novelraw Chapter 110: Moody's Malicious Intent
Chapter 110: Moody's Malicious Intent
"I just ran into Harry and Ron at the library entrance." As soon as Draco entered the study corner, he asked in surprise, "Why did they look so pale?"
"Oh, ignore them," Hermione said dismissively, flipping through *Small People, Big Plans*. "They're busy weaving misfortunes and listing lies like two paranoid idiots—it's all nonsense."
"Persecution delusions? Nonsense?" Draco knew immediately. "Divination homework?"
"Exactly. They're desperately trying to make every day of the next month unlucky, just to please that old fraud, Professor Trelawney." She clicked her tongue in disapproval.
"Oh, she really does fall for that," Draco said casually, placing several thick books on the table, determined to find material for his essay on the eighteenth-century goblin rebellion. "If they had bad luck every day, their grades would be Outstanding."
"How do you know Professor Trelawney's teaching style?" She looked up sharply. "You haven't taken her classes, have you?"
Draco's expression faltered slightly. At times, Hermione Granger's insight was so sharp it made him uneasy.
"Uh—" He grabbed a book haphazardly and flipped through it, muttering hurriedly, "Quite a few Slytherins have chosen Divination, and I've seen plenty of them racking their brains in the common room. Yesterday, Blaise and Pansy were making up stories of misfortune whilst cursing Ron, saying their weekend was completely consumed by this assignment..."
"Why?" Hermione asked in surprise. "What does Ron have to do with this?"
"They think Professor Trelawney's sudden change in style, assigning so much homework like Professor McGonagall, is because Ron made a rude comment about Lavender Brown in class," Draco rolled his eyes. "He said he wanted to see—"
He suddenly stopped talking. Merlin, he shouldn't have brought this up to change the subject.
Sometimes, teenage boys spoke without thinking, and their words could be quite outrageous.
Ron's lewd remark—"Can I have a look at Uranus, Lavender?"—was deemed "too vulgar" even by seasoned students like Blaise and Pansy, who were always shamelessly inseparable.
"Lavender—my roommate? What did he say to her?" Hermione frowned in confusion. "I haven't heard her complain about Ron lately..."
"You don't want to know," he said quickly. "Please, don't ask, alright? I don't want to offend your ears. In fact, let's forget this topic."
"What you're saying only makes me more curious," she asked, puzzled, studying his slightly flushed face. "What exactly did he say he wanted to see? Tell me!"
"I can't say that word." He coughed, then suddenly took out a silver-green box and placed it before her, covering the book she was reading and silencing her question. "By the way, happy birthday."
"Oh, thank you." She was so engrossed in the gift that she quickly unwrapped it, forgetting all about Ron and Lavender's mysterious interaction.
It was a book titled *Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts*.
"I must say, I love receiving books as gifts—you can never have too many good books—but not many people think to give me books. They always assume I have enough. To be honest, I have a long way to go; there are so many books I haven't read." Hermione flipped through the book happily. "But Draco, aren't you being too influenced by Professor Moody? Are you still worried about those Unforgivable Curses? Even your gift-giving tendencies are a bit—"
"It's less fear and more concern," Draco said seriously. "Whilst I disagree with his teaching methods, he does have one thing right: constant vigilance."
"That being said, it's a bit of an exaggeration. I don't believe anyone would cast a curse on me in Diagon Alley," Hermione said, half-jokingly. She dismissed the boy's concerns but couldn't resist flipping through the book to study it.
"But I can't help worrying about you," Draco muttered softly.
Danger wasn't confined to Diagon Alley.
Anywhere, deadly danger could suddenly appear and cause her harm. Even at Hogwarts, supposedly the "safest" place, she'd suffered her fair share of injuries.
Between page turns, his gaze slid from the book to her, finding moment of comfort in her unharmed state.
Hermione was happily exploring her birthday present. It must be said, though the book was the product of an overly anxious teenager's panic, it was still incredibly captivating. Hermione studied the contents carefully and found it extremely useful.
"A very good book. This is exactly what you should learn in Defence Against the Dark Arts." She suddenly sighed and said dejectedly, "To be honest, based on my own understanding, it would be very difficult to find a book like this focusing on practical application among the vast sea of theoretical defence books. Children from wizarding families are always more targeted in 'finding the right book.'"
"But now you know about this book, don't you?" Draco glanced at her, trying to wipe away the faint dejection on her face with his words. "What does it matter who found it? The most important thing is the result. The result is that you'll learn every spell in it, and you'll cast them better than children from wizarding families, right?"
"Of course." She looked up at him, face glowing with encouragement. "I will."
Draco smiled slightly, finding her confident demeanour quite attractive, and the way she flipped through the book with rustling sound was also somewhat captivating.
"Oh, right, Draco, you should look at that book on the corner of the table, the old one I bought in—" She flipped through her birthday present with great interest for a while, deliberately not looking up, appearing nonchalant, but mysterious smile quietly appeared on her lips. "Especially the parts I marked in red. I bet you'll be very interested."
Draco picked up the book and noticed that one of the pages was marked with bold red "Pay special attention!" symbol.
"Ancient magic to restore the body... requires extremely demanding conditions... the bones of the father, the flesh of the servant, and the blood of the enemy, and most importantly, the soul of the person to be resurrected... This is practically impossible, because the soul goes to the place where life and death meet the moment a person dies..." He read aloud the words Hermione had carefully translated beside it.
"This is—" Draco's breathing suddenly stopped.
"Yes! I think the Dark Lord is very likely to use this method. He perfectly meets this demanding condition, doesn't he?" Hermione slammed the book shut before her, and seeing the boy's delighted expression, she finally couldn't help revealing her pride. "That's why I insisted on buying it back then. I'd flipped to that page before, but I wasn't sure about the accuracy of the content—after all, the text was Ancient Runes. So, after I bought it, I re-translated it using the Rune Dictionary and Spellman's Syllabary, and finally discovered something incredible!"
"Did I ever say you were brilliant—" Draco swallowed his surprise and said to her.
"Yes, I've said it a million times." Hermione glanced at him proudly.
Draco couldn't help but laugh.
Unexpectedly, the research on the Dark Lord, which had been making no progress, was now finally showing promise.
Thanks to her.
*Hermione Granger, how many more surprises are you going to give me?*
"I think I should tell Professor Dumbledore right away." Draco's face showed rare childlike smile as he excitedly said to Hermione, "I need to borrow your book."
"What are you waiting for? Go!" Hermione nodded to him, calmly picked up *Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts*, and continued to read with great interest.
---
Draco grabbed the book and dashed out of the library, as excited and reckless as a real fourteen-year-old boy. He ran all the way to the stone gargoyle in the third-floor corridor, nearly knocking Professor McGonagall's hat off at the corner.
"Mr. Malfoy!" she exclaimed, startled, clutching the thick books tucked in her arms. "Where's your usual calm and composure? What happened?"
"I have to see Professor Dumbledore—" Draco gasped, managing to salvage some semblance of dignity.
"That's impossible. He went to London this morning—" Professor McGonagall looked at him sharply. "Is there anything I can pass on?"
"Oh, I see." Draco steadied himself. "It's nothing urgent. I can send him an owl."
"Alright." Professor McGonagall looked him over suspiciously. "Mind your manners and stop running in the corridors—if you don't want me to deduct points from your House—Mr. Malfoy."
Draco bowed to her and walked away, maintaining his composure.
*What is Dumbledore busy with?*
Clearly, something important in London had caught this enigmatic wizard's attention.
Draco suppressed his excitement, carefully put the book into his bag, and slowly walked down the stairs.
Should he send an owl, subtly mentioning this new development? No, his owl was too conspicuous; it might be spotted by someone with ulterior motives. It wasn't entirely safe. He silently considered his options.
As he passed the second floor, he inadvertently spotted Mad-Eye Moody. He was limping toward the dungeons, his claw-like wooden leg unusually silent.
Draco sensed guilty conscience in him.
He knew he should stay away from Moody.
A Slytherin would not want to take risks, especially the risk of being turned into a ferret.
Draco, however, kept up with Moody at considerable distance. He'd missed many opportunities because he "didn't want to meddle"—such as letting Peter Pettigrew, hiding in the Shrieking Shack, slip through his fingers—which forced him to violate some of the Slytherin code and borrow a bit of Hermione Granger's exploratory nature when he sensed something suspicious.
Draco carefully maintained safe distance, neither letting Moody notice him nor losing him.
He wanted to see what Moody was up to.
It was well known that Moody's office was far from the dungeons. His unusually secretive behaviour, going to a place where he shouldn't be, must be suspicious.
Sure enough, after looking around, Moody quietly walked into Professor Snape's office.
Draco knew that Professor Snape wasn't in his office at the moment. On his way to the Headmaster's office, Draco had passed Professor Snape—he'd been carrying bottles and jars, heading toward the Hospital Wing, seemingly to deliver healing potions he'd brewed to Madam Pomfrey.
Since he wasn't there, what was Professor Moody trying to do by barging into his office?
Draco was extremely puzzled and hid behind an ugly stone statue to observe. After a while, Moody emerged furtively again. He drank something from the hip flask he carried, and then the magical eye seemed to circle around the statue.
He quickly crouched down, trying to hide himself. He didn't want to face the terrifying, ruthless Mad-Eye Moody alone. He wasn't the kind of professor who played by the rules, nor would he accept dubious excuses.
Draco had already figured this out very well in his previous life.
Whether it was the speed and ruthlessness of his attacks or his innate talent for casting spells, Moody completely overwhelmed him—he had no chance of winning.
Fortunately, Moody didn't seem to notice him. Or perhaps he simply didn't bother arguing with a student.
Draco listened intently to the faint sound of the wooden prosthetic leg moving, and only when the figure gradually disappeared into the distance did he realize he was covered in cold sweat.
---
"Are you sure?" Professor Snape frowned, scrutinizing glint in his dark eyes.
"Yes, I saw him walk into this office and stay for about five minutes." Draco's expression was extremely serious.
Professor Snape would naturally believe his prized student. Draco had no reason to lie about such a thing—it would do him no good, and might get him into trouble.
Professor Snape looked around, examining everything on the desk—jars, books, parchment, everything arranged in certain order—and after a moment, he said slowly and suspiciously, "The problem is, there's no sign of forced entry. The desk hasn't been touched. The drawer locks are intact. This is strange—"
Draco faced the desk, remaining silent.
They were standing in Professor Snape's office, a dimly lit room filled with shelves. Besides the huge desk, there were hundreds of old bottles and jars on the shelves, filled with all sorts of potion ingredients.
This was paradise for potion lovers—you could find almost any material needed to make potions here, especially rare materials such as the skin, scales, horns, and fur of magical creatures.
"Anyway, thank you for warning me, Draco. I'll speak to him." Professor Snape frowned as he spoke to his student. "I heard what he did in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and you handled it very well. Dumbledore values him highly, and we can't openly challenge him. In this situation, restraint is good quality; after all, not every professor appreciates the excellence of Slytherins."
Draco nodded, bowed, and calmly walked out of the office.
He didn't want Moody's appreciation; he wanted the powerful former Auror to ignore him.
It would be best to keep to themselves and get through this year peacefully.
---
However, things didn't go as planned. In the next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, Draco once again witnessed Moody's prowess.
No one could have guessed that, as he got into the middle of his lesson, he suddenly announced with great excitement, "Now, I'm going to cast the Imperius Curse on each of you in turn, so you can feel the magic of this spell and see if you can resist its effects with your willpower."
"But—but you said it's illegal, Professor," Hermione, sitting next to Draco, disagreed. She glanced at Draco, look of worry on her face, and said uncertainly to Moody, "You said—using it on others is—"
"Dumbledore said he wanted you to experience it," Moody said, his sinister magical eye sweeping over Hermione with threatening smile. "If you're willing to learn in more brutal way, waiting for someone to cast this spell on you and completely control you, then fine, I agree. You can go now."
Hermione blushed and stared blankly at Moody's finger pointing toward the door.
For a moment, she wanted to stand up and leave, even to take the boy beside her with her—she didn't want him to have that extremely sad expression again, the one he'd had when he lay by the Black Lake that day.
But Draco didn't move. He didn't seem to want to leave the classroom.
He calmly continued to sit beside her, and under the desk, he secretly took her hand and patted it. His hand was warm and soft, gently covering hers, masking her worries and anxieties, as if to tell her that everything was alright, everything was fine.
Hermione didn't leave in the end, nor did she argue with Professor Moody further. She fell silent, squeezing the hand of the boy beside her.
"Is there anyone else who objects?" Professor Moody asked dismissively, ignoring her and instead gruffly asking the class, scrutinizing each student.
The classroom was completely silent.
Even Hermione Granger, who was never afraid to question professors, had failed. Who else would dare take on the challenge?
So Professor Moody smugly turned his magical eye, waved his wand, moved all the desks aside, and began to call students forward one by one so he could cast the Imperius Curse on them.
This was practically blatant display of Moody's perverse sense of humour.
A dark-haired, dark-skinned Gryffindor boy jumped around the classroom three times whilst singing the national anthem, causing everyone to burst into laughter.
"Who is that?" Draco asked Hermione, turning his head to try and distract her from her puffed-up cheeks, which were still annoyed by Moody's difficult behaviour.
"Oh, that's Dean Thomas, one of Harry's dormmates," she said quietly to Draco, perking up.
Another girl vividly imitated a squirrel, whilst Ron watched with interest and laughed loudly.
Hermione whispered to Draco, "That's my roommate Lavender Brown, Ron asked her—" She suddenly blushed and didn't finish her sentence.
Draco glanced at her silently, guessing she'd gone on to ask about the Divination incident. He coughed awkwardly, said nothing more, and continued to watch the next victim—Neville Longbottom—who was performing series of extremely difficult gymnastic moves with astonishing flexibility.
"Oh, he is—" Hermione stammered.
"I know who this is, no need to introduce him," Draco quickly said to Hermione.
Hermione shrugged. "Of course, you taught him the Patronus Charm last term."
"Unfortunately, it didn't work," he said.
"I don't think this is your fault." Hermione was much calmer now, and she asked curiously, "By the way, has your Patronus materialized?"
"No." He tightened his jaw.
"Don't worry," Hermione said in light-hearted tone. "I can protect you until you conjure your Patronus. If any Dementors appear, stay behind me."
Hermione still harboured resentment about the Dementors incident in the train compartment last year. When he'd protected her from the Dementors and fought them off, she'd done absolutely nothing—it was utterly shameful. If she had the chance to turn the tables, she'd definitely protect him.
"Oh, thank you," Draco said softly. He suddenly felt that the fact that he "couldn't conjure a Patronus" wasn't so bad after all.
Now it was Harry's turn to step forward.
He was the only one who could resist Moody's spell. Instead of jumping onto the table as Moody instructed, he knocked it over. This "remarkable achievement" earned Moody's praise, and he was given three more chances—clearly, Harry didn't enjoy this "reward."
If even a "Dumbledore's favourite" like Harry couldn't get Moody's leniency, then someone like himself, a "Death Eater's son," could forget about having good time.
Draco knew Moody harboured ill intentions toward him. The only thing he could do was take advantage of Moody's focus on tormenting Harry, pretending to leisurely move to the back of the queue, minimizing his presence.
He hoped that Moody would become engrossed in this "little game" of tormenting every student equally, and forget that he, the target, still existed.
Time flew by whilst Moody tormented Harry. The bell rang soon, bringing this utterly absurd lesson to a halt. There were many Slytherin students ahead of him in line; it might not even be his turn. He didn't want to lose face.
Draco lazily pulled out his pocket watch from his inner pocket, checking the minute hand's position, wondering how much longer it would be before he was free.
Perhaps it was the exaggerated movement of checking his watch that caught the magical eye's attention. Immediately afterward, nightmarish voice called his name.
"Draco Malfoy, come to the front," Professor Moody said gruffly, his magical eye fixed on him with the excitement of dog that had caught mouse.
Draco's body tensed instantly. He sensed the malice emanating from the small eye beside the magical eye.
There was still quarter of an hour before class ended, and he couldn't delay any longer, he told himself.
Hermione was looking at him. She was talking to her roommate, who'd just finished imitating a squirrel, slight smile still lingering on her lips. Suddenly, her bright eyes looked at him, filled with curiosity, confusion, and hint of hidden worry.
He gave her stiff smile, knowing he couldn't hold her hand at that moment.
The Slytherin students made way for him. He walked slowly through the line, stood in the classroom's center, and tried his best to remain calm facing the approaching Moody.
The sinister eye narrowed, and the wand turned toward Draco. He was quite certain that Moody was about to cast the spell.
"Imperio—"
"Expelliarmus!" He reacted instinctively, disarming Moody without thinking. His Disarming Charm was so powerful that Moody's wand was thrown to the ground, and Moody himself was knocked off balance and crashed into table.
The whole class turned to watch Moody struggle with his wooden leg, trying to stand up.
He heard several students gasp, and a few others whisper in amazement, "He actually disarmed Mad-Eye Moody..."
"Malfoy! Slytherin, deduct ten points!" Moody, face contorted with rage, took the wand that Longbottom shakily handed him. "Disarming Charm? Do you think this is duelling club? Do you think someone will tell you beforehand if they cast Imperius on you? You completely ignored what I said about 'resisting with willpower'! Put your wand away!"
Draco remained silent and, as instructed, put his wand away.
In his opinion, Moody was probably going to fight him to the death today.
Draco's Occlumency might not be effective against Moody's Imperius Curse. Although it was often said that the methods to resist Legilimency were similar to those to resist the Imperius Curse, even subtle differences in conceptual knowledge could lead to different outcomes.
In his past life, Draco had been adept at using Occlumency to clear his mind of thoughts and emotions, burying them deep within his brain. He hid all that he cherished underground, leaving any Legilimency expert wandering in vain.
However, he wasn't good at resisting spells like the Imperius Curse that eroded the mind and willpower—he'd never had opportunity to practice that part.
This meant that whilst master of such spells couldn't see through his thoughts or delve into the depths of his mind, they could create illusions or commands out of thin air in that space, making him believe or obey.
"Lift your head and look at me!" Moody coldly pointed his wand at him and cast the curse: "Imperio!"
Draco was no stranger to the Imperius Curse. He'd used it on Madam Rosmerta of the Three Broomsticks. It was the only Unforgivable Curse he could cast.
He understood perfectly well what was happening; it was spell that appeared to be the least lethal, yet was actually the most dangerous. Any spell that could influence thought was extremely dangerous.
His soul left his body; it was wonderful, light, floating sensation, hazy joy that overshadowed his current fear and unease.
He stood carefree in the classroom's center, like an empty balloon, feeling everyone staring at him, especially the girl.
He heard Moody's voice coming from distant corner, and the voice didn't seem so scary anymore; it even sounded somewhat friendly.
The voice, gentle and kind, coaxed him in his emptied mind: *Put your head in the water tank... put your head in the water tank... if you do, everyone will praise you... you'll be popular... you need to put your head in...*
If it were contest of defensiveness, Draco Malfoy in this life probably wouldn't have lost so badly; however, resisting the Imperius Curse was test of willpower, and he'd never passed in this matter.
He obediently walked past the array of mirrors and to the large water tank at the classroom's front, which Lupin had used to house Grindylows last term, but now it was empty of water.
He stuck his head in upside down, and the water gradually submerged his hair, eyes, nose, and chin.
*Why? I want to stick my head in...*
He was extremely puzzled, but he couldn't object. The voice dictated that he continue. At one point, he was surprised to find himself blinking in the water tank, eyes stinging. But he couldn't refuse.
He seemed to have grown inside the water tank. Through the tank, he could see shadowy figures. Brownish shadow swayed through the glass. It seemed that some intense and urgent argument was coming through the tank, muffledly reaching his waterlogged ears.
*She seems very angry. Why? Why is she angry?*
He stayed in the water tank for what felt like whole year, pondering this question in bewilderment. He pondered for so long that his nasal cavity filled with water, more and more water, which seeped into his lungs without ceasing.
The agony of choking on water churned his soul. His consciousness was gradually fading...
But he couldn't lift his head... He couldn't come out...
*Why...?*
"No!" the girl screamed, grabbing him by the back of his collar and pulling him out of the terrifying deep water...
It was Hermione Granger.
*Of course it's her, who else could it be?* Draco thought with smile, trickle of water flowing from his nose.
More people seemed to appear and were pulling him away from the water tank—it seemed to be Harry and Ron—he could hear their panicked cries...
The calls seemed to come and go, like fleeting dream. He smiled and drifted into unconsciousness...
---
This was the first time Hermione Granger had ever been so angry at a professor.
Merlin above! She'd once faced an attack from Professor Lupin, that werewolf! She'd also petrified Professor Quirrell when he was possessed by the Dark Lord! And she'd even endured three years of Professor Snape's venomous and sarcastic attacks!
But no one could compare to Professor Moody's evil.
Who would use the Imperius Curse to make student drown?
This wasn't teaching! This was punishment, this was violence, this was targeting. Hermione thought angrily.
She'd long suspected that Professor Moody was targeting Draco—for some reason she couldn't understand.
Perhaps, as they said, it was because former Aurors loathed Death Eaters that they extended their hatred as well?
Like Barty Crouch, who'd been prejudiced against Draco—the son of former Death Eater—from the very beginning.
But Moody was professor!
Professors would naturally have personal likes and dislikes, just as Professor Snape disliked Gryffindor. But everything had its limits.
Compared to Professor Moody, who had no sense of propriety, Professor Snape's indiscriminate point-deduction personality actually seemed somewhat endearing! At least he'd never physically harmed his students, and he'd even protected them in front of werewolves! Hermione thought with extreme anger.
She couldn't forget that scene. She'd watched as the platinum-blond-haired boy walked expressionlessly and slowly to the classroom's center. She'd noticed that his hands were clenched into fists, hidden behind his robes.
He must be very nervous.
Hermione had been relieved. Although Professor Moody had cast the Imperius Curse on students, he hadn't instructed them to do anything too outrageous.
He'd simply made them sing the national anthem, imitate squirrel, and do some gymnastics. Although Hermione still couldn't morally accept the act of depriving others of their consciousness through spell, he hadn't actually harmed the students or forced them to do anything unacceptable.
Most students seemed quite happy. You rarely had opportunity to see someone else embarrass themselves in class, or even to participate yourself and become the center of attention.
Some students even praised Moody's quirky sense of humour. Even Lavender herself was delighted, thinking "it's quite fun to imitate squirrel." She didn't seem discouraged at all, instead asking Hermione with interest, "Do they think I'm cute? Who was laughing just now?"
Hermione had been getting curious. If Professor Moody could tone down his madness little, she'd love to see good show—good show for Draco.
It would be quite amusing to see someone like Draco, who was so keen on maintaining his personal image and always exuded elegance, lose control and do something foolish—just as she'd wanted to see what he'd do in front of the Veela.
Maybe he'd dance lively tap dance, or sing serious, high-pitched song in the classroom... She couldn't recall ever seeing him dance or hearing him sing. She'd looked at him expectantly, determined not to miss single moment of his embarrassment, and prepared to tease him about it for the rest of her life.
Then things took turn.
Like man contemplating suicide, he plunged headfirst into the water tank, his long, slender hands with distinct knuckles gripping the edge tightly... resolutely drowning himself.
Through the clear water in the tank, she could see his face. His expression was just like that day by the Black Lake... calm and desperate... motionless, accepting his cruel fate... heartbreaking, like beautiful boy accepting his fate of drowning.
She hated that expression.
She hated even more the faint smile that flickered across Moody's mutilated face...
Draco had been in the tank too long; it was deathly silence.
The surrounding students began to whisper amongst themselves, but no one stopped them; everyone assumed it was trial of the Imperius Curse...
They might be hoping that Draco would pull his head out of the tank himself at any moment...
Hermione suddenly got angry.
"Stop! Professor Moody, stop!" Hermione suddenly took few steps forward and said to Professor Moody, who had broken smile on his face.
"If anyone again shows lack of basic respect to professor and interrupts class, they will be punished," Professor Moody said dismissively, glancing at her casually. "It's part of teaching, and no one is exempt."
"Didn't you see he's about to drown?" Hermione anxiously reminded him. She saw abnormal bubbles moving around Draco's mouth and nose.
"Then he should have tried to resist the Imperius Curse instead of being coward and making excuses afterward...just like his father, isn't he?" Moody's tone carried hint of schadenfreude.
"Even if it's just teaching, that's enough! Please stop!" she pleaded, heart filled with immense unease and anger.
Moody ignored her.
"Ten points from Gryffindor. Say one more word and you're out." He said coldly, intently watching the boy drowning in the water.
In that instant, Hermione had strange feeling: he felt no pity for Draco.
There wasn't trace of the care and compassion that professor should have for students.
"No!" Hermione screamed, lunging forward and grabbing Draco by the back of his collar, yanking him out of the water tank...
Draco... he was about to drown, he was falling into coma.
But he was still trying to push into the water tank... This seemingly frail boy was surprisingly strong... She couldn't control him at all.
All the students were stunned, shocked by the argument between Hermione and Moody.
They stood there, not understanding what had happened.
Only Harry and Ron reacted quickly. They rushed over, pried Draco's hand off the edge of the water tank, pulled him aside, and anxiously loosened his tightly tied collar, tilting his head to one side in the hope that he could spit out the water...
Then Zabini and Parkinson rushed over, followed by Crabbe and Goyle... and more Slytherin students gathered around.
Hermione was pushed to the periphery of the Slytherin students.
Aside from pulling him out of the water, she didn't know what else she could do to save him.
She was so shocked by the thought that "he might die" that she was unable to move.
Through gap in the crowd, she saw him lying pale and powerless on the floor, his platinum-blond hair plastered wetly to his face, like the dying unicorn she'd seen in the Forbidden Forest—elegant, beautiful, innocent, and pure, yet tragically broken.
When he'd struggled, she'd touched his hand; it was so cold. Gone was the warmth and gentleness of before.
Those hands, the hands that once held hers on the stairs of Hogwarts at midnight. He'd held her hands and said, "I want to be good to you. I—want to hold your hand."
The boy said he hated danger, yet he stubbornly protected her countless times in perilous situations.
But she couldn't protect him.
Just fifteen minutes ago, she'd been determined to protect him.
However, she'd watched helplessly as he died quietly, without even struggling.
She hated herself for having hesitated for second or two because "Moody is professor" and hesitated whether to step forward and stop him.
Through her teary eyes, she tried to scream, but found she'd lost her voice.
She could do nothing but let her anger burn in her heart.
She choked back tears. Through the crowd, Hermione saw Harry and Ron kneeling frantically beside him, trying to save his life, with cacophony of voices interrupting and offering incoherent first aid advice.
Finally, tall, thin, dark-haired Slytherin boy pushed through the panicked crowd. Hermione remembered his name as Theodore Nott, very shy boy—who was good at Potions—and sometimes partnered with Draco.
Theodore struggled to push aside the disruptive students, his usual politeness and introverted silence gone.
He yelled, "Shut up! Get out of here! I need air circulation!"
The Slytherins around him were stunned, then obeyed his instructions.
He began pressing on Draco's chest, one press at time...
Hermione remembered that this seemed to be CPR from the Muggle world... So wizards used it too?
After long time, the boy who'd choked on water woke up and began to cough violently, finally vomiting up all the water.
It was then that Hermione realized her face was covered in tears. Looking at Draco, who was panting with furrowed brow, she suddenly felt sharp, tight pain in her heart, as if hammer was dully striking her heart again and again.
The thought of him possibly dying because of it made her breathless.
Her lips trembled as she turned her head, silently condemning Professor Moody with angry eyes—he could still so leisurely take sip from his damned hip flask as if it were the most important thing in the world.
As if Draco's life was as insignificant as an ant.
To hell with Professor Moody! He didn't deserve to be professor!
She had to do something.
Anything.