novelraw Chapter 116: At the Three Broomsticks
Chapter 116: At the Three Broomsticks
Hermione Granger was well aware everyone was staring at her.
She'd just come from Honeydukes, eating large chunks of cream-filled chocolate while talking to herself.
This made her look like a mentally unstable student, rather than the well-informed Gryffindor know-it-all in the rumors.
Unbeknownst to anyone, right beside her, her friend Harry Potter was hiding under an Invisibility Cloak, also munching on cream-filled chocolate.
"Look, even though they're wearing badges supporting Cedric, nobody's talking about you or that stupid article," she said, disgruntled. "All right, take off your Invisibility Cloak for a bit; nobody's going to bother you."
"Oh, really?" Harry said. "Look behind you."
Hermione glanced back, then nimbly pressed herself against the wall, avoiding the gossipy Rita Skeeter—who was coming from the Three Broomsticks with her photographer friend—and slipped through the still-trembling pub door with the invisible Harry.
The pub was unusually lively today. In addition to Hogwarts students, there were witches and wizards from all over Britain, as well as some foreign wizards, and even hags, goblins, and a troll.
Hermione turned her head away, determined not to let her gaze linger on others for too long—that would be rather impolite, wouldn't it?
However, she couldn't ignore a few familiar faces: Lee Jordan, who was excitedly showing off a new species of spider, and several seventh-years from Gryffindor; Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott, Hufflepuff students, who were swapping Chocolate Frog Cards with people at the next table; and Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, with her large group of girlfriends from her own House.
And there was an even more undeniable presence—Hagrid's enormous, shaggy head—who was sitting with Professor Moody, nervously discussing something.
Hermione noticed Madam Rosmerta was glaring angrily at the curved hip flask in Professor Moody's hand. She probably thought it a great sin to be in her pub without drinking her mulled mead.
Three Butterbeers sat on an empty table in the corner, where Ron sat alone, grinning as he waited for them. Hermione greeted him cheerfully and slowly led the invisible Harry through the crowd.
"You're here?" Ron said cheerfully, secretly slipping the Butterbeer under the table.
"Yeah. Why didn't you come with us to Honeydukes first, and then come here together? At least I wouldn't have had to feel so awkward talking to myself," Hermione said, shaking her head.
"Don't be silly—it's so hard to find a seat at the Three Broomsticks on a Hogsmeade weekend! I had to come and reserve seats first," Ron said matter-of-factly. "Listen, today's Butterbeer is on me, as an apology for what's happened recently."
"Thanks. Try this," Hermione said, handing Ron a packet of cream-filled chocolates and glancing around the pub. "Oh, and perhaps I should recruit some villagers into S.P.E.W."
The news that Ron and Harry had reconciled brought Hermione a sigh of relief, and she finally had time to reconsider her S.P.E.W. ambitions.
"Yeah, that's right," Ron said. His expression made the boy under the Invisibility Cloak laugh aloud. Harry took a large gulp of Butterbeer, and his voice drifted from under the table, "Hermione, when are you going to give up this S.P.E.W. thing?"
"The day house-elves get decent pay and a respectable working environment!" Hermione declared confidently. She pulled out a notebook—containing the list of S.P.E.W. members—and began sketching in it with a quill.
"I think you just want to win the bet with Draco," Ron said with a smirk. "Get ten members, don't you?"
"You don't understand!" Hermione said stubbornly. "I'm not just going to recruit ten members—I'm going to recruit a hundred members, or even more. Whether they become my members or not, I'm going to keep doing this."
Ron shrugged, deciding to end the conversation. He said to someone under the table, "Harry, why can't you just show yourself? Nobody here will bother you."
"No, thank you," Harry's voice murmured in the silence. "Look at them—they're all wearing badges."
Ron turned his head and saw a row of badges reading "Support Cedric Diggory—the REAL Hogwarts Champion!" flashing incessantly on Ernie's table.
"I thought you'd overcome this," Hermione said, putting down her quill and looking surprised.
"You try becoming me," Harry said bitterly. "Every morning when I open my eyes, psychological barriers rise up like the morning sun."
Harry thought he was probably the most unpopular champion.
These days, Cedric was surrounded by chattering admirers—he often appeared both nervous and excited; Fleur Delacour was surrounded by a multitude of stuttering adorers—she remained oblivious and composed; Viktor Krum was always followed by a large group of admirers asking for autographs—yet he seemed to prefer studying in the library.
Harry was the least popular.
Wherever he appeared, he was met with a chorus of mocking remarks. This was far too heavy a burden for a sensitive fourteen-year-old boy who craved recognition.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Harry," Ron said uneasily, a look of guilt on his face. "I wasn't on your side all those times... I won't do it again."
Just then, Hagrid and Professor Moody seemed to be leaving the pub. They made a special detour to Hermione's table and greeted them with smiles.
Hermione looked up and smiled at Hagrid, then nodded to Professor Moody. Lately, she'd noticed Professor Moody seemed to have become rather more amiable since he'd stopped bothering Draco.
At that moment, he bent down beside her in a friendly manner—seemingly looking at her S.P.E.W. list—and whispered something under the table with his mutilated face.
His voice was very soft, and Hermione couldn't hear what he said. The only thing she could notice was a strange smell coming from his open mouth.
Hagrid lowered his head, seemingly speaking to Ron, but actually muttering to the void under the table. After a while, amidst the puzzled glances exchanged between Hermione and Ron, the two Hogwarts professors left without lingering.
"What did they say?" Ron asked under the table in surprise.
Hermione took a sip of Butterbeer, staring at the still-trembling wooden door at the pub's entrance, pondering that familiar scent—she must have smelled it somewhere before.
Just as Hermione was racking her brains about the source of the scent—directly above her—Draco Malfoy was having a conversation with Sirius Black.
This was a private room on the second floor of the Three Broomsticks. A bottle of Blishen's Firewhisky sat on a transparent coffee table before the sofa. On the wall, the hands of a magical clock ticked away. Numerous Anti-Eavesdropping Charms, Locking Charms, and Silencing Charms surrounded the area to ensure their conversation was unlikely to be overheard by any bored insects.
"How was your trip?" Draco asked with interest, standing by the window and studying the passersby outside the pub.
"It's a huge disappointment—nothing to show for it," Sirius said, sitting in an armchair by the fireplace and absentmindedly fiddling with the glass in his hand.
"I don't mind if you elaborate," Draco said casually.
"During the Quidditch World Cup, I took Kreacher to that seaside cave, you know, the one Regulus went to," Sirius said softly, his gray eyes clouded with gloom. "I saw everything Kreacher had described."
"And then?" Draco said, turning around and taking a sip of his sparkling water.
"There wasn't a trace of Voldemort—it was full of Inferi," Sirius said gravely. "I didn't touch the basin. I just wanted to find Regulus... We searched for three days and three nights—Kreacher and I—we went through them one by one. But in the end... no results, no solutions, no hope."
Draco saw a hint of pain appear on that handsome face.
"As for the Gaunt shack, I've been there too. Nothing was left, just ruins—and I don't think Voldemort or Quirrell would be there either," Sirius said dejectedly.
"I'm sorry about that. I thought—" Draco said, picking a cleaner armchair and sitting, speaking casually. "You know, that resurrection ritual... if he knew about it, he'd most likely have used it."
"I understand what you mean. But I just can't find him," Sirius said, his eyes reflecting in the crystal goblet, gleaming in the light. "A wandering spirit, a half-dead wraith, has simply vanished without a trace..."
"At the very least," Draco said, "we can rule out two places the Dark Lord might have gone."
"This doesn't give me much comfort."
"I'm not trying to comfort you," Draco said wearily. "I'm just stating a fact."
The two remained silent for a while.
"Not long ago, I learned of the house-elf Hokey in London, and I immediately informed Dumbledore. That elf used to serve Hepzibah Smith; I wonder if it will be of any help to his research," Sirius said, beginning to drink his Firewhisky and becoming oblivious to everything else.
"I suspect finding that little elf won't be easy," Draco said, glancing at him.
"I used a connection with an old friend. So many years have passed, and I never expected—" Sirius said, stunned, "that they'd still remember me."
"They can hardly forget you—the innocent head of the Black family, wrongly accused for over a decade—the *Daily Prophet* ran stories about you for a whole month," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "You've at least achieved something; my search for the ring has yielded absolutely nothing."
Within Slytherin, he'd made numerous subtle inquiries. However, the few pure-blood descendants of families with deep-rooted lineages who might know about the Slytherin relics seemed extremely insensitive to information about the ring.
Either they were completely unaware of it, or they were hiding it very well.
"Dumbledore said he wants to visit the Gaunt shack again, didn't he? I'd like to go with him, and perhaps we can visit old Tom Riddle's grave while we're at it," Sirius said, his eyes staring blankly into space, a faint weariness on his face. "The Triwizard Tournament is just around the corner, and Harry's been inexplicably dragged into this again. Dumbledore can't leave right now; he has to stay at Hogwarts, keeping a close eye on anything that might cause trouble. He probably won't have any free time until after the first task is over. Until then, I don't know if I can—"
"Well then, Sirius Black, stop daydreaming! Go and spend time with your godson right now, immediately. He's depressed and in extreme danger," Draco said, his tone somewhat harsh.
He'd gradually discovered Sirius Black's demeanor when alone was quite different from how he appeared before Harry; he was often unsettlingly quiet. His gray eyes no longer held joy, but rather often retained some marks left by Azkaban—a sort of dull and melancholic expression.
That expression was dangerous—it reminded Draco of how he'd looked in the mirror during first year—it was definitely not a healthy state.
Sirius Black probably needed to distract himself, find something to do—before that dullness and melancholy destroyed the vitality in his eyes—this was the inexplicable thought that arose in Draco's mind at that moment.
"Why are you so certain he's in extreme danger? You've been reminding me of this ever since the very beginning, before even the Goblet of Fire appeared," Sirius said, his dull eyes turning to him and gradually flashing with sharp sparks.
Draco looked at him calmly, his eyes unblinking. "Because I believe him. I believe his dreams, I believe there's a reason his scar hurts, and I believe he definitely didn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire."
Sirius looked at him blankly.
"I don't want to meddle. But I think you need to make one thing clear to him—that you trust him—instead of giving off an attitude of 'I understand you, I would have secretly put my name in too,'" Draco said. "Frankly, you seem to be avoiding this issue."
"I admit, I think it's not impossible he threw his name in," Sirius said nonchalantly, a subtle fervor awakening in his eyes. "If it were me—"
Draco had thought the same thing in his previous life. But in this life, he'd never again make such a shallow, arrogant, and conceited assumption.
"He is neither you nor James Potter," he said sharply.
An abrupt silence.
After a long while, Sirius Black gazed at a withered leaf flying past the window and sighed softly, filled with melancholy.
"I know his personality is more like Lily's in some ways—very kind and very noble," he said, his tone bitter. "I just—miss the feeling of adventuring with James."
"But that's not fair to Harry," Draco said sharply. "He's not like you or me, born and raised in the wizarding world, completely at ease with everything in it. He's just a boy who knows nothing about this world. He needs a mentor, not just a simple friend. You are his godfather, and the responsibilities and concerns you have are far greater than just having an owl deliver a basket of sweets. Do you understand?"
"I understand," Sirius said, waving his hand. "But I don't want to make the atmosphere too heavy. I want him to be happier. He's been doing well lately, hasn't he? The tone of his last letter was more lively than before."
"Please! He suppresses his unhappiness when he's with you—he doesn't want you to worry. But think about it, Sirius Black! How could he possibly be feeling any joy at this moment?" Draco said impatiently, hoping the handsome man before him would mature quickly.
"What do you mean?" Sirius asked.
"Let me tell you a fact—I doubt Harry will tell you this—right now, almost everyone except the Gryffindor students is unhappy with him, thinking he cheated. Harry isn't the sort of person who does things his own way and doesn't care what others say. He doesn't want to wear the Invisibility Cloak, and he doesn't even want to come to Hogsmeade. You have to talk to him. Otherwise, before he even faces that damned dragon, he'll be crushed by all the opposition," Draco said. He finished his long speech in one breath, raised his glass, and drank the sparkling water in one gulp.
"Why are you so concerned about my godson?" Sirius said, looking at him with a half-smile. "Who said they weren't his godfather and didn't intend to interfere?"
"That's not the problem!" Draco said, glaring at him and abruptly standing, intending to end the conversation as quickly as possible. "The problem is the gossip around him is wearing down his morale, and those reports aren't doing him any good either. I've noticed he lacks confidence and concentration when practicing spells, which greatly affects their effectiveness."
"All right, I'll talk to him again," Sirius said with a smile. "Thank you, Draco. If I may be so bold, you're a prime example of saying one thing and meaning another."
Draco pursed his lips and said nothing more.
He always felt like he was meddling in other people's business.
He seemed less and less like a detached Slytherin—invaded by a sort of Gryffindor-like meddlesome foolishness—which made him feel somewhat disoriented.
So he angrily opened the door, strode out, and left Sirius Black's meaningful gaze behind.
As dusk fell, the lights on the stairwell walls came on.
He slowly descended the stairs and found even the smoky ground floor of the pub was now dotted with candlelight. Several Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students were lazily walking toward the door, Butterbeer casting a faint flush on their faces.
Through the gaps created by the five hags, two goblins, and a troll sitting in the hall, Draco spotted Hermione's striking brown hair in the dim light.
She was holding a quill, writing something at her table; Ron, sitting beside her, was enthusiastically raising his glass, pretending to drink his Butterbeer, and occasionally saying a word or two to her with a grin.
In an instant, a bittersweet feeling welled up in his heart.
The heartless Hermione Granger!
Finally, she no longer had to worry about Viktor Krum eyeing her in the library, but instead, she was sitting alone, intimately, and pleasantly with other boys in the Hogsmeade pub.
Draco strode over and quickly stood beside her.
He tried his best to control his raging temper and his failing composure, so he gritted his teeth and didn't speak immediately.
Just then, he saw her turn her head and say to Ron with an air of seriousness, "But his scent is so familiar—"
They were too close! Draco's efforts immediately failed.
He couldn't help asking in a sharp tone, "What are you doing?"
"Draco? When did you arrive?" Hermione said, hurriedly rolling up the parchment before her, afraid he'd see her sparse membership list and show a smug "I knew it" look on his face.
She said hurriedly, "You—you startled me!"
"What are you panicking about?" Draco said, glancing at the roll of parchment she'd bound tightly, his tone hurt. "What little secret are you hiding now?"
"Nothing important," Hermione said dismissively, rolling the parchment tighter before changing the subject. "Would you like to sit and have a drink with us?"
"Us?" Draco said, frowning—he didn't like the word.
"Oh, yes, Draco, I can buy you a drink too," Ron said happily. "Thanks to you—"
"Also? What do you mean? Is Ron buying Hermione drinks?" Draco said, his face darkening.
"No need," Draco said, interrupting him rudely and looking at Hermione reproachfully. "He offered you a drink—and you just accepted?"
"What's wrong? Is there something wrong?" Hermione asked in surprise. "What's wrong with you today? You're making a fuss over nothing."
"Making a fuss—" Draco said, giving a strange smile. He glared at the somewhat bewildered Ron, then glanced at the composed Hermione, and felt his teeth ache.
His tone grew even colder. "Perhaps I'm overreacting. Then I won't bother you any longer." With that, he turned and left.
"Wait!" Harry—wearing the Invisibility Cloak—suddenly grabbed the hem of Draco's robes and whispered anxiously, "Me too! I'm under the table! Have you forgotten me?"
"Oh—" Draco said, turning around and stammering. "Er, Harry?"
He felt his cold face begin to burn. He seemed to have completely misunderstood.
For some reason, his impulsive mind had completely forgotten "Harry was wearing an Invisibility Cloak."
He bent down and glanced under the table, finding Harry's face emerging from the shadows, followed by a hand holding an empty Butterbeer mug.
Harry said, suppressing a laugh, "Since you've come all this way in such a menacing manner, could you please put my glass on the table for me?"
"Of course, of course," Draco said dryly, casually placing the glass on the table, looking rather awkward.
"Draco, what happened to you just now?" Hermione asked, squeezing the glass toward the table's center for him. "I thought you were angry with me. This temper came on like a tornado. It was rather inexplicable, wasn't it, Ron?"
"I thought he was angry with me—" Ron said to Hermione. "I'm pretty sure he just glared at me." He turned to Draco, looking at him with confusion. "I didn't do anything to you, did I, Draco?"
Draco coughed dryly and said in a low voice, "Of course not."
At this moment, the bad mood in his eyes vanished, replaced by a look of sincere joy.
"I've got it all wrong," he said. "Sorry, I was rather confused. Well then, shall I buy you another drink? Coming right away—" Without giving them a chance to refuse, he hurried over to Madam Rosmerta to order drinks.
"Don't you understand what's going on? Strange Slytherin!" Ron said to his friend under the table. "Harry, do you get it?"
"I don't understand, I absolutely don't understand," Harry said solemnly. "However, I would love another hot, sweet Butterbeer—the lemon scent in the air is just too strong..."
Ron shrugged. "Anyway, I forgive his absurdity, given how sincere he was."
"Haven't you noticed how strange he's been acting lately?" Hermione said, complaining to her friends, her eyes fixed on the tall, handsome young man behind the counter. "There's something off about him! He's more unpredictable than the weather in June!"
Harry's mischievous laughter came from under the table. He said meaningfully, "Yeah, I just don't understand why, Hermione."