novelraw Chapter 121: Names on the Joint Award
Chapter 121: Names on the Joint Award
The boy was trapped by nightmares again.
In the dream, it was the long-lost Astronomy Tower. In the green light of the Dark Mark, an unarmed Dumbledore smiled calmly at him and said, "Draco, Draco, you are not a killer."
His face was deathly pale, and he said to Dumbledore in despair, "I've got to kill you... I have no choice! I must do it! He'll kill my entire family!"
"You have caused no real harm, you have hurt no one—you are very lucky. Those you inadvertently injured survived... I can help you, Draco." Dumbledore was still smiling. "...Return to the right path, Draco... You are not a killer..."
His hand holding the wand trembled uncontrollably—it drooped slightly.
That's right, he wasn't a killer. She had said that too.
He hesitated.
He wanted to give up.
He remembered her pure, bright eyes—his wand-tip drooping.
However—"Avada Kedavra!"—Dumbledore's body was struck by the hastily arriving Professor Snape, and he was sent flying into the air...
From that point on, everything was beyond repair.
I didn't kill Dumbledore, but Dumbledore died because of me.
Draco Malfoy suddenly awoke.
He instinctively grabbed his wand from beneath his pillow, sat up in bed gasping, and stared at the boy in the full-length mirror opposite him—the boy's face was as pale as in his dream.
He stared at the long, dark green curtains on the four-poster bed, took a long, deep breath, and used Occlumency on himself to gradually calm his panic.
"It's all right," he said softly.
"It was merely a nightmare," he said in a trembling voice.
"Dumbledore—is not dead." He desperately tried to convince himself.
"You didn't kill anyone. You didn't." His lips trembled as he whispered to the pale-faced boy in the mirror, trying to smile but unable to.
He remembered those frozen, lifeless eyes. He remembered the bloodstains that had flowed through Malfoy Manor. He remembered the students who died during the Battle of Hogwarts.
He remembered her silent tears. Those tears dripped into his heart, burning a hollow hole in it.
Those images tormented him constantly. They were like venomous snakes lurking in the ruins of his mental world, ready to strike at any moment.
They tore his soul to shreds.
The wall clock ticked slowly, reminding the boy that dawn was still several hours away. Draco lay back down but couldn't fall asleep again.
Ultimately, he decided to wear the Muggle headphones Hermione had given him.
He fumbled in the bedside table for ages until he found the unopened cassette tape. Slowly peeling off the plastic wrapper, he stared at the title "Dookie" on it for a while, lost in thought.
"This is a new album called 'Dookie' by the American Muggle punk band Green Day." He recalled the mischievous look on Hermione's face when she'd given him the cassette. "I'm not certain if you'll like this style, but why not give it a try?"
Punk? What was that? Green Day—that name was utterly nonsensical.
"Who would call a music album 'Dookie'?" Draco had said incredulously. "Do Muggles fancy such a terrible term?"
"Actually, it's quite popular. I suppose Muggle teenagers are under considerable pressure." Hermione had shrugged and said with a grin, "Try it—it won't bite you."
"Oh, who would expect music to bite?" Draco had said nonchalantly, not understanding why the girl before him was smiling so slyly.
"Please—Green Day, punk, Dookie. These are ridiculous Muggle terms!" Draco had shaken his head in disagreement, but under Hermione's piercing gaze, he'd obediently accepted it and reluctantly said "thank you."
As soon as he'd returned to his dormitory, he'd thrown it into the deepest part of his bedside table.
He'd never considered listening to something so unrelated to classical music—he hadn't thought he'd fallen so low as to fancy the stuff Muggle teenagers liked—until now.
Perhaps at this moment, he needed some ridiculous, mindless Muggle music to numb his thoughts.
He lazily put on his headphones and casually pressed the play button—Merlin! Draco was shocked.
Hermione Granger, that cunning little devil—this music genuinely did bite—it leapt out and bit his eardrums hard!
The excessively loud rhythms, drumbeats, and screaming nearly shattered his ears.
"Hermione, now I finally understand why you smile like a fox!" Draco muttered to himself.
Who would have thought? This seemingly well-behaved girl would listen to such rebellious music. It was truly astonishing! Completely unexpected! Draco scratched his head helplessly, feeling as though he'd fallen into a "punk trap" set by the unpredictable Hermione Granger.
However, just as he was about to press stop and abandon the music entirely, something strange occurred.
Amid the noisy and jubilant Muggle music, he gradually found a sort of tranquility—not the tranquility of his ears—but the tranquility of his soul.
He suddenly realized he no longer had any mental space to recall past memories; his brain was completely filled with this overly arrogant music.
Amid the deafening music, he even began appreciating these Muggle creations.
He learned to drift along with the noisy, mindless music. A smile played on his lips as he closed his eyes, and before him seemed to flicker Hermione Granger's sly smile and her beautifully shaped lips.
"All right—you win," he said to Hermione in Potions class during the day. "I finally listened to that noisy album."
"How was it?" She raised an eyebrow with interest, observing his expression.
"Barely tolerable," he said briefly, selecting a few mistletoe berries of uniform size.
"You listened to some of it?" she asked happily.
"Oh—ah—from beginning to end—" His eyes were filled with guilt, and he dared not meet her gaze.
"I can't believe you listened to all of it. Which one is your favorite?" she asked him softly—accustomed to his slightly arrogant and dishonest tone—and quickly guessed, "Basket Case?"
"Basket Case," he replied simultaneously.
"I knew it," she said smugly. "Draco, you have to admit, sometimes you don't know what you want. You have to try things to work out your likes and dislikes, yes? Like Muggle punk music—"
"Perhaps." He didn't refute her.
He thought he must be going mad.
Because even when he wasn't listening to that music, it was playing on a loop deep in his mind.
He must have listened to it far too many times. Not because it was even remotely pleasing, he thought awkwardly.
The catchy music even distracted him from thinking about his meeting with Professor Dumbledore the following day—he only came to his senses when he stood at the Headmaster's office door.
Draco always harbored a deep-seated aversion to meeting Dumbledore, especially one-on-one.
Each time he spoke with Dumbledore, he felt an extremely complex mix of emotions—wariness and a sense of guilt.
This mindset made it difficult for him to fully relax and communicate with Dumbledore.
"Oh, Draco, I think this should be yours," Dumbledore said casually, pushing the Invisibility Cloak on his desk toward Draco.
"Is this some sort of trap to make me admit to breaking school rules?" Draco didn't move but squinted at Professor Dumbledore's expression.
"Obviously not, if you only use it to sneak into the kitchens to pilfer food," Dumbledore said with a knowing smile, his words carrying a hint of leniency. "I've heard you occasionally visit the house-elves."
Draco raised an eyebrow and quickly tucked the Invisibility Cloak, with the Malfoy family crest embroidered on the corner, back into his pocket.
This was Draco's first Saturday since Barty Crouch Junior had been captured.
Hogwarts Castle was bathed in peaceful sunlight.
Without widespread media coverage or Ministry intervention, Hermione Granger's use of the Full Body-Bind Curse against the fake Professor Moody in the stands appeared to be a completely overlooked incident.
The Daily Prophet continued weaving tales of the champions' romantic relationships in a sensationalist tone, making Draco suspect every morning that the newspaper had degenerated into a teen romance magazine.
What puzzled him even more was that he didn't understand why he'd been summoned to the Headmaster's office, and he was completely baffled by Dumbledore's plans.
"I can see you have many questions," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Is there anything I can answer for you?"
"Since we're on the topic—what about Professor Moody, who appeared perfectly normal in the Hogwarts corridor yesterday? I thought he was still recovering in the Hospital Wing," Draco asked hesitantly.
"Ah, you noticed that, did you?" Dumbledore smiled kindly. "Sirius was very generous to assume the role of Professor Moody... He's pretending he was simply being mysterious and had someone stand in for him to keep students on their guard."
Draco nodded slightly to the kindly face—he still couldn't forget the terrifying look Dumbledore had given Barty Crouch Junior.
"Are you planning to follow Sirius Black's plan? To wait and see?" He wasn't going to let the question go and continued pressing.
"I must say, this plan is very tempting. I'll have to tell a small white lie to Madame Maxime, Professor Karkaroff, and Ministry officials. I'm quite certain that if the Ministry captures Barty Crouch Junior, given Rita Skeeter's writing skills, the rumors will quickly reach Voldemort's ears. Then our current small advantage will be squandered," Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully.
He gestured for Draco to sit in the seat opposite him, waved his wand, and produced a large cup of hot tea.
"Thank you," Draco said briefly, sitting on the edge of the chair without drinking the tea.
"By the way, you and Miss Granger have received a Special Award for Services to the School for capturing Barty Crouch Junior. But the school can't announce it publicly until everything is settled, so we'll have to present it to you privately," Dumbledore said with a smile.
"Actually, I think it was all Hermione's doing. I didn't do much," Draco said.
"It was Miss Granger who insisted—otherwise she would have refused the award," Dumbledore said. "In this respect, I was surprised to find she was very stubborn, even rather forceful."
"Oh, in that case—" Draco suddenly felt rather pleased and didn't insist further.
He took a small sip of the scalding tea and suddenly felt Dumbledore's scrutinizing gaze.
Draco disliked this gaze—it seemed as though Dumbledore's eyes were dissecting his very being.
So he quickly asked another question. "Professor Dumbledore, are we truly able to completely contain Barty Crouch Junior? I'm rather concerned about the risks involved."
"We've taken Miss Granger's approach—a more complex charm similar to the Full Body-Bind—and we've also added quite a few additional enchantments to where he's imprisoned, such as Anti-Disapparition Jinxes, Repelling Charms, Disillusionment Charms, and Imperturbable Charms... I think we can trust Professor Flitwick's recommendations," Dumbledore said.
"Where have you imprisoned him?" Draco glanced around, recalling that Barty Crouch Junior's name was still listed on the Marauder's Map in Dumbledore's office.
"I borrowed Alastor's trunk." Professor Dumbledore glanced at the trunk standing in the corner, a rare, cold glint in his blue eyes. "There's no time for compassion, is there? Given his considerable resistance to the Imperius Curse and even the Stunning Spell, I must keep him under my watchful eye."
"I appreciate your caution. But what about that house-elf Winky? What if she runs off to tell Barty Crouch Senior, or even tries to rescue Barty Crouch Junior?" Draco said, frowning.
"That's something Sirius advised me about as well. As the direct employer of house-elves and Headmaster of Hogwarts, I had to give Winky certain instructions to ensure her kindness and compassion didn't interfere with our plans," Professor Dumbledore said with a sigh.
"Speaking of which, do you think it's wise to have Sirius Black play Professor Moody? He's a completely different sort from Professor Moody—sometimes too bold; besides, the Hospital Wing isn't a secret place, and the truth will be exposed soon enough," Draco said, carefully choosing his words.
"I understand your concerns. Sirius only needs to play the role for a few days, and then Professor Moody will fall into a coma due to some teaching accident and need to be admitted to a private room at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," Dumbledore said, frowning.
"Won't this arouse suspicion on the other side?" Draco asked. "Anyone would be suspicious if their subordinate responsible for inside-outside cooperation suddenly met with an accident."
"There's no way around it—Moody's health is very poor, and he needs comprehensive treatment. Conservatively speaking, he'll need to rest until at least Easter... Besides, the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is inherently dangerous, and it's been prone to mishaps over the years, as Voldemort himself should be well aware," Dumbledore said slowly.
He thought for a moment and said, "Our advantage is that Barty Crouch Junior, for safety's sake, has severed his connection with Voldemort. The only way for Voldemort to find him is to summon Death Eaters. And we happen to have means to monitor this summoning behavior."
Draco remained silent. He suspected the "means" Dumbledore had mentioned might be found on Professor Snape's arm.
Therefore, Professor Snape was completely on Dumbledore's side.
"You mean as long as we ensure Professor Moody returns to Hogwarts before the third task begins, the other side won't suspect anything?" Draco slowly worked through the logic.
"Very clever. In the meantime, I plan to have Sirius serve as substitute Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to protect Harry." Professor Dumbledore said with a smile. "I must say, he's very worried about his godson's safety and can no longer bear the possibility of another Death Eater impersonating a professor; and personally, I believe that at this stage, there is no Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who can protect Harry more wholeheartedly than him."
"Oh, right." Draco's lips curved into a smile. "I think Harry would be thrilled to know this."
Dumbledore studied Draco's expression with interest and suddenly asked, "You genuinely care for Harry, don't you?"
"He's very noble—he saved my life," Draco blurted out.
"Are you referring to the water tank incident in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Professor Dumbledore asked curiously.
He always felt that Draco had saved Harry more often.
"I suppose so," Draco said casually, glancing warily at the old man before him.
Dumbledore waited a moment, apparently expecting him to say more. But Draco continued sipping his tea, eyes downcast, stubbornly remaining silent.
In the end, the wise old man chose not to press further and slowly revealed the purpose of his invitation. "In fact, today I want to show you some clues I found recently—the memories of the house-elf Hokey."
Draco was somewhat surprised.
He'd assumed someone as busy as Professor Dumbledore wouldn't bother telling him these things.
"Sir, why? Why would you tell me all this?" Draco asked, puzzled.
"I thought you'd be interested. Look at all the questions you keep asking! Besides, sometimes I need someone to talk to and to organize my thoughts." Professor Dumbledore chuckled, picking up a Cockroach Cluster from the table and casually tossing it into his mouth. "You can't expect me to discuss this constantly with Fawkes, can you?"
Draco was even more confused. He knew his place. He was merely a Slytherin student, and although he was occasionally useful to Dumbledore, he wasn't the "chosen one" Dumbledore favored.
"Why not Harry? He should be your favorite student, shouldn't he?" Draco persisted. "At least, he's considerably more to your liking than me—a Slytherin."
"I thought I'd made myself perfectly clear. I trust Harry, and I trust you just as much. Your actions prove one thing—you are worthy of my trust," Dumbledore said. "As for Harry, he has enough on his plate this year; he needs to focus on the Triwizard Tournament. I don't think he should be distracted at this moment. You've seen the ferocity of the dragons; you should know all too well the perilous trials a champion faces. Believe me, the next two tasks will be even more difficult."
Draco nodded silently.
Yes—the Black Lake in the second task and the maze in the third were both enough to give any student considerable trouble.
"Here, I need you to continue keeping the Horcrux matter secret from him for the time being." Professor Dumbledore stood and began searching for something on a tall shelf full of crystal phials.
Draco rolled his eyes at the ceiling.
See? This was Dumbledore's cheap trust—he wasn't even willing to tell Harry the whole story.
"Once Harry has dealt with everything in the Triwizard Tournament, I believe he'll be brave enough and mature enough. At that time, I'll tell him everything in detail," Professor Dumbledore added, his back turned as he continued rummaging through the shelves.
"Sir, sometimes I feel you treat Harry too cautiously, as though you're forging the sharpest blade for yourself—the most suitable weapon, a perfect person who can never make any mistakes on the road to adulthood." Draco regarded his back with a half-smile.
"You have a keen eye, Draco." Dumbledore turned around, his blue eyes looking at him through his half-moon spectacles. He smiled slightly. "You're not the first person to have such thoughts."
"May I know who was the first?" Draco pressed.
"Severus Snape—the Head of your House." Professor Dumbledore examined a small phial intently. "Are all Slytherins so aligned in their thinking?"
"Perhaps it's because—we're revealing the truth." Draco narrowed his pale grey eyes and said, "Harry is still not safe. New Death Eaters could infiltrate and harm him at any moment, and he should know exactly how dangerous the situation is. The wisest choice is to withdraw him from the Triwizard Tournament, lest he be captured or killed by some staged accident."
Professor Dumbledore shook his head.
"I think keeping him in the competition is an excellent way to draw out his opponents—if there are still more Death Eaters sent by Voldemort lurking in Hogwarts," he said calmly.
Draco narrowed his eyes in disgust. "He's still a boy, not bait on a hook."
"Now you're on the same page as Professor McGonagall," Professor Dumbledore said cheerfully. "You're a boy too, not much older than him, yet you've done very well. I don't think we should underestimate him; he can handle all of this, and he will do very well. This is a challenge he must face—running away is never the solution."
Draco glared at him silently and defiantly.
How could he explain he was actually older than Harry?
Moreover, what sort of educational approach was this—adversity training?
What sort of elder would want their favorite student to suffer so much?
"Professor Snape agrees with me. Sirius's appointment further ensures Harry's safety. And Harry is not alone—he has friends who are worried about him," Dumbledore said cheerfully.
As he spoke, the old man dripped some ethereal, silvery-white substance into the Pensieve and gestured for Draco to approach.
But I don't want to be like a mother hen, constantly fretting about everything concerning Harry. It's too exhausting. Draco pouted, inwardly grumbling about Professor Dumbledore's many unreliable behaviors, as he lazily rose from his seat and walked over.
"We must hurry—there are still several memories to view," Dumbledore said, regarding with interest the boy's momentarily frozen face.
Draco hesitated briefly. He frowned, attempting to overcome his dislike of water, and peered into the Pensieve containing the house-elf Hokey's memories.
(For information about Hokey's memories, please refer to the sixth book of the original series, "The Half-Blood Prince.")
After Draco emerged from the Pensieve with a stern face, Dumbledore explained what had happened next. "Hepzibah Smith died two days later. The Ministry determined that the house-elf Hokey had accidentally poisoned her mistress's evening cocoa."
"It's very similar to Morfin's experience," Draco said softly—he didn't believe the Ministry's conclusion.
"Precisely. I personally think it's very likely Voldemort altered her memories. She confessed to the crime at the time, and the Ministry didn't pursue it further. They were already inclined to suspect Hokey... In the end, the verdict was that she hadn't committed premeditated murder, but rather that she was elderly and confused," Dumbledore said in a deep voice.
"Hokey is a house-elf, so the verdict was hastily handed down," Draco said coldly.
He suddenly understood Hermione's feelings about founding S.P.E.W.
This discrimination against house-elves went beyond simply depriving them of their rights; it prompted Ministry members to distort the truth and even fabricate false cases.
This discrimination hindered Aurors from capturing the real criminals, thus allowing Tom Riddle to escape justice.
If they hadn't been so complacent, if they'd investigated more thoroughly, Tom Riddle might have been locked in Azkaban and drained by the Dementors, and there wouldn't have been the years of turmoil and bloodshed that followed in the wizarding world.
Where had Draco Malfoy's painful past life come from? He sighed, suddenly feeling weary.
Hearing his sigh, Dumbledore assumed he was sympathizing with the house-elf and said in a tone of approval, "Yes, I think you're right. Hokey was very old; when I obtained this memory, she was nearing the end of her life. There's very little we can extract from her memories; we can only prove Voldemort knew of the cup and locket's existence. Then, Tom Riddle disappeared for an extended period."
"He's guilty. He's like a magpie, constantly collecting all sorts of shiny souvenirs and trinkets, even committing murder for them," Draco said sarcastically.
Tom Riddle's madness was already evident in his youth.
Back then, at least he'd looked human, unlike later, when he'd become increasingly repulsive. Draco thought disdainfully.
"You seem to lack a certain reverence for him, instead viewing him from a detached perspective. That's quite unusual." Dumbledore smiled slightly. "That's something many young wizards from wizarding families would find difficult to do."
"You might as well say it plainly—this is very difficult for a young wizard from a Death Eater family to do," Draco said scathingly.
"That's why I say you're remarkable," Dumbledore said astutely.
Draco cautiously drew back and remained silent. Unconsciously, he seemed to have expressed too many personal thoughts before Dumbledore, which was dangerous and easily seen through.
Dumbledore glanced at him with interest, then used a Refilling Charm to top up his cup of hot tea. "Back to the point," he said. "After that, the two treasures disappeared until last year when they resurfaced—the cup was kept in the Lestrange family vault, and the locket was found in a seaside cave. You know all of this."
Draco nodded.
"Let's leave the matter of the cup aside for now. As for that locket—the one Regulus risked his life for—you might want to view Sirius's memories of the cave. I must warn you, it might be disturbing," Dumbledore said calmly, watching the boy's instantly annoyed face.
Draco admitted the seaside cave was terrifying and eerie.
Through Sirius Black's perspective, he saw everything Kreacher had described come to life before his eyes. It was all the damp seawater Draco loathed, and the endless stream of Inferi in the lake was quite repulsive.
When he emerged from the Pensieve, he nearly vomited, and it took two cups of hot tea to feel better.
"There are two more memories, both mine." Professor Dumbledore said apologetically, regarding his pale face. "You need to view them and consider whether there's anything I haven't noticed."
Draco grimaced in disgust, took a deep breath, and plunged headfirst into the Pensieve.
One of those memories was of a young Dumbledore finding a young Tom Riddle at the orphanage and leading him into the wizarding world; the other was of Tom Riddle coming to Hogwarts to apply for a position, at which point he looked completely different from the handsome young man he'd been as a clerk at Borgin and Burkes.
"That's all." Dumbledore pulled him from the Pensieve for the fourth time that evening, asking briefly, "Are you all right? Did you notice anything?"
"He's loved stealing things since childhood—stealing other people's treasures," Draco said lazily, "and he doesn't feel ashamed at all."
"Obviously."
"That seaside cave where the orphanage children went on their excursion... is that the same one Sirius Black once visited?" Draco asked astutely.
"Precisely. Very likely." Professor Dumbledore said calmly, a hint of agreement flashing in his blue eyes behind his spectacles.
"Then at least one thing is certain: he is indeed nostalgic. The places where he hides things are significant and closely related to his past experiences. You should search the Gaunt house again—I don't believe he wouldn't place Horcruxes in such an important location that symbolizes his lineage," Draco said, frowning.
"That's exactly what I was thinking. I must visit again, and also Little Hangleton's churchyard." Professor Dumbledore sighed wearily.
"He probably genuinely wanted to be a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I've heard that in recent years, no Defense Against the Dark Arts professor has managed to teach for more than a year," Draco said.
"Perhaps, but the purpose wasn't pure. It wasn't for teaching and nurturing, but for building a faction." A look of unease appeared on Dumbledore's face. "He knew very well I wouldn't let him take the position, yet he still came. Why? I'm puzzled by that. I believe he must have had another purpose."
"Oh, if that's the case, then I think I know why." Draco's mind raced, and he suddenly remembered the Room of Requirement near the Headmaster's office on the seventh floor. "There's something I haven't had a chance to tell you yet."
He slowly extracted something from his bag—a broken, charred diadem—and placed it on Dumbledore's desk.
Even a great wizard like Dumbledore, who had seen everything, couldn't help but exclaim in surprise.
"This is—" He suddenly stood.
"Yes, Ravenclaw's Diadem," Draco said calmly. "There's no point hiding it now. I destroyed it long ago, using a Basilisk fang from the Chamber of Secrets. It was hidden in Hogwarts, which I believe is why he had to come here. I obtained it through certain means, but I cannot tell you the specifics."
He couldn't betray the Grey Lady. It was her privacy, and her shame.
"Draco, you are truly remarkable." For the first time today, Dumbledore's face truly relaxed. "I must say, you are a master of keeping secrets."
"I had some concerns before—whether I'd be punished for destroying a Founder's treasure—and so on. But now that the cup and locket have been destroyed, I suppose the school probably won't punish me as a student alone," Draco said casually, a hint of smugness on his face.
He hadn't offered it because he was moved by Professor Dumbledore's talk of "trust" or felt a shred of sincerity from the old fox. Absolutely not.
He certainly wasn't pleased because his name and that of a certain girl were about to be engraved on the same award and displayed in Hogwarts's trophy room. Absolutely not.
In short, a sudden, very Gryffindor-like impulse had surged into his mind, and he'd produced the broken diadem.
"Excellent, excellent." Professor Dumbledore stared intently at the shattered diadem and smiled incredulously.
"I think I must secretly present you with another Special Award for Services to the School." His expression was somewhat gratified, as though Draco had suddenly handed him a perfect and ambitious assignment.
"Thank you," Draco said lazily. "However, please add Hermione Granger's name to the award, or I'll refuse to accept it."
Dumbledore suddenly burst into laughter.
"I see—that's why you brought it out at this time." He asked Draco with interest, "You have a good relationship with Miss Granger, don't you?"
"I have good relationships with many people," Draco said cautiously.
His modicum of trust in Dumbledore wasn't enough to make him reveal his full thoughts. He didn't want to casually expose his feelings for Hermione to others.
It wasn't safe until the Dark Lord was completely defeated. Even Dumbledore wasn't necessarily safe.
"But the only one who can have your name added to the award is Miss Granger," Dumbledore said with a keen eye, speaking with certainty.
"Because she deserves it," Draco said earnestly. "I couldn't have done these things without her generous help. No one should underestimate her intelligence."
"Of course," Dumbledore said mischievously. "It's rare to receive a genuine compliment from a Malfoy."
Seeing the topic veer further off course, Draco coughed lightly, attempting to steer the conversation back. "Professor Dumbledore, what we should be discussing now is how many Horcruxes he actually made. To be honest, I'm tired of this guessing game of searching here and there."
"The diary, the cup, the locket, the diadem—we've found four. If we can find the ring, perhaps we can find the fifth," Dumbledore said.
"Will that be the last one?" Draco asked gravely.
The Dark Lord—he clearly had a preference for objects of sentimental value.
Was that all that remained? After all, he'd essentially destroyed most of the Founders' treasures.
Draco couldn't imagine what else could be of equal or even greater value that could win the Dark Lord's favor.
"I hope so," Dumbledore said casually. "Five is mad enough. Draco, keep close watch on Harry, yes? An unprecedentedly dangerous wizard is watching him from the shadows, and those resurrected Death Eaters—no offense intended—I think you know them better than any of Harry's friends. He needs the help of clear-headed friends like you and Miss Granger."
"I understand. I will." Draco pushed open the Headmaster's office door and strode out.
Draco wasn't the only one perplexed by the question of Horcrux numbers.
Sirius Black was pondering the same question. That afternoon, he said to Draco in his office, "I think perhaps all that's left is that ring. If only we could find it—"
"But where is it?" Draco asked, perplexed.
"Anywhere," Sirius said, attempting to reassure Draco, whose face was drawn with worry. "There's no need to look so downcast. Dumbledore won't give up the search, and I'll continue helping him. You've done an excellent job, doing your best within your limits."
"Yes. I always hope to find it as soon as possible. I hope to end all this as soon as possible," Draco said, a hint of anxiety in his voice.
As 1995 approached, his sense of urgency grew stronger.
In his previous life, the Dark Lord had been resurrected this year.
In this life, would everything he'd done be able to change this process and reduce the likelihood of the Dark Lord's resurrection to zero?
"We all hope so. We will find it," Sirius said calmly. "Have you considered that once we capture him according to plan, everything will fall into place? If there's only one person in the world who knows where the ring is, it must be the person who hid it."