novelraw Chapter 119: The Cunning and Brilliant Star
Chapter 119: The Cunning and Brilliant Star
Draco Malfoy had a wonderful dream.
In the dream, there was no bottomless Black Lake, no suffocating water tank, and no twisted face or scarlet eyes of the Dark Lord.
He dreamed of Hermione Granger.
A completely wonderful Hermione Granger.
There was no Bellatrix, no bloody "Mudblood" carved on her arm, no endless tears and screams.
This was a rare and beautiful dream—Hermione Granger didn't release a single terrifying scream from beginning to end.
She remained calm, gentle, and trusting, smiling as she opened her arms to embrace him, kissing him with her soft, rosy lips, and then smearing ink all over him.
He woke with a smile from this bizarre dream, surprised to find himself lying on the warm wool carpet of the Room of Requirement.
The wood burning in the fireplace crackled softly, and tiny black dots on the Marauder's Map shone tirelessly on the parchment.
He was still holding her hand. The map was spread between them, slightly crumpled from being pressed by their interlaced fingers.
They lay on their sides, facing each other across the map.
Last night, they'd collapsed onto the carpet, exhausted, wondering why Barty Crouch was sneaking around Snape's office, and then they'd started discussing whether ferrets were cute.
"Ferrets are adorable, naturally!" Hermione said seriously. "Did you know that ferrets and otters are related? They're related—both are mustelids, and they have similar habits."
"But what does this have to do with whether something is cute or not?" he asked in surprise.
"Oh, because otters are cute, aren't they?" she said enthusiastically. "Since they look so alike, they should all be considered cute."
"All right, I admit otters are cute and seem quite clever. But ferrets just look rather silly. You don't have to try comforting me," Draco said dejectedly, inevitably recalling the verbal attacks she'd made on him in his past life—back then, she'd always teased him for being a "bouncing ferret."
A lingering worry remained in Hermione's heart. Forcing a proud young man to be transformed into an animal and humiliated could be a fatal blow to his self-esteem.
Putting herself in his position, if she couldn't accept such humiliation, how could he possibly accept it calmly?
She glanced furtively at the boy with his head down, determined to ease his dejected mood. Perhaps besides praising the ferret's cuteness, she should also tell him that ferrets were actually quite formidable.
Taking a deep breath, she ignored the boy's despondent demeanor and adopted a more positive tone, attempting to continue her ideological campaign. "Don't underestimate ferrets—they're not stupid at all. Despite their small size, their eyesight and hearing are excellent, they're agile, and they have tremendous energy. They're not picky about food; they can find prey on land, sea, and in air..."
"I've never heard this before." Draco was suddenly rather pleased. "How did you learn this?"
"I've always known," Hermione said proudly. "I read loads of these sorts of nature books when I was small. Did you know how intelligent ferrets are? They can even change their fur color with the seasons. In winter, they turn completely white to adapt to snowy environments; in summer, their fur turns brownish-red as the temperature rises—"
"Oh, rather like the color of trees or soil, isn't it?" Draco murmured, a slight smile finally appearing on his lips.
Brown. That was the color of Hermione's eyes, and the color of her hair. And the color of her wand. And parts of his wand. The color of oak. The color of earth. The color of nature.
It was a color that could be described as "beautiful."
"That's right, exactly. They have a very strong sense of territory and are also excellent at camouflage." Hermione regarded the corner of his mouth and said with a grin, "They're the 'Best Actors' in the animal kingdom. When they find prey, they don't attack immediately, but do the opposite. First, they perform a somersault for their prey, then roll on the ground, and finally lie down and play dead. They use this method to approach their prey."
"Oh—that sounds rather cunning," he said quietly.
"Yes. Once they're certain their prey has let down its guard, they leap into the air and launch their attack, ultimately securing victory." She recalled with relish those obscure facts from her mind. "An adult stoat can prey on 2,000 to 3,000 mice annually. In short, I think they're beneficial animals to nature."
"I'm glad to know that," Draco said, his face slightly flushed.
He never imagined Hermione viewed ferrets this way.
Those lingering grudges from past and present lives, intertwined with each other, seemed less important at this moment.
Perhaps Hermione Granger had never hated the ferret—was that even possible? He glanced at her nervously and saw her giving him an encouraging smile.
So the corners of his mouth curved upward more clearly, drawing some sort of relief from her smile. "Thank you, Hermione. That was very meaningful information."
Later, they looked up at the twinkling starlight on the ceiling of the Room of Requirement and chatted aimlessly.
"What's happening today? Why are you out after hours? Aren't you the one who despises breaking school rules most?" Draco asked curiously.
"Yes—I don't know why," she murmured. "I felt uneasy before bed tonight."
"Hermione Granger's special sixth sense?" he teased her. "Professor Trelawney might even award you an extra 'Outstanding,' since you've finally gained 'the Sight.'"
"Oh, shut it, Draco. This is no joke," Hermione said, exasperated by his sudden "dry humor."
He said nothing more, but secretly laughed heartily.
Her face flushed red as she defended herself. "I just wanted to check on the kitchens—"
"Oh, are you hungry?" he asked, wondering if he should find her something to eat.
"I'm not hungry. I'm simply going to have a look," Hermione said, sinking into dejection.
She recalled her unpopular S.P.E.W. membership recruitment efforts, and her mindset became somewhat unbalanced.
"So—did you get lost tonight?" Draco smiled secretly again.
The paths to the kitchens and to Professor Snape's office were completely opposite.
"Ah... a bit..." she stammered.
He couldn't help releasing another soft laugh.
"Don't laugh at me." She turned to regard the ceiling, her voice tinged with embarrassment and annoyance.
"I'm not making fun of you. I'll have to keep closer watch on you from now on, so you don't lose yourself, yes?" he said cheerfully.
Hermione didn't know how to answer.
He wanted to keep closer watch on her—what did that mean? She wondered, bewildered.
"Draco—" she called his name softly after a while.
"What's wrong?"
"Were you frightened then—when you transformed into a ferret?" she asked nervously.
"A little." After a moment of silence, he said, "Later, you saved me, and then I wasn't afraid anymore."
"You're putting on a brave face. I could feel it—you were trembling the entire time. You were scared before you transformed back, weren't you?" She was extremely stubborn, repeatedly confirming this, her tone filled with heartache.
"Oh, well—" Draco stammered.
He'd been trembling for other reasons, or at least, for most reasons unrelated to "fear."
"Why are you asking this?" he asked her back.
"I'm so worried about you. I've been—so worried about you." Her voice trembled.
"Truly?" His heart stirred slightly.
"Yes. I always felt that Professor Moody was targeting you. But there was nothing I could do. I felt so useless." Her voice was full of concern.
"No, you shouldn't think that way. When I thought no one could save me, you came, didn't you?" he gently comforted her.
"Yes... I also attacked a professor at Hogwarts." Her voice was muffled.
"You're very brave. A brave Gryffindor, aren't you? Last time, you even pulled me from the tank in one go after I'd talked back to him. You were very brave." He attempted to evoke more of her memories, to let her know how remarkable she was. "I don't know where you found such courage."
"Yes. I can't help it—I can't bear to see you suffer... It pains me so much." Her voice choked with emotion.
"Is she crying again?" Draco turned his head and regarded her worriedly, only to discover she'd stopped looking at the ceiling.
She was gazing at him, her brown eyes bright and watery.
"Can I—hold your hand?" she whispered. "I'm feeling rather sad. I want to hold your hand."
"Why not?" He felt a warm glow in his heart and obediently reached out his hand gently toward her, touching her hand.
Her soft hands could unleash countless exquisite spells, concoct the most complex potions, and even disarm the powerful former Auror, Alastor Moody.
This hand had once forcefully grabbed him by the collar and rescued him from the desperate water tank.
Just moments before, this hand had been gently holding the back of his neck, and surprisingly, it hadn't hurt him at all.
That hand softened his hardened heart like a fluffy cloud. He enveloped her slightly cold hand in his own and whispered, "Are you feeling better now?"
"Much better," she replied softly. "It's so warm."
As they conversed, the Room of Requirement automatically dimmed the surrounding candlelight, apparently so they could better observe the stars on the ceiling.
So they looked up and gazed at the faint or shimmering points of light.
"Draco..." After watching for a while, her mood seemed to improve, and her tone became slightly more lively.
"What's wrong?"
"The Room of Requirement is amazing—it's like it has a mind of its own. I genuinely don't know how it controls the light—those stars are so realistic," Hermione said softly, apparently mesmerized by the view above. "Magic is wonderful. Whenever I witness some amazing magic, I'm always glad I'm a witch."
"I'm glad you are too," he said softly.
"I'm also very happy to have met you." Her voice was filled with joy.
"I'm happy too," he said softly.
Hermione chuckled softly in the darkness, intently observing the stars for a moment, then began to murmur, "Draco..."
"What's wrong?" he asked patiently.
"I've found Draco—" she raised her arm, vaguely pointing to a spot on the ceiling. "See? Vega—from Lyra—and next to it is Draco."
"I see it. I see Vega." Draco turned to regard her—in the darkness, the girl smiled faintly.
He thought back to the bright eyes that had looked at him moments ago.
"The brilliant Vega, next to which is the somewhat dim Draco, isn't it?" he asked her, his tone tinged with melancholy.
"Draco is brilliant too—it's just not easy to find. It likes to hide itself. You have to be very, very careful to find it..." Hermione said seriously, her voice tinged with amusement. "A cunning and brilliant star... but I adore it... the sense of accomplishment from finding an elusive star is unparalleled..."
"You—do you like it?" He felt a strange anticipation rising in his heart, almost whispering it to himself.
"Yes, I genuinely like it..." she murmured, staring absently in the direction of the star. "Every time I stargaze, I always search for it first... I think I genuinely like it, very... very much... I might be rather obsessed with finding stars..."
She lazily turned, wanting to smile at him, but discovered his gaze was fixed on her, not even looking at the stars on the ceiling.
The atmosphere grew awkward. Perhaps it was the still, silent air, the barely audible breathing, or even the rapid, uneasy heartbeat.
And there were warm hands. At some point, they'd changed from a light clasp to interlaced fingers.
She hesitated, as though she wanted to say something, but strangely fell silent.
She trembled, attempting to withdraw her fingers, but his gaze froze her in place.
She could no longer think about the stars overhead. Because one of the stars was regarding her with gentle eyes, a quiet smile playing on its lips.
Under a star-studded, illusory night sky, their fingers intertwined, their gazes locked.
They could feel each other's heartbeats through their fingers. The heartbeats were faint yet intense, as though an invisible spell had bound them completely. Neither dared to move first, nor dared to speak first.
In this quiet midnight, the heartbeat between their fingers seemed to be the only real thing.
Hermione looked into those calm, deep grey eyes, feeling somewhat confused and dazed.
Draco, this boy who could easily break a girl's heart—why did he always gaze at her in such a misleading way, as though she were the only one in his eyes? As though he fancied her.
Don't flatter yourself, Hermione Granger. She desperately emphasized this harsh reality to herself.
In a fleeting moment, she hated her own stubbornness. She couldn't resist his hand, couldn't release him from her heart, and couldn't take his joys and sorrows lightly.
What exactly did they mean by doing this?
She gazed at him sadly until the distant midnight bells jolted her awake.
A wave of bittersweet emotion washed over her, instantly welling in her eyes and tugging at the tip of her nose. In her moment of poignant reflection, she finally remembered they were friends—just friends—nothing more.
Hermione was like a balloon punctured by the sound of a bell. She said dejectedly, "I think we should return."
"That's right," Draco said, his eyes fixed on her pupils as firmly as his hand held hers. "Or, could we wait a little longer?"
She was enveloped by his gaze and his touch, her heart struggling with flickering conflict, unsure whether to extinguish her own light or ignite it.
Finally, she said in a low voice, "Oh, five more minutes is fine."
"All right, then wait another five minutes," he said with satisfaction.
So they lingered for another five minutes—or perhaps more—without actually checking the position of the clock hands on the wall.
The boy's long gaze swept over her, apparently softening the thorns embedded in her soul with his gentle eyes; thus, the heavy pain was temporarily relieved and replaced by a sort of light joy.
Gradually, a sense of peace and comfort crept into Hermione's mind along the soft wool carpet, making it difficult for her to think about "how much longer these five minutes, which should have been brief but had unexpectedly felt so long."
Then drowsiness gradually crept over her, and her eyelids, which she'd been holding open, slowly relaxed. Under the starlight, she closed her eyes and fell into deep sleep.
She didn't know her hand was being held tightly and never released.
Until dawn broke and the morning dew was just beginning to fall.
The bright yellow fire flickered in the fireplace, and the occasional cracking of the wood woke the sleeping boy.
Draco opened his eyes, stared at the girl before him, and gradually came to his senses.
His throat tightened.
He attempted to pull his hands from hers—unsuccessfully—and was met with a grumbling snort from her.
The sound was faint and sweet, like someone coaxing someone. This sleeping girl was completely unlike her usual stubborn self who "didn't need anyone's care." Instead, she was as clingy and spoiled as a newborn kitten that needed petting.
Her thumb was still unconsciously sliding along the side of his hand, the slightly ticklish sensation sliding along his skin into his veins, rushing all the way to his heart.
Merlin, the notion that was forced to be abandoned yesterday, the chaotic pleasures that had haunted his dreams last night, had now cunningly returned to his mind.
He wanted to kiss her even more—his body tensed with the thought.
From last night until this morning, his desire to kiss her had grown stronger and stronger.
This obsessive desire was effortless for Draco at this moment—he could simply reach out and pull the soft, delicate girl before him and kiss her as he pleased.
This is wrong, Draco Malfoy, you shameful man. He thought to himself, torn between his own feelings, that she was too young and he couldn't do this to her.
But as he was thinking, he stole a glance at her face, neck, and the faint curves beneath her loose robes.
His face gradually grew hot. He couldn't help recalling the layer of pajamas he'd felt when he'd transformed into a ferret.
Merlin! That nightgown—it was too thin and sheer. Any soft, warm touch revealed everything, and it sparked the imagination.
Having experienced becoming a ferret, he could no longer ignore some of her developmental characteristics.
Certain thoughts swirled in his mind—to kiss her.
Then embrace her. Get close to her. And more. More. More.
He could no longer use such feeble excuses as "she's still young" or "she's like a sister" to evade the stirrings of his heart and soul.
The fact was, she'd grown up.
They were growing bigger every day.
She'd grown into a budding fifteen-year-old girl, and into the very thing he both longed for and dared not desire—a girl completely unguarded toward him—a sight that often drove him mad.
He was willing to listen with great interest to whatever she had to say to him—even things nobody wanted to hear about, like house-elf rights.
He loved capturing her instantaneous reaction when she spotted him in a crowd—her eyes would suddenly light up.
He was captivated by the fulfilling feeling of her throwing herself into his arms without hesitation—each time he released her, it took all his willpower.
He even liked when she snuggled into his arms and cried. Although he didn't like her crying, he liked her showing him her vulnerability—only to him—and he was happy to bandage that vulnerability.
But did she still fancy him? Was it merely friendly affection or romantic love? Was her heart still open to him, or had it already closed? In his madness, Draco became increasingly uncertain about this.
"Oh, please, we're just study partners, just friends. There's nothing else between us." He'd heard her say this to other students more than once, in a matter-of-fact tone.
Every time he heard this, Draco felt rather flustered, but he still turned to her and smiled, attempting his best to appear nonchalant and natural.
Ever since that punch last school year, Hermione had refused to sit down and discuss it properly with him. Whenever the topic arose, a look of fear and unease appeared on her face, and she hastily labeled him as a "friend," imprisoning him firmly within that label.
Admittedly, she could openly discuss any academic issue with him, explore the Dark Lord's terrible deeds with him, and worry with him about how Harry should face the dragon. However, when it came to the topic of "feelings," she resolutely chose to come to an abrupt halt.
Discussing feelings had become taboo for Hermione Granger. Draco couldn't discuss it, couldn't touch it, couldn't move forward; he could only retreat a step, afraid of frightening her away. He was afraid she'd grow angry again; he was afraid she'd ignore him. He was afraid she'd face him with that defensive, unfamiliar look again.
He could only observe, approach, and probe; he attempted to climb the precipice of emotion, cautiously hoping to pluck her fickle heart. He might fall, or he might find salvation. These possibilities burned his soul like wildfire, rising and falling repeatedly.
These past few days, her care, concern, and protection of him—was it simply from friendship, or did it hold deeper meaning? He wondered anxiously, gazing intently at her peaceful sleeping face.
She'd said yesterday she liked Draco—though she probably meant the constellation.
But for a moment, it had seemed as though she was regarding him through the stars.
Regardless, he was certain he fancied her—and wanted to kiss her.
His emotions were perhaps more honest than his body, and he'd understood his desires earlier. He'd long since vaguely noticed that with the onset of adolescence, his emotions often became uncontrollable due to hormonal fluctuations.
This didn't mean there was anything wrong with his Occlumency practice. Rather, it was that he always lost control of his emotions when around Hermione Granger.
He always hoped she would only sit beside him in the library, and not beside anyone else.
He always wanted her to only accept the Butterbeer he bought, and not someone else's.
He always hoped she would only look at him, and not at anyone else.
This emotional outburst became even more severe that morning. He couldn't control his hormones, couldn't control his constant urge to look into her eyes, and even less could he control his impulse to kiss her.
Not a kiss on the forehead—though that would still be very enjoyable.
Not kisses that landed on eyes, nose, cheeks, and ears—though he suspected those kisses would be just as pleasurable.
What he wanted were her lips—crimson, soft, and intelligent lips that could recite Hogwarts: A History backwards.
He was eager to taste them. Perhaps they would be sweet; perhaps they would be even sweeter.
As though bewitched, the boy brought his face close to hers, tracing the shape of her lips with his eyes.
And she, this brilliant star, was still innocently immersed in a beautiful dream under the night sky, completely unaware of the sinful and cunning thoughts approaching her, and was silently parting her lips, releasing a light and alluring breath.
A muffled thunder was brewing in his heart, rumbling loudly. He was in a tug-of-war with his mind—on one side was indulgence, the desire to kiss her recklessly until she awakened; on the other side was reason, the inability to betray her trust and the need to leave immediately.
After a long and arduous internal struggle, he finally gently pried open her fingers one by one, freeing the hand that wanted to pull her into his arms.
Driven by his last remaining shred of reason, he abruptly stood and fled like a coward.
Well—Draco admitted—he was a genuine coward.
Perhaps timidity and cowardice were some sort of deep-seated illness in him. Additionally, he also suffered aftereffects of distraction.
He didn't know how he left the Room of Requirement, or which route he took back to his dormitory; he also didn't know where he'd left such a precious item as the Marauder's Map, just as he didn't know where the Invisibility Cloak had been blown last night; he even started losing more things—his parchment for researching improved formulae for Dragon Pox was missing, and he couldn't find it anywhere after searching for an entire Potions class.
How did he get through the rest of the day? For Draco, it was almost a complete mystery.
Only a few scattered memories of her remained in his heart.
"Harry told me he informed Cedric about the dragon because he saw Madame Maxime and Karkaroff near it on the night of the Hogsmeade visit. He thought it would be fairer if everyone knew," she said, her lips moving close to his.
"Oh, yes, so selfless." He absently trimmed the Flutterby Bush, his heart trembling like the bush itself, stirred by her fragrance.
"Good heavens, Professor Snape has framed Harry again, insisting he stole the Boomslang skin and the Bicorn horn... Harry was furious. He argued with Professor Snape and even questioned him on the spot about whether he knew his mother! Professor Snape turned ashen and ultimately punished Harry with three days of detention." The lips reappeared before him, incessantly complaining about the Slytherin Head of House.
"Ah, yes, that's excessive." His heart was burning with excitement as he frantically searched through the Potions classroom for his parchment containing the Dragon Pox formula.
After what seemed like an eternity, she excitedly embraced him, her lips brushing his ear. "Draco! Harry got the golden egg!"
"Mm, very good. The golden egg—" Draco jolted awake for a brief moment.
Only then did he realize what was happening amid the commotion.
He found himself sitting in the stands for the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. On the large rock in the center of the arena, Harry, charred black—his Firebolt still smoking—clutched a golden egg tightly in his hand, laughing and gesturing to the crowd.
All the spectators cheered and applauded Harry for defeating the Hungarian Horntail. No one booed him anymore.
"I think Harry's earned everyone's respect through his own abilities!" Hermione embraced him tightly, then quickly released him, giving him a bright smile. "He'll never be ostracized again, will he?"
Her smiling lips appeared light pink in the sunlight, her brown eyes sparkled, and her expression was extremely cheerful.
"Yes," he said, his head spinning, attempting to pinch his hand to regain his senses.
Merlin, she'd been so close to him just now. Why not simply kiss her and see what happened? He stared at her profile, bewitched by a strange thought.
Besides, how quickly time had passed! Draco stood there, completely oblivious.
He drifted from the stands with the departing students, his steps unsteady on the way back to the castle.
"Draco! Look, what's this?" Hermione chased after him in a panic.
She appeared frightened. Finally, Draco came to his senses.
"What's wrong?" he asked seriously, pursing his lips, his fingers gripping tightly inside his robes.
"Here, there are two Barty Crouches!" She held the Marauder's Map, which he'd thought he'd lost, right under his nose. "Look!"
Barty Crouch and Barty Crouch stood side by side, as though they'd been bound by a Geminio Curse. Draco, finally unable to lose himself in anything romantic about lips or kisses, wore the same panicked expression as Hermione.
"Impossible," he said firmly.
The last time this map had surprised him so much was when the name Peter Pettigrew had appeared on it.
There must be something strange about this.
"Come with me. Let's see what's happening," Hermione said, hurrying against the flow of people in the direction the map indicated.
Draco followed her to where the two Barty Crouches had appeared—the stands where the judges and professors were seated.
By now, the other stands were completely empty; even Rita Skeeter and her photographer colleague had departed. Only a few Hogwarts professors remained, and the judges in the stands were still exchanging pleasantries.
Hermione held up the map, squinting as she checked the names toward the stands.
"I've finally realized something was wrong with him. It's Professor Moody—" She suddenly closed the map, folded it neatly, and shoved it into his pocket, calmly telling Draco, "He's not in the stands on the map. I now believe you haven't been using the Marauder's Map much lately—if you'd been paying a bit more attention, you would have noticed the real Professor Moody has been sitting motionless in his office. The one in the stands now is the second Barty Crouch—Barty Crouch Junior."
"But he's dead—died in Azkaban—died years ago." Draco found his voice becoming hoarse.
He'd never considered this possibility—who else but the Dark Lord could be brought back to life?
"What if he wasn't dead? What did Winky say? What was she concealing—perhaps the truth that her young master wasn't dead. What if he's impersonating Professor Moody? I smelled something strange on him at the Three Broomsticks last time, and now it all makes perfect sense—it was Polyjuice Potion." She stared at the stands, speaking in a rare, fierce tone to Draco. "Now—I've got him."
"Hermione, what are you attempting to do?" Draco asked anxiously as he saw Hermione running up the stairs leading to the stands.
"Teach him a lesson—there are other spells besides the Unforgivable Curses." Hermione paused briefly, didn't turn around, coldly uttered these words, and then continued climbing the stairs.
"Wait—" Draco whispered, following behind her.
Shouldn't they take a longer-term view?
Wasn't it too reckless to simply run up and expose this matter in front of everyone?
Draco attempted to stop her, but he wasn't as fast as Hermione. He'd barely peeked from the stairwell when she unleashed her Gryffindor lion's might, suddenly Petrifying Professor Moody in front of everyone.
Her Petrificus Totalus had always been effective—Draco thought proudly.
What's done was done, and there was nothing he could do about it. He simply slowed his pace and leisurely walked up the stairs.
"Miss Granger, what are you doing?" Professor McGonagall asked in surprise.
"Please don't attempt to break the spell, Professor McGonagall! This Petrified Professor Moody is an impostor!" Hermione shouted, deftly ripping the curved flask from Moody's body, opening it, and unexpectedly shoving it under Professor Snape's hooked nose for him to smell.
"The scent of Polyjuice Potion, isn't it, Professor Snape? Now you finally know who stole your Boomslang skin and Bicorn horn!" she said to Professor Snape, her head held high.
Professor Snape's pale, sallow face immediately turned ashen. For once, he had to admit "Hermione Granger was correct."
His face turned pale not because of Hermione's provocative tone or offensive behavior, but because he could definitely smell the Polyjuice Potion.
"Severus?" Dumbledore asked calmly, a wrinkle appearing on his forehead.
"It's Polyjuice Potion." Professor Snape waved his wand, binding the Petrified fake Professor Moody tightly.
To Draco's surprise, Dumbledore's expression instantly became even more terrible than Professor Snape's—every wrinkle on his face was filled with icy fury.
This was a rare sight—Dumbledore was usually all smiles, making it impossible to guess what he was thinking. This made his blatant anger seem all the more genuine.
"Severus, Minerva, take the Petrified impostor to the Headmaster's office," he said calmly, his expression gradually softening.
Then he nodded to Hermione and Draco and said briefly, "Well, you two come as well, Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy. Apparently, you're the ones who discovered this, aren't you? I have some questions for you."
The other judges and headmasters from other schools were still somewhat bewildered. Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked on with curiosity; they wanted to follow him to the Headmaster's office, but Dumbledore politely asked them to leave.
"After all, this is an internal Hogwarts matter," Dumbledore said with a gentle smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Barty Crouch had no intention of following along—he coldly returned to the Ministry with a bewildered Ludo Bagman—unaware it was his wayward son who'd been Petrified.
"I think I understand what you're doing," Draco whispered to Hermione as they followed the professors downstairs. "It wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision, was it?"
Hermione withdrew her gaze from observing the judges and smiled proudly at him.
The girl hadn't acted on impulse—that's why she'd done it in front of everyone. Draco regarded her smile with a complicated expression.
She'd already planned everything in just a few steps on her way to the stands.
She'd adopted the demeanor of an innocent student, precisely choosing an angle of attack that would catch the fake Professor Moody's magical eye completely off guard.
She'd fearlessly attacked a Hogwarts professor right under the noses of numerous judges—each a figure of considerable standing—and decisively defeated the powerful impostor—an adult Death Eater.
Most importantly, not a single word she'd uttered revealed the true identity of the fake Professor Moody.
Then she'd watched Barty Crouch's reaction closely, like a shrewd cat, to determine if he was involved; she'd even observed Igor Karkaroff's expression to see if the former Death Eater knew anything about it.
She's so intelligent, Draco thought in amazement.
Although he already knew she was brilliant, he was still often surprised by it.
She was frighteningly intelligent, so intelligent he was captivated by her intelligence, so intelligent he couldn't stop praising her.
She filled the blind spot in his thinking; she found the missing piece of the puzzle.
She wasn't just any delicate flower, but a rose with thorns, and possessed the most impressive mind in all of Hogwarts...
Hermione Granger. Everything about her—her beauty, her intelligence, her wit, her sharpness—was exactly to Draco Malfoy's liking.