HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 105: The Tenderness Hidden on the Back

Even though the Ministry of Magic officials came up with a nearly reasonable explanation, an angry Mr. Crouch still had no patience to understand Winky's innocence.

Hermione was somewhat disillusioned. How could Mr. Crouch abandon Winky so indiscriminately?

During the entire day of festivities, she'd met all sorts of Ministry of Magic officials under Mr. Weasley's guidance. They were either easygoing or humorous, and even those with serious faces maintained a minimum level of fairness and responsibility.

Mr. Crouch—the very person Percy admired—was supposed to be a highly respected official, but he was far more extreme than she'd imagined.

He was too busy being angry about Winky's "disobedience to her master's orders and leaving the tent without permission," rudely ignoring the fact that the terrifying scene tonight would frighten a house-elf who was afraid of heights.

He cruelly decided to give Winky the "most severe punishment"—her clothes. The poor house-elf burst into tears, unable to accept this terrible fate that had suddenly been imposed upon her. Mr. Crouch, on the other hand, took a step back in disgust, as if avoiding something filthy, and shook off the elf's grip.

"How could this happen?" she said indignantly to Draco in a low voice. "How could he be so heartless to Winky? Shouldn't we do something about it?"

He shook his head and said softly, "Hermione, there's nothing we can do. We can't change the mind of someone who's made up their mind. After all, this is an internal matter of the Crouch family—even Ministry officials can't interfere."

Hermione looked around and realized he was right.

No officials stepped forward to stop them. They were busy taking over everything, sealing off the scene, and checking for any overlooked clues that could help them find the person who'd cast the Dark Mark.

"In my opinion, these children are no longer of any use." At this point, Mr. Diggory said kindly. "Arthur, take them back."

Arthur Weasley was overjoyed upon hearing this. He also intended to get the children out of the woods as soon as possible. This was no joke; it wasn't a situation their age should be facing.

At this moment, Arthur glanced at the Malfoy boy standing there, a sense of unease creeping into his heart. The boy had stood quietly to the side the whole time, his demeanor as arrogant as his detestable father's.

Arthur noticed he remained indifferent to the chaos around him, not even bothering to speak to anyone—whether it was a malicious accusation or a well-intentioned inquiry—he was completely out of place in the weedy, bushy environment around him.

The only difference between him and his father might be that Lucius Malfoy, that arrogant pure-blood advocate, wouldn't obediently be protected by a Muggle-born girl, with the two of them standing so close, hand in hand.

Even now, this boy with an air of nobility was tilting his head and naturally leaning close to the girl to remove a few blades of grass stuck to her hair; the girl was looking up at him and whispering something, completely unconcerned about his actions, as if she'd grown accustomed to such intimate contact with him.

To be honest, this scene was something Arthur had never heard of or witnessed before.

He'd never imagined any Muggle-born girl would be taken seriously by a Malfoy—any Malfoy—until today.

If Lucius, that pure-blood-obsessed madman, saw this scene, would he still be able to save face? A strange thought couldn't help but arise in Arthur's mind.

He even had a stranger idea: this boy might be different from his father.

However, based on the historical knowledge that "a Malfoy has never been friendly to a Weasley," Arthur still looked somewhat hesitant when he went over to ask Draco, "You... come with us and leave here, all right?"

"All right. Thank you." Draco said calmly, casually removing the last blade of grass from Hermione's head and nodding slightly to Mr. Weasley.

He also remembered that when he'd been questioned by Barty Crouch, Mr. Weasley had spoken up for him.

Arthur Weasley, despite his strained relationship with his father Lucius, was a good man.

And so, as the dew grew heavy, they left behind the shimmering tent and Winky's cries, hastily departing the clearing and wandering through the woods.

Mr. Weasley led the way, asking Ron and Harry in detail what had just happened; Draco followed quietly behind them, keeping some distance.

He continued to carry Hermione. Although she'd refused twice, her face flushed, he'd insisted. "Your ankle needs rest. Or would you prefer someone else to carry you?"

"No, that's not it," she muttered, glancing at him furtively.

She'd had enough of him tonight—so much so that she'd grown accustomed to it.

*Is this a good thing or a bad thing? He wants to indulge in the "playing the older brother" role again—that's why he's being so attentive to me, right?* While she enjoyed his special treatment, she felt a pang of bitterness in her heart.

"Consider it my way of thanking you for bravely standing up for me," he said lightly, smiling at her.

This wasn't the first time Hermione had spoken up for him. He remembered that in their second year, she'd argued with Hufflepuff students in the library simply because they'd said he was "unworthy" of the title of Seeker.

From that moment on, she'd become something special to him. She was no longer just the girl from his past life's memories, but was given new meaning.

She was protecting him! Protecting him so passionately and selflessly. He thought to himself, and walked steadily, not falling behind the person in front despite carrying her.

The feeling of being protected by her was a joy he'd never experienced in his previous life. In the past, only his father and mother had protected him, out of blood ties; now, with Hermione Granger added, the feeling was novel and warmed his heart.

*My brave little witch.*

Draco couldn't imagine how such immense energy could erupt from her slender frame. She'd dared to confront the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and the former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and her presence was in no way inferior to theirs.

*She's a wonderful girl.* He even felt a surge of pride.

She'd given him proper vindication—when he was mentally dejected, when he was maliciously misunderstood, and when he was wronged and speechless.

He'd been completely powerless to resist at that time. Both the accusations from the outside world and the internal turmoil had nearly crushed him. He'd been afraid—afraid of the fate that couldn't be corrected, afraid of repeating the same mistakes, afraid of being doomed again.

Birth was original sin, an unchangeable fact. He was the son of a former Death Eater, and might very well become one in the future—how obvious that seemed.

But she'd never believed in predestination or judged by birth. She was willing to stand up for those who were despised—to stand up for him.

She possessed a certain idealism that often impressed him and even drew him in.

"What will happen to Winky?" Hermione asked him as soon as they'd left the clearing.

"I don't know," Draco said.

"I don't like the way they treat Winky," she said stubbornly. "Neither the Ministry officials nor Mr. Crouch treat her like a person!"

"Yes," Draco said. "Wizards have always been like that, especially those from ancient pure-blood families. They don't believe house-elves have feelings."

"That's what makes me sad—I feel sad for Winky." Hermione gently rested her head on the back of his neck, a few strands of hair falling onto his skin, causing a slight tickle.

"Mm," he replied patiently, listening as she continued her thoughts.

"She clearly has a fear of heights, yet Mr. Crouch still sent her to that high Top Box to reserve a seat for him; tonight, those masked wizards were levitating Muggles in the sky—who wouldn't be afraid? It's understandable that she wanted to escape from them! But Mr. Crouch was furious because she disobeyed orders and ran from the tent... It's utterly unreasonable!" she said angrily.

"Crouch is in a high position, and many eyes are on him. He can't bear the responsibility if his house-elf goes around causing trouble with a wand. You know, that violates Clause Three of the Code of Wand Use: No non-human creature shall carry or use a wand," Draco reminded her slowly.

"But Mr. Crouch knew perfectly well she didn't do it, yet he still dismissed her! He didn't care how scared or upset she was—that condescending attitude… he didn't care if she lived or died!" Hermione was furious.

"Yes. I don't like Crouch either—he's too aggressive," Draco said calmly. "However, perhaps you've realized over the years that some wizards even classify people into different ranks, let alone non-human species."

Hermione paused.

Her anger was completely extinguished by those words. Just now, she'd been angry at the apparent injustice and hadn't had a chance to calm down and think about the deeper meaning behind it.

Yes. House-elves weren't the only ones who suffered unfair treatment.

She lay on his back in silence for a while, then finally asked softly, "What about you, Draco? Do you also have a hierarchy in your eyes? I'm a Muggle-born witch. Do you look down on me like those pure-blood wizards do, considering me inferior?"

"And you? Would you look down on me because I'm the son of a former Death Eater?" Draco asked her, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Of course not! This isn't your fault!" Hermione said urgently. "I know what kind of person you are—"

"Then I'll return that sentence to you verbatim. I feel the same way." Draco walked steadily forward. He heard Hermione laugh softly and cheerfully in his ear.

He smiled slightly, the bitterness in his heart dissipating somewhat. He tightened his grip, securing her more firmly against his back.

Draco could sense that Hermione was quite angry about what had happened to Winky. He'd known from the beginning that the issue of house-elves' rights would be a powerful spark igniting a powder keg within her.

He admitted that if it were his past self, he would most likely have thought it perfectly justified for a master to punish house-elves. House-elves that disobeyed their master's orders and failed to uphold his reputation should certainly be severely punished; otherwise, all the servants could disobey their master's commands, leading to complete chaos.

Only by strictly enforcing orders could a well-organized manor be managed—at least that's what Narcissa did.

No one considered the rights or feelings of house-elves. In pure-blood wizarding families, they'd never enjoyed fair treatment, nor had they ever been treated as people by their owners; gradually, the wizarding descendants influenced by this would also feel that house-elves were born to be treated simply, crudely, and unfairly.

However, Draco had seen Dobby break into Malfoy Manor in his previous life and save Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

At that moment, he'd seemed to understand something she was insisting on.

He was incredibly grateful to Dobby. He was grateful it possessed human emotions and a free spirit, allowing it to do things he dared not do.

*Thank goodness, thank goodness...*

If it had been any later, he didn't know if Hermione would have been able to withstand Bellatrix's Cruciatus Curse...

If it had been a moment later, he didn't know if she would have been destroyed, becoming a permanent resident of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, or bitten to death by that filthy werewolf Greyback, stepping straight through death's door.

The thought of this made him breathless.

*Don't think about it! She's perfectly fine on your back—she'll be all right.* Draco tightened his grip, desperately trying to reassure himself.

*Think again about the house-elves she sympathized with.*

Draco still hadn't worked out one thing: what was the right way to treat house-elves?

He'd already tried to make some small changes. As for Dobby, he was willing to be more patient with it, reward it, and even give it a raise, all because it had saved him.

But the elves of other wizarding families were beyond his current control.

"Am I heavy?" she suddenly asked him. "Are you tired?"

"Very light. Not tiring at all." He smiled softly.

"Draco, that Dark Mark—" Hermione nudged his shoulder unconsciously and said slowly, "Who cast it? Was it a Death Eater?"

"Yes." After a pause, Draco said, trying to remain calm. "Only Death Eaters know how to cast it. The person who conjured the Mark must have been a Death Eater in the past, though not necessarily now."

"Why conjure it tonight?" Hermione asked. "Just to frighten Muggle-born wizards?"

"I don't know." Draco's throat was somewhat dry. "But I'd wager those wizards who used to be Death Eaters were terrified. Did you notice that when the Dark Mark appeared, all the hooded people disappeared? No more screams, no more wailing, and no new tents were destroyed. They were all frightened away by the Mark—I'd bet they all Disapparated."

"It seems so. Tonight was terrible," she whispered. "Whether it was what those people did to the campsite manager's family, or that Mark in the sky, or the wizards' rough treatment of house-elves…"

"I understand. It's terrible. My only consolation is that you weren't hurt." He paused, then said, "I'm always worried about you."

"I was worried about you… you were nearly wrongly accused by Mr. Crouch…" Hermione said drowsily. After a series of intense emotional upheavals, she finally felt exhausted.

"Thank you," he said softly. "I didn't expect you to stand up for me. Thank you."

"Of course I'll protect you… I always will…" She yawned into his ear. "Oh, you smell lovely."

"Do you like it?" he asked with a smile. "It's from the French perfume factory I mentioned last time."

"Mm..." she responded lazily. "It smells lovely, I really like it... on you..." She lay on his warm back, gently inhaling the scent of cedarwood, feeling comfortable and relaxed, her mind gradually filling with a blissful vacuum.

The jacket draped over her back seemed to be his as well. She was completely enveloped by his scent.

She sighed contentedly, nuzzled his neck, wrapped her arms around him, and gradually fell silent.

If Draco had a tail, it would be wagging happily right now. All the worries that had arisen during the holidays had vanished in an instant.

She didn't ignore him, nor did she avoid him. She stood before him, protecting and defending him. She relied on him as always, even trusting him enough to fall asleep on his shoulder.

She was held in his arms, softly nestled against his back. This silly girl had actually worried he was tired. She was the sweetest burden any boy in the world longed for—how could he be tired?

As he walked, he even felt that if the road had no end, he could keep walking forever.

He could hear her even breathing, like a feather brushing against his eardrums... *She must have had a long and tiring night,* he thought with tenderness.

Realizing this, Draco quickened his pace. He swiftly passed through the group of anxious wizards and hurried back to her tent. Harry and Ron were standing wearily at their tent entrance, waiting for them.

"What's wrong with her?" Harry asked, yawning.

"She's asleep," Draco said softly. "You two go to sleep—I'll take her back."

"Oh, next door," Ron said lazily, pointing to the side. "Then we'll go first—"

"Yes, goodnight," Draco said softly, nodding to them in a good mood before hurrying toward the adjacent tent.

The red-haired girl stood at the tent entrance. He stopped before her and asked curtly, "Where's her bed?"

Ginny Weasley froze. She raised her stiff hand, pointing helplessly to a spot inside the tent.

She could hardly believe her eyes—that formidable young master of the Malfoys had actually carried Hermione all the way back without complaint.

*How could this be? Something must have gone wrong,* Ginny thought in surprise.

Although she often teased Hermione on the surface, Ginny had always harbored suspicions about Draco Malfoy.

It was no wonder she was suspicious; he wasn't exactly known for kindness. There were always rumors circulating at Hogwarts: if anyone dared to provoke him, he'd give you a cold smile on the spot; a few days later, you'd inexplicably suffer a terrible misfortune.

You'd never have proof of what he'd done. But everyone knew whom you'd crossed.

In Gryffindor, very few people were on good terms with Malfoy. Perhaps only Hermione—with some inexplicable confidence—firmly believed this Slytherin was a kind boy; Harry, for some reason, was always willing to greet him; and her brother Ron would occasionally reassure her, "Don't worry about Draco—he's always been friendly to Hermione."

Ginny, however, always felt they were too naive and unaware of the wickedness of human nature.

Perhaps he had ulterior motives for approaching Harry and his friends. The Malfoy family had always had a notorious reputation—they despised pure-blood traitors and Muggle-born wizards, so why would they easily befriend them?

*That silly girl Hermione—I don't know what she sees in him, she's completely smitten with him! This is too dangerous!*

So, out of distrust of a Malfoy's character, and even more out of concern for her best friend's safety, Ginny secretly hid behind the curtain at Hermione's room entrance to watch what he was doing.

Then she saw it. Malfoy was carefully placing Hermione on the bed, removing her shoes, and gently covering her with a thin blanket, tucking the corners in.

*This movement... is actually quite practiced? It seems as if he's taken care of her more than once.*

*This is absolutely outrageous!* Ginny opened her mouth, feeling like her brain couldn't process what she was witnessing.

How could he do such a thing?

Wasn't Malfoy always arrogant and domineering, looking down on everyone at school? Even his childhood friend Pansy Parkinson was often driven to fury by him.

She'd heard some girls had crushes on Malfoy. He was indeed handsome, and with his distinguished family background, excellent grades, and status as Slytherin's Seeker, Malfoy certainly had the right to be arrogant.

But listen to what Hogwarts students said about him: aloof, arrogant, cold-hearted toward girls, and utterly ruthless toward boys—a veritable walking block of ice. Clearly, boys like Harry were much more likable!

But this very person, at this moment, looked at Hermione with an expression even gentler than Cedric's, the senior known for his kindness and warmth. That cold face could actually soften—it was utterly ridiculous!

Furthermore, his obviously expensive suit was worn and wrinkled by Hermione, yet he didn't seem angry at all. Was that normal?

This was inconsistent with his usual persona—he wasn't at all like the domineering, untouchable young master at school, who was always ready to hex anyone who dared to cross him, or trip you up afterwards; instead, he was like a large cat that needed Hermione to stroke its fur, exuding docility.

Startled, Ginny held her breath. Through a corner of the curtain, she saw him gently lift a strand of her hair, inhale its scent, and a satisfied smile spread across his face.

*Huh? What's going on here?*

*Is this the "ordinary friend from school" that Hermione so casually mentioned?*

*Ordinary my foot! Merlin's saggy Y-fronts!*

But that wasn't all! In the flickering candlelight, the silhouette of young Malfoy was projected onto the tent fabric beside the bed. The silhouette hesitantly approached the girl's serene face, as if observing her.

He paused for a long time.

When Ginny was getting impatient, the silhouette reached out, gently brushed the girl's hair from her forehead, and softly, reverently placed a kiss on her forehead.

Then he suddenly stood, as if he'd just woken up, and looked around.

Ginny Weasley suddenly turned around, hid behind the curtain, and gasped for breath.

Staring with shocked, round eyes, she swore to Merlin that if she ever believed Hermione Granger's nonsense again—that they were just ordinary friends from school—she'd willingly turn herself into a reed!