HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 104: The Shadow of the Dark Mark

Upon hearing the screams from the campsite, Harry Potter quickly dressed and rushed out with his best friend Ron.

He saw Ginny, dressed in a white nightdress, run from the neighboring tent in a panic, shouting, "Hermione's not in bed, and her wand isn't here either... Where did she go?"

"You lot—get into the forest quickly, stay together, don't scatter! We're here to help the Ministry keep order, and we'll keep an eye on her!" Mr. Weasley's voice cut through the noise as he shouted, quickly rolling up his sleeves.

Harry saw Bill, Charlie, and Percy following behind Mr. Weasley, all dressed and with their sleeves rolled up and wands in hand, ready to help their father maintain order.

There was no time to lose. Fred grabbed Ginny's hand and dragged her, who was still looking around for Hermione, into the forest. Harry and Ron followed behind them, hurrying along the path.

The forest was already packed with wizards. Some were dressed in nightclothes, yawning wearily and not understanding what was happening; others were dressed in Irish colors, with shamrocks around their necks, and looked terrified.

At this moment, however, it didn't matter what robes they wore or which team they supported. People mingled together like a spilled palette, craning their necks to look in the direction of the campsite, talking and complaining, buzzing and huddling together like a swarm of bees that had lost their hive.

In the midst of the chaos and noise, Harry and Ron quickly separated from Fred and the others after just a few turns. To make matters worse, Harry's wand had vanished without a trace.

"Lumos," Ron said, raising his wand and letting the thin beam of light illuminate more of the ground, trying to help Harry find the damned wand as quickly as possible. But Harry searched and searched to no avail.

"Did it fall out while you were running?" Ron asked, frowning.

"Very likely," Harry said, annoyed.

A feeling of weakness and helplessness washed over him. He realized then how unbearable it was to be without his wand. The words Draco had used to nag him—to tell him to protect his wand—were now proving effective.

But it was too late. Reality was closing in on them, leaving them no room for further delay. They heard a deafening explosion coming from the forest's edge, echoing through the night sky.

"Harry, let's go first, all right?" Ron asked nervously after listening for a while.

Harry had the same idea. Ron's judgment was correct; this wasn't a safe place to stay. Although he was reluctant, he had to put the matter of "finding the wand" aside and temporarily prioritize "escaping to a safe location."

The two boys, somewhat dejected, walked deeper into the dark forest, hoping to run into George, Fred, and Ginny, and even harboring a sliver of hope they might find Hermione, who'd mysteriously disappeared.

They passed a group of chattering goblins—who seemed ignorant and fearless, showing no fear whatsoever; then they passed several beautiful Veela—a group of young wizards were noisily gathered around them, unsurprisingly showing off their wildly imaginative and outlandish life achievements.

"Come on, Ron, stop looking," Harry said, pulling his friend away forcefully, not daring to linger. They walked deeper and deeper into the forest until they reached the center.

Everything here fell silent; the sounds of the explosions seemed to have faded into the distance.

In the silence, the faint voices of a young boy and girl talking were particularly clear, coming from behind some dense bushes.

"Ow... be gentle..." the girl breathed softly.

"All right..." The boy was breathing heavily, and he sounded nervous.

"No, it hurts too much..." The girl gasped, her voice filled with hidden pain. Harry recognized it as Hermione's voice.

"Just bear with it... it'll be over soon..." The boy's voice sounded like Draco's? Harry was rather unsure, because he'd never heard Draco speak so gently before; his voice was usually calmer, even a bit colder.

But who else could Hermione be so close to besides that Slytherin boy?

"What are they doing?" Ron had also vaguely discerned their identities. He widened his eyes and asked Harry in a low voice.

"I don't know either," Harry practically mouthed. He swallowed hard, exchanged a glance with Ron, and their eyes shone with the same curiosity and interest in gossip.

They crept forward, peering from behind the bushes toward the source of the sound—

It was indeed Hermione. She was sitting on a large rock, and someone's once-perfectly tailored black suit jacket was now on her, looking somewhat wrinkled.

At this moment, she showed none of her usual commanding or assertive demeanor, and even appeared somewhat fragile.

Draco was wearing a black shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up. He knelt before her, one hand supporting her bare ankle, the other holding the instep, gently and slowly rotating it.

The girl seemed about to cry from the action. Draco glanced up at her tearful face, then quickly looked down again, whispering, "Good girl... it'll be over soon..."

Harry and Ron stared at each other with wide eyes, looking as if they'd seen a ghost.

Hermione, who'd been like Mrs. Weasley this morning, banging on the door to wake them up, and who was the terror who'd confiscate their broomsticks and forbid them from playing Quidditch if they didn't finish their homework during the holidays, had suddenly become a different person tonight, becoming the soft and obedient "good girl" Draco described.

Draco was truly brave, Harry thought.

A few months ago, she'd even punched Draco hard, and Harry and Ron had looked on in pain.

Didn't Draco have any psychological trauma? How dare he provoke her?

Surprisingly, this proud young lady, who hated being looked down upon, had no objection to this title.

She even gave a pitiful "mm" to the platinum-haired boy before her, her voice trembling with tears.

Harry and Ron exchanged silent glances, conveying their astonishment and shock, when suddenly they heard a soft "click" sound from the darkness—the gentle sound of bones returning to their place.

"All right. It shouldn't be dislocated anymore now," Draco said, gently placing her foot on his knee and smiling at her, his voice becoming even gentler. "Try moving it around a bit. Can you move your ankle?"

Hermione tried wiggling her ankle and suddenly found it could move freely again.

"You're really good, Draco!" she said, sniffing and unable to resist praising him.

"It's best not to move around too much for the next two or three days. You still need to rest," Draco said, relieved, and helped her put on her socks and shoes, his movements still very gentle.

Hermione didn't move, sitting there obediently, watching his movements. After he'd finished putting on her shoes, he looked up at her, a hint of concern in his voice: "What's wrong? Why are you so distracted? Are you still feeling unwell?"

"No," she stammered. In the moonlight, Harry saw a blush creep up Hermione's face.

"We thought you were up to something..." Ron said, emerging from behind the bushes, wand in hand, his voice tinged with obvious disappointment. Harry followed him out, his hands empty.

"Harry, Ron, thank Merlin! You're all right!" Hermione exclaimed with delight. Then she looked at them suspiciously. "What did you think we were doing?"

"It's... like this, like that..." Ron said, rather embarrassed by her question, his tone becoming unclear.

A blush crept onto Draco's pale, thin face. He was a boy too, and he roughly knew what kind of nonsense boys their age were thinking.

"What are you doing here? Harry, where's your wand?" After a slight moment of panic, he regained his composure and glanced sharply at Harry's empty hand, asking pointedly.

"Lost," Harry said, his mood visibly somber.

"Are you related to Longbottom?" Draco asked sternly.

Longbottom had lost quite a few wands last term.

"No," Harry said, somewhat annoyed.

"You need to watch your habit of keeping your wand; don't put it in your back jeans pocket anymore," Draco said seriously. "It's practically saying to all thieves, 'Come and take it.'"

Harry had been regretting it for ages. He whispered, "I'll take your advice... if I can find it again."

Hermione, who was standing to the side, was no longer blushing much. Suddenly remembering something, she interjected, "Where's Ginny? Is she all right?"

"Oh, she's fine. George and Fred are with her—" Ron said casually.

Suddenly, they heard stumbling footsteps coming from behind a clump of dark bushes, as if someone was walking toward them with uneven steps.

Harry was about to say something to greet the person when he saw Draco put his index finger to his lips, signaling them to be quiet.

On such a dangerous night, how could one act rashly before being certain whether the person was friend or foe? Draco thought it best to remain still for now.

Without warning, a man's voice suddenly broke the silence—it was a spell—"Morsmordre!"

Then a huge, glowing green skull emerged from the darkness, and a serpent emerged from its mouth. It leaped up through the treetops, flew into the air, and caused screams of terror to erupt from the surrounding forest.

Draco's face immediately turned deathly pale.

He knew what it was, of course—it was the Dark Mark. Dark memories from his past life seemed to flood back all at once, and an overwhelming sense of terror made him dizzy.

He remembered the Dark Mark had appeared on the night of the Quidditch World Cup in his previous life. The problem was, he hadn't experienced it firsthand. In his previous life, he'd only vaguely seen it at the forest's edge; at that time, he hadn't known what the mark meant, but he'd found it somewhat novel, even impressive.

Now the experience was completely different, especially when there might be a Death Eater nearby.

He suppressed his fear and quickly positioned himself before the rock where Hermione sat, gripping his wand tightly, its tip warily pointed at the dark thicket from which the spell had been cast, fearing some even more terrible spell might suddenly be unleashed from there, or that some Death Eater might leap out and harm her.

However, by the enormous light rising from the skull, Draco could gradually determine the place was now empty.

"What was that?" Ron asked. He hadn't yet realized how dangerous things had just been. He looked up and pointed to the sky.

"What's happening?" Harry asked, completely unaware of what was going on.

"That's the Dark Mark, the symbol of You-Know-Who! I read about it in *The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts*!" Hermione said, her face pale, as she tried standing up from the rock. She hopped on one leg twice and tugged at Draco's sleeve. "It's dangerous here—let's go."

"Yes. We have to go right away," Draco said. Reminded by her, he reacted quickly. He'd barely finished speaking when about twenty wizards Apparated around them, surrounding them. They drew their wands—

Without hesitation, Draco shouted, "Get down!" He didn't spare thought for Harry and Ron who were further away, and quickly grabbed Hermione, who was caught off guard, and pulled her to the ground to avoid them.

He nimbly spun around, first using his back as a cushion, then rolled on the grass before finally bending down to cover her beneath him.

These actions were almost all completed in the blink of an eye. Rather than being the result of careful thought, they were more like instinctive reactions.

"Stupefy!" About twenty voices shouted at the same time a second later.

Hermione's heartbeat and breathing seemed to have been paused. Everything happened too fast. Before she could even think, Draco had suddenly embraced her tightly.

The world spun around.

She inexplicably rolled onto the cool grass and was held tightly in his arms. From above his cedarwood-scented shoulders, she saw a series of dazzling flashes of light.

In an instant, beams of scorching red light crisscrossed above their heads, struck the tree trunks, and bounced back into the darkness.

Like raging, fiery meteors, they crashed into the sky above their bodies with deadly danger.

She couldn't imagine what she'd be like now if Draco hadn't moved so quickly. She might have been hit.

Perhaps she had already been hit. She'd been hit hard by him.

By the flickering red light and the cold moonlight filtering through the treetops, she could see a stray strand of hair falling across his furrowed brow. She could hear his heavy breathing and see his face was deathly pale.

His expression didn't seem as calm and composed as usual. But his tightly pursed lips revealed resolute meaning.

Neither of them dared move until the incantations ceased. Her hands gripped the back of his shirt tightly, trembling slightly. His hand was under the back of her head, and another hand was on her waist. He carefully protected her, despite his slight shivering.

Hermione could feel his trembling; she could even feel his heartbeat. It was a rapid, drum-like thud, pounding against her through his black shirt.

He was like a warm, cedarwood-scented wrapping, enveloping her so tightly that everything about him was perceived with crystal clarity by her heart.

"Draco..." she called his name softly, as if it would give her a sense of security. That feeling came again—that inescapable attachment to him, both terrifying and irresistible.

What could she do? In that terrifying moment, his embrace brought her to the brink of despair. She buried herself in the boy's arms in despair. This boy, who treated her like a sister, was the only safe haven she could find amidst the turmoil.

With him there, neither the deadly red light nor the impact of the ground could harm her. He'd once again shielded her from danger with his body. Why would he do this for her? She called his name between breaths, feeling perhaps even more hopeless than before.

"I'm here... don't be afraid," he said. He quickly turned his head, his cool cheek brushing against hers. He turned to check if she was all right, but his gaze suddenly met hers, for she was also turning to look at him.

In that moment, she saw his gray eyes. Those eyes blinked anxiously and fearfully, as if afraid she'd disappear. She knew there might be some confusion in her eyes, something indescribable. Those feelings rose from her suddenly pounding heartbeat, rising all the way to her eyes.

Amidst the pounding of her heart, she suddenly realized she could no longer escape the gaze of his worried eyes. It was as if her soul had been twisted into a straight line by his eyes, drawn away from his pupils.

In the instant their eyes met, a single second stretched into eternity. In that eternal gaze, she felt their warm breaths brushing against each other.

If he'd moved a little closer, or she'd moved a little closer, she was sure their lips would have touched immediately. She parted her lips slightly, blinked in confusion, and suddenly felt the hand behind her head tighten.

Draco involuntarily tilted his face slightly.

They were face to face, so close they could feel a subtle attraction. The faint, sweet, youthful scent emanating from her brought him to the brink of losing control.

In an instant, the matter of the Dark Mark seemed to have faded away from him.

Only one strange thought occupied his mind: her lips were so close. If she were any closer—

"Stop!" Mr. Weasley cried out in terror from afar. "Stop! That's my son!"

The Ministry wizards slowly stepped forward and surrounded them, no longer pointing their wands at them.

Hermione snapped out of her daze. She turned to the other side to check the situation and saw Harry and Ron helping each other to their feet not far away, seemingly unharmed.

The shout jolted Draco awake. He closed his eyes briefly, then abruptly pulled away from her bright eyes, her soft, cloud-like cheeks, and her lips that were almost within reach.

He took a breath, blinked, and came to his senses. He quickly stood, put his arm around her waist, and pulled her up from where she lay.

The flashing Dark Mark in the sky brought him back to his senses. Worry returned to his heart, and panic once again took over his mind.

Draco could foresee that appearing awkwardly in such a setting would be troublesome for him, a Malfoy.

Sure enough, Mr. Barty Crouch strode forward, his sharp eyes sweeping over the four of them, and demanded, "Which of you did it? Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

"We didn't!" "We didn't do anything!" These were Harry and Ron's voices, looking both confused and furious.

Hermione saw Ron glaring angrily at Mr. Weasley and asking, "Why did you attack us?"

"Don't lie!" Barty Crouch said rudely to Harry and Ron—he was currently the only wizard present pointing a wand at them.

Then he scanned them, his bulging eyes finding their target—Draco's body—and shouted, "Aha! Look who I've found! I've found a Malfoy! I've finally caught you! It was you—you conjured the Dark Mark!"

How could he just randomly accuse people? Hermione was utterly astonished. Mr. Crouch's wand tip was almost poking Draco's face. Draco arrogantly turned his head away, not intending to offer any further explanation.

Seeing this, Mr. Weasley hesitated, remembering his animosity toward Lucius Malfoy. But he stepped forward and said, "He's just a boy—"

"Arthur, this is none of your business—" Mr. Crouch said, with his terrifying expression still on his face. He approached Draco without even glancing at Mr. Weasley.

Mr. Crouch—how could he be such an indiscriminate person? Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief.

"No, it wasn't him!" Hermione said, gripping the boy's slightly cool hand tightly, a hint of anger in her voice. She tried calmly telling Mr. Crouch, "He didn't do anything; the only thing he did was protect me from your attacks."

"He was found at the scene! You don't understand—his father—" Mr. Crouch clearly didn't take her words to heart; he didn't even glance at her, still staring relentlessly at Draco. "He has a record!"

"Barty," a witch in a long woolen dressing gown whispered. "They're only kids, Barty—they could never—"

"Where did you four get this mark from?" Mr. Weasley asked anxiously. Mr. Crouch glared at Draco but still didn't lower his wand.

Draco remained coldly silent. This hostile treatment and suspicious attitude from the Ministry officials instantly reminded him of moments from his past life—the time when his father was arrested as a Death Eater.

They'd only ask the questions they wanted to ask, state their position, and display their arrogance in a fierce manner; they didn't really want any answers from him.

Besides, he knew Barty Crouch's aggressive nature. He was quite certain nothing he said now would make a difference, and arguing would only lead to worse treatment.

Those arrogant Ministry officials, as they always had been, refused to listen to anyone's explanation, talking to themselves and passing judgment on anyone on their own.

Then he remembered more. His father's sleeves had been roughly rolled up by the Aurors from the Ministry, their disdainful looks directed at the Dark Mark on his arm; and then there was him, standing before the Dark Lord, bewildered, receiving the "honor" of the Dark Mark, the painful "honor" imprinted on his arm...

Draco stood frozen in place, suddenly unable to move.

In an instant, he was bombarded by horrific memories. It felt terrible; he felt as if his internal organs were being shattered.

Maintaining a cold exterior was the only thing he could do at that moment. He couldn't utter a word, afraid that if he did, he'd either roar or break down.

Hermione reacted in a completely different way from Draco. She didn't care about the Ministry's rules, nor did she care how high-ranking Barty Crouch was.

She pulled the silent, innocent boy behind her, raised her face haughtily, and, like an angry cat with its fur standing on end, faced Mr. Crouch's wand head-on.

Draco stared at her in astonishment—the petite girl before him—wondering where she got such strength and what she wanted to do.

He tried pulling her away from Mr. Crouch's wand, but she pulled him back more forcefully, her eyes burning with fire.

She finally unleashed the tough, ruthless side Harry and Ron had mentioned to Draco, the side that belonged to Hermione Granger. She seemed never to have known how to spell "weak."

Draco stared at her, watching her glare back defiantly at Mr. Crouch's wildly bulging eyes. She pointed straight ahead to the spot where they'd just heard the sound and said firmly, word by word, "I'll tell you again—it wasn't him! Someone was speaking loudly behind those trees and then chanting a spell. We all heard it!"

"Oh, so that person was standing right there, was he?" Mr. Crouch didn't move, but his gaze grew even more menacing. Finally, he turned to Hermione, his face filled with suspicion. "And he recited a spell, did he? You seem to know a great deal about how to conjure the mark, Miss—"

Hermione didn't move. She stood straight before Draco, her lips pressed tightly together, looking completely fearless.

She even gripped her wand tightly, though she hadn't raised the tip yet.

As for Harry and Ron, and even Mr. Weasley, they were all stunned by the standoff.

"Please, Barty—she's only a child!" the square-jawed witch in her woolen dressing gown said, glancing at Hermione, her thick eyebrows raised high, her monocle seemingly about to slip off. "I know her. She's a classmate of my niece—a Muggle-born! She has no way of knowing any of this, and besides, they couldn't conjure such things at their age!"

The Ministry officials agreed with the witch's opinion. They all seemed to believe the children were innocent and pointed their wands in the direction Hermione had previously indicated, peering into the dark bushes.

"We're too late," the witch said, looking through her monocle for a moment, then shaking her head. "They've already Disapparated."

"I don't think so," said a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard. "Our Stunning Spells just happened to penetrate those bushes... we may very well have hit them..."

Draco recognized him as Amos Diggory, Cedric Diggory's father. He looked energetic and showed no trace of the heartbroken demeanor he'd displayed during the Triwizard Tournament final in his previous life.

Mr. Diggory straightened his back, raised his wand, strode across the clearing, and disappeared into the darkness. A moment later, his shouts echoed. He emerged from behind the bushes carrying an even more suspicious, and more pitiful, suspect—a house-elf.

"That's Winky, the house-elf from the corner of the Top Box. She's from the Crouch family," the nearby wizards whispered among themselves.

Now Barty Crouch had become his own imaginary enemy. His gaze was finally no longer fixed on Hermione or Draco.

He stared intently at Winky for a while, then turned pale and went to search the bushes himself, seemingly trying to find another scapegoat.

But he returned empty-handed, having found nothing.

"She's got a wand in her hand..." Mr. Diggory said, holding up a wand to show it. "And it's the wand that conjured the Dark Mark." The wizards all gathered round to look at the wand.

After Barty Crouch stopped threatening Draco, Hermione finally relaxed her tense body. She let out a small breath, turned to look at the boy behind her, and smiled gently at him.

The boy's eyes flickered, his face pale and astonished as he stared at her, his lips twitching as if he wanted to say something. Just as she was about to move closer to him, she heard Harry cry out—it was the very wand he'd lost.

Amidst the chaotic debate, Ministry officials pieced together a possible fact from a jumble of details: someone had stolen Harry's wand, released the Dark Mark, then thrown it into the forest; and unlucky Winky had happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and picked it up.