did not think that any storm could affect her beloved son.
For her, the most important thing is the change in her son's height.
"Little Dragon, I'm pretty sure you've grown taller again." On Christmas morning, Narcissa looked at her son lovingly.
Draco smiled at his mother as he tried on the new winter robes Narcissa had made for him in front of the large, gilded, full-length mirror in the living room.
"It fits perfectly," he said with satisfaction. "Thank you, Mom."
"Lucius, what do you think?" Narcissa said cheerfully.
Lucius was reading a newspaper in an armchair. Hearing this, he looked up from the newspaper and glanced at his son. "Just barely."
"He's clearly handsome," Narcissa said to her awkward husband in disapproval. "Look at what you said. What do you mean by barely?"
Lucius didn't want to anger his Sissy, but he couldn't praise his son directly.
He always holds on to a certain perception in his heart: boys should not be praised casually, lest they become too proud.
So he changed the subject: "I heard that you defeated Harry Potter in the Quidditch match last time?"
"Not really a defeat. The Dementors attacked him, I just got lucky," Draco said.
"Don't be so down on yourself. Well done," Lucius said quickly, feeling extremely embarrassed at having shown his approval of his son, and buried his expression behind the newspaper again.
"Also, you need to practice the Patronus Charm again and try to change your form." The father's calm words continued to float out from behind the newspaper. Draco had to be very careful to catch the hint of worry hidden in his words. "Those Dementors are too presumptuous... I have already lodged a solemn protest with the Ministry."
Draco nodded.
"Don't worry, little dragon. The fact that you can already cast it proves that your spell-casting ability is fine. Perhaps you still need to dig up some happiness, or perhaps you haven't decided yet what form you want to transform into..." Narcissa consoled her son, her blue eyes looking at him tenderly. "I also hesitated for a long time before I decided to transform into a robin."
Draco smiled and nodded at her, but he knew in his heart that it was not that simple.
There is so much darkness in his soul, how much happiness can fill it?
The two-week Christmas holiday passed in a flash.
Soon after Draco returned to school, he heard that Harry had received a Firebolt as a Christmas present.
"I wish I could have such a generous godfather..." said Seamus Finnigan.
"Who wouldn't want to?" Ron replied with a longing look on his face.
It was a damp, cold January morning, and they were in the grounds near the Forbidden Forest, in their Care of Magical Creatures class.
Terrible weather and terrible lessons! Draco lamented in his heart.
But unexpectedly, Hagrid made a bonfire full of salamanders to please the students. The students had to keep collecting firewood and leaves to keep the fire burning.
When Draco and Hermione went to search for dead branches in the nearby grass, they noticed a delicate and small silver ring on her slender finger.
If someone looked closely at the ring, they might be able to make out that it was a snake-shaped ring connected head to tail, or they might be able to make out the snake's eyes made of rubies in the reflection of the sunlight. This ring was a Christmas gift from Draco to Hermione.
Hermione noticed his look and stretched out her hand to show him: "Is it beautiful?"
"Very beautiful." Draco said with a smile.
"I like it very much." Hermione's eyes sparkled with a warm and pleasant light. "It actually has a defensive spell on it? It's very rare, isn't it? Where did you get it?"
"Some special channels, specially made. However, it only works once. It can resist one attack or deflect one minor curse." Draco reminded her, "Of course, it probably can't resist powerful dark magic spells like the Unforgivable Curses."
This was inspired by the "Hex-Proof Hat" from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
In order to make this ring, he humbly asked Fred for advice for a long time and was laughed at for a while; he also promised to lend the Marauder's Map back to them for research, but they seemed to want to study funny props such as Trace Magic... In short, it was a deal that lost all his money.
This ring also carries a little bit of his secret, unspeakable selfishness.
He—cast a locating spell on the ring.
Draco knew it was mean, but he couldn't help it.
He was always inexplicably worried about her, especially with Peter Pettigrew on the loose, Dementors everywhere, and a werewolf in the castle.
He told himself that he would never check where she was unless he had to.
If the Marauder's Map that had been loaned out knew what he was thinking at the moment, it would probably sneer in disdain, thinking that he was completely trying to cover up his mistake - who was he trying to fool? Before going to bed at night, he always spent a long time checking her location on the Marauder's Map.
Hermione, completely unaware of this, followed Draco, who had a guilty conscience, back and threw firewood into the fire, watching the flame-loving lizards jumping around in the crackling wood.
Draco stole a glance at the silver light between her fingers and changed the subject: "The galaxy model you gave me is beautiful. I feel like I don't need to go to astronomy class anymore."
Hermione gave him a smug smile. "I knew you'd like it. It'll help you finish those astrology charts quicker and get back to Quidditch practice, won't it?"
He nodded and smiled.
Quidditch practice did make the task of "completing schoolwork" a bit stressful. Marcus started to get a bit neurotic again, demanding that they show up on the field every day for training.
A week into the school term, Slytherin played a Quidditch game against Ravenclaw.
Slytherin won, but it was a close win - at the last moment, Draco perfectly dodged a "counter-bludger" and successfully caught the Golden Snitch. Marcus was so excited that he almost cried.
"What did I say!" In the tactics room, Perrikin laughed and patted Marcus on the shoulder. "Draco has no gentlemanly manners at all!"
"But I don't think Cedric is deliberately letting Cho Chang go." Draco lazily played with the Golden Snitch in his hand. "She is indeed quite difficult to deal with."
"That's right, that's the spirit we should have. We shouldn't underestimate any opponent." Marcus pointed in front of the blackboard in the tactics room. "We still can't be careless. We only barely beat Ravenclaw, the gap wasn't big enough. No, Draco, don't be so sad. You were right to catch the Snitch. If you had delayed a little longer, we might have still lost even if you had gotten the Snitch, and that would have been embarrassing. The problem is, Gryffindor now has the Firebolt. If Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were to suffer a crushing defeat at the hands of Gryffindor, we'd be in danger."
Gryffindor practiced very hard. So, as if to oppose the Gryffindor team, the Slytherin team also stepped up their practice. But no one complained anymore, everyone was working hard to win.
On the afternoon after the Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw match, Marcus had a headache and gave the team members the whole afternoon off.
Draco finally had a little respite from his busy schedule. He planned to catch up on his missed homework in the library and tutor Crabbe and Goyle.
There weren't many people in the library that day. Draco was drawing a star chart while complaining to Goyle and Crabbe, "Why would anyone confuse constellations that are so different?"
"Actually, I often make mistakes, you know..." A shy expression appeared on Gore's face.
"That's why I always tell you to be careful!" Draco pointed at his parchment with the back of his quill mercilessly. "If you had used your brain, you would have noticed that you drew this galaxy upside down..."
Crabbe chuckled beside him, proudly unfolding his masterpiece. He heard Draco, who was leaning over to examine his parchment, say lazily, "Excellent, Crabbe, you've drawn Andromeda perfectly. It's just that Professor Sinistra asked for Orion..."
Crabbe's smile suddenly disappeared.
"Redraw it, I'll come back to check it later!" Draco glanced at the bookshelf beside him and frowned.
He threw down his quill in a restless mood and left the two unfortunate guys who were struggling with the star chart on the seat in the library.
Draco walked quickly through the rows of bookshelves, looking for Hermione. When he first entered the library, he seemed to see her thin figure hurriedly passing by.
He had something for her. Mr. Slughorn's Felicia Felix, six months in the making, was finally ready, and he owled two vials to Draco, in gratitude for the boxes of fine pineapple preserves Draco had given him for Christmas.
"It's been years since I've tasted candied pineapples from the Amazon region of Brazil and Paraguay in South America!" Slughorn wrote in the letter.
Draco pulled the Felicis Felix from his pocket and held it up to the light.
The golden liquid shone brightly in the sunlight. This was something he had always longed for in his previous life, and he was surprised to get it so easily this time.
"A little bottle of Felicis Felix, good luck for twelve hours," he remembered Mr. Slughorn writing in the letter. He was going to give one to Hermione.
He quickly passed by a row of bookshelves and finally found her. It was her favorite window seat, with white gauze curtains swaying slightly in front of the window. A small ray of sunlight hit her, making her glow.
He called her softly, but she didn't move. He turned quietly to see if she was pretending to ignore him or was really angry; but he didn't expect that she had put her head on her arm, her face tilted to the side, and fell asleep on a stack of new parchment on the table.
Her long brown hair covered half of the desk, and a quill was loosely held in her hand. On the desk stood the large book titled "Domestic Life and Social Habits of British Muggles".
"What's so good about this thing?" Draco glanced at the animated picture in the book and muttered to himself in confusion. He gently pulled the quill out of her hand and placed it in the ink bottle in front of him.
Perhaps sensing the unusual movement in her hand, Hermione snorted impatiently, looking a little squeamish.
He tiptoed to sit down beside her, moved the book away, and imitated her by resting his head on the desk, looking at her motionlessly from the side.
He put his face very close. The sunlight was blinding, and he wanted to see her clearly.
It seemed like he hadn't looked at her so carefully for a long time.
He was busy with his tough Quidditch training, and she was busy with the time change and heavy schoolwork. She hadn't even had time to watch Harry practice recently, let alone meet him after practice.
It's frustrating.
Even if they were study partners, there was little time for them to chat. Professors filled their lecture time like crazy, calculating every minute to immerse students in the ocean of academics.
For example, in Arithmancy class, she always sat on his right and was often too busy calculating to chat.
Now, he could finally relax and watch her breathe shallowly, her long, thick lashes covering her usually radiant, chocolate-colored eyes.
Her skin had a sickly pale color. It was a color Draco often saw when he looked in the mirror, but now he frowned. He still liked to see her rosy and lively face.
Is she tired? He wondered worriedly, frowning even more and sighing.
As if because she heard his breathing, she suddenly opened her eyes hazily, smiled at him before she could fully realize her situation, raised her hand lazily, and smoothed his brows.
"It looks better this way." She said in a soft voice he had never heard before, like a lazy kitten that had just woken up.
Draco froze for a moment, not daring to move. He looked at her quietly, his gray eyes flickering.
She smiled hazily, half-closed her eyes, leaned forward, rubbed the tip of her nose lovingly against his, and lazily touched his platinum hair, saying as sweetly as she did to Crookshanks: "Oh, my pitiful little thing...you are here...so cute...I like you so much~"
She's saying "like".
Was she talking to him? The cracks in the ice of his heart seemed to widen. His heart was a little shaken and uneasy by the word.
Did she know what she was doing? Apparently she didn't, and she closed her eyes again.
The touch of his nose was so intimate that it made his face gradually turn red. The tingling sensation made him feel a string of satisfied and elated happy bubbles in his heart, which strangely filled his heart.
Just like that, he, who didn't like being touched, succumbed to her touch once again. He didn't dislike her touch, he was even a little happy about it; moreover, she suddenly poured out those overly intimate words to him, she said "like", a word that was too luxurious for him, which made him completely forget to breathe.
Hermione yawned and patted his head with the hand with the silver ring, muttering softly, "Don't go to the Forbidden Forest, sleep with me for a while..."
Merlin! Draco didn't know whether to cry or laugh.
She had mistaken him for the ugly ginger cat—what was the resemblance? For the first time in his life, he felt a little insecure about his appearance.
He wanted to wake her up and show her who he was.
But he didn't want to ruin this moment.
He finally understood how the ugly cat felt—why it always wanted to lie in front of her so she could touch it.
It felt unexpectedly good, like a white feather gently tickling his heart and liver... The subtle ripples in his hair roots generated an electric current, and his brain vibrated...
The cherished tone, the gentle treatment, the affectionate caress, they formed a shimmering golden ribbon that silently wrapped around his entire being - it was truly wonderful.
However, all this pleasantness, the gentle touch of Hermione Granger that he had just discovered, had already been wasted countless times by her on an ugly cat! In the trembling of his brain like Huami, Draco thought indignantly.
Hermione, when you're sober, is your generosity only directed towards this ugly cat?
He suddenly wanted to argue with her again and discuss the ownership of the title "poor little thing".
She had called him that first, not the cat.
Was she misusing her compassion?
He wanted to clarify all of this, rather than being treated like a cat without any bottom line. Unexpectedly, she continued to murmur softly, coaxing him softly, and stroking his hair dutifully with her hands, leaving him completely helpless.
Draco's will collapsed. What had he been thinking just now? Never mind. It didn't matter.
All the focus was on her hands. He even took the initiative to rub under her hands, trying to find a good position to be touched.
And his hand, he didn't know where to put the hand that was closest to her, so he could only hold on to the back of his chair tightly and endure all her caresses.
Caress.
This brief but wonderful caress.
A caress that makes you feel both anxious and amused.
A caress that made him want to hide forever, never to be discovered by anyone.
She also said "I like it." Although it seemed she was talking to the cat, he heard it after all.
He closed his eyes in the bright afternoon sun, smiled to himself, and lazily indulged in the moment's joy.
Goyle and Crabbe finished drawing the star chart and took the initiative to complete their homework on Defense Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic before they waited for Draco to arrive late.
Under the light of the library, his eyes sparkled, with an unconcealable smile on his face, and he walked in a light manner - as if he had drunk Merlin's Erguotou.
"Very good, Goyle, Crabbe," he glanced at the parchment spread out on the table with a caressing look and patted their shoulders. "Your horoscope is well drawn. Keep up the good work. I'll be leaving now."
Goyle and Crabbe stared at Draco's receding back with their mouths wide open.
"Where is his robe?" Goyle asked after a while.
"I don't know," Crabbe said blankly.
Goyle scratched his head. "Should we tell him that what he just saw was our Defense Against the Dark Arts homework, not the astrology chart..."
Crabbe's eyes rolled, and he actually used some of his thinking ability. "No, forget it. I don't want to draw it all over again."
Behind a bookshelf not far away, the white gauze curtain moved in the wind, waking Hermione up.
Half asleep and half awake, she looked at the small golden bottle in her hand in confusion, touched the Slytherin robes on her body, and suddenly smelled a faint watermelon fragrance.