HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 107: The Melancholy of the Hogwarts Express

"He really fancies you! I bet he does!" Ginny Weasley flushed and whispered a vow to the heavens.

"Ginny, I've told you so many times—he's just a good friend of mine! A good friend from school, all right? Besides, he treats me like a little sister…" Hermione said impatiently in a low voice, flipping through Miranda Goshawk's *The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4*.

Raindrops were pattering against the sitting room window of the Burrow. Everyone was busy with their own affairs.

Harry was happily maintaining his Firebolt. Ron was polishing his secondhand wand, the wand care kit Draco had given him for his thirteenth birthday lying open beside him.

Fred and George sat in a corner, quills in hand, their heads huddled together over a piece of parchment, whispering amongst themselves. Hermione guessed they were probably plotting something new for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes again.

"But he carried you back! You have no idea how tender his expression was—he was incredibly gentle! He even took off your shoes, covered you with a blanket, and tucked you in so quietly. Don't you think that's very unusual?" Ginny looked at her as though she were being deliberately obtuse.

"Uh—your brothers would take care of you too, wouldn't they? Don't they know how to do these things?" Hermione was somewhat concerned, but on the surface she pretended to be calm.

"Oh, please! My brothers would never smell my hair like that, or sneak a kiss on my forehead while I'm sleeping. That's too weird!" Ginny protested.

"Maybe you're mistaken? Wasn't he facing away from you?" Hermione flushed, but still tried to explain.

"Yes, it was just a silhouette. I didn't see the front clearly…" Ginny was briefly convinced, but still somewhat puzzled. "But I always feel things aren't that simple. He's been too intimate with you…"

"We're good friends—he's just helping me!" Hermione said seriously.

"I have my doubts," Ginny said hesitantly. "People only feel the urge to touch those they like; otherwise, they keep their distance. I suspect that's even more true of someone as aloof as Malfoy. Think back—when you didn't need help, did he ever touch you, pat you, or do anything that would be considered unnecessary for a friend?"

"Not really, he didn't—"

At this point, Hermione suddenly stopped talking. She remembered many details.

Sometimes it was a stray strand of hair he casually tucked behind her ear. Sometimes it was his interlaced fingers gently holding her hand in the darkness. And then, after the Dark Mark appeared and the Ministry officials arrived, he'd naturally plucked a leaf from her hair.

These details were so natural. So natural that it was like his breath that inadvertently fell into her hair when they were brewing potions together, completely lowering her guard.

"He's probably just used to taking care of people," Hermione whispered. After Ginny kept going on like that, she was starting to miss the scent of cedarwood.

Ginny scoffed in disagreement.

"Would Malfoy really be the kind of person who enjoys taking care of others? You yourself probably don't believe that, do you? Or are you being blinded by the illusion he creates?"

Hermione sighed sadly and didn't argue further. She looked at the increasingly dense raindrops on the window and felt her inner confusion was no less turbulent than the heavy rain.

Hermione Granger's melancholy was only somewhat relieved when she saw Draco on the platform.

By then, she'd already put her luggage in Harry's compartment and returned to the platform to say goodbye and thank Mrs. Weasley for her generous, warm hospitality during the holidays.

"Don't mention it—you're welcome to come again anytime," Mrs. Weasley said with a smile, giving her a hug.

By the time Hermione was ready to return to the train, Draco had already boarded. He was leisurely leaning against an empty compartment, resting his platinum-blond head on his hand and gazing out the window in a daze.

Suddenly, he saw her. Through the window, he gave her a lazy smile, his handsome, sculpted face suddenly coming to life. He beckoned to her, gesturing for her to come over.

Hermione's face immediately turned bright red.

She didn't want to talk to him; she was supposed to go back to their compartment with Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

*A beckoning gesture? What a presumptuous boy! What does he take me for? A puppy or a kitten?* She thought indignantly.

However, her legs wouldn't obey her, and she still appeared at the door of his compartment, her face full of annoyance.

She was angry with herself. Her actions were nothing like the independent person she was supposed to be. She always let that alluring face cloud her judgment, which wasn't good.

Draco was the only one in the compartment.

Goyle and Crabbe had been sent to other compartments—to observe Blaise and Pansy being lovey-dovey—and the young couple would be furious their private time had been interrupted, Draco thought gleefully.

Hermione sat down opposite him abruptly, determined to stand up for herself and stop indulging his wanton behavior toward her without any limits.

She asked with a stern face, "What do you want?"

"Look at what you're saying—can't I seek you out for no reason?" the boy opposite said, putting down the newspaper he was holding.

He seemed to be in a good mood. He smiled innocently at her, his grey eyes appearing exceptionally clear.

"If there's nothing else, I'll go back to Ginny," Hermione said, raising her chin. She lowered her head, afraid to look at him, lest she couldn't help but ask if he'd kissed her forehead.

"Wait a moment. I forgot to ask you something when I saw you at the campsite last time," Draco said slowly. "Are you enjoying staying at the Weasleys' house this summer?"

"The Weasleys are really lovely." Hermione relaxed as she said this. "You should see Crookshanks chasing gnomes through the rose bushes—Harry laughed so hard he choked on his food!"

"Hiccoughing?"

"When the weather was nice, we'd have dinner in the garden, and the air was always filled with the scent of grass and honeysuckle," Hermione said with interest. "After dinner, Mrs. Weasley would give us strawberry ice cream, and Ginny would always run to the front and grab the biggest strawberry to give me. Her brothers couldn't beat her at all…"

"You still love strawberry ice cream so much," Draco said with a smile. "When the snack trolley comes round, I'll buy you a large one, all right?"

"I can buy it myself!" Hermione said, puffing out her cheeks.

*I'm not a child anymore! Why does he, who's younger than me, always talk to me in a tone like he's coaxing a child?*

"Of course you can buy it yourself." Draco pulled a face at her to show he meant no harm.

"And Mrs. Weasley?" he asked after a pause. "Is she kind to you?"

"She's a lovely person, always smiling at us—except when Fred and George get into trouble," Hermione said, noticing Draco's skeptical look. "Of course, she has her strict side. She doesn't really like us using magic to do chores—she prefers us to do them by hand—"

"Even if you cast spells at the Burrow, no one from the Ministry will come knocking. It's a wizarding household."

"I know. But she's a very disciplined mother, and she raises her children according to the summer holiday rules required by Hogwarts."

"And then they raised unruly children like Fred and George."

"Draco! Don't forget that their older brother Bill was Head Boy back in his day and earned twelve O.W.L.s!"

"But what host would expect their guest to do chores like a house-elf?" Draco said. "Let me remind you—you're a guest of the Weasleys. That seems very impolite to me."

"The Weasleys have so many children—Mrs. Weasley simply can't manage them all. When a mother raises so many children and still manages to keep everything in order, who wouldn't have the utmost respect for her?"

"Aren't all her own children enough for her to manage?"

"I stayed there for so long and caused considerable trouble for others. What's the big deal about doing something within my ability?"

"Is Harry also required to do chores like you?"

"Certainly."

Draco pursed his lips and said nothing more.

"I don't think Mrs. Weasley is the type to spoil children, and I'm happy to help her with whatever small tasks I can," Hermione said. "All in all, I've had a very pleasant and fulfilling time at the Burrow."

"All right," Draco said, picking up the newspaper again. "Whatever makes you happy."

Hermione glanced at the back of the newspaper in his hand and noticed that today's front page headline was "House-Elf with Wand—Barty Crouch Breaks the Law?", authored by Rita Skeeter.

Hermione was immediately drawn to it.

"They're so cruel to house-elves…" she muttered, straightening the newspaper a few inches with her hand and taking a closer look at the text.

"What happened to your hand?" Draco didn't answer, but instead noticed the scratches on the back of her hand.

He couldn't help but notice. Her nimble hands, which were already exceptionally fair and delicate, now bore several red marks, which alarmed him.

In fact, he suddenly felt extremely distressed. He could never bear these long, narrow marks, nor could he stand to see them anywhere on her body.

"Is this what you mean by 'they took good care of you'?" he said, barely containing his anger.

"Oh, it's Crookshanks," Hermione said sheepishly. "He was really grumpy today. He got frightened by Dr Filibuster's Fireworks when we got in the car; and we came in a Muggle taxi this morning, so we couldn't use an Extension Charm, you know—it was terribly crowded…"

"I thought Mr. Weasley had a car." Draco frowned.

"Yes, but he went to work this morning because of a small emergency. A wizard named Mad-Eye Moody blew up his dustbins, apparently because he thought someone was trying to break into his house..."

Hermione suddenly stopped talking. To her surprise, Draco pulled out a small first-aid kit from somewhere, took her hand, and began applying medicine to it.

"Go on," he said casually, taking out the disinfectant supplies and starting to work with the bottles and jars, seemingly accustomed to this situation.

"Why do you carry this with you?" Hermione stammered, her face slightly flushed.

She suddenly forgot what she was going to say next.

"Because of a certain clever little witch, who always gets hurt unexpectedly and clumsily," Draco said in a drawn-out tone.

He lowered his eyes, concealing his sadness. He focused only on the thin wounds, carefully applying medicine with cotton swabs, his movements as gentle as a breeze.

Hermione stared at him blankly, her face gradually turning bright red.

The cotton swab for applying the medicine was incredibly cunning. It lightly touched the back of her hand, as if kissing her, or perhaps teasing her. Hermione felt a slight tingle on the back of her hand, and a slight flutter in her heart as well.

*Why is he always so careful? He seems to care more about my wounds than I do myself—even to the point of overreacting.*

At that moment, Ginny's words suddenly echoed in her mind: *"He's been too intimate with you..."*

She didn't know if this counted as intimacy; all she knew was that her heart was pounding like a drum.

That night—the night the Dark Mark appeared—he'd shielded her beneath him. They'd been so close, their lips almost touching.

She remembered him tightening his grip on the back of her head. He'd tilted his face slightly then. His breath had grown closer and closer. For a moment, he'd seemed to intend to lean in close, to touch her lips.

*What would have happened if no one had shouted?*

She knew she was imagining impossible things again. It was probably just her imagination. In such an urgent, chaotic, and dangerous moment, no one would want to kiss.

*So, what happened inside the tent? Did he actually kiss my forehead? Should I ask him?*

*Hold back, Hermione,* she told herself.

Her strong sense of pride prevented her from asking again. If it was a misunderstanding, like last time when he'd said she was like a sister, she feared she'd be too ashamed to face anyone.

"What's wrong?" Draco seemed to sense her displeasure and sensitively lifted his eyelids to look at her.

"That day, why did you think I could date Krum?" Hermione suddenly asked. "Afterwards, Harry and Ron heard why we'd had our argument and they laughed hysterically."

"What's so funny?" Draco asked, frowning.

"'Why would Krum want to date you?'" Hermione mimicked Ron's voice, recalling the boys at the Burrow trying to suppress their laughter. "'You two can have your little row, but don't drag my innocent idol into this unnecessary battle, all right? It's an insult…'"

"Did Harry say that too?"

"Harry said you're probably going mad from being cooped up at home," Hermione mimicked Harry's sympathetic tone. "'Poor Draco!'"

Draco snorted unhappily and said, "Didn't you teach Ron a lesson?"

"Ginny already taught him a lesson. She retorted that he'd never be able to date a Veela in his entire life!"

"And then?"

"Then Mrs. Weasley came into the sitting room and sent us upstairs to sleep." Hermione observed his expression and said, "Don't be upset. I'm saying this to tell you that all those peculiar thoughts you had before were completely absurd."

"They're not inexplicable," Draco said sullenly.

"Actually, nobody would want to date me," Hermione said, staring at him and deliberately making a discouraging remark.

*How would he respond?* she wondered. *Would he agree or disagree?*

She was trying to work out what he was thinking.

Was his previous displeasure a jealous act specifically directed at her, or, like Ron, an anger stemming from his idol being coveted by female fans?

"Anyone who thinks like that is incredibly stupid. Who wouldn't want to date you?" Draco stared painfully at the scratches on the back of her hand, saying bitterly. "You're clever, beautiful, and nobody in all of Hogwarts is more accomplished than you—"

"Oh, is that what you think?" she said softly, a glimmer of hope rekindling in her heart.

He gave a low "mm," looking somewhat listless.

Hermione wanted to ask something more, but she hesitated. *Maybe he's just trying to comfort me; after all, he just wanted to buy me ice cream and was trying to coax me like a child.*

*Anyway, I don't want to lose face because of some false delusions anymore.*

They managed to maintain a distance that wasn't too awkward.

*Let's just be friends. Being friends isn't so bad.* She felt his touch, wanting to cry but unable to, her heart filled with sorrow.

She sighed and changed the subject.

"Harry's been under tremendous stress lately. His scar, and his dreams—"

"Oh, that's exactly what I was going to ask you about. Could you tell me the specific details? He couldn't mention too much in his letter…" he said, but his hands didn't stop moving, as meticulously as a painter depicting a masterpiece.

"Of course. Harry also asked me to tell you about it as soon as possible."

So she put aside her fantasies, trying to ignore the fact that he was applying medicine to her, ignoring the cotton swab that kept kissing the back of her hand, and began recounting Harry's scar and dreams in detail...

The train had already left the station and was heading north.

The dense raindrops pounded against the glass window, making it difficult to see the scenery outside.

The sky was already pitch black, and lanterns were lit in the carriages even in broad daylight.

Following the lantern's light, Hermione returned to her compartment. She took a deep breath, her eyes sparkling as she opened the door. Harry, Ron, and Ginny immediately stopped talking and turned to look at her, their faces full of curiosity.

She flopped down next to Ginny and asked cheerfully, "What were you talking about?"

"Oh, we were talking about what Mum and Bill said on the platform—why he said our year would be very interesting…" Ginny said, suddenly noticing a faint medicinal scent on Hermione.

"...And whether you were left crying on the platform, or went on a date with Krum, since you haven't been seen all morning," Ron teased. "Right, Harry?"

"Oh, I'm not worried. If you'd disappeared, someone would be getting restless by now," Harry said with a grin.

"I know why they say this year is so much fun! Draco told me all about it," Hermione said smugly, ignoring her friends' teasing and gossipy glances. "They're holding the Triwizard Tournament this year!"

"What?" Harry asked. "What's that?"

Seeing the confused look on Harry's face, she quickly explained. "The Triwizard Tournament was established about seven hundred years ago. It's a friendly competition between the three largest magic schools in Europe: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Each school selects a champion, who then competes in three magical tasks. The schools take it in turns to host the Tournament once every five years."

"Why haven't we heard of this before?" Ron asked in surprise.

"Because the death toll became too high, the Triwizard Tournament was discontinued. For centuries, people tried to revive it several times without success, until this year. Now it all makes sense—that's why Bill said he wanted to return to Hogwarts this year." Hermione finished speaking, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"I'm not sure I can get along with the students at Beauxbatons. I've met them in the woods, and they're—too arrogant," Ginny said hesitantly.

"I think this will be a wonderful way for young wizards from different countries to build friendships," Hermione reassured her. "Just imagine how interesting this year will be."

Harry and Ron were very excited about the news, and they started talking about what the competition would include, the prize money, and what things they could do that were against school rules.

"Draco Malfoy told you all this?" Ginny asked in a teasing whisper. "You two were alone together?"

"Oh, Ginny, we were just chatting!" Hermione emphasized.

What she didn't realize was that he'd silently erased all her previous feelings of melancholy.

"Of course, of course—you only chatted. The ointment on the back of your hand definitely wasn't applied by him, was it?" Ginny said with a grin.

"Uh—" Hermione glanced at her guiltily and shut her mouth tightly.

At that moment, in a nearby compartment, the male protagonist of their conversation was hurriedly writing a letter.

*Sirius,*

*Please stop everything and return. I think you probably already know that Harry's scar is hurting again. The timing is too coincidental. And then there's his dream. I suspect there's more to this than meets the eye—*

He paused, gazing at the increasingly heavy rain outside the window, recalling his past life when Harry, the "fourth champion," participated in the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry claimed from beginning to end that he hadn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire, but people didn't believe him at the time—Draco hadn't believed him either—thinking he'd used some kind of opportunistic trick to gain attention.

But what if Harry was telling the truth? After three years of getting to know him, Draco had a general understanding of what kind of person Harry was. If he'd had the courage to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, he definitely wouldn't have lacked the courage to admit it.

That meant what Harry had said in his past life was true.

There must be a shocking conspiracy waiting for Harry.

Draco still remembered the scene where Harry eventually brought Cedric Diggory's body back to the center of the arena.

That scene was still vivid in his mind.

He'd never forget what happened that day.

At that time, Harry had cried out that the Trophy was a Portkey, and they'd been taken to a graveyard where the Dark Lord had killed Cedric.

Now, in his incredibly weakened state, did the Dark Lord still have the strength to cause trouble? Draco wasn't sure. However, he couldn't let his guard down—the Dark Lord's Mark had still appeared at the World Cup, just like in his previous life, hadn't it?

There must still be some of the Dark Lord's loyal followers escaping justice.

Even if there was only the slightest possibility, he had to do everything in his power to stop it—by using every possible means and mobilizing all available resources.

He picked up his quill again: *"...Combined with the Dark Mark that appeared at the World Cup and a major event Hogwarts is about to host this year, I believe Harry is now in extreme danger. There's a conspiracy waiting for him, and he'll need his godfather by his side."*

He smiled apologetically at the eagle owl beside him and fed her a few premium owl treats. "Jowan, you have to make this trip. It's very important."

Jowan affectionately nibbled at his hand, unafraid of the torrential rain outside the window. She flapped her wings and flew out of the warm, dry compartment of the Hogwarts Express, into the continuous curtain of rain, and quickly disappeared.

In the quiet compartment, Draco stared at the rain outside the window, feeling uneasy, and fell into deep thought again.

After noon, Harry's compartment was bustling with activity. Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom came to visit. They excitedly reminisced about the World Cup, talked about Quidditch, and discussed the upcoming Triwizard Tournament.

Hermione was already tired of these topics.

She felt a pang of regret. Perhaps she should have stayed in Draco's compartment and talked to him about philosophy again; or perhaps she should have reread the article about house-elves and discussed with him the issues of equality and elves' rights.

But now, she had no good reason to go out and see him anymore. Ginny was always watching her every move, never missing an opportunity to delve deeper into their relationship; she also always thought they were more than friends, forcing her to divulge more details about their time together, which made Hermione feel both shy and uncomfortable.

So she put on an air of nonchalance and continued studying a Summoning Charm in *The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4*—she was particularly impressed by the Summoning Charm Draco had used at the end of the previous year and planned to learn it herself as soon as possible.

Her progress wasn't going well. The small wounds from Crookshanks's scratches were still itchy, which was bothering her.

Hermione knew it was just the ointment working its magic—it definitely wasn't a placebo effect caused by Draco touching her.

*No, that's not it!* She told herself, her mind still lingering on the image of him bending down to apply the medicine.

A strand of platinum-blond hair had fallen across his forehead as he lowered his head, his expression serious and focused.

Finally, after he'd finished applying the medicine, he'd looked up at her with his pale grey eyes, a hint of satisfied smile playing on his lips.

He'd been smiling at her. Smiling at her for no apparent reason.

*Who could resist his smile?* Hermione thought absently.

"You can stay here as long as you want," he'd said, his eyes fixed on her, taking her hand and tempting her.

"All right…" she'd almost agreed. Then, realizing her mistake, she'd said hastily, "No, I have to go back and check on Crookshanks, and take him out of the basket. Also, tell them about the Triwizard Tournament—"

She'd tried to leave, but he'd held her hand tightly.

"Draco, I have to go," she'd stammered, her heart pounding. "My hand..."

He hadn't let go, staring intently at her—as if looking at a fragile work of art—and said softly, "Be careful. Don't hurt yourself again, all right?"

"All right..." she'd blinked and agreed softly.

"Very good," he'd murmured, finally releasing her hand.

Amidst the rumble of thunder, the train arrived at the station, and Hermione's memories came to an end.

The students hurriedly changed into their robes and disembarked. In the pouring rain, they squinted and looked bedraggled as they climbed onto the horseless carriages, embarking on the last short leg of their journey back to school.