It was a pleasant night, at least that is what Draco thought.
Today, he felt a great weight lifted from his shoulders. Sirius Black was no longer a threat, but a potentially helpful ally. His investment in the Weasley twins' joke shop had opened successfully, and the financial prospects looked promising. Not to mention, with the two Horcruxes destroyed in succession not long ago, his plan to sabotage the Dark Lord was proceeding smoothly and methodically.
He glanced at the front of the Great Hall and saw that the ghosts of Hogwarts were performing the grand finale.
He did not watch Nearly Headless Nick reenact his near-beheading experience; he just kept staring at the Gryffindor table, which was filled with laughter and chatter.
Hermione said something to Harry and Ron, then smiled at him across the crowd.
He felt that everything was moving in a positive direction.
However, fate always loves to play tricks on us.
When Draco returned to the Slytherin common room, greeted a few burping students, and prepared to go back to his dormitory for a good night's sleep, he was told by a prefect that they should all return to the Great Hall.
"Hurry up! Draco..." Blaise yelled at him, roughly pulling the yawning Pansy out of the common room. "I heard someone broke into the castle!"
This gave him a sense of foreboding.
Draco followed Blaise and Pansy into the Great Hall with the Slytherin procession. The long tables that had just been used for the feast were now neatly arranged against the wall. Hundreds of soft, purple sleeping bags lay on the floor, waiting for the students.
Students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw also arrived, and they were discussing events with the Gryffindor students.
"The portrait of the Fat Lady has been slashed..." Colin Creevey, the Gryffindor boy who never put down his camera, shouted from the centre of the crowd, his face alight with excitement. "I just took a picture of her."
"Colin, that is not funny at all! You know, it is because someone tried to force their way into Gryffindor's common room!" Ron's sister, Ginny Weasley, retorted.
"Who?" Susan Bones, a round-faced girl from Hufflepuff, asked from the edge of the crowd.
"Oh, Susan, it was Peter Pettigrew. The Fat Lady said so herself!" Neville Longbottom, standing beside her, said in a frightened tone, patting his pockets and then suddenly asking in a panic, "Has anyone seen my wand?"
"Oh, Neville, did you leave it in the common room again..." said Seamus Finnigan with sympathy.
"This is outrageous!" Draco could not help but exclaim.
"Yes, how did he do that?" Goyle's face was filled with horror. Crabbe next to him was also ashen-faced, clutching his nut brittle, unable to speak.
Draco paused, then turned and left the crowd, not continuing the conversation.
What he really wanted to say was: why did the portrait of the Fat Lady still have to be slashed, even though things had changed so much?
The hand of fate is stirring things up. It is trying to make certain things happen according to a predetermined path.
Draco's alarm bells rang again. Perhaps the recent days had been too comfortable, and he had lost the vigilance he had possessed at the beginning of his rebirth.
How could he think that the world had been completely changed?
Admittedly, he had changed many things, but fate seemed to still be operating according to some kind of inertia.
The escape from Azkaban, the slashing of the portrait of the Fat Lady... all of these had their echoes in a past life.
Are the changes brought about by his interference meaningless?
Are there some predetermined things that will not be disturbed by his meddling?
This hypothesis horrified him, and he dared not delve into it further.
The candles had gone out. The only flickering light was the starlight on the ceiling. Next to him, Crabbe was snoring loudly, and the nut brittle in his hand clattered to the floor with a loud crash, enough to keep anyone awake. Goyle was grinding his teeth unconsciously. Further away, Blaise and Pansy seemed to be whispering.
The Great Hall, in every sense, was not a good place to sleep.
Draco frowned, quietly dragged his sleeping bag away from the group of people making a commotion, and walked in the dark towards the wall in the distance.
"Who is it?" As he approached the wall, he heard a familiar girl's voice asking, with a hint of nervousness in it.
"It is me," he said softly.
"Draco, over here." The tension in her voice disappeared, replaced by cheerfulness.
By the faint light emanating from a nearby silver ghost that had died in the Victorian era, Draco saw the shadow of Hermione's arm waving at him.
He felt a sense of relief and approached her. He placed the sleeping bag on a small patch of open ground beside her and crawled inside, fully clothed.
It is very quiet here. Most of the students are gathered in the centre of the Great Hall; few would want to sleep near the walls.
"You... how did you end up lying here all by yourself?" Draco turned his head, only able to make out her vague outline in the darkness.
"I wanted some peace and quiet, but I cannot sleep," she whispered, looking up at the starry sky on the ceiling.
The events of today were too complicated and too sudden, leaving her with mixed feelings and a vague sense of unease.
"I understand. I am a little unsettled too." He could not see her clearly, but he accidentally touched a strand of her hair that had escaped from her sleeping bag and lay on the floor.
Curly hair. A little tough, a little smooth. He gently stroked it, reluctant to let go.
Unaware that her hair was now in the boy's hands, she said with lingering fear, "What a close call today. Who knows when Peter Pettigrew entered the castle? Perhaps he was lying in ambush all day, or even near Harry's bedroom. We were in the common room, thankfully they were busy eating the sweets you gave them and did not go back to their dormitories! Thankfully, no one got hurt..."
"...except for the Fat Lady," Draco said, deep in thought.
"Oh, that is right. Except for the Fat Lady," she said softly.
Draco remained silent for a moment, pondering the Fat Lady's predetermined fate of suffering a terrible misfortune.
"Draco, I do not think I have thanked you properly for everything you did today. You came with me to Hogsmeade and showed me all that... I knew nothing about it before, unlike you who know it so well..." she broke the silence, speaking hesitantly.
Draco's thoughts were temporarily interrupted by her whisper. He smiled in the darkness. "I would be happy to keep you company any time."
Hermione smiled in the darkness as well.
After a whole day of noise and bustle in Hogsmeade, they seemed to have had no time to speak quietly, making the current tranquillity all the more touching.
"Oh, I should also thank you for letting me go first at the door," she said quietly.
"What else would I do?" Draco said, amused. "Leave you waiting at the door?"
"You could have ignored me. Just like they do..." she said lazily.
"I cannot just ignore you," he said gently.
"Oh, I see," Hermione said, feeling a little pleased.
When she could no longer see his face and only hear his gentle voice, her wariness lessened considerably.
Her "heart palpitations" were finally brought under control to a relatively stable level, unlike the relentless onslaught she had experienced during the day.
"Draco, are you afraid? I mean, of Peter Pettigrew?" she said, trying to turn her head to face him.
"No." Draco stared blankly at a twinkling star on the ceiling.
"He is dangerous, is he not?" Her voice held a worried tone.
"He is a coward." He tried to soothe the worry in her voice.
"Will he break in again?" This question made her uneasy.
"No, it will not happen," he reassured her.
"I really do not know how he got in, or how he escaped." She was puzzled. "Are Dementors completely useless...?"
"It seems so," Draco said.
The barrier formed by the Dementors was useless against an Animagus.
"And Dementors..." Hermione said softly, recalling the rotting, dark creature she had encountered during the day. "They were terrifying..."
"Do not be afraid... they are far away from you..." His voice was slow and gentle, as if he were afraid of startling the shy stars in the sky.
Hermione yawned.
She was puzzled to find that she seemed to have entered a sleepy haze; she had been tense and wide awake before.
Why is it that I am no longer feeling uneasy?
"Draco, are you not sleepy..." she asked him, her voice tinged with weariness.
"Not yet?" His voice was as calm as sparkling water, soothing her ears.
She sleepily reached out and found his hand, gently taking it in hers.
When her mind was exhausted and confused, she followed her instincts and her heart, instead of deliberately avoiding them as before.
Warm and soft hands. Draco let her hold them, thinking to himself.
"See, that is much better." She murmured contentedly. "When I was little, if I could not sleep or was feeling down, my mum would always hold my hand like this and stroke my hair."
Draco chuckled.
He turned to the side, leaning closer to her, and gently stroked her hair with his free hand, as if petting a small animal.
He did not know if this method could treat insomnia or low spirits.
But at least he was no longer in such a bad mood himself. Perhaps that was still somewhat helpful.
"Sleep now," he whispered to her, continuing to stroke her hair.
Hermione tried to say something more, that she actually wanted to persuade him to go to sleep, but she only managed a few soft murmurs.
The exhausted girl held the boy's hand tightly, her breathing gradually calming as she drifted into a peaceful dream.