The next day, as sunlight streamed into the Black Lake and dappled through the windows of his dormitory, Hermione finally woke up from her dream.
As her consciousness gradually returned, she felt the soft, warm bed, the dim, gentle light, and the faint, refreshing scent of watermelon surrounding her...
Hermione sniffed the pillow contentedly, not wanting to open her eyes, and planned to stay in bed for five more minutes before going back to her studies.
She seemed still lost in a dream. She was practising flying, and the boy in front of her had platinum blonde hair…
As she savoured the lingering effects of her dream, she gradually came to her senses.
She stared blankly at the dark green flannel silk curtains above her head, wondering why they were not the usual deep red.
Looking down at the silver-embroidered bed sheet beneath her, she felt even more bewildered.
Where am I?
Suddenly, she remembered everything.
Oh no! I am still in Draco's dormitory!
Where is he?
She jumped off the springy four-poster bed, glanced around the room in alarm, and spotted him on the long armchair by the fireplace. She tiptoed over to see the boy curled up on it.
He was covered with a Slytherin green blanket, and his platinum blonde hair, no longer shiny and smooth as before, was fluffy and messy, sticking to his face and eyebrows, making him look dazed and cute.
"That is wonderful," she could not help but smile.
He was not some Slytherin heir, just a clever boy with an exceptionally sharp mind and a slight fondness for Dark magic.
Overnight, the thorny vines that had bound her for a month finally withered and fell off her heart in pieces.
It was as if a balloon was floating in her chest, light and swaying, filled with joyful gas.
Hermione crouched down silently in front of him and sized up the boy for a while.
She rarely had the chance to see him so unguarded.
He was not aloof at the moment; he looked quite obedient.
Is he not cute?
Hermione's eyes lit up. As if bewitched, she suddenly poked his smooth face with her index finger.
It is soft.
And there were his slightly furrowed brows. A faint smile played on her lips as she reached out and smoothed his brow with her fingers.
That is more like it—he looks better when he is not frowning, Hermione thought.
Next was the corner of the mouth.
His lips drooped slightly, as if something in his dream had upset him.
When she tried to touch the corner of his mouth and flick it upwards, her wrist was suddenly grabbed.
"Stop messing around," he mumbled incoherently, his eyes still closed.
He moved his head, and the dim light shone on his face, finally revealing the faint shadows under his eyelids.
Hermione suddenly realised something—he did not seem to have slept well last night.
After all, she had taken over his bed, and he had to spend the night on the sofa.
She did not even know what time he got back to the dormitory or what time he went to sleep; perhaps he had just fallen asleep.
Right now, the boy in front of her was struggling to move his eyelids, trying to open his eyes.
"Who?" He asked warily, his brows furrowing again, as if he was uncomfortable with someone touching him so casually.
"It is me, Hermione," she said, feeling that he was gripping her a little tighter.
"Oh, you are awake." Draco propped himself up on the sofa, opened his sleepy eyes, and mumbled softly, "I tried to wake you earlier, but you were sleeping soundly."
"I am sorry—" Hermione sat down next to him, her wrist still being held by him.
Although it was not as tight any more, he was still holding it.
At this moment, she did not have time to think about her wrist; instead, she was busy explaining, "Sorry, your bed was too comfortable."
A faint pink blush rose to her cheeks. This inexplicably reminded Draco of the pink roses that bloomed on his estate, the same rose as Hermione's.
"It is all right," Draco said lazily.
Only then did he realise that he was still holding her wrist.
A wrist that was white, thin, and flawless, so delicate that it would break if pinched.
He pulled her to sit on the sofa, then let go of her, feeling somewhat awkward.
Draco instinctively tucked the hair that was obscuring his vision behind his ear, only then realising that his usually meticulously styled hair was now a mess. "Oh no!" he exclaimed.
"What is wrong?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
"My hair is so messy and unkempt—" Draco blushed and covered his hair. "—I need to fix it."
"I think your hair looks great without hair gel. Using hair gel at such a young age increases your chances of going bald in middle age!" Hermione said seriously.
"It cannot be that exaggerated, can it?" Draco asked, his tone full of doubt.
Baldness—I cannot even imagine it!
He cherished his hair the most, and would not allow anyone to touch it; he could not even imagine the possibility of "going bald".
Hermione glanced at the platinum gold hair between his fingers, a bright smile spreading across her face. "That is what my dad said. You could consider a different style; your current hairstyle looks quite nice."
Does she find me so likeable? This question filled Draco with a strange sense of pleasure.
"All right, I will consider it," he said in a pretentious tone.
He was not against changing his hairstyle, if she liked it.
"Very good," Hermione said with satisfaction, completely ignoring his awkward tone.
After a series of conversations yesterday, she gradually worked out a trick to getting along with Draco: you needed to ignore his sarcastic remarks and pay attention to the thoughts hidden beneath them.
He never expressed his feelings directly; instead, he took many roundabout ways to convey his care or approval for you.
What an awkward boy! Judging from his uneasy yet thoughtful expression, he has clearly taken it all in! She keenly noticed this.
However, Hermione did not have a chance to be smug for long.
On the desk not far away, the silver-plated, gold-plated, openwork amethyst gemstone musical clock suddenly chimed with birdsong—through the purple enamel dial, she could clearly see that it was now exactly seven o'clock.
Hermione panicked at the time pressure and anxiously asked him, "How do we get out now? Is there still enough time?"
"Relax. It is Christmas, nobody is up early. Oh, and by the way, Merry Christmas," Draco said calmly, glancing at the huge pile of presents at the foot of his bed.
"Merry Christmas!" Hermione flashed a bright smile.
He was the first person to wish her a Merry Christmas. For some reason, this small gesture made her feel a little happy.
"Your Christmas present," Draco stood up, pulled a small, dark green box from a drawer in his desk, and handed it to Hermione. "I think since you are already here, there is no need to send an owl to deliver it."
Hermione opened the box and found an exquisite sterling silver engraved hand mirror on a black velvet base inside, with intricate Rococo-style scroll and wave patterns carved on the back.
"It is quite old, made in nineteenth-century France. Witches seem to want to carry a mirror with them everywhere," Draco said with a smile. "My mother was like that."
"I will use it well." Hermione admitted that the pattern on the mirror was quite pleasing.
She had always liked things that were old, and—
Draco watched her tuck the mirror into the inside pocket of her robes and agreed, "That is right, always carry it with you. Now that we generally agree that the monster in the Chamber of Secrets is a Basilisk and can roam freely through Hogwarts' ubiquitous pipes, you had better check yourself in the mirror if you ever turn a corner in the corridor."
Hermione's cheerful smile and her preconceived notions about the mirror vanished instantly, replaced by a look of surprise and fear.
Ah, that is what he meant by giving me the mirror.
He made a great deal of sense.
However, these words turned the joyful gift-unwrapping session into a brutal bombardment of realism.
The shadow of the Chamber of Secrets loomed over her once more. Yes, there was still a Slytherin heir roaming freely somewhere in Hogwarts, and she had no idea who it was.
The only saving grace was that it was not him.
The boy in front of her did not stop talking because of her disappointment. His pale red lips continued to utter jarring remarks. "If you have to encounter a Basilisk, I hope you are at least Petrified, not killed."
If she were to be Petrified again—I could still save her. Draco buried this worry deep in his heart, trying to look at her with an indifferent expression.
"Draco!" Hermione said angrily, "Do you really want me to be Petrified?"
How could he be so annoying! Why does he have to bring up something so sensitive? Now he has completely ruined the Christmas atmosphere.
"Do not be angry, I was just joking." Draco raised his hands in surrender, smiling at her with one corner of his mouth turned up.
"This is not funny at all!" Hermione puffed out her cheeks like a guinea pig.
She is somewhat cute, he thought, staring at her with interest.
"It is really not fun. To be honest, I am quite worried about you. You have to be careful." Cute as she was, Draco still said to her with concern, "If that Basilisk really does wander around the pipes as you guess, then danger is everywhere."
"I know! But statistically speaking, the probability of a Hogwarts student encountering a Basilisk is equal! It has absolutely nothing to do with bloodline! I always try to explain this to people, but nobody listens! Do wizards not learn arithmetic?" Hermione said indignantly.
"Arithmancy is considered advanced study and is not part of the second-year curriculum," Draco advised her. "You cannot expect everyone to be like you."
It was also unrealistic to expect all parents to be like Mrs Granger, pushing their children to excel.
"So, have you studied it? Do you know addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division? Do you know what probability is?" She looked at him as if he were an idiot.
"Of course, do you think I have been just grinning like an idiot all my life?" Draco said, both annoyed and resentful.
"Very well. Then you should understand what I am saying." Hermione said smugly, "Normally, all students should have an equal probability of encountering the Basilisk. It is just that the sample size is too small, and those who happen to be Muggle-born students are the ones who get hit, which is why rumours like 'cleansing the Muggle bloodline' have spread. Unless the Basilisk can sense the difference in bloodline, it is all nonsense, is it not?"
"You are right, statistically speaking," Draco said. "There is no evidence that the Basilisk has the ability to distinguish wizarding bloodlines. However, I do not believe in 'just a coincidence.' It must have been the heir who made the selection."
"You mean, the heir needs to know who the Muggle-born wizards are, right?" Hermione thought of a possibility. "Then the heir must be familiar with the victims! Only by being familiar with them can they work out if they are Muggle-born!"
"Oh, Hermione." Draco paused, "You are right. That is right. Blaise said before that we should start with Filch's enemies. The underlying logic is similar; we need to know them, even be familiar with them, and perhaps even have a grudge against them."
"Then let us examine the logic! Mrs Norris, Colin Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Nearly Headless Nick…" Hermione said with great interest, sitting next to Draco deep in thought. "Justin Finch-Fletchley of Hufflepuff is going around saying that he was supposed to go to Eton and that he is a Muggle-born wizard. It is practically an open secret."
"Then let us not consider him. Let us think about Nick, Nearly Headless Nick. Do you think he was caught in the crossfire or was he targeted?" Draco said. "To be honest, the people who know him best are probably the Gryffindor students, right?"
"Let us just say he was caught in the crossfire for now. He is already a ghost! And he has always been kind to people, he does not have any enemies." Hermione glared at him, displeased by the bias in his words. "Do not forget Colin Creevey, he is a Gryffindor."
Stop trying to find suspects in Gryffindor. There are plenty of victims in Gryffindor! Hermione thought indignantly.
"Not many people in Slytherin know he is Muggle-born. They only know he is always hanging around Potter. I reckon it is similar in the other houses," Draco said casually. "Does he have any enemies?"
He did not dare call Colin Creevey by his full name. In his past life, Draco had seen his lifeless face directly in the ruins of the castle. The thought of this child weighed heavily on Draco's heart.
"Never heard of him," Hermione said wistfully. "His greatest hobby is indeed revolving around Harry. Apart from Harry being unhappy about it, no one says anything. Almost every Gryffindor student knows that he is Muggle-born, because when he is pestering Harry in the common room, he always boasts that he is the son of a Muggle milkman. No way—could he really be a Gryffindor student?"
Panic flickered in her eyes. She was terrified by this possibility.
Draco, noticing her unusual mood, immediately changed the subject. "Do not jump to conclusions. There is also Mrs Norris, Mr Filch's beloved pet. How many people in Gryffindor know that Mr Filch is a Squib?"
"None of the three of us knew, and many Gryffindor students did not know either. When Harry saw the Kwikspell correspondence course in his office, he had no idea what it was." Hermione sighed with relief as she spoke. "We only found out about it when Mrs Norris got into trouble and he yelled at Harry."
"But was Harry the only one who went to his office?" Draco reminded her. "There must have been others who went and found out. Perhaps we should find out who else was put in detention during that time. Not just Gryffindor, but the other houses as well."
"Yes, let us do it that way." Hermione said with a serious face, agreeing with his idea. "Besides that, I will also find out if Colin has ever argued with anyone or anything."
"Of course you will," Draco said in a low voice.