Chapter: 133 A Shameless Scoundrel
Hermione Granger was conflicted.
She knew that Draco's unpleasant "giantism" was supported by a vast body of evidence, but she still couldn't bring herself to smile at him.
She felt particularly annoyed when she saw that Hagrid's desk was empty and that the Hogwarts grounds were always missing a certain large, familiar figure.
If she were to easily reconcile with him, would it mean that she agrees with his vile accusations against Hagrid? Would it mean that she has surrendered to him and betrayed Hagrid psychologically? Even if the other giants are terrifying, she doesn't believe that his biased assessment of Hagrid is entirely correct.
Moreover, his arrogant attitude as a pure-blood wizard had always bothered her.
"I've never seen Draco so servile to anyone… You have no idea how his friends make fun of him… The other day, when I passed by that group of Slytherins, I heard Zabini call him a 'coward without principles'—though it was a joke—do you know how much that hurts a boy?" Ron said.
"He has no principles? What about mine?" Hermione said angrily. "You're actually on his side?"
"Of course I'm on your side," Ron said. "But you have to tell me what you're arguing about."
"It's a matter of differing ideologies." Hermione's words were vague. Recalling Ron's subtle attitude towards the giants, she wrinkled her nose. "Don't pry or interfere. This is our own business."
"Of course it's your own business!" Ron glanced at her and said sullenly, "You two even have your own distinct way of arguing, we can't even get a word in edgewise, who dares to interrupt?"
"So, you should be worried about Harry!" Hermione said impatiently to Ron after taking a big gulp of butterbeer. "Why is Bagman showing up at the Three Broomsticks at a time like this? And getting along so well with a bunch of goblins who don't seem very friendly? Now, he's even pulling Harry aside to talk to him. What is he planning to say to Harry?"
"He offered to help me unlock the secret of the golden egg," Harry said, standing behind her.
"He shouldn't have done that!" Hermione turned to Harry, looking utterly shocked, and said, "He's one of the referees! And you've figured it out yourself—haven't you?"
Harry opened his mouth, but didn't speak immediately.
Later that day, a tall, thin figure hurried along the snow-covered streets of Hogsmeade; it was Draco Malfoy.
He visited several stores, but he didn't have any luck and didn't see that brownish figure.
Maybe she'll be at Three Brooms, drinking her favorite butterbeer.
I wonder if those bubbles will still get on her lips... Draco thought to himself as he pushed open the tavern door and found Lady Rosmerta absentmindedly wiping the spilled liquor off the bar.
He looked around but didn't see Hermione. Through the mirror behind the bar, he only saw Rita Skeeter, sitting at a table in a banana-yellow robe, whispering to her portly photographer friend, "...Olem Maxim...yes, she's also...yes, a half-giant..."
The fancy shorthand quill was scribbling something rapidly on a piece of parchment.
Draco pondered for a few seconds, then made up his mind. He slowly walked over and sat down opposite her, saying bluntly to the photographer beside him, "Would you mind leaving for a while?"
"Bozo, would you like to sit down next door? Give us some space," Rita Skeeter said immediately to her partner. The man shrugged, picked up a soft drink, and walked away casually.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked with a fake smile, tapping the table with her long, pink-painted nails.
"I remember telling you not to report on Harry Potter's friends," Draco said to her, squinting.
"By Merlin! You only mentioned Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, and I kept my promise! Harry Potter has countless friends, even Stan Sampark, the ticket seller on the Knight Bus, claims to be Harry Potter's friend. Am I supposed to take care of them all? If the entire Hogwarts school were Harry Potter's friend, would I be unable to write a single news article?" Rita Skeeter looked utterly speechless.
Draco frowned.
"In fact, I just suffered a humiliation at the hands of Hermione Granger. If it weren't for your sake, I would have written a long story about her!" She took a sip of her drink and gave him an awkward smile.
"You can try," Draco said expressionlessly, his heart sinking, "if you've forgotten our little agreement."
"Of course I haven't forgotten. But don't push your luck!" Rita Skeeter clicked her tongue as if she had a toothache.
It was clear that the renowned reporter hadn't fared well in his recent confrontation with Hermione, Draco thought.
A wizard who could out-argue Hermione probably hasn't been born yet. A strange sense of pride welled up inside him, along with a peculiar pity for Rita Skeeter.
"Couldn't you report on something else, like Barty Crouch? Isn't he more sensational than the students of Hogwarts?" Draco softened his tone.
"I'd love to! But he's been out of the public eye for a while now, always on sick leave, so I can't even go and interview him…" Rita Skeeter complained.
This unintentional remark made Draco's ears perk up instantly.
What's wrong with Barty Crouch? Is he really sick, or is he secretly up to some other illegal activity? Has he found Barty Crouch Jr. and is trying to rescue his son again? This information needs to be given to Dumbledore.
Rita Skeeter didn't notice Draco's thoughtful expression. Annoyed, she said, "Fine, I'm not going to bother with him anytime soon. Malfoy's young master, stop nitpicking. I've been nice enough to you. Excuse me, I need to hurry and gather some other scoops; I don't even know what to report for next week!"
"Oh, isn't Ludo Bagman all lovey-dovey with a bunch of goblins?" Draco reminded her slowly. "I just saw him on the street."
Rita Skeeter gave a short laugh, her eyes gleaming. She grabbed her crocodile-skin handbag, tossed the roll of parchment and shorthand quill inside haphazardly, and beckoned Bozo, who was standing nearby, to leave with her.
Delacor watched her hurried figure go by, and pursed his lips.
Rita Skeeter, a woman who's willing to cause trouble for everyone just to write news. Dealing with that kind of person is a real pain.
Draco shook his head, about to leave, when he saw Hermione walk into the tavern with a stern face, pick up a book straight from a table next to him—probably one she had forgotten to take—and turn away haughtily.
"Hermione, can we sit down and chat for a bit?" he greeted her hurriedly, his previously indifferent face relaxing.
"No. I don't think we have anything to talk about." She picked up her book and walked quickly toward the door with the three brooms, without even glancing at him.
"I'm sorry, I was too arrogant before. I never meant to look down on Muggle-born wizards. You have to know that you have always been the best wizard in my eyes. How could I possibly belittle you?" Draco hurriedly followed behind her, chasing after her to say this.
Hermione stopped. But she didn't turn around or say anything.
"What, can't we even have a few words together?" Seeing her wavering attitude, he immediately softened his voice and said in a hurt tone, "You don't even want to look at me anymore?"
"I don't think I have anything to talk about with Rita Skeeter's friends." Hermione finally turned around—forcing herself not to be fooled by that beautiful yet melancholic face—and said coldly, "I saw it all! You were sitting across from her, chatting amicably for a long time. The young master of the Malfoys really does have friends all over the world; I had no idea you were acquainted with her!"
"I only know her, I'm not her friend," he said, frowning.
"Not friends? You even agreed with her report not long ago—I thought you two were like-minded!" Hermione said, then suddenly realized something, a look of suspicion appearing on her face. "Wait, that report about Hagrid wasn't written by you, was it? You… disgust me… Do you know how much Hagrid was affected by that report? He hasn't left his house for a week!"
"That's not it!" Draco said irritably. "I was just warning her not to write anything bad about you!"
"Oh, as if you can make decisions for her! You're just someone I know, not even a friend! Why should she listen to you?" she said sharply, scrutinizing him.
"I gave her a reason she couldn't refuse." Draco gazed greedily at her rosy cheeks and delicate features, and smiled at her.
Merlin... she's so beautiful even when she's angry. He hadn't talked to her this much in a long time.
"If you're really that capable, why don't you make her let Hagrid go?" Hermione gave him a haughty look.
"I can't exactly tell her that everyone at Hogwarts forbids her from writing, can I? I don't have the energy to keep track of irrelevant people every day," Draco said with a troubled expression, trying to explain to her. "I can only make sure that a small number of people are safe."
All he wanted was to protect her. Why should he bother with anyone else?
"Unrelated people? Hagrid is my friend! You're always like this, always spouting your pure-blood wizard rhetoric! Protecting a small group of 'good-blooded' wizards from fake news—is that it?" Hermione's face hardened again, her brown eyes flashing with fury. "You're always at the top, deciding what anyone says, what they write? Deciding who gets put on the front page and humiliated, and you don't even think you've done anything wrong, do you?"
"You're completely unreasonable, you don't make any sense at all!" Draco said angrily, suddenly realizing that he was starting to speak recklessly again.
Hermione's face immediately darkened. "Yes, I am unreasonable! And you, you selfish, arrogant bastard, you still haven't truly realized where you went wrong!"
"I—" he stammered, wanting to say something more to win her back, but she had already turned around and walked away with an air of arrogance.
"Listen, that's not what I meant." A few days later in Charms class, Draco seized the opportunity to practice the Exorcism Charm and said to Hermione, who was waving her wand.
"So what do you mean?" Hermione asked sternly, precisely driving a cushion into the box they were supposed to be aiming at. "You don't know Rita Skeeter, or do you look down on giants, werewolves, or house-elves?"
"I can't deny these facts, but I didn't ask her to write about Hagrid, and I still don't think your attitude toward giants, werewolves, or even house-elves is rational." Draco waved his wand, his cushion lightly covering hers. "You need to understand one thing: my attitude toward them has nothing to do with you. I have always respected and admired you, and I have never looked down on you."
"How can it not be related? In some ways, I'm no different from them—we're all a group discriminated against by certain pure-blood wizards—I can't help but empathize with them," she said, resolving the issue of another cushion's placement.
"In my eyes, you are different. You are not like them. You are not like anyone else." He said stubbornly, continuing to cover her with his cushion, hiding her cushion completely.
Hermione glanced at him with a troubled expression, unsure whether she should be happy or annoyed.
"That's not enough. Do you think I only live in your eyes? Have you ever thought about how Hogwarts sees me, how the entire wizarding world sees me?" Her brown eyes rippled.
Draco was speechless. He hadn't really thought about that.
He had always assumed she was safe and sound under his surveillance—her arms were clean—there were no marks on her body—and no danger could approach her at will.
But what if the harm is not to the body, but to the mind? How can he silence dissent and suppress dissenting opinions?
"Did anyone say anything about you?" His tone suddenly became serious.
"No! But that doesn't mean it never will! As long as those injustices exist, they will eventually affect us!" Hermione said stubbornly. "Draco, can you open your narrow worldview and see the injustices suffered by the disadvantaged, instead of adopting that selfish and aloof attitude?"
After speaking, she took two steps back, nimbly dodging Professor Flitwick, who had been knocked away by Neville—he sighed helplessly in mid-air, eventually landing on a large cabinet and sliding down with no choice.
"I don't want to deceive you—I can't treat them all the same. I have limited abilities, and even fewer people I can care about. I—have never been a philanthropist," Draco said frankly, helping her up and kicking aside the cushion that had almost tripped her.
"Draco, you need to understand, I will always be a Muggle-born wizard. I'm never ashamed of it. Just as I don't think Hagrid should be ashamed of his bloodline. What I'm asking for is equal treatment. If you can't understand that, then we have nothing to talk about." Hermione ignored Draco, frowned, and shook him off, shouting in that direction, "Neville, you need to practice your aim! We need to expel the cushion, not the professor!"
In February, Hagrid finally made an appearance in the class on protecting magical creatures.
Draco never imagined he would be happy because of Hagrid's appearance, but at this moment he was genuinely happy and filled with a sense of anticipation.
He hoped that Hermione might feel better because of this and perhaps pay some attention to him.
Hagrid acted out of character. In his first lesson back at school about protecting magical creatures, Hagrid gently chose to introduce the students to a magical creature called the "Niffler." This burrowing animal is covered in black fur, has a long snout, and has a particular fondness for anything shiny and a certain kind of black, low-heat cement slurry.
"They're like a treasure hunt. You can take one in a group and try them out in the pumpkin patch. I've buried some gold coins there," Hagrid enthusiastically told the students.
"Hermione suggested Hagrid choose this—instead of the Sphinx that Hagrid originally planned to introduce." Ron strolled over from the other end of the pumpkin patch and whispered to Draco, "When are you two going to make up? Harry and I are being driven crazy by her. She forces us to do homework every day, and we don't even have time to drink water. We're as miserable as two house-elves whose brains have been ripped out!"
"I've tried a few times, but it always ends badly with her." Draco stared gloomily at Neville Longbottom beside Hermione—the foolish underachiever was partnering with her, enthusiastically searching for coins in the pumpkin patch.
"She has a terrible temper, she always has. Now it's gotten worse, she mutters 'bastard' fifty times a day, I guess she's referring to you."
"That's right, who else could it be? Let's not think about it," Draco said coldly.
"You're really something, managing to make her even angrier. What kind of terrible ideas are you two discussing?" Ron watched with interest as the Niffler dug in the pumpkin patch.
"You didn't know? She hasn't told you yet?" Draco looked at him in surprise.
"She just said that your ideas are seriously incompatible. In the library, she just buries herself in her studies; in the common room, she's always hanging out with Ginny, whispering to each other. Harry and I are afraid she'll get even angrier, so who dares to ask too many questions…" Ron said quietly.
"To be honest, I don't really understand what she's thinking either…" Draco murmured.
He had expected her to rally the masses against him—whether it was his attitude toward Hagrid or his mysterious connection with Rita Skeeter—but instead, she did nothing, keeping these secrets to herself.
Girls' thoughts are too hard to guess and too strange.
Completely baffled, he tossed the gold coin his "Niffler" had found to his partner, Theodore Nott, and glared at the troublesome Longbottom. Theodore silently placed the coin into the designated collection bag, his gaze shifting between Draco and Hermione, saying nothing.
Neville Longbottom was on the verge of tears.
He endured Malfoy's death stare for the entire lesson on Safeguarding Magical Creatures. It always reminded him of Professor Snape's chilling gaze.
"Hermione, please, I'll switch with Malfoy. Wouldn't it be better if you were in his group?" he pleaded pitifully.
"No! Neville, you don't even know who that bastard's partner is, why would you want to switch?" Hermione said angrily.
"But he looked like he really wanted to cast a curse on me…" Neville said, trembling.
"Neville, if that bastard casts a curse on you, I'll make him pay," Hermione said haughtily. "Neville, you can't betray me. I've helped you get through so many Potions classes without incident; now it's your turn to repay me…"
Neville could only suppress his urge to cry and diligently collect the gold coins from the Niffler's mouth, not daring to say a word to Hermione.
With each additional word he spoke, he felt the chill emanating from Malfoy's side deepen.
Draco's chill stemmed not only from his troubled love life, but also from the fact that Dumbledore and Sirius had searched Gaunt's old house but found nothing.
"Not only the old house, but the cemetery is also normal. They're probably hiding somewhere nearby, waiting for the right moment to go there. They're very cautious," Sirius said somberly.
"So, we can only hope that he hasn't discovered anything unusual about Barty Crouch Jr.—Professor Moody. By the time of the third project…" Draco said, his gaze drifting towards the Black Lake docks in the distance.
He could see Krum's faint, dark shadow leaping into the black lake, eliciting gasps of blind admiration from the girls around him.
"What do you think about Barty Crouch's claim of illness and absence from public places?" Draco shifted his gaze back to Sirius.
"We've increased the guard on young Crouch, set up many invisible barriers around the headmaster's office, and have a lot of eyes watching. So far, nothing seems amiss. However, according to Percy Weasley, old Crouch seems to be genuinely ill—he's been looking very unwell lately," Sirius said thoughtfully.
"Yes, who wouldn't be anxious in this situation? His only son's whereabouts are unknown, which is a stain on his life record, and he is also a Death Eater whom he opposes the most." Draco said coldly, "This unstable factor flowing in his blood could explode at any time and blow his position as director of the Department of International Magical Exchange and Cooperation to smithereens."
"It's not good for someone so young to be so worldly-wise." Although Sirius agreed with him in his heart, he deliberately contradicted him, "Couldn't it be because he was worried about his son's safety that he got sick?"
"If he were truly worried about his son, why would he send him to Azkaban?" Draco said sarcastically. "Such worry is better left unaddressed."
"That's what I thought too. I saw Barty Crouch Jr. go to jail with my own eyes. He was only nineteen years old then, and he looked so innocent and pitiful." Sirius looked Draco over inquisitively. "But Crouch Sr. risked his life to get his son out. Not everyone has the guts to do that."
"And then he locked his son in the house, trying to control a dangerous Death Eater with a mere Imperius Curse?" Draco said with disgust. "If it weren't for his stubbornness and arrogance, how could we have gotten ourselves into such a mess?"
Sirius was puzzled. "Why do you harbor such deep resentment towards him? We've got the situation under control, haven't we?"
Draco stopped gazing at the Black Lake and instead stared in the direction of the Forbidden Forest—the place where Barty Crouch's bones had been dug up in his previous life—and fell into deep thought.
Of course he harbored resentment. In his past life, it was probably because of Barty Crouch Jr. that Harry was taken to the graveyard and resurrected the Dark Lord.
That was the beginning of all evil, and the beginning of the Malfoy family's descent into utter ruin.
In this life, I must never repeat the same mistake—never.
"What do you think of Barty Crouch?" Draco suddenly asked. "Do you approve of what he's done?"
"Agree?" Sirius Black sneered, his expression suddenly darkening. His once vibrant face became frightening, and the blinds behind his eyes, which had been letting in light, seemed to snap shut.
"He's an old acquaintance of mine. He was the one who ordered me sent to Azkaban—without even a trial," he said softly. "He's a remarkable wizard—no doubt about it—and some predict he could be elected the next Minister for Magic. He's powerful, ambitious, and always publicly declares his opposition to the Dark Arts."
"Oh, that's not surprising. Taking a hard line is a common tactic for climbing the ladder of power, to seize opportunities in chaos and gain support in panic," Draco said thoughtfully.
"That's right," Sirius said. "I guess Crouch's principles were probably alright at first, but then he resorted to violence against violence and allowed the use of unforgivable curses on suspects. The Aurors gained some new powers—for example, they had the right to kill, not just arrest. I wasn't the only one handed over to Dementors without trial."
"Oh, I believe you're telling the truth," Draco said softly.
He had experienced it in his previous life as well. When his father Lucius was captured, the Malfoy family suffered no less brutal treatment from the Aurors than Sirius had described.
"In my opinion, he has become as ruthless and cold-blooded as many of the Dark Lords. Even so, he has his supporters, many of whom believe that he is doing things the right way, and many wizards are calling for him to become Minister of Magic." Sirius smiled coldly, "until Crouch's own son, Barty Crouch Jr., was captured and imprisoned in Azkaban."
"He didn't try to defend his son, did he?" Draco asked hopelessly.
"He had personally handed his son over to the Dementors. He had shown the public how much he hated the boy during his son's trial. That's why I was so surprised when I learned he had secretly rescued his son and locked him in the house. I thought he would stick to his guns," Sirius said. "In short, after this incident, his public image plummeted. Look at him, so decisive and efficient his whole life, only to be reassigned to the International Department of Magical Cooperation; Cornelius Fudge, that always-smiling 'nice guy,' got the top job. Crouch, though he stands tall, everyone knows he was ruined by his family troubles."
"The son went down a completely opposite path to his father, ruining his future and disgracing him in front of his old acquaintances," Draco said, suddenly feeling a pang of bitterness. "This father must have been very disappointed."
He thought of his father, Lucius.
I wonder what his father would think? If he knew that his son had chosen a different ideology and a different camp, would he also be disappointed?
Will the father also betray his own son and hand him over to the ruthless Black Demon King?
Will his father cast a spell on him, locking him in the house and isolating him from the world?
Draco's face paled, and he suddenly felt unsure how to interact with his parents. For years, he had been creating a facade for them, making them believe that he was still the obedient child who admired them, trusted them, and supported their ideals.
But hiding it isn't a solution. One day, the secret will be exposed, and his stance will come to light. When the pain of the truth being revealed touches them, how can he make them understand him?
Before we knew it, almost half of February had passed.
Although it wasn't as cold and gloomy as last month, the weather was often unpredictable, just like the enigmatic relationship between Hermione and the bastard she was talking about.
On Valentine's Day, Hermione lazily crawled out of bed and found a large bouquet of yellow roses in a vase on her bedside table.
She was somewhat puzzled, yet also secretly pleased.
Few girls dislike romance or truly hate receiving flowers—especially on such a special holiday.
She pulled a small silver card from the bouquet. It was blank except for the flamboyant "DM" written on it—Draco Malfoy—of course, it was him.
Who else could it be but him?
"How could he do this! This is the ultimate humiliation! Who would actually send yellow roses to break up with someone on Valentine's Day? This is utterly despicable!" Lavender Brown, peeking out from behind the four-poster bed curtains, exclaimed indignantly, then asked sympathetically, "Hermione, are you alright?"
These words extinguished the tiny spark of joy that had just begun to ignite in Hermione.
Oh! Break up?
Is that what you mean? Very well, he's finally tired of this back-and-forth mental battle and doesn't want to communicate with her anymore, right? Now he's showing his true colors and doesn't even want to be friends anymore, right?
Hermione was so angry her hands were shaking, and she threw the card hard into the trash can.
So much so that when Draco excitedly walked up to her and asked, "Do you like the flowers?" her face turned even worse.
Hermione gave him an arrogant look, then walked away without a word, as sacred and inviolable as a queen.
"Your method is completely useless, Pansy!" Draco exclaimed angrily as he returned to the Slytherin table. "Didn't you say that girls love receiving roses?"
"What? She doesn't like it? How heartless! On a holiday like this... tsk, our Malfoy young master's pride has been trampled underfoot..." Pansy said gloatingly. "Is it because you're too stingy, and the bouquet isn't pretty enough?"
"Are you underestimating me?" Draco was extremely displeased. "The most fashionable style, the best quality, and you even specially chose a color that symbolizes an apology!"
"What?! Don't tell me you gave yellow roses—today!" Pansy exclaimed in shock. "You idiot, you can't give yellow roses on Valentine's Day! That's not an apology, it's a breakup!"
"What?! Why didn't you say so sooner?" Draco jumped up from his chair.
"You didn't even ask me! Seriously, you should really check the Victorian Dictionary of Flower Language. How can a gentleman make such a basic mistake?" Pansy rolled her eyes, picked up her bouquet of red roses and walked away—intending to show it off to her girlfriends—leaving behind a casual remark, "Look at Blaise, and look at you—acting like a jerk."
"Bress, you were laughing at me the other day, calling me a 'coward,' saying I shouldn't have no principles, that I was so obedient to girls, and that I shouldn't have sent her flowers; and what's with that ridiculously big bouquet of roses?" Draco asked through gritted teeth. "When Pansy was yelling about wanting flowers the other day, didn't you stand up straight and say you would never send them?"
"Oh, so you didn't listen to me either? Besides, principles only apply to other people," Blaise said smugly, raising his chin at his friend who was furious. "Anyone who believes that is a complete idiot!"
"You two troublemakers, I should have known I couldn't trust you," Draco said dejectedly. "I feel like a fool now."
"Honestly, you can't keep giving in without limits. She'll take you for granted," Blaise said. "Girls always love to push their luck, and she'll take your efforts for granted."
"She's not that kind of person."
"This has nothing to do with personality; it's just universal human nature," Brace shrugged.
"You don't understand what happened," Draco said stubbornly. "There's been a little misunderstanding between us."
"Then why isn't she willing to be patient with you and listen to your explanation?" Blaise said meaningfully, looking at the boy who was deep in thought. "Have you ever thought about how she really sees you, and where you stand in her heart? Are you really that important to her? Important enough that she would get so angry with you over such a small misunderstanding?"
"I know what you're doing, you scheming bastard!" Draco looked up and gave him a warning look. "I know you've never approved of my feelings for her."
"Yes, I disagree. But I respect your preferences. I believe my advice is fair and can be applied equally to anyone in a relationship," Blaise said calmly.
Draco glanced at him and noticed that his expression was somewhat serious.
"Liking someone doesn't mean you have no self-respect. Because of her, you've become someone completely different from who you used to be, which often makes me feel like a stranger to you; what's even more terrifying is that you've lowered yourself to coax her, but she doesn't appreciate it at all." Blaise smiled sarcastically.
"You look like a sycophant who spreads lies," Draco said mercilessly.
"Maybe," Blaise began, "You know, Pansy gets angry often, explodes all the time, and goes crazy all the time, but she never holds a grudge against me overnight. She never makes me guess what she's thinking. She's mean and mean, but she's mean in a frank way and mean in a straightforward way. She just wants what she wants, and she complains about what she's angry about. You always ask me what I like about her, and that's what I like about her—her straightforwardness and her clear likes and dislikes."
"Oh, I'm going to throw up—" Draco said, his lips twitching.
"Go ahead and vomit, you pathetic wretch," Blaise said arrogantly. "She's manipulative and cold to others, but she's different with me. If I give her a way out, she'll respond enthusiastically; she'll wholeheartedly support my beliefs, whether they're right or wrong, in front of others; she won't let anyone think I'm inferior, she protects my pride…"
Draco's heart skipped a beat. Hearing this, he suddenly understood why Hermione misunderstood him so deeply, yet still refused to tell Harry and Ron what they had argued about.
Perhaps she was protecting his relationship with Harry and the others in some awkward way—he could sense it at times—she never wanted him to be thought of too badly by others.
So, even though she was arguing with him, she was still protecting him, and she had separated "them" from "the world outside of them"? Draco smiled slightly.
"What are you laughing at? Are you crazy? Have some principles, okay? Think about it, Granger, whom you cherish so much—can she do what I'm talking about?" Blaise asked.
"Brace, I'm asking for advice, not for you to show off your love!" Draco rolled his eyes. "Obviously, we have different definitions of liking someone, and the ways we like someone are different too. She doesn't need to do what you're saying. Neither do I need her to."
Although Hermione Granger was disappointed by the symbolism of the yellow roses, she ultimately couldn't bear to throw them away.
The bouquet, carrying an ominous meaning, was placed neatly by her bedside, and many days later, it remained as beautiful as ever.
Judging from his attitude, he didn't seem to want to break up. That jerk would look at her pitifully across the table every day; that wasn't the attitude of someone wanting to end things. One day in Potions class, he even rushed over to protect her when Neville blew up the cauldron, and then fussed over her in front of everyone, making her a little embarrassed.
Hermione changed the water for the yellow rose while absentmindedly thinking about him.
Perhaps he sent the roses as a gesture of goodwill, but his approach was rather clumsy. He was such an arrogant boy, and he was never good at apologizing.
Besides, this was the first time she had received a bouquet of flowers on Valentine's Day—they were so beautiful.
A gentle breeze blew by, and Hermione sighed as she looked at the first yellow petal that fell.
Although her face remained tense, the anger in her heart was involuntarily dissipated.
Hermione was no longer able to be angry with Draco. She had seriously offended Rita Skeeter at the Three Broomsticks pub, and she had expected the Daily Prophet to launch a massive attack on her.
She saw what the shorthand quill was doing—it was frantically writing all over a sheet of parchment.
Undoubtedly, the vindictive Rita Skeeter will produce a sensational report, using exaggerated language and a sensational tone to describe her background, her scandals, a slip of the tongue she may have unintentionally uttered, any unruly behavior she committed in her youth, and everything about her that could be criticized...
But a few weeks later, Rita Skeeter first wrote a subtle article, "The Headmistress of Beauxbatons May Also Be a Half-Giant," which made Ms. Maxim's face darken for many days. Then, she changed the subject and began to report on "The Untold Story of Ludo Bagman and the Fairies," subtly attacking Bagman as a gambler who owed the fairies a huge debt.
The malicious female reporter didn't mention her at all.
Hermione didn't know how Draco did it, but he did manage to get Rita Skeeter to change her mind.
She wasn't afraid of Rita Skeeter, but she was indeed worried about the consequences of being maliciously reported on.
After learning that Ginny was at odds with Rita Skeeter, she told her a lot of rumors about the people who had been maliciously reported on by Rita Skeeter—how their homes were filled with howling letters, and those dangerous, malicious letters that could burn, curse, and poison the recipients.
"You'll find that even your most rational friends can't help but believe the Daily Prophet's reports, even though they know you better than anyone else…" Ginny said with lingering fear.
Hermione was speechless. She seemed like an ignorant ship, sheltered in a safe harbor by him, where no malicious waves from the outside world could crash in and capsize her.
He was indeed protecting her, but she accused him without even knowing the facts.
Hermione was filled with remorse. She felt she had acted too impulsively and said something excessive. Every time she saw the boy's forlorn profile and his hesitant gray eyes, she felt she had committed a terrible sin.
She already knew what kind of person he was.
He had long ago said that he was a prudent, selfish Slytherin.
He has never hidden these personality traits, so why can't she accept it suddenly?
She had known all along that he was cold and indifferent to most people, so why was she suddenly so irritable and angry about it?
Perhaps it was because his coldness towards others instilled a certain fear in her—she feared that one day he would no longer be warm towards her, but would treat her with the same indifference and ruthlessness he showed to others.
But when she calmed down, she remembered all the tender things he had done for her. This rekindled a hope in her—if there was kindness hidden somewhere in his heart, perhaps there was also compassion, just a lack of guidance.
She clearly had a better solution. She should have tried to uncover his potential, guiding him to experience the joy of helping others, instead of relentlessly pressuring him and sulking with him. When did she become less rational and less intelligent towards him?
Hermione was in a bit of a bind. She knew they should make up. But she'd been standing too tall and had her neck craned back for too long, so much so that she was clinging to her damned pride and couldn't bring herself to back down first.
It was another lesson on protecting magical creatures. Hagrid caught two baby unicorns and continued Professor Glapland's lesson on unicorns.
"The cubs are easier to spot than the adults," Hagrid said. "They turn silver around two years old, and their horns appear around four…"
Draco glanced at Hermione and noticed that although she was standing beside him, her eyes were fixed on the two golden unicorn cubs—she seemed completely oblivious to him—and she looked utterly mesmerized.
He didn't dare to take her hand, but tentatively tugged at the hem of her clothes.
"What is it now?" she asked the unicorn cub, her tone curt.
"I admit that Hagrid is very knowledgeable in some areas; his understanding of unicorns is no less than Professor Grapland's," he said in a low voice.
"You know that much," she snorted, her tone softening.
"They don't turn pure white until they reach adulthood, which is around seven years old..." Hagrid continued on the other end.
"I don't hate Hagrid. But I can't ignore the risks he brings." Draco said softly in the background, "Hermione, you're a kind girl who thinks the best of people first. I'm not as noble, generous, or selfless as you. I'm someone who thinks the worst of people first. I have to consider all the worst possibilities. I'll deliberate and hesitate, thinking about whether I can bear the worst consequences, before I can decide whether to extend a good deed."
"Oh? Then—why are you willing to show me kindness?" Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she couldn't help but glance at him. "How many bad things did you think about me, how many wicked considerations did you make before deciding to show me kindness?"
"It's not the same. I never—" Draco tried to explain, but found himself unable to. Considering his past life, he had indeed treated her badly.
But in this life, he has never wronged her. If she can't feel that—
"You can clearly feel this for yourself; there's no need to question me," he said dejectedly, looking into her stubborn eyes.
"When they're little, they're quite trusting…and not so averse to boys…come closer…if you'd like, you can pat them and give them a few of these sugar cubes…" As Hagrid explained, the students walked forward and surrounded the two cubs to admire them; only the two of them remained standing there.
"Hermione, I know you have many misunderstandings about me, and if there was any unpleasant arrogance in my tone, I regret it; but my thoughts have absolutely nothing to do with prejudice. I want to explain to you again my views on giants and werewolves."
Hermione didn't say anything, and started looking at the unicorn cub again, listening intently to what he had to say.
"Please consider this fairly. If it were a giant other than Hagrid, or a werewolf other than Professor Lupin, would your first reaction be to trust them and approach them, or to hide temporarily before assessing the situation, or even run away? If treating everyone equally would cost you your life—even if the chance is slim—I would never risk your safety," Draco said. "I would always do that. I can't immediately trust them, whether they are giants, werewolves, goblins, house-elves, or even wizards—Muggle-born wizards, half-blood wizards, or pure-blood wizards. They make no difference to me. I can't possibly trust an unrelated person, a stranger, right away, because I have people I need to protect. Do you understand?"
"I can't…" Hermione said defiantly, but suddenly she understood something about him.
Draco, perhaps he doesn't just distrust giants and werewolves, but fairly distrusts everyone.
"Do you trust me? How much do you trust me?" Hermione asked, hoping for his answer.
"Hermione Granger, I never expected you to ask me something like this." Draco looked at her quietly, then suddenly chuckled, a hint of sting in his voice. "How much trust do you think I have in you?"
Merlin, when the only person you trust in the world doubts your sincerity, no one can help but feel a pang of pain.
"How much trust do you have in me? When you suspected me of colluding with Rita Skeeter, did you ever trust me?" He lowered his eyes and asked her, then turned and walked away as the school bell rang from the distant castle.
Harry discovers that Hermione and Draco are in an incredibly childish way of interacting:
She would secretly glance at him each time, and when he looked at her, she would pretend not to see him; but when he saw her look away, he would keep staring at her until she started looking at him again.
This avoidance of eye contact and communication was so obvious, so sparking, and so blatantly concealing, that everyone around them found it tiresome.
"You two seem really eager to make up, what are you hesitating about?" Harry said resentfully. "Please, Hermione, can't you two just be nice to each other? You're seriously affecting my mood, I can't even concentrate on studying the golden egg!"
"Harry, don't make excuses. It's all your fault for researching too late! You clearly said you had already solved the clues to the golden egg, and I thought you had figured it out a long time ago!" Hermione glared at him angrily, and finally relented, "Okay, next time he talks to me, I'll make up with him."
However, Draco reclaimed his famously Hogwarts arrogance. He stopped trying to talk to her and simply stared at her intently.
He seemed to be stung by their discussion about "trust" and was unwilling to bow down to her again.
This bastard boy is like a patient cheetah, elegantly, proudly, and stubbornly watching his prey.
He would relentlessly appear within three meters of her—definitely thanks to that damned liveness map—and smile at her with that perfect face, his gray, lake-like eyes almost suffocating her, but he wouldn't say a word to her.
He began to stare unabashedly at her lips. This reminded her of the passionate kiss she had kept hidden in her heart, and the possessive words he had once whispered to her:
"You are mine, only in my palm, my dance partner… You are mine, only I can kiss you… Hermione Granger, you are mine, do you understand…"
This always made her blush.
Later, Hermione finally couldn't hold back any longer and deliberately left an empty space next to him, trying to send him a signal that she wanted to make up.
But he walked straight past the empty seat, chose a seat across the aisle from her, crossed his arms and leaned against the seat, staring at her indifferently.
An indescribable sense of loss welled up inside her. This loss tormented her, causing her to sigh at an alarming rate.
What was he thinking? Did he still like her? Did he still want to kiss her, to have her? Hermione began to feel uneasy, her heart withering from the anxiety and questions.
These days, every time she passes by the stone wall recess that is no longer covered by the tapestry, she feels a little reluctant to leave; when she sees the bookshelf in the library with books on runic literature, she often stares blankly for a long time.
The butterbeer seemed to have lost the flavor she remembered. Without him, she described it as "extremely bland."
"If Ms. Rosmerta heard you say that, she might pick up a broom and fight you," Ron said, staring at the plump and well-proportioned proprietress behind the bar.
Hermione sighed listlessly, sitting blankly amidst the clamor of the crowd, feeling like a soulless puppet.
Whenever the students around her chatted and laughed, discussing boring topics, she could almost feel herself burning up.
She had been missing him for a long time. He would never discuss trivial topics, and he could respond to anything she said.
He knew the goblins should deal with the Department of Magical Creature Management and Control. He would immediately understand why the goblins were dealing with Mr. Bagman, the Director of the Department of Sports, and how ridiculous it was that "the goblins went to find Barty Crouch, the Director of the Department of Magical Cooperation."
He would meet her gaze, deep in thought, rather than saying in bewilderment, "What's so funny about the fairies looking for Mr. Crouch? They probably need a translator..."
This inability to think clearly is so unbearable! It's as if she can't smoothly prepare a perfect potion with any partner other than him in Potions class—it's incredibly painful!
She missed him terribly. He could notice the problems she overlooked, just as he knew the answers to all her questions.
He must know the answer to that damn question, "How to stay underwater for a full hour!"
In the library, Hermione was incredibly agitated. She angrily blew a strand of hair off her forehead, put aside the book she had finished reading, "Forgotten Ancient Magic and Spells," and flipped through a book called "Strange Magical Puzzles and Their Solutions," feeling as if her intelligence had been chewed up by her teeth.
This is the ultimate insult to her! Why can't she find the answer to this question?
So she missed him even more. Just looking at him from afar wasn't enough; it didn't quench her thirst at all.
If he could open his arms and hug her, pat her on the back, maybe she would cheer up again and finish reading the remaining twenty books in one go.
Moreover, her hair, cheeks, and lips were all shamelessly thinking of him.
He, abandoning the private space of the library, sat elegantly near her seat, calmly reading a thin magazine—as if he didn't care about Harry's life or death at all—occasionally glancing at her, but never initiating a conversation with her.
That bastard—he definitely did it on purpose—this intense longing, tinged with a subtle guilt, was driving her crazy.
Hermione even started spending time each day using a quick-smoothing hair serum to make her messy hair smooth and manageable. She always tied her hair up, hoping he wouldn't be able to resist kissing her.
He once said he was deeply impressed by the way she styled her hair.
Would he like it? She stole a glance at him with a hint of anticipation, but he sat upright, calm and composed.
"Draco, I think she's not angry with you anymore. Try again, I bet she'll talk to you again." In the library, Harry couldn't help but sit down and whisper to Draco.
"Harry, you don't understand. I've tried so many times, even asking a house-elf to deliver the flowers for me. I get hurt when I'm rejected so often. She doesn't even trust me; she's crushed my pride. Tell me, why can't she just take the initiative and talk to me?" He said slowly, tracing the shape of her lips with his eyes.
The girl had clearly noticed his gaze again. She was nervously biting her lip, and her hand, which was rapidly turning the pages of the book, suddenly hesitated.
"Oh," Harry said blankly, suddenly realizing that he had narrowed his perspective.
"But you'll eventually make up with her, right?" he asked immediately. "You said you wouldn't make her cry."
"Of course. I will always make up with her. I've never been angry with her. I just want her to experience how I felt before." Draco stared at her with great interest, his fair face gradually turning pink from his prolonged gaze.
Harry rolled his eyes inwardly. He thought to himself that he had really wasted his time trying to persuade Draco.
Now it seems he's having a great time, and she seems to be enjoying it too.
Is this some kind of twisted quirk between couples? Harry adjusted his glasses, feeling he couldn't bear to watch any longer.
It wasn't that he wanted to meddle, but Neville was acting too pitifully. He was already having trouble sleeping because of Draco's occasional stern glares—
"I always feel like Malfoy is going to curse me any second now," he once told Harry in fear, his round face even losing some of its roundness.
"Forget it, I'd better advise Neville to stay away from the battlefield and not get involved between these two," Harry thought.
"By the way, how's your search for the golden egg going? Do you know what we need you for?" Draco asked casually, ignoring Harry's mental whirlwind.
At this moment, he was busy making a smile on his lips, mischievously watching the pink blush spread from Hermione's face to behind her ears.
"I already know what I'm supposed to do that day. I just don't know how to get it done. There's a dilemma I'm facing." Harry's voice rang in his ears, tinged with anxiety.
"What predicament?" Draco asked, slightly regaining his composure. "Remember what I said? We'll do everything we can to help—as long as you ask that question."
"I remember. It's just that this is a difficult problem," Harry asked quickly and quietly. "How do you stay underwater for a full hour?"
Finally! Harry had taken a step in the right direction, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief.
He finally, finally got to ask that question, and he could finally, finally tell Harry the answer.
"Bubble Head Charm, or Gillbagel, you choose one," Draco said casually, concealing his inner joy.
"That simple?" Harry said in surprise. "We've been racking our brains for days. Hermione has flipped through a bunch of books, but apart from the outlandish idea of forcing me to learn Transfiguration in a single day, she's still got nowhere. And you, you've given me two answers all at once!"
"It's not that simple. The Bubble Head Charm isn't easy to learn, and with such a tight schedule, do you think you can master it?" Draco shook his head. "As for Gillbagel, that's quite simple; you just eat it. But there's only one place in all of Hogwarts that has it—Professor Snape's private Potions Collection."
"Oh—" Harry let out a painful howl, earning a wary glance from Mrs. Pince.
"Who told you to solve the puzzle so late? Procrastination is no good habit. If you had figured it out a month ago, you would have mastered the Bubble Head Spell by now," Draco muttered gloatingly. "Now, time is of the essence. Think about it, which one are you going to choose?"
Then, he cheerfully ignored Harry's ashen face and continued to stare at Hermione Granger, who had her hair tied up, determined to make this good Gryffindor student uncomfortable all day long.
[Gao Er's Diary (Part 3)]
Weather on February 14, 1995: Sunny turning cloudy
Today is Valentine's Day—what a bountiful harvest!
Early in the morning, Draco tossed me the pile of chocolate cauldrons he'd received from girls at various houses.
Doesn't he really like chocolate? I don't understand him.
He saw me happily opening the thirtieth piece.
He glared at the candy wrappers fluttering around me, his mood seemingly not as good as it had been that morning.
He walked over with his hands behind his back, complaining that I was eating chocolate too fast, and suddenly announced that he would add a new training program for me - dive training.
Extreme joy turns to sorrow!
Vincent and I sped along the chilly Quidditch training ground, heads bowed and heads hanging low.
Today is Valentine's Day!
There isn't even a pile of dog poop here, except for us!
By the way, why is Draco here too?
Why doesn't he go to Granger?
Oh, by the way, Granger rejected the flowers he sent.
Neither Vincent nor I dared to say "he deserved it".
Complete 20 laps of running, hit the ball 300 times, complete 30 minutes of flight training, practice "counter-attack ball" for 30 minutes, and practice diving for 30 minutes.
Weather on February 17, 1995: Forgot.
During Potions class today, Draco's expression was almost as grim as Professor Snape's on the podium.
I followed his fierce gaze and saw Granger teaching Longbottom how to adjust the size of the flames under the cauldron with his wand.
Granger didn't even glance at Draco; Longbottom, however, glanced at Draco several times, looking a little nervous.
That said, Longbottom's spellcasting skills are terrible! Looking at him, I suddenly feel like there's still hope for me!
Really, who would have thought that a spell to adjust the size of a flame could create a miracle under his wand?
We watched helplessly as he waved his wand and blew the cauldrons away! Almost all the students' cauldrons were destroyed, all their potions were ruined, and several Gryffindors had their faces splattered with filth, screaming in pain from the heat!
Wait—when did Draco run up to Granger?
They even pinned her to the ground!
We watched with interest as Draco helped her up, brushed the dust off her back, softened his expression, and asked her gently, "Are you alright?"
Granger's mouth was agape, as if he hadn't quite reacted yet.
It's a good thing Draco always praises her for being smart; even the second-highest scorer in the class can be scared out of his wits!
Later, she muttered something to Draco, then walked away blushing and shuffling off.
Parkinson said that Draco might be possessed or had eaten some unclean chocolate cauldron, which is why he spoke to Granger in a dreamlike manner, without any imposing presence.
Draco glanced at her, and his imposing aura immediately emanated from him.
He said fiercely, "Do you want to be poisoned and rendered mute?"
Parkinson reluctantly shut his mouth.
Furthermore, Professor Snape was furious! He punished Longbottom by making him clean all the cauldrons in the Potions classroom and forbade him from using his wand!
Complete 20 laps of running, hit the ball 300 times, complete 30 minutes of flight training, practice "counter-attack ball" for 30 minutes, and practice diving for 30 minutes.
Weather on February 20, 1995: Sunny
Today's lesson on protecting amazing creatures was quite interesting.
So unicorn cubs are golden!
They are very plump.
Draco and Granger seem to be making up soon.
I saw them standing together, talking quietly. He was still tugging at her clothes.
Complete 20 laps of running, hit the ball 300 times, complete 30 minutes of flight training, practice "counter-attack ball" for 30 minutes, and practice diving for 30 minutes.
Weather on February 21, 1995: Cloudy
They did not make up.
Draco stared at Granger all day.
I don't know what he wanted to do, but I bet he was hungry.
His eyes looked exactly like the eyes I had when I saw a whole roasted Christmas turkey after starving for three days. No doubt about it.
Complete 20 laps of running, hit the ball 300 times, complete 30 minutes of flight training, practice "counter-attack ball" for 30 minutes, and practice diving for 30 minutes.
Weather on February 23, 1995: Sunny
Complete 20 laps of running, hit the ball 300 times, complete 30 minutes of flight training, practice "counter-attack ball" for 30 minutes, and practice diving for 30 minutes.
Suddenly I realized that it had been a long time since anyone in the college had ridiculed me.
I practiced the "counter-attack ball movement" for an extra fifteen minutes.
I added those fifteen minutes myself—I don't know why I did that.
I'm exhausted.
I need to go to bed early tonight!
Tomorrow is the second match of the three-way battle, and everyone says they want to get up early to get a good seat in the stands