Chapter 136: The Problem of Sleepless Nights and Restless Days
"Why do they keep staring at me?" Hermione put down her book and asked Ginny, puzzled.
The two best friends were sitting in armchairs in the Gryffindor common room, bathed in the warm sunlight streaming through the windows.
Hermione loved the sunshine; it seemed to melt away all the winter's chill.
To her surprise, the gazes directed at her from all directions were even more intense than the midday sun. Coupled with the whispers and giggles all around, even Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor student renowned for her ability to concentrate on her studies in any environment, finally sensed something was amiss.
"Need I say more?" Ginny said. "They're talking about your relationship with Malfoy!"
"Me and him—" Hermione asked in surprise, "What does it have to do with them?"
"Oh, Hermione, do you think everyone's blind?" Ginny rolled her eyes. "He risked his life to pull you out of the Black Lake. Who in Slytherin—and even Hogwarts—wasn't shocked? Of course everyone will think you two have a close relationship, and even be curious about it! You can't be sneaking around like before!"
"What do you mean by sneaking around? We're just concerned about our privacy! We're just—very shy!" Hermione retorted.
"Yes, I was very shy," Ginny said with a grin. "I can't forget the kiss you gave me in broad daylight behind the medical tent, without a care in the world."
"Oh dear, I was a little carried away," Hermione said, her face slightly flushed. "Let's not talk about it!"
"Even if I don't bring it up, someone else will! So many people saw what you did! The warriors, the hostages, and the referees… someone will definitely spread the word." Ginny's eyes gleamed mischievously. "I bet—you two have made up, haven't you?"
"Yeah. But what's it to them?" Hermione said, blushing. "Can't they just let us have some peace and quiet?"
"No way. Think about all the gossip before the Christmas Ball, and that's just about finding a dance partner! Jumping into the Black Lake to save someone is way more exciting than finding a dance partner—people never miss a chance to gossip about these things—it adds endless fodder for the Hogwarts students' boring academic lives. I've already heard people gossiping about whether Cho Chang and Cedric are dating, and others gossiping about whether Harry and Ron are a couple—and people actually believe such outrageous things!" Ginny suddenly became a little angry as she said this.
"Who would think that? They're just good friends, isn't that a bit of an exaggeration?" Hermione was extremely surprised.
"You can never underestimate people's imaginations! There's even a Harry and Ron series of novels—The Boy Behind the Warrior—that's circulating at Hogwarts!" Ginny said reluctantly. "To be honest, I flipped through it the other day, and the plot is pretty good. I need to find a girlfriend for my brother to cut off any possibility of this relationship! Do you think he has a girl he likes?"
"I can't say for sure," Hermione said. "He offended Parvati's sister Padma at the ball…"
"Yes, that idiot! Doesn't he have any women he's interested in?" Ginny asked.
"Well, speaking of which, I think he's been quite infatuated with Ms. Rosmerta lately," Hermione finally said after racking her brains.
"I don't think this kind of infatuation will end well!" Ginny said, her eyes darting around. "But it's not a bad idea. It seems he likes voluptuous women, doesn't he?"
"And then there's Fleur Delacour," Hermione said. "He always seems a little dazed when he sees her."
"I know, he looked at her like an idiot—Fleur Delacour—that self-important Beauxbaton Champion! I didn't like her much; she complained about how greasy the food at Hogwarts was and had no manners whatsoever," Ginny said bluntly. "She's probably only passable for her face…"
"Yes, she can be quite offensive. She complained about Hogwarts' decor at the ball—especially the armor—so loudly I could hear her from the next table," Hermione said. "But you never seemed to have such a grudge against her before. Is your bad impression of her because she kissed Harry by the Black Lake yesterday?"
"That—that's not the point!" Ginny blushed and quickly turned her fire on Hermione. "The point is, none of you who surfaced from the Black Lake will escape! Every little thing you do will be publicized for months to come! It's already started. You've already felt it, haven't you?"
"Oh, yes, but it's a bit morbid," Hermione murmured. "We're like clowns in a circus, surrounded by a crowd. Why do they have to think about all this nonsense?"
"Can you blame others for overthinking? Everyone saw someone jump into the Black Lake and save you. Do you think they'll still believe your half-hearted, half-hearted definitions?" Ginny posed a probing question. "What will you say when someone asks you how you define your relationship? Study partners, ordinary friends, or very good friends? Speaking of which, Hermione, can you be honest with me—what exactly is your relationship right now?"
Hermione was speechless.
"To be honest, I don't know." After a while, she said bitterly, "I don't know what kind of relationship we have—we've never had a chance to sit down and talk about this properly."
After a brief period of intimacy during Christmas, she was too busy kissing and feeling shy to figure out "what they were doing" before a fierce argument broke out that neither of them had anticipated, followed by a long month-long war of words and eye contact.
They haven't even had a chance to define their relationship yet.
Hermione knew that her feelings for him remained unchanged, even more intense than before.
Yes, they've made up now, they're talking to each other again, and they even hugged and kissed each other by the Black Lake.
She sensed his favoritism towards her. But what did his gaze and torment before she jumped into the Black Lake signify? Had his feelings wavered because of those arguments? Were his feelings for her still as strong as ever?
"Think of all the girls who invited Malfoys—if anyone's still upset about it—soon someone will be questioning you." Ginny mercilessly started counting on her fingers. "And then there are the gossipy Hufflepuffs, and the Gryffindors and Slytherins who have never really approved of your friendship… Come to think of it, quite a few people are curious about your relationship! So, shy, privacy-conscious Hermione Granger—the confused girl who still can't define your relationship—are you ready to face the questions?"
"Clearly not ready." Hermione glanced at the students around her who were itching to come up and greet her, and said warily, "Ginny, I think I'll go to the library. It's too noisy here."
"Yeah, go ahead!" Ginny teased. "Find a quiet corner and have a good talk with your boyfriend about this."
"Ginny!" Hermione said shyly, "He's not my boyfriend—not yet!"
"I don't believe you for a second!" Ginny said mercilessly, giving her a knowing look as she hurriedly left.
The boy mentioned was having a secret conversation with Sirius Black in the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's office.
"…That's how it happened. When we arrived, the Crouch's house was empty—at least no one was alive—except for Quirrell's body. Dumbledore said he died of weakness," Sirius said.
"He just died like that?" Draco asked in disbelief.
"His death was sealed the moment he decided to become Voldemort's henchman—sharing a body with Voldemort caused him irreversible damage," Sirius said coldly. "Death was only a matter of time."
"Please don't call me that name, okay?" Draco said irritably.
"Also, the soul on the back of Quirrell's head has disappeared." Sirius completely ignored Draco's correction.
"Disappeared?" Draco couldn't help but ask. "What does that mean?"
"This means that Voldemort may have disappeared." Sirius stubbornly insisted on the name "Voldemort," even more so than Draco. "There is no trace of his soul left in Crouch's house or the vicinity of Crouch's house."
"To simply vanish without a trace, without causing a fuss, isn't like him," Draco frowned. "I'm worried—"
"But in that situation, no one could help him," Sirius said. "His soul was barely clinging to life, and even if he wanted to escape, he couldn't go very far in a short time—he didn't have that much magic to squander. However, there was no magical fluctuation within a hundred miles, nor any trace of a soul, which Dumbledore himself confirmed."
This unexpected good news brought Draco a sense of relief, yet also a feeling of something unreal and dreamlike.
Is that all?
Is the rebellion against the Dark Lord over?
A feeling of confusion mixed with joy welled up in Draco's chest.
He couldn't wait to tell Hermione about it—he wanted to see the smile on her face.
"But—that ring—there's still a ring we haven't found." He clenched his fist, forcing himself to pull himself out of this joy and try to return to a state of vigilance.
He painstakingly searched his mind for any remaining unresolved questions to repeatedly confirm whether the conclusion that "the Dark Lord has completely disappeared" was absolutely certain.
"This thing is incredibly rare and difficult to find; it won't be a matter of a day to find it. Is it possible that the ring never had a soul, or that the soul has been damaged—just like Regulus secretly destroyed the locket?" Sirius asked.
"I don't think we can pin our hopes on anyone else in this matter," Draco said. "That's just wishful thinking."
"Yes, that's why we won't give up the search. But—at least for today, I think we can relax and celebrate." Sirius raised his glass of flaming whiskey to him, a hint of merriment on his face.
Draco raised his soda and clinked glasses with him blankly.
Has the Dark Lord really disappeared?
He had used the "Soul Binding" spell to fix the Dark Lord's soul to Quirrell's petrified head; logically, he shouldn't have been able to escape easily.
However, he was unsure whether such profound black magic had any secrets or tricks, nor whether the Dark Lord had any trump card to break the spell.
"Wait a minute—Barty Crouch doesn't have any trace of the Dark Lord on him, does he?" Draco suddenly remembered this.
"You've thought things through very thoroughly," Sirius said approvingly, then shrugged. "But the answer is no. I checked, and there's nothing there at all. He's spotless—cleaner than a newborn baby—leaving only a utterly chaotic brain."
"Where is he now?" Draco pressed.
"Connelly Fudge has taken him away. He had intended to get more information out of Crouch, but that's almost impossible. Crouch's mind is completely messed up; he keeps spouting nonsense about preparing for the World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament."
"I suspect the Minister of Magic isn't happy about all this," Draco said.
"He wasn't just unhappy, his face was dark. Fudge finally decided to send Crouch to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Injuries. After all, it was a high-ranking official who had been hit by the Imperius Curse and had attacked a Triwizard Tournament champion; the international repercussions would be terrible. Fudge looked terribly disheveled, and I reckon he's currently desperately trying to curry favor with Beauxbatons and Headmaster Durmstrang, hoping they'll give the British Ministry of Magic a break in the media."
"If Fudge knew who attacked Crouch, he'd probably be furious, wouldn't he?" Draco asked enigmatically. "Did you tell him?"
"Not yet. Given that Voldemort's soul has dissipated, all of this seems unnecessary. Fudge still thinks Quirrell went mad and attacked Barty Crouch. In other words, even if Fudge knew the truth, he wouldn't reveal it to anyone; he would desperately try to cover it up." Sirius was lost in memories, his tone turning cold. "I've seen him more than once—in Azkaban—he's a hypocritical power-hungry man who won't touch anything that would damage his reputation."
"What makes you say that?" Draco asked.
"Once the news of 'Voldemort's near return' spreads, it will be a huge blow to his resume and political achievements. He is most afraid of people saying that he is incompetent—people care about what they lack most—I am more inclined to think that he will try to cover it up. If Crouch were to tell the truth, he might find a Dementor or something to secretly silence Crouch."
Draco couldn't help but shudder at his expressionless face.
Sirius Black made such a terrible statement so casually—what exactly did he experience during his years in Azkaban?
Sirius keenly noticed the boy's expression—an expression that never truly relaxed.
The boy remained worried, his brow still furrowed. Upon hearing the good news, his first reaction was not jubilation, but rather a reluctance to immediately remove the shackles he was bound by.
At that very moment, Sirius clearly realized one thing:
Draco Malfoy is different from his godson Harry.
Harry's first reaction upon hearing this was relief and a broad smile; he did ask questions, of course, but he didn't show any subconscious anxiety.
Draco, on the other hand, seems to be accustomed to self-torture and lacks a certain innocence, recklessness, and willfulness that a young person should have.
He lacked Harry's childlike nature of seeking happiness, and at times he acted more bitter and resentful than Harry, who had a troubled past—despite the complete absence of hardship in his life—which was utterly baffling.
For the first time, a slight doubt arose in Sirius's heart.
A young master raised in luxury should be carefree. Why is he so used to looking at things so negatively? Why is he always like a frightened bird, afraid to accept positive ideas and afraid to believe in a happy ending?
This aloof Slytherin boy seems to regard "happiness and fulfillment" as something unattainable for him—it's truly bizarre.
Sirius silently observed Draco, his mind racing, yet he still couldn't fathom the boy's thoughts; while the latter, immersed in anguish and doubt, was unable to show any sign of a smile.
Sirius leaned back in his armchair and said casually, "That's it. It's all over. Draco Malfoy, go enjoy the good weather. Go play Quidditch with your friends, fall in love, or go on an adventure in the Forbidden Forest. Stop looking so gloomy. He's a thing of the past, you should be happy. Aren't you tired of always having a long face? You need to learn to breathe, smile more, and live your life."
These words possessed a certain magic, subtly evoking in Draco a certain hope and passion for life.
Draco had no idea how Sirius had figured it out.
Indeed, during the four years of his rebirth, he was in a state of anxiety every single day.
Every morning when he opened his eyes, the first thought in his mind was—the Dark Lord was getting closer and closer. The day when the Malfoys would be bullied was drawing ever closer, and the day when Hermione would be hurt was also drawing ever closer.
How could Draco enjoy life under such terrifying pressure?
He was restless and unable to eat or sleep all day long, with one question constantly swirling in his mind: how could he avoid repeating the tragedy of his past life?
Something must be done to resist the fear of the impending arrival of the Dark Lord and to stop the suffering that his beloved ones are about to endure. Otherwise, he will feel that he is wasting his chance at rebirth and all the arduous efforts he has made in the past.
So much so that if Draco were to lie idly in bed—even for just a day—without making any effort to find a way to deal with the Dark Lord, he would feel as if he were courting death.
Are you tired?
Tired. Very tired. Extremely tired.
There were several times when he was so exhausted that he could barely keep going.
He lives in a world where no one can truly understand him, not even his parents, and he carries terrifying memories and horrifying secrets.
Those vibrant lives often appeared quite differently to him: scarred, broken, and dead. He knew their fate, yet felt powerless to change anything. This often unsettled him.
He was neither a hero who saved everyone, nor a saint who willingly sacrificed himself. He was just a selfish, self-preserving, and vulgar mortal. He already carried too much, far too much, and had to be careful, even more careful; he tried to use numbness to cover up his emotions and indifference to hide his feelings.
Why should he pay attention to the cries of others? Shouldn't he be focusing on his own predicament?
He was often afraid of change. He didn't know how to change—no one had taught him—he had always been such a terrible person.
He was often afraid to make sacrifices. He feared that if he tried his best, he wouldn't be able to protect the people he cherished, and everything would end up in vain.
But sometimes, when his forced composure caught a glimpse of those innocent faces, his heart would wail, and he would be at a loss for what to do. He often felt overwhelmed by his own fickle thoughts.
He was never a man of strong will. He was often overwhelmed by sudden waves of self-hatred—that he had been so wrong, so unforgivable.
He even considered giving up, seeking relief, and ending his life.
There were times when he even thought, "Forget it." He was ready to die at any moment.
However, gradually, he became attached, unwilling, and nostalgic, and could not bear to give up.
Hermione—she pulled him back time and time again.
Just like in the Black Lake, she swam towards him as if by magic, pulling him back from the brink of giving up.
She was so special to him. She had always been different from everyone else. She was his burden, his lingering regret, and his last attachment to the world.
Hermione. As he thought of her, a flicker of life returned to his pale, fragile face, which had been filled with worry.
His delicate little rose.
Perhaps the only moments of joy and indulgence in his life were spent with her.
Her fragrance was a painkiller, bringing healing to his aching rebirth; her taste was as sweet as honey, neutralizing the bitterness in his heart.
She always said he saved her; but what she didn't know was—she was the one who had been saving him all along—she was constantly reaching out to him, saving him.
She always had unrealistic faith in him. This faith drove him to hesitantly try to change—like a clam opening its shell—like a snail tentatively stretching out its horn—and inexplicably become a slightly better Draco Malfoy.
Draco walked out of Sirius's office, suddenly wanting to see her immediately.
It felt like he hadn't seen her for a whole year, even though he had just pulled her out of the Black Lake yesterday and she had kissed him.
But his feelings were no longer the same as before.
In the past, there were always things that were more urgent and important that kept him from fully taking care of his own heart—that struggling, yearning, and possessive heart.
Their intimacy was mostly brief, restrained, and uncertain; he couldn't help but get closer to her, yet he also felt he shouldn't get close to her and drag her into the mess.
He carried too many burdens on his shoulders. He was always afraid that this weight would affect her and break her delicate shoulders.
This delicate little rose grew under his careful nurturing. He couldn't imagine her roots being broken by any strong wind; he even fantasized that not even her beautiful, sharp thorns could be broken.
No one can hurt her—not even him.
Would Draco Malfoy, burdened by his heavy past and difficult mission, actually hurt her? He was extremely unsure. He was always afraid to think about this question, lest he receive a terrible answer, an answer that would force him away from her.
Now, a new vision of life is slowly unfolding before Draco.
It was a new world, a world without the Dark Lord, a world where the Malfoy family would not fall.
A vibrant, prosperous, and bright world that he couldn't wait to share with Hermione Granger.
He wants to do many things.
He wanted to invite her to see the vast fields of roses in a corner of Malfoy Manor, the ones that bore her name, even though he knew perfectly well that none of them could compare to her.
He wanted to invite her to dance one more night, to let her spin, leap, and bloom under his guidance; he loved the feeling of having her in his grasp.
He wanted to take her to his family library, to show off the richest collection of books and rare editions in all of Britain. He wanted to see that look of envy, adoration, and infatuation on her face; this most avid bookworm in all of Britain would surely become completely absorbed and unable to extricate herself.
She'll definitely like it; she loves reading so much. Maybe she'll become obsessed with the library and can't live without it either.
A childlike smile appeared on the boy's face. Draco took out the Marauder's Map and found that, just as he had expected, the girl was wandering among the books in the Hogwarts Library.
He had to find her immediately! A squirrel that had found a beautiful hazelnut leaped with joy in his heart. His heart pounded, as if dancing a lively dance he had once performed at a Christmas ball.
His footsteps hurried through the corridor, the stairs, and past the library entrance, then suddenly slowed down near their study corner, appearing silently in front of the table.
The fireplace was burning brightly. Outside the window, a cold wind howled, while inside, a warm breeze blew. The girl had casually draped her robe over the back of the chair, wearing only a white shirt and a Gryffindor gold and red student tie, and was sitting upright at the table studying a workbook for arithmetic and divination.
Feeling the shadow cast on the table, Hermione looked up and glanced at him with her bright, cat-like eyes, seemingly surprised by his sudden appearance.
"Draco?" Her cheeks flushed slightly. "You startled me."
"Hermione Granger, I need to ask you something." Draco suppressed a surge of inexplicable emotion in his chest and forced his voice back to normal.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, trying to sound casual, her quill still scribbling on a pile of math problems.
The bright-eyed boy fell silent for a moment. He looked at her, at the speck of ink on her finger, at her beautiful brown hair, his lips moved with difficulty, but no sound came out.
Hermione glanced at him again. "Why do you look so serious—is something wrong?"
"It's nothing." Draco loosened his collar, which was tightened by his tie, and his mouth was dry from nervousness.
It's too hot here, he told himself, so hot it's making him dizzy.
The boy's mind was in turmoil, and he didn't know how to begin. He tossed his outer robe onto another armchair, revealing a white shirt identical to hers.
This seemed better, yet it didn't. The heat hadn't subsided; instead, it had intensified on his cheeks.
"Are you alright?" She couldn't help but glance at him again, feeling that his expression was a bit strange—as if he was about to hand in his exam paper in five minutes and his parchment was still empty—revealing visible tension and anxiety.
"It's fine," he replied mechanically, his voice as dull and lifeless as that of the ghostly Barrow.
He swallowed hard, trying to organize his thoughts, but his brain went blank for a moment and completely shut down.
The air was silent. Only the cheerful crackling of the fire in the stove echoed through the room.
How should he put it? Should he build up some groundwork or be more direct?
Shouldn't we find a more formal setting—is the library a bit too casual?
But she loves the library, doesn't she? Isn't this the perfect date spot for her Room of Requirement?
Moreover, the little bit of courage he had finally mustered was like wood burning in a fireplace; if he didn't take it out soon, it would burn out completely.
He had to tell her now. Draco took a deep breath and made up his mind.
He coughed, trying to get her to look at him, but his oblivious little rose seemed tired of his stammering tricks, lowering her head to focus on her calculations, completely unaware of his complicated feelings at that moment.
He remained silent for a long time, then walked up behind her, gazing at the parchment filled with writing and her thick, long, brown hair. He said softly, "Hermione—there's a problem that's been bothering me for a long time, and lately it's even gotten to the point where I can't eat or sleep. I wonder—could you help me think about this?"
"Oh? What kind of problem could stump Draco Malfoy and keep him up at night?" The girl finally showed some interest, stopping her quill at the last line of the calculation, and turned to look directly at him. "You even solved the Black Lake problem perfectly!"
This is truly rare, Hermione thought with a smile. He, so academically gifted and brimming with pride, had actually dared to ask her a question out of humility.
She thought she would never see this day.
"It's about a girl—" he said softly, looking into those beautiful, stubborn, and bright eyes.
"Oh—" Hermione's interest immediately plummeted.
A girl? Was he asking her for relationship advice? Has he fallen for another girl?
Don't blame her for overthinking—his tone didn't sound like he was talking about her. Hermione's heart clenched instantly.
Could it be that during their argument, another girl appeared and took a place in his heart? Is that why he was reluctant to talk to her before?
The various speculations caused Hermione's face to turn pale quickly. To hide the sense of loss in her heart, she lowered her head again—just as she retreated into her own world—and began to stare at her parchment.
Pretend not to care, she told herself. Listen to what he has to say. Stay calm, Hermione Granger, and do your divination homework.
She gripped the quill pen, its tip scratching a crack-like mark of ink across the parchment with frustration.
Even if he saves you from the bottom of the Black Lake, even if you like him or even fall in love with him, it doesn't mean he has to like you or love you.
You two have absolutely no relationship.
Even if you couldn't resist kissing him by the Black Lake—even if the students made a big fuss about it—don't forget Fleur Delacour kissed Harry and Ron by the lake too—it would just be a perfectly normal expression of friendliness. Hermione told herself, not daring to look at the people behind her anymore.
Draco hated the way she was dodging him.
Why does she always avoid looking at him when it comes to serious matters? Isn't there anything more important than these damn math and divination exercises?
She's like a carefree cat focused solely on her own ball of yarn, oblivious to the affection of others.
This made him feel uneasy.
Shouldn't expressing one's feelings involve looking into each other's eyes? But she never looks at him, so how can he say it?
"I should have asked earlier, but I always missed the opportunity because of this or that thing—" Draco stared at her vibrant, fluffy hair and began to speak; but she was cruel and still determined not to look at him.
"Oh, yeah—" she said lazily, waving the quill pen in her hand, her tone dismissive.
This won't do. Draco thought, I have to do something to get her attention.
He started teasing her. He wrapped his arm around her from behind, holding her tightly, and gently scratched her chin with his fingers, caressing her like a proud, incredibly intelligent, beautiful cat.
What is he doing? This illogical behavior! Is he mistaking her for Crookshanks? Hermione felt a surge of uneasy, shy unease.
She could no longer concentrate on torturing the parchment—he was so cunning—he always knew how to get her attention. In the drowsy afternoon, she felt a little comfortable, a little itchy, a little disoriented.
The most terrifying thing was that the area he touched was awakened, triggering a desperate current that coursed through her entire body—she was once again reminded with grief and indignation that she was a shallow girl—she always liked his touch, even though she knew that such ambiguous touch was poisonous.
Torn between conflicting emotions and self-reproach, she put down her quill and looked back at him—trying to avoid his mischievous hand—to figure out his intentions.
She looked up, her voice tinged with bitterness, "Draco, what are you doing? I thought you were going to talk about that girl..."
"That girl—" Draco repeated her words softly, gazing at her with fascination.
He traced her features with his free left hand: her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, and her lips; the childlike laugh lines under her eyes, the hidden freckles on the sides of her nose, the dimples that gradually appeared at the corners of her mouth...
Her smile faded, and her innocent, frightened eyes looked at him, as if they were about to reveal her vulnerability; yet she did not reject him after all, and was unusually docile, tacitly allowing him to depict her.
When did she stop rejecting him with such pride? She looked up at him with a vacant gaze, as if he could take whatever he wanted from her. Draco watched her cautiously, finally managing to glean a sliver of confidence from her behavior.
He needed a bit of confidence, given that he was taking a risk. He was acting in ways completely unlike a Slytherin, more like what a reckless Gryffindor would do.
Perhaps many hidden worries remain shrouded in mist, and perhaps many unknown storms are gathering ahead...
He should have been more cautious, more restrained. But the desire in his heart was bursting forth, and no amount of pressure could quell it.
"That girl is you." He stroked her cheek and gazed into her eyes.
The panic in Hermione's eyes disappeared, and her vulnerability turned into relief.
There were no other girls—she breathed a brief sigh of relief.
"What—what are you trying to say?" Her face slowly flushed, given how close they were. She tried her best to appear indifferent, but she couldn't ignore his hand. His fingers, stroking her cheek, were gentle, as gentle as his grey eyes.
At this moment, Draco gazed tenderly into her warm eyes, a sudden lump forming in his throat. "I—I should have said it a long time ago. You know I've always been a coward. I rarely speak honestly of myself, and I'm not good at expressing my true feelings. I'm always self-righteous, always pessimistic and negative, always constructing many bleak endings in my mind..."
Hermione was extremely puzzled. When she heard "a bleak ending," she subconsciously frowned.
Draco smoothed her brow and forced himself to continue, while he still had the last shred of courage to dissect his soul, which was covered in mud and dust.
"I know all too well what a terrible person I am. I am stupid, frivolous, snobbish, vulgar, hypocritical, utterly worthless… I have done many wrong things, and I do not expect any forgiveness, let alone any favor or affection…"
This is getting more and more outrageous. Hermione looked at his melancholy eyes in surprise as he relentlessly criticized her, using many harsh words to describe her.
Could it be that he wasn't going to discuss emotional topics with her as she thought, but instead launched into a self-criticism session?
What does this sudden, self-deprecating remark mean? Is he really as bad as he claims?
He was the most perfect boy in her heart! Hermione stared at his exquisitely angular face, thinking that his brain might have been filled with the water of the Black Lake, and that this was why he said such crazy things that no one believed.
"But I still harbored a delusion... You are like a starlight in the darkness, much brighter than me, guiding me and making me feel less alone and adrift. You made me feel that there is still hope for me... Hermione, I—I have liked you for a very, very long time, much longer than you can imagine."
He suddenly said "I like it" at the end, which abruptly dispelled her doubts and made it difficult for her to believe that he was talking nonsense.
He was confessing his feelings.
Hermione slowly opened her eyes wide, trying her best to process what had happened.
Draco Malfoy is confessing his love to Hermione Granger.
He once invited her to be his dance partner, he once jumped into the Black Lake, he once stood in front of the werewolves, and he once protected her with his own body during a riot in the camp.
His affection for her had remained constant. Now, he suddenly confessed his feelings to her, looking at her with a frank, direct, and determined gaze that she had never expected.
"Would you—be with me?" Draco forced himself to say the question, awaiting her judgment.
He had to remind himself not to run away—with great anxiety—even if she might refuse, he couldn't run away.
The girl didn't speak. So he continued to hold her cheeks, gently, stubbornly, and firmly, hoping to clearly see all the changes in her eyes.
He had to see it all, positive or negative.
Her eyes sparkled with a variety of emotions, shifting between surprise, embarrassment, and joy.
"Of course—of course I would!" Hermione said softly, still unable to believe it was true.
Her smile gradually brightened. She said in a slightly reproachful yet loving tone, "I was just... Oh, Draco, you're a little silly. I don't understand why you're only asking now, and why you had to say a bunch of nonsensical self-deprecating things beforehand. This is probably the most surprising confession ever..."
Draco's heart suddenly stopped beating. Her words caught in the artery leading to his ventricle, then suddenly released, causing his heart to pound violently at twice its normal speed.
"I'm so sorry I asked so late." He smiled at her, his voice hoarse, his eyes gradually welling up with tears. "I'm so happy, Hermione, I really—"
"Silly boy, what's there to cry about? Kiss me—before my neck breaks in this position…" Hermione said cheerfully, patting Draco's well-proportioned hand reassuringly. Just as she was about to say something witty to tease him, he leaned down and suddenly kissed her lips.
She was enveloped in his presence with joy.
His light kisses were full of silky tenderness, gently sucking and lingering.
He seemed to be reverently kissing a priceless treasure, with a certain solemnity, even a touch of caution.
She gave a disgruntled snort and habitually licked him. A sinister little voice inside her suddenly jumped out, saying she wanted to see her new boyfriend lose control. So she parted her lips slightly, welcoming him in.
"You naughty girl," he uttered a soft sigh.
"Yes, that's me," she said vaguely.
Why was she so adorable? Draco felt like he was dreaming.
She readily agreed to his request, and it all happened so naturally, without any of the hardships he had imagined.
It's as if he deserves this kind of happiness.
It was as if he had never broken.
He held her tightly, never wanting to let go of her again.
Even through his shirt, Hermione could feel his heat. He kissed her passionately and deeply, like some animal released from its cage, unleashing his pent-up passion.
He held her, his grip on her delicate neck. His hold wasn't tight; Draco was always afraid of crushing her. He held her close, tenderly, letting her continue to look up and kiss him—after all, she was already dizzy and exhausted from the kisses.
The quill pen was tossed aside, and the parchment covered with arithmetic and divination exercises was in disarray.
Yes, there are things in this world more important than getting an "O"—Hermione thought wistfully—and that is getting Draco Malfoy's kiss.
Their kiss was probably the most contorted position in the world. However, a breathless Hermione Granger had no energy to think about the position; she sweetly thought she could kiss him a little longer—as long as he could keep in control of her.