Chapter 63: Iced Americano and Iced Latte
When Hermione walked into the living room, Draco was sitting on the sofa, engrossed in reading the book "Asian Anti-Drug Encyclopedia".
It was a wonderfully sunny day in mid-July. However, Draco had no intention of leaving the house. He crossed his long legs on the footstool, holding the book in his left hand while he gently rubbed his temple with his right index and middle fingers together, as if pondering some profound question.
She coughed softly.
Hearing the sound, he stopped rubbing his temple. He casually lowered the book and leaned it against his chest, a unique kind of elegance. Through the platinum hair hanging down on his forehead, he raised his gray eyes and glanced at her casually. "I thought I didn't have any classes today."
"Indeed not," said Hermione softly, smiling at him.
"By the way, how did you get in?" Draco reacted, raised his head, raised his eyebrows and looked at her carefully.
Today she wore a light purple T-shirt and a short white skirt. A pair of white socks wrapped around her ankles, blending seamlessly with her white Mary Janes. Without the obstruction of her wizard robes, the girl's slender, healthy legs were revealed, radiating a vibrant energy.
"Dobby let me in," said Hermione proudly.
"You're pretty familiar with him." Draco shook his head.
Hermione Granger, the eternal friend of the house-elves, easily blended in with creatures he couldn't understand. He gestured with his chin toward the empty seat next to him, his eyes fixed on her, and said, "Come and sit down."
Normally, if someone dared to speak to Hermione Granger in such an imperative way, she would probably be dissatisfied. But today, she just frowned, and before she could utter any words of resistance, her legs would obey her and obeyed her.
It seemed difficult for her to refuse him when his eyes were fixed on her.
She stepped forward under his gaze and landed lightly next to him, her smooth white legs just shy of his pants.
Draco's eyes moved around her legs, then he calmly returned his gaze to his book.
Hermione was unaware that she was resting her head on the back of the sofa, tilting it unconsciously and staring blankly at his face.
She was a little confused. Staring at his profile as he read attentively, she was thinking about her new headphones.
She took the leaking headphones to the audio store for repair. The store staff checked them and said they were fine and there was nothing wrong with them. She used them again at home for a while and the leaks never occurred again.
What was going on with the electric current that day?
Her doubtful eyes wandered over his radiant white face. His eyelashes were thick and tinged with a faint golden hue, as if they had been carefully painted by a Renaissance painter.
His jawline was clearly defined, and his nose was straight and well-shaped.
And the lips. Few boys have lips of such beautiful color and shape, but they are surprisingly harmonious on his face.
Hermione studied his appearance for a while and suddenly forgot what she was thinking about.
Draco was trying to keep his mind on the book, but the constant stare of her round, cat-like eyes and the gentle swaying of her legs beside him made it difficult for him to concentrate.
His reading posture did not change, but his eyes quietly moved down from the last line of the book to the empty Achilles tendon exposed by the cuff of her socks.
There was a muscle running straight down where the girl's calf met her ankle, becoming thinner towards her ankle. There was also a small groove on either side of her ankle.
He was stunned for a long time, and he didn't turn the page. He clenched his free hand and placed it on his lap.
He felt like he might be the strangest person in the world. He couldn't take his eyes off her dangling ankle. He was actually starting to think that Achilles tendon was beautiful.
At some point he wanted to hold it. The thought was worth a slap in the face or a moment of nausea and vomiting in his stomach.
At this moment, he felt her burning gaze, and he felt a little nervous.
He forced himself to look away. He didn't dare look at her again—he was afraid she would see through him.
"Would you like some tea?" He suddenly asked her after hurriedly turning a page of the book.
"Oh, actually, I wanted to try something different today. I heard there's a famous spring water coffee place in Bath." Hermione came back to her senses and said excitedly, "My mother has been recommending that I try it. I just wanted to ask if you're interested."
"Really?" he said casually, feeling relieved. She probably hadn't noticed what he was looking at. She seemed to be looking at him less directly. So he tried to focus his eyes again on the words in the book.
He read the first line three times, back and forth. He knew every word, but he couldn't understand them together.
It was just a simple fact about Chinese biting cabbage, why couldn't he continue reading it?
"I can't believe I'm saying this - Draco, stop looking and come with me to Bath. I've never met a boy more nerdy than me! Do you have any free time at all? Reading so many books every day and practicing Quidditch... don't you feel tired?" Hermione frowned, her tone hinting at will.
Quidditch?
During the summer vacation, Draco would often go to training at four or five in the morning when the weather was still cool, and continue until the sun rose and the temperature became hot.
During the day, Draco always liked to stay in the cool room and study, which was slightly different from his previous life when he was a bit lazy.
How could he afford to be idle now? The threat of the Dark Lord still existed, and even though the task had been handed over to Dumbledore, he still felt a sense of unease.
Did Dumbledore in his previous life discover the Horcruxes? Looking back at Harry's quest for the diadem, Dumbledore presumably did. So, when did Dumbledore discover this? What else did he miss? Why didn't he deal with the Horcruxes himself, instead leaving it to Harry?
Now, can Dumbledore alone really solve the problem of Horcruxes? Draco always couldn't help but worry.
Besides, not only did he have to attend Mr. Slughorn's Potions tutoring class and complete a large amount of summer homework, but he also had to privately research a cure for dragon pox.
All these things gave him a headache every day.
However, Hermione was right. He hadn't slept well the previous night and was a little tired today. Even when he was reading, he had no energy and couldn't concentrate. Moreover, he suddenly remembered what Mrs. Granger had said - Hermione "didn't make many friends" in Bath.
Draco relented and glanced back at her.
She was looking at him intently, with extreme seriousness, like a cat seeing dried fish for the first time.
"Oh, spring water coffee, huh?" He was helpless in the face of her longing look, so he could only sigh and put the book aside.
Besides, those beautiful legs and ankles... they really shouldn't be wasted indoors, but should be shown off more on the streets of Bath, Draco thought dazedly.
"Yeah!" Seeing that he was a little interested, her tone suddenly became lively, and her eyes were very bright. "Let's buy some special bread for Harry on the way. I heard that those Muggles are torturing him every day. They only give him a little food every day. He's almost starving to death..."
"Okay, let's buy it and go." He said, standing up first.
It feels nice to occasionally walk around the Muggle streets with her, play role-playing games, and pretend to be a Muggle.
It can help you clear your mind from the magical world and lock your anxiety into a small dark room.
Draco thought silently as he strolled leisurely with her along the cobblestone path by the river and crossed the ancient three-arch bridge.
At least, I could breathe some fresh air and my temples wouldn't hurt as much.
"Isn't this store nice?" Sitting at the window seat, she looked around and asked proudly.
"It's really good. The real-time classical music is quite nice." Draco said, looking at the coffee menu.
"Oh, that's Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier," Hermione said casually.
"You know this?" Draco asked in surprise.
"I learned Muggle piano when I was a kid. I only studied for a few years and could play a few songs, but I wasn't proficient in it," Hermione said regretfully, glancing at the white piano in the middle of the hall. "It can't be helped. Hogwarts is a boarding school, so I can't continue studying."
Draco fell silent, following her gaze and examining the piano. There was a similar instrument in the corner of the library at Malfoy Manor, but unfortunately no one could play it, and it was always covered with a dust cover to prevent it from gathering dust.
"Well, it's no big deal. Although I don't have much chance to play the piano, I can still listen." Hermione quickly recovered and regained her cheerful demeanor. "Let's order some coffee first. What do you want to drink? I'll treat you."
"Oh, an iced Americano, please." Draco closed the coffee menu and said calmly, "Espresso is also fine."
"God, isn't that the bitterest?" she said, frowning. "I've always wanted to ask you why you would drink something so bitter? Sometimes I see you drinking it at the breakfast table at Hogwarts. Don't you like sweet things?"
"How do you know?" He glanced at her strangely.
"Although you hid it very well. But one time I saw you eating chocolate cake," Hermione said proudly, "you were smiling secretly."
"Why do you notice such things?" he asked casually. "It's only very occasionally that I—"
"I just noticed. No reason," she said quickly.
"Across the dining table, the aisle, and a bunch of students? You can still notice these?" He raised his eyelids to look at her, and his mood suddenly became a little better.
"That's not the point!" She blushed slightly. "The point is, you like sweets!"
"Right," Draco admitted lazily, "you saw through me. Personally, I do have a sweet tooth."
"Then why do you like American coffee?" She looked confused.
"I think the best coffee has never been American or espresso," he said bluntly.
"Can you tell me what flavor of coffee you think is the best?" she asked curiously.
"Iced latte with whipped cream and chocolate sauce." He had a nostalgic look on his face. "I think it's the best."
"Okay. Then I'll order this and try it." She glanced at him with a slightly cunning look.
The waiters worked quickly and soon brought the coffee ordered by the boy and girl at the window.
"Try it," he said to her, suddenly looking forward to her reaction when she tasted her favorite coffee, "see if it suits your taste."
She studied it for a moment, then took a careful sip. Her eyes suddenly widened and shone. "This tastes really good. It's a joy to drink. Is this your favorite?"
"That's right." He said softly, taking a sip of iced American coffee. The bitter and refreshing taste immediately spread into his mouth.
"Then why do you always drink American coffee? The taste is completely different!" she asked in disbelief.
"Because it's bitter enough," he said softly, "it reminds me that the happiness in front of me is false, and bitterness is real."
Bitterness would remind him of who he was and what a difficult mission he was entrusted with. It would remind him that he had no right to indulge in the pleasures of the moment. Although he wanted to indulge, his will was growing weaker day by day.
"You're torturing yourself." She shook her head. "You're torturing yourself for no reason."
"I'm just trying to stay awake," Draco said, lowering his eyes, not daring to look at her again - the happiness on her face made people yearn for it, even indulge in it.
"Drink it!" Hermione pushed her iced latte in front of the boy and said arrogantly, "At least for today, give yourself a break and stop making yourself so miserable, okay?"
Before he could react, she took the iced Americano in front of him and said to herself, "You are not allowed to drink this today."
"Don't you always say that waste is shameful?" He tried to snatch back the cup of extremely bitter coffee, but he was afraid that the coffee would spill on her clothes, so he didn't dare to use all his strength.
"I'll drink it, okay?" Hermione leaned back and finished the iced Americano in one gulp. Her movements were somewhat bold, and she slammed the cup on the table with a clang. She began to complain with a frown, "Oh my God, you self-torturing boy, drinking this stuff every day! I'm going to be miserable!"
Dracula stared at her in amazement, not knowing how to react.
He had already taken a sip of the coffee; she drank it without a second thought?
"I'm full!" Hermione said, looking like a spoiled brat. "Don't waste it. You have to drink that iced latte!"
Draco looked at her and was suddenly stunned.
What was Hermione doing? Why was she doing this to him? Her tone was overbearing and rude. Who else would dare to order him like that? But he always thought she was cute.
He picked up the cup obediently and tasted his favorite coffee flavor from his previous life for the first time in this life.
Delicious. Very delicious. Even better than I remembered.
Very sweet. Especially sweet. Just as sweet as she is in my memory.
"Hermione, have you been planning this for a long time? Did you plan this when you ordered it?" He sipped the cup of coffee that made his heart sweet, and couldn't help smiling at her.
It was the kind of smile that made his brows relax and his eyes shine. It was his first smile of the day.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Hermione looked at his smile with satisfaction, pretending to be indifferent, turned her head to appreciate the Bach Well-Tempered Clavier Variations, and a smile secretly appeared at the corner of her mouth.
Draco was frowning all day, something must be bothering him. He needed to drink something that would make him happy, not something bitter like that, she thought quietly.
It turned out that she was right. His mood really improved, didn't it?
Draco found that the first time he was dragged by Hermione to wander the streets of Bath, there was a second time, and then countless times. He was increasingly unable to be alone and to peacefully focus on the books one by one.
Hermione, she always went the extra mile and dressed up cutely to play with him, which was completely different from the dull attire she wore at Hogwarts.
Her energy was irresistible to him, and she would always find him some bizarre, occasionally interesting, Muggle-sounding places to visit, to do some of the boring things that pretended to be Muggle tourists.
Sometimes it was a band playing on a summer night, and she would listen to the Muggles singing on the quiet lawn. "See, it's not as chaotic as you thought, is it?" she said to him proudly.
Sometimes they'd explore a chocolate shop in a small alley and ask him to try all the delicious chocolates for her. "Please, I have to pick the best!" she said sincerely.
Sometimes they would visit the homes of deceased Muggle female writers, and she would drag him around the air-conditioned museums. "Well, just walk around with me for a while, and then I'll take you to have afternoon tea, okay?" she said reluctantly, "I really like this writer."
What could she do? She couldn't just leave her alone, could she? A little witch, wandering alone on the horrible streets of the Muggle world!
He had no idea what to do with her. This know-it-all who could easily win the affections of the unconquerable house-elves, yet always claimed she had made no other friends in Bath!
There were times when Draco was lazy, and occasionally, when he was stubborn and didn't want to go out, she would stay with him.
She would come with more "tapes" for him to listen to.
He used her Muggle Walkman and headphones to listen to music that calmed him - Debussy's "Clair de Lune" or Schubert's "Serenade" - and lay on his back on the grass in the garden, lazily flipping through the latest issue of "Daily Prophet", "Transfiguration Today" or "Practical Potions Master"; Hermione lay beside him, her legs dangling leisurely, reciting the content of History of Magic for the next school year in a low voice, or reading the content of "Intermediate Transfiguration".
Sometimes his eyes would drift to her ankles, the way her swaying legs swayed, the way her shapely arms rested on the grass, or the deft fingers that supported her chin.
Sometimes, he didn't play any music at all, and eavesdropped on her reciting seriously. The sound of her recitation was like clear flowing spring water, or some kind of fountain in the courtyard, evenly spraying it into his ears, a little more pleasant than music.
"Did I disturb you?" Occasionally, when she noticed his gaze lingering on her for a long time, she would tilt her head and ask him with a slightly flushed face.
"What are you talking about?" He took off one of his headphones and pretended to be puzzled towards those bright eyes. "I can't hear anything."
So Hermione was content and continued to diligently lower her head to recite her knowledge points, allowing the cunning boy to continue reading his newspaper or something else that interested him.
July, with Hermione Granger by her side, was dazzling and delightful. In the blink of an eye, it was already the end of the month, and the brewing of the Felix Felicis potion was also drawing to a close.
Draco and Hermione have learned how to filter the medicinal residue with a filter cloth woven from unicorn hair, and how to add the potion that has been filtered three times to a pot preheated to 100 degrees at a special angle and position. "This technique is a bit like the ancient Chinese tea-making process," Hermione commented.
Slughorn agreed. "The East has its own way of magic, and these kinds of operations are essentially similar in nature," he said.
Hermione nodded thoughtfully.
As her eyes moved, they slid onto Draco, and she was involuntarily distracted.
Under Slughorn's guidance, he was carefully adding a drop of unicorn blood to the steaming potion.
She was puzzled by the fact that she occasionally lost her mind. For about three or five seconds, her mind was filled with his unconcerned profile, his serious gray eyes, and the strand of platinum hair that fell between his eyebrows.
However, she didn't have time to dwell on it. They needed to quickly stir the potion into a golden color.
Then they watched with great interest as Slughorn demonstrated how to pour the entire potion from the cauldron into the beaker without wasting any ingredients.
"You must maintain a uniform, continuous, and slow pouring method, just like pouring honey... At the same time, you must keep heating it with fire to ensure the warmth of the crucible and avoid any potion residue in the crucible." He explained and demonstrated.
Such delicate manipulation drew the two apprentices' admiration. Slughorn was quite proud of it. His chubby little hands deftly lowered a unicorn horn into the golden potion. The horn slowly sank and floated in the liquid, tiny bubbles forming from the horn.
"Very good! Next, you need to keep it away from light for six months until bubbles appear on the surface of the potion. Only then will it be considered successful." His smile was calm. "This is the most crucial point. Many potion beginners will overlook this point, thinking that they have passed the test after brewing these ingredients. But in fact, this potion is very delicate. Accidental exposure to sunlight or a sudden bump can ruin the potion."
He saw his female apprentice nod silently, then took out her notebook and began to record. Her intelligence, dexterity, and diligence were impressive.
He smacked his lips in satisfaction and fell back into his memories. "I know a Japanese pharmacist who's very talented! Unfortunately, he's never been able to make it successfully."
"Because of the bumps?" Draco seemed to guess something.
Slughorn nodded sadly. "He lives in an earthquake zone."
Early the next afternoon, Draco went to his grandfather's garden to have tea with him and polish a paper he had already written on the burning of witches by Muggles in the fourteenth century - he suddenly had a new insight today.
"I heard that you have been getting close to a Muggle-born girl recently." Abraxas took a sip of black tea and looked at his grandson Draco calmly.
Draco paused with his pen. Without looking up, he said casually, "Mr. Slughorn said that?"
"Slughorn thinks highly of that girl," Abraxas snorted, his voice sour. "That old man who steals other people's children everywhere! Ever since you met him, you rarely come to see me, your grandfather."
"Grandfather, of course I care more about you. What I value is his potion technology. If I learn it, won't it belong to our Malfoy family?" Draco said lazily, and the speed at which his men revised the paper did not slow down at all.
"That's true." Abraxas was convinced. He cleared his throat and said with a high opinion of himself, "Listen, I don't care what kind of wizard you befriend. Even if they are from a wizarding family, who can compare to the Malfoy family? Anyone with talent is worth winning over. However, your father is a die-hard pure-blood lover. This concern for bloodline may even affect his judgment. He will definitely not be happy."
"Thank you for the reminder, Grandfather." Draco finally finished writing the last word. He stood up, smiled at Abraxas, and filled his tea. "I have to go now. There's a very important potion that's coming up at a critical moment today..."
"Go away," Abraxas waved his hand at him in disdain, then laughed, "Leave me some peace and quiet." He put on a pair of gilded round-framed glasses and turned his gaze back to the newly arrived Daily Prophet, concentrating on the large photo on the first page. A short, fat, bald man with a haggard face and shifty eyes caught his attention.
He quickly glanced at the headlines and articles on the front page, his face changed drastically, and he couldn't help but let out a quick exclamation.
"Merlin's beard!" he called to the boy who had just reached the door. "Son, you have to come back and look at this!"
The Daily Prophet's bold headline read:
Peter Pettigrew Escapes from Azkaban
The Ministry of Magic confirmed today that Peter Pettigrew recently escaped from Azkaban prison, with no indication of any assistance. Although the Azkaban authorities have stated that no abnormalities have been discovered, some members of the International Confederation of Wizards have begun questioning Azkaban's security system, believing it may contain serious loopholes.
Draco frowned as he looked at the huge photo in the newspaper and the man in the photo, and couldn't help but sigh that the cycle of history was so magical and fatalistic.
In his previous life, Sirius Black had also escaped from Azkaban around the same time. Since he had long since been vindicated, Draco had thought things would be a little calmer at Hogwarts this year.
"Draco," Abraxas said, his forehead weaving deep lines, "I think you need to return to Malfoy Manor as soon as possible."
Draco understood. Malfoy Manor was clearly better protected than the spa. He had been one of the men who had captured Peter Pettigrew, and there was a good chance he would face his own revenge.
Although he personally believed that the cowardly mouse simply did not have the courage.
Abraxas pondered for a moment, then suddenly stood up, holding onto the table. He said seriously, "Lucius and Narcissa are still traveling in Peru. I don't know when they will hear the news. I will go back with you first."
The old, lazy, and leisurely grandfather suddenly disappeared. He straightened his back and showed his authority. "I will give you an hour to pack your luggage and say goodbye to your friends. We will leave in one hour."
Draco rushed back to his room, opened a black leather suitcase in the corner, tapped it with his wand, and the objects in the room flew into the suitcase in a line.
He grabbed another piece of parchment, scribbled a few lines on it, and called Joan, who was dozing in the garden, to give it to Hermione immediately.
Finally, he ran to Slughorn's room again and knocked on his door urgently.
"Sir," he gasped, "I'm very sorry, I have to leave with my grandfather temporarily and can't continue to study potions with you. Thank you very much for your guidance and help during this holiday..."
Slughorn showed no surprise—he, too, was holding a newly arrived copy of the Daily Prophet.
"Of course, I completely understand. It's my fortune to be able to teach a talented student like you. It's just a pity that I haven't fully taught you the wolfsbane potion." He said regretfully.
After hesitating for a few seconds, he walked eagerly towards Draco and, as if determined, lowered his voice and said to him, "I believe you are indeed in great danger. One of my students, you know, Barnabas Cuffe of the Daily Prophet, who is the editor responsible for this report. He wrote to tell me that Peter Pettigrew has been talking in his sleep in Azkaban, and he keeps repeating the same sentence, 'He is at Hogwarts... He is at Hogwarts'. I have reason to believe that he may take revenge on you."
Draco looked up into Slughorn's watery pale green eyes, which were filled with earnest concern.
He's at Hogwarts? What did that mean, Draco, or Harry, or someone else? Draco frowned.
"Tell your grandfather about this. I think it's necessary to take precautions in advance." Slughorn continued to nag, and he sat down on the sofa without even noticing that it was the hard wooden sofa that he hated the most.
"Thank you for the tip," Draco said eagerly, "but since I have to leave soon and the situation is urgent, I have a request."
"If I can be of any assistance, please tell me," said Slughorn, already thinking of some of his well-informed students who might be able to help Draco with this matter.
"I don't know if this will offend you. If possible, I would like you to copy a picture of Lily Evans for me." Draco said bluntly.
This made Slughorn stunned for a moment. He had never expected to hear such an irrelevant request at such an urgent moment.
For a moment, his nose felt a little sore. He supported himself on the hard armrest of the sofa, slowly stood up, walked to the desk, and took out an exquisitely framed gold photo frame from the back of the pile of photos.
"How about this?" he asked softly, showing it to Draco.
Draco walked closer to take a look. He saw that it was a wedding photo of Lily Evans and James Potter. They were smiling brightly and happily, full of infinite expectations for the future, and completely unaware of the dangers of their fate.
"Lily sent me this after she got married. She said it was the best photo she'd ever taken." Slughorn ran his chubby fingers over the photo for the last time. Finally, he reluctantly pulled it out of the frame and handed it to Draco.
"That's very kind of you," Draco said gratefully to Slughorn. He carefully placed the photo in his inside pocket and gave Slughorn a grateful smile.
"I know who you're giving it to," Slughorn said suddenly. He turned his back on Draco and seemed to be wiping his eyes. "Give him my regards, please."
"No problem. Thank you." Draco thought, why is this old man still sentimental?
You will meet him one day, at Hogwarts. He smiled slightly, said goodbye to Slughorn again, turned around and prepared to open the door to leave.
"Draco. I... I thought you were just ordinary friends... But now, under this situation, you made this request... I finally became convinced that you must be Harry Potter's best friend." Slughorn's trembling voice successfully made Draco pause.
Slughorn, who seemed to have some genuine feelings for Harry's mother, rather than simply exploiting her talents, seemed to be very fond of Lily Evans.
Just like now, he was genuinely worried about Draco and even told him the secret.
Draco was overwhelmed with emotion, but he didn't look back. He said "thank you" again and walked out hesitantly.
By the time he crossed the corridor and opened the door to his room, his luggage was packed. Draco looked around, briefly reflecting on the wonderful time he had spent here over the past month - most of which was related to Hermione.
They used to chat leisurely in the living room, drink tea in the garden in the afternoon, eat a full stomach of tea and snacks in the dining room, and then spread their books on the table to study their Hogwarts homework...
He began to understand her childhood. She had grown up in a bright world of picture books, kind parents, a grassy backyard, and smiling faces. However, a slow steam train brought her from the rapidly evolving Muggle world to Hogwarts. In this strange new environment, she desperately sought knowledge, and habitually used the Muggle world's standards to measure the conservative magical world, perceiving it as more prosperous, civilized, and inclusive. This perhaps explained her naive desire to change the injustices of her life.
And she began to explore his past. He had grown up in a wondrous world of vast spellbooks, doting parents, a luxurious mansion, and flying broomsticks. From his grandfather to those distant relatives he rarely saw, from the house-elves wearing tea towels with the Malfoy crest to the powerful in flannel, everyone loved him, catered to him, and doted on him. He undoubtedly had a deep understanding of magic, but no one had ever taught him what empathy was; nor had anyone taught him that showing affection, interest, and kindness was not a sign of weakness. Perhaps this had fostered his arrogance and ignorance.
They began to exchange ideas. He always enjoyed refreshing her understanding of the wizarding world, just as she was happy to tell him about the headphones, high-speed trains, spacecraft, and nuclear bombs that Muggles were researching.
They had something in common. They both believed in knowledge and worshipped wisdom. The softness and fragility of the vulnerable caused her intense pain; while he couldn't guarantee that he could fully empathize with her, after all, his weathered soul was tired of hurt, torture, and death.
They stayed up late together to make potions, debated over the latest articles in "Today's Transfiguration" or "Practical Potions Master", and fell asleep on the table together because of academic fatigue.
One day, they finally finished all their homework. So, they lay on the grass in the garden, each with a pair of headphones, and listened to all the songs on a tape. He admitted that the songs were all great, but none of them were as memorable as the first time he heard "Reality."
That night, she finally got what she wanted and came into close contact with the fairies in the rose bushes in his garden. She looked at them with a childish smile, and her eyes were like two crystal gems, sparkling with surprise.
The vivid memories made him smile, and even Peter Pettigrew's escape seemed less important. He exhaled and prepared to pull his luggage to find his grandfather. At this moment, a gust of wind suddenly rushed in from the door, and a mess of brown hair flew into his arms.
"Draco!" Hermione's muffled voice came from under his chin.
He curled his lips and embraced this unexpected surprise: "Why are you here?"
She carried the warmth of the outdoor sun and a fresh, refreshing scent, which made him feel warm inside for the first time today.
"I was worried about you." Hermione whimpered like an animal and hugged him tighter.
An involuntary anxiety grew in her heart. His sudden departure had caught her off guard. It left her feeling empty. She felt a little reluctant, but she knew he had to go.
"Okay, okay... I'm fine." Draco stroked her furry head contentedly and comforted her, "Don't worry, I'm not afraid of Peter Pettigrew. If he comes looking for me, I will definitely catch him a second time. It's just that my grandfather is more fussy."
She seemed to be convinced by his calm tone, and she finally let go of her hand and looked up at him.
Only then did Draco notice the mist in her eyes. He took out his handkerchief and wiped her tears while teasing her, "I have reason to suspect you're coveting my handkerchief. This is the third time."
Hermione sniffled and laughed through her tears. "No, I didn't mean to cry," she managed.
"I know those handkerchiefs came with you of their own accord," Draco said seriously, pressing the light grey silk handkerchief into her hand. "Obviously, you like it more."
Hermione clutched the handkerchief, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, and could only wipe her eyes for a while. When she recovered, her brown eyes looked at him seriously again, "I will help you, I...we will all protect you."
"Okay." He gazed happily into those anxious chocolate eyes. "I believe in you. One day, you will become a great witch and protect me.