novelraw Chapter 111: Slytherin Mindset
Chapter 111: Slytherin Mindset
Professor Moody's remarkable feat finally caught the attention of Deputy Headmistress Professor Minerva McGonagall.
"Alastor Moody!" Draco could hear Professor McGonagall roaring even through the heavy wooden classroom door. "Casting an Imperius Curse on a student! We never teach like that! Didn't Professor Dumbledore explain the rules?"
"He probably mentioned it," Moody's casual voice came through. "But I think the students need to understand for themselves how terrifying these spells are. If necessary, I'll let them experience more spells—"
All the students in the classroom heard it clearly.
At this moment, no one found his teaching interesting anymore.
"More spells—do you mean the other two Unforgivable Curses?" Longbottom asked Harry in a low voice, trembling.
"Have you considered the consequences of doing this?" Professor McGonagall roared from outside the door. "The students' parents will be sending you Howlers demanding your dismissal!"
"I never intended to stay long! I'm only here to do Dumbledore a small favour. I'll leave after a year! Let the Malfoy boy go complaining. I can't wait to have words with his father and his Head of House, Snape!" Professor Moody said nonchalantly to Professor McGonagall, then limped away from the classroom on his wooden leg.
Despite Draco's claims that he was all right, Professor McGonagall, under the uneasy gazes of everyone, dragged him to the hospital wing. There, he was forced by Madam Pomfrey to drink a large goblet of Professor Snape's peculiarly flavoured potion and ordered to "rest in bed" for the entire day.
People flocked to the hospital wing to see him, making his supposed "rest" a mockery.
Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, their Quidditch teammates… half of the Slytherin students were there. They all agreed Draco should immediately write to his father and tell Lucius everything.
"He's too dangerous, a threat to all Slytherin students…" Pansy concluded, narrowing her eyes. "We must nip this danger in the bud."
The very Slytherin-esque speech garnered widespread nods and agreement from the Slytherins.
Draco, dressed in a hospital gown, remained silent.
He didn't say anything until Madam Pomfrey put her hands on her hips and started urging people to leave.
"What do you think?" Draco asked Theodore Nott, who came to see him alone a short time later.
"Replacing a mad professor is easy; getting a less mad professor is difficult. And now, you have leverage over him—it's up to you how you use it," Theodore said calmly.
Draco pursed his lips. Still as rational, indifferent, and ruthless as ever—more like a Slytherin.
But after all, this childhood friend, who usually stayed out of things, hadn't stood idly by and had saved him.
"I haven't thanked you yet. You saved my life." Draco's pale face flushed slightly—he wasn't good at expressing gratitude, especially not to Slytherins.
Saying thank you wasn't the normal way Slytherins interacted.
"It's all right." Theodore looked away and said awkwardly. "I know what Thestrals look like—no need to see death again."
Theodore's mother had died early, leaving him and his father, Nott Senior, to depend on each other.
Draco had known Theodore since childhood. He was intelligent enough to be one of the few people who could converse with Draco on equal terms; but at the same time, he was aloof and never formally joined Draco's circle, instead remaining between "childhood friend" and "friend."
Nott Senior was a Death Eater, even more senior than Lucius—he was one of the first Death Eaters to follow Voldemort. Like Lucius, he was a staunch advocate of pure-blood supremacy, and his family belonged to the Sacred Twenty-Eight, which might explain why the two families maintained contact.
Once the battle between opposing factions began, it went without saying which side Theodore would stand on. However, in his previous life, Draco had never seen him fanatical about the Dark Lord, nor had he ever heard him express any desire to become a Death Eater.
In his past life, he'd even advised Draco to stay out of it and let their fathers do as they wished.
"We shouldn't get involved," Theodore had said coldly. "A family shouldn't all be Death Eaters. That's too risky."
"You coward!" Draco had scoffed, finding his attitude somewhat defeatist. "This is an honour to be admired! You've never thought about earning your father's respect, have you?"
"Isn't there anything else in your head besides your father's ridiculous approval?" Theodore had glanced at him dismissively, with the look of someone regarding a fool.
So Draco had left in a huff, still unable to understand Theodore's meaning.
Looking back now, perhaps this taciturn boy—this childhood friend who seemed distant but was willing to lend a helping hand at crucial moments—understood things better than anyone else.
Draco was abruptly pulled from his reverie, looking at the awkward boy before him. Draco no longer paid attention to the boy's indifferent face, but instead noticed the damp stains on the hem of his robes—stains he'd gotten when he saved Draco.
"In short, I'll consider your suggestion. Thank you, Theodore. I owe you a favour," Draco said softly. Then the thin boy quietly left with his beloved Potions book, as if he'd never been there.
Draco lay in bed with his eyes closed, pondering his next move, but he couldn't help feeling somewhat restless. His saviour wasn't just Theodore.
*Where are the rest of them? What are they doing?* He wondered anxiously.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione only came to see him briefly before Astronomy class.
"We each lost twenty points and were punished by having to feed Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts," Ron said with a mournful face, holding up his sore, blistered fingers for Draco to see. "Professor Moody said we shouldn't disobey his orders, interrupt the class, or cause a disturbance."
"I'm very sorry about this," Draco said weakly. He realized he was becoming increasingly adept at "expressing apologies."
"It's not your fault," Harry said. "I always thought he was a bit mad. He's a very good Auror, yes, but he's definitely a bit mad. He told Professor McGonagall that he didn't know you couldn't swim, and he thought it was a harmless joke."
"He's a paranoid—no wonder they were so eager to kick him out of the Ministry of Magic…" Ron muttered under his breath, a hint of indignation on his face.
Hermione remained silent. She looked at Draco with worried, reddened eyes, making short, sharp noises as if she were about to burst into tears.
"I'm fine, aren't I? Thanks to all of you who saved my life. Thank you so much," Draco said lazily, looking nonchalant. "All right, almost no harm done... I just wanted to skip a couple of classes to rest."
Harry and Ron looked at him with worried expressions.
"However, I probably never want to learn to swim again in my life—Merlin, thank goodness Quidditch isn't played on the Black Lake." He scratched his nose, trying to crack a joke, and Harry and Ron finally gave faint smiles.
Hermione didn't laugh. She still looked as though she were about to cry, listlessly looking at him.
"No, Hermione, go to class. Try taking some notes for my Astronomy class, all right?" Draco said gently, softening his tone.
She sobbed and nodded.
The next day, before Draco was discharged from the hospital wing, Professor McGonagall visited him again.
"I'm very sorry about this. I don't expect you to forgive Professor Moody—he went too far." Professor McGonagall stood by the bedside, her face stern. She tried to adopt a gentle smile, but failed.
Draco sat quietly on the hospital bed, looking at Professor McGonagall. He could roughly understand what she was thinking, and he knew her current actions weren't entirely out of concern for him.
He was the son of a school governor, yet he'd suffered such terrible treatment at the hands of a professor, setting the stage for a potential conflict between the governors and the staff. The governors already harbored some resentment toward Moody, believing him to be too self-centred; if this aggrieved party were to escalate the matter, the consequences would be dire.
This was even worse than "turning students into ferrets" in the previous life; it was a vicious incident that could have resulted in death.
On the one hand, with Professor Dumbledore absent from the school, she, as Deputy Headmistress, certainly didn't want the matter to escalate.
On the other hand, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts—who was changed more frequently than the loo roll in the lavatories—was practically a cursed consumable. A suitable professor for the position was extremely difficult to find; currently, there was no one available.
"Professor McGonagall, I understand what you mean. I won't tell my father, but I personally hope he'll stop targeting me in Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Ideally, we can coexist peacefully." Draco stared intently at Professor McGonagall, quickly calculating the best solution.
"As you wish." Professor McGonagall finally smiled slightly. Draco would call the emotion in that smile gratitude.
Draco was fairly satisfied with the outcome—he'd achieved partial relief through a roundabout approach.
Theodore's advice was correct. Draco now had enough leverage to dismiss Professor Moody, and under Professor McGonagall's strict supervision, Professor Moody could no longer target him, at least not openly.
Admittedly, Draco occasionally felt Moody's sinister gaze linger on his face. But he would never again question Draco or experiment with spells on him. He chose to completely ignore Draco, as if the student didn't exist—Draco's timely homework often received no marks.
"How could he do this?" It was a sunny Saturday afternoon. Hermione sat at the table in the library corner, shaking his parchment with no grade on it, and said in an affronted voice. "Your work is flawless! You deserve an 'Outstanding' more than me!"
"To be honest, I don't care," Draco said coldly. "Now you know the advantage of Professor Snape, don't you? At least he marks all the students' work, correct?"
"There's no comparison! Draco, we should never hope professors will be worse, but rather that they'll be better, shouldn't we?" Hermione said wistfully. "To be honest, I miss Professor Lupin a little."
"Miss this?" Draco glanced at her, grinned mischievously, and howled like a wolf.
"Shut up, Draco! This isn't funny at all! We almost died back then! You know what I mean!" Hermione rolled up his parchment, gave him a threatening look, and prepared to swat him on the shoulder.
"Ha, missed!" He nimbly dodged, moved to the other side of the table, and raised an eyebrow at her triumphantly.
"If you're so brave, then don't come any closer!" Her swat missed its mark, and she glared at him angrily, tapping the parchment scroll in her hand repeatedly, still resentful at failing to strike him. "Draco, sometimes your bizarre sense of humour is really hard to appreciate!"
"All right, I'm not joking anymore. But I've noticed you're really bold, Hermione Granger." He leaned on the table opposite her, one hand supporting his chin, and looked at her face, which was slightly flushed with annoyance, with amusement. "After that night, don't you understand the seriousness of the situation? You don't hate him at all, don't resent him, and aren't you afraid of him? You almost lost your life! Can you still think that was just a 'tiny little problem'?"
"Oh, Draco, of course I was scared, terrified." Hearing this, she put down the parchment—looked at the beautiful handwriting—carefully smoothed it out, and then said seriously. "But have you ever thought about who was the most frightened person that night? Was it really us?"
"What do you mean?" Draco asked, puzzled.
"What I mean is, if there was anyone more afraid than you and me that night, it must have been Professor Lupin himself." Hermione sighed, her sincere eyes fixed on the boy staring intently at her. "He must have been terrified of hurting us. He's usually so gentle and kind—when he came to his senses and saw what he'd done, he must have felt incredibly sad and fearful. That's why he resigned. Because he's more afraid of causing injury or death than anyone else, and he values the lives and health of others more than anyone else. So, although I'm afraid of him, I don't blame him."
Draco was utterly speechless.
He'd never imagined Lupin had any right to be afraid.
He'd never considered looking at the matter from Lupin's perspective.
He'd never imagined any victim would be so noble as to try to understand a potential perpetrator.
"Are you this understanding toward everyone?" Draco shook his head, wanting to refute her. "There are bad people in this world, and even if they're not in control of their own actions, they'll bring misfortune. Can you understand that?"
"Of course I know! But I don't want to understand anyone from a negative perspective first. Is it wrong for me to try to understand him from a positive perspective first?" she said with a smile, her eyes shining like stars in the dark night. "On the contrary, I admire him. He has the ability to hurt others, but he doesn't want to hurt them, and he even voluntarily gave up his teaching position. I think he's a good person, worthy of everyone's respect, and worthy of everyone giving him a chance, instead of immediately shutting him out."
"You're so naive—" He frowned, wanting to correct her dangerous idea. But looking at her matter-of-fact expression, he couldn't bring himself to say it.
He suddenly remembered what she'd done for him. The same innocence, the same kindness, the same generosity and selflessness.
Those who were miserable, vulnerable, or even despised always received her compassion first.
"What are you trying to say?" Hermione glared at him defiantly. "Don't forget, Professor Lupin treats all students equally, regardless of their House. Do you really think Professor Moody's methods are better than Professor Lupin's?"
"Of course not," Draco sighed and said softly. "Perhaps you're right."
He understood perfectly well what Moody's tactics were—to use passive-aggressive tactics against Draco Malfoy. If the students were sensible, they'd probably sideline and isolate him, mirroring the professor's likes and dislikes.
But Draco didn't care; and the Slytherin students were more united than the other Houses imagined. At least on the issue of "Moody potentially threatening student safety," they stood with Draco—especially those students with Death Eater family ties—and even urged him to take steps to remove Moody.
"Hey, listen, we'll all support you." One day, in the common room, Adrian Pucey came over to him and said, "Even Marcus said he could use his family connections. They have people among the school governors, you know."
"I'm glad to hear your response." Draco smiled politely at him. "I'll contact you if I need anything."
Pucey nodded in satisfaction and walked away with his arms around the shoulders of several older students.
Draco didn't act rashly. He knew some Slytherins disliked Moody but didn't want to take the lead themselves, so they were stirring up trouble, trying to use him as a pawn; however, he was content with the current peace. According to his memories from his previous life, Professor Moody only taught for a year before leaving, so there was no need to have any conflict with him.
He guessed Professor Moody's behaviour in this life was even more erratic than in his previous one, and his increased hostility toward him in class was likely because Professor Snape had spoken to him about the intrusion into his office. This was the only reason Draco could think of; apart from that, he'd had no other interaction with Moody.
Indeed, this was perhaps why Professor Moody hated him. The implication of Professor Moody's conversation with Professor McGonagall outside the classroom was clear: he knew Draco had seen him lurking outside Professor Snape's office and had complained to Professor Snape.
He was warning Draco not to meddle in other people's business.
He seemed to be guilty of something. This piqued Draco's slight curiosity: why was he spying on Professor Snape, and why was he so furious—furious beyond imagination—at his accusation?
As for Professor Snape, he seemed even more annoyed than Draco. He'd been losing his temper more often than usual in recent Potions classes, and he was anything but kind to Harry and the others. It seemed Professor Snape's warnings and talks with Moody had had little effect.
Last night, Draco had even seen Moody swagger into Professor Snape's office and announce a routine inspection right in front of Professor Snape. In that instant, Draco seemed to see the rage above Professor Snape's head materialize and leap three feet high.
"I refuse. You're no longer an Auror of the Ministry of Magic, but merely a teacher at Hogwarts. We're equal colleagues, and you have no right to question me," Professor Snape said coldly, opening the office door. "Get out."
Moody walked out sullenly, muttering something under his breath.
Professor Snape slammed the door shut and said coldly, "What were you about to ask, Draco?"
"Oh, how do we eliminate the side effects of the Invigoration Draught?" Draco swallowed hard, enduring Professor Snape's sullen tone. "I want to improve the potion so it no longer has the side effect of making my ears smoke for hours."
"Interesting," Professor Snape said slowly, hands on his hips, glancing at his potions cabinet as if searching for inspiration. "Potion improvement—how interesting—let me think, think carefully—"
Draco shuddered as he recalled Professor Snape's murderous gaze.
Perhaps Professor Snape wasn't thinking too much about improving potions, but rather planning to use the ingredients in that cabinet to brew some special potion—and put it in Professor Moody's hip flask—to incapacitate him. He swung the quill in his hand, thinking maliciously: *he wouldn't mind doing his part.*
"Focus, Draco!" Hermione poked his shoulder with the tip of her quill in annoyance. "Professor Sinistra said the Astronomy class you missed was important, and it might be on the final exam!"
He was reviewing Astronomy lessons under Hermione's supervision. As October arrived, all the homework piled up, with professors claiming this inexplicable academic pressure was to prepare for the fifth-year O.W.L. exams.
Draco had already finished his essay on the eighteenth-century goblin rebellion, assigned by Professor Binns, ahead of schedule, but hadn't yet begun the fortnightly observation and research of the Blast-Ended Skrewts that Hagrid had required. What comforted him was that he didn't need to read the three books assigned by Professor Flitwick, since he'd already mastered Summoning Charms.
"That's right, you learned to use Summoning Charms last year. Oh no, to be precise, you learned them before your first year. I remember you summoned Neville's Remembrall on the train! That's why I always feel tremendous pressure, because I can never keep up with your studies, even though I'm trying my best—" Hermione's tone was tinged with envy. She accidentally smeared some ink on her cheek with the quill in her hand, leaving a small stain, but she was oblivious to it.
"If you could put your house-elf books aside, you might learn faster," Draco said lazily, sketching the images of the seven planets—his Astronomy homework that he'd missed.
"Of course we can't do that!" Hermione said decisively. "After visiting the Hogwarts kitchens, I've been researching this issue in the library. The enslavement of house-elves dates back centuries. I can't believe no one has taken any action on this; the more than one thousand pages of *Hogwarts: A History* never mention anything about house-elves!"
"So?" Draco glanced at her.
"I'm going to start an association," Hermione announced proudly, her face speckled with ink. "The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, or S.P.E.W. for short."
S.P.E.W.
The mystery from his past life—what exactly S.P.E.W. meant—had finally been revealed.
Completely Hermione Granger style. Draco's lips twitched strangely as he suppressed the urge to laugh.
"What's the aim? This—S.P.E.W.?" He suppressed a laugh, looking seriously at the ink spots on her face.
"The short-term goal is to ensure house-elves receive fair wages and a good working environment. The long-term goals include amending the law prohibiting house-elves from using wands, and also trying to get a house-elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because the fact that house-elf rights aren't being adequately represented is truly shocking," Hermione said radiantly, seemingly quite pleased with her solution.
The way she spoke with ink splatters on her face was rather endearing. In fact, too endearing. Draco finally couldn't hide his smile.
At this moment, everything she said seemed adorable to him. Any unrealistic, pie-in-the-sky imagination, any naive, laughable vision, sounded as if they could come true when uttered from her confident, rosy lips.
As if bewitched, he suddenly leaned closer to Hermione, raised his hand, and tried to wipe the ink stains off her face, but it seemed to make things worse.
He murmured, "Merlin, what a grand goal... how do you intend to achieve it?"
Hermione certainly hadn't expected him to launch a surprise attack.
"Draco! Are you even listening to me?" She slapped away his disruptive hand, leaned back abruptly in her seat, her face slightly flushed, and whispered, "What are you doing? Stop messing about."
"You have something on your face." He innocently spread his hands, showing her the ink stains on them. "Look in the mirror."
"Oh goodness!" she exclaimed in surprise. Frantically searching for a mirror, she tried to calm her nerves by talking about the S.P.E.W. organization. "Draco, you'll join, won't you? S.P.E.W.?"
"Promise you won't be angry with me first. Because you might not like what I'm about to say." Draco didn't want to dampen her spirits, but now that things had come to this, he had to say something.
"Go ahead and tell me—I'll try not to get angry." She started wiping her face in front of the mirror, her eyes darting to the edge of the mirror. She glanced at him and complained about the mess he'd made. "Did you deliberately smudge the ink on me?"
"It wasn't intentional." Draco's ears turned red as he took a tissue and wiped his hands, which were stained with ink. "Sorry."
His hand had moved somewhat inexplicably, even a little uncontrollably, suddenly acting on its own—alas, he'd forgotten to use a tissue. He hurriedly grabbed a quill and started drawing a star chart, trying to steady his hand.
"Fortunately, it wasn't much." After a while, she finally wiped her face clean and asked with great interest, "What were you trying to say?"
"I'm sorry, Hermione. I may have to disappoint you about your organization—I don't think it's a good idea." He drew an image of Jupiter and said seriously. "If I understand correctly, you're practically saying you want to set house-elves free."
Hermione's delighted expression suddenly seemed to freeze.
She snapped out of her daze, put down her hand mirror, and said incredulously, "Draco, house-elves deserve freedom. You're one of the kindest people I've ever met when it comes to house-elves—look at what you did for Dobby! You—you should agree with that, shouldn't you?"
"No," Draco said slowly, deciding to reveal the harsh truth to her. "I will not set Dobby free. He knows too many of the Malfoys' secrets. Freedom means insecurity of information."
"But you're willing to pay him wages and give him holidays," Hermione said, looking at him with disappointment. "I thought you were different from them."
"Yes. I'm willing to pay wages and give holidays, but that's all." Draco unusually didn't look back at her, meticulously tracing Mercury. "Don't blame me for this, all right? Freedom has its limits everywhere. My abilities are limited, and I can only prioritize my own interests."
"But they have thoughts and language—they're not a piece of meat or wood! They need to be treated with basic respect!" Hermione said vehemently.
"I can only show respect to the best of my ability," Draco said. "I can't control what hundreds of house-elves think. Besides, they don't want to be freed."
"You're being completely sophistic. They don't refuse freedom—they just don't understand they're being oppressed. That doesn't mean oppression is right! We should set them free so they can understand what freedom means!" Hermione's face flushed red.
"But even if you stormed into the kitchens right now and shouted 'Who wants freedom?' not a single house-elf would cooperate with you. Have you ever thought about understanding and respecting their original ideas first?" Draco said coolly. "To be honest, what good will your actions do besides making us disliked by house-elves and banned from the Hogwarts kitchens?"
"I see. All you care about is whether you can get into the kitchens and make something to eat, isn't it? All you care about is whether you can get some convenience in life, not doing the right thing, isn't it?" She looked at Draco as if seeing him for the first time. "I didn't expect you to be this kind of person. Selfish and only thinking about yourself. These thoughts of yours suddenly make me realize you're really very Slytherin."
"Yes, I am. I've always been this kind of person. You have to understand—I'm not a selfless person," Draco said calmly, glancing at her. "That's right, I'm a Slytherin who's ruthless and selfish. I can't do things that don't bring me any benefit and leave me with a stain on my reputation. I suggest you don't do them either. It's pointless. Even if you do all that for them, no house-elf will thank you."
"I'm not doing this to ask anyone for thanks! Nor to gain any personal benefit! I just want to uphold the morality, fairness, and justice that should exist in this world!" Hermione said angrily.
"Perhaps the world doesn't have the kind of morality, fairness, and justice you think it does," Draco countered. "What makes you think you can break the rules that make this world work?"
Hermione stared at him blankly, seemingly struck by the meaning behind his words. Suddenly, she jumped up and began gathering her books, parchment, and quills.
A feeling of hurt pride and being misunderstood spread through her heart.
"Then we have nothing more to discuss about this matter," she said bitterly.
"Hermione, don't be like this—don't get angry with me over this. I thought we were just discussing something." Draco stood up and stopped her, saying uneasily. "This isn't fair to me—just ask anyone about the rights of house-elves, and not many wizards will agree with you."
"I don't believe it!" Hermione looked at him stubbornly. "There are always some wizards who aren't so selfish!"
"Not so selfish?" Draco chuckled briefly, looking at the stubborn girl. "You can try and see if they're as you think. Here's what we'll do: if you can find ten members, I'll join your organization; if you can't, you have to admit it's a consensus in the wizarding world and has little to do with 'selfishness.'"
"I will! Draco Malfoy, just you wait and see!" Hermione picked up the last book, no longer looking at the seemingly gentle and alluring but inwardly cold-hearted boy.
"Also, finish your star chart and hand it in on Monday!" She angrily tossed her thick, brown curly hair, held her head high, and strode out of the library corner.