novelraw Chapter 122: The New Substitute Teacher Arrives
Chapter 122: The New Substitute Teacher Arrives
"Yes, it was a test! However, very few people passed, which is very disappointing!" Professor Moody said, his magical eye darting around as he spoke to the students asking questions in Defence Against the Dark Arts. "Stay vigilant at all times! If you don't want to die under the Death Eaters' wands, you must do this!"
The students looked at each other, not daring to utter a sound.
"If you continue with this attitude, Hogwarts will become a sieve through which any insect can fly! Be vigilant!" Moody roared, waving his wand.
He's putting on quite a good act, Draco thought, stroking his chin with interest.
Sirius, disguised as Professor Moody, claimed he'd had someone impersonate him to test Hogwarts's vigilance against potential Death Eaters infiltrating. This reason would seem utterly lame for any professor, but it made perfect sense for Mad-Eye Moody—he was always eccentric and extreme in his behavior, loved conducting various Dark Arts demonstrations with students in lessons, and occasionally, on a whim, would test the vigilance of all the students and professors at Hogwarts, which didn't seem particularly surprising.
Those Headmasters from other schools who'd witnessed Hermione petrifying Professor Moody secretly scoffed at Hogwarts's mad teaching methods for several days. But since there was nothing more to see, they soon turned their attention back to their own students' second task.
Barty Crouch Senior felt Professor Moody's behavior was somewhat inappropriate.
"Hiring Mad-Eye Moody was a mistake; he's always had a dreadful reputation at the Ministry. Dumbledore, you should reconsider," he said to Dumbledore with a stern face, looking somewhat worried.
On the other hand, Ludo Bagman found this teaching method quite interesting—he didn't care as long as he wasn't the one being petrified.
More complaints came from the Hogwarts students. Sirius was going further and further in his portrayal of a mad, neurotic former Auror—terrifying the students—and Draco had to retract his earlier, erroneous assessment of Sirius's acting.
"Professor Moody's getting more and more creepy," Pansy complained loudly to Blaise in the common room. "The way he talks, it's like he's going to try impersonating a student in the next lesson... or sneak into the common room disguised as a student... Can you imagine? Someone daring to sneak into our common room? It's an absolute invasion of privacy!"
Draco, standing nearby, touched his nose guiltily, recalling with lingering fear Hermione's feat of daring to break into the Slytherin common room in second year—impersonating the notoriously excitable Pansy Parkinson—and dared not imagine what would happen to that reckless girl if she were caught.
"I don't like him either," Blaise said with a grim face. "Pansy, don't do anything rash. You can't even punish him for this sort of behavior; he's a professor at Hogwarts. Even if we catch him, we can only politely ask him to leave."
"This is utterly absurd! I personally hope something bad happens to him soon," Pansy said through gritted teeth.
Pansy never expected the accident would come so suddenly.
On a stormy December day filled with sleet and rain, Mad-Eye Moody was rushed to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for an ill-advised fight with a Blast-Ended Skrewt kept by Professor Hagrid, who was in charge of Care of Magical Creatures. He was supposed to stay there for a while. Dumbledore had to temporarily hire a new substitute teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts—Sirius Black was finally able to show his true face.
"I've expanded on the script Dumbledore gave me—Harry says he's fed up with those Blast-Ended Skrewts," Sirius said smugly, swaying back and forth on his chair as he balanced on the back two legs.
"Yes, everyone breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing the news they'd perished along with Professor Moody," Draco said, smiling contentedly.
"Actually, there aren't many left—fewer than ten," Sirius said, scratching his chin. "Even if I didn't do anything, they'd eventually kill each other and perish in the process."
"No, you did the right thing. We couldn't wait a moment longer," Draco said, still shaken.
He was furious at the thought of those six-foot-long Blast-Ended Skrewts rampaging through the pumpkin patch, and how Hermione had almost been blown up by the fire-breathing tail of one with a thick gray shell.
"Hagrid seems very sad," Hermione whispered to Draco during the next Care of Magical Creatures lesson.
She gazed at Hagrid's lonely figure in the pumpkin patch—he was trying to dig a huge grave for his "innocent and tragically deceased" Skrewts.
"Please, don't tell me you feel sorry for those Blast-Ended Skrewts now," Draco said, rolling his eyes viciously. "I just wish those Skrewts had gone to see Merlin sooner."
"Of course I don't like them," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. "By the way, how's the injury on your arm? You know, those scratches you got last lesson when you were trying to shield me—"
"It couldn't be better," he said casually, letting the girl lift his sleeve to examine his left arm.
"There's still a scar left," she said, frowning and sighing, gently touching the skin with her finger. "The spines of the Blast-Ended Skrewt are really sharp. How come this mark hasn't faded yet?"
"It'll be all right," Draco said, his voice softening as he felt a certain pleasure from her touch. "It's fine. This mark isn't the sort I find most disgusting."
"Is there anything more disgusting than the marks left by the sharp spines of the Skrewt?" she said, exasperated, with a naïve look in her eyes. "I'll wager you're just trying to comfort me."
Draco gave her a faint smile.
Of course there were even more disgusting marks—the Dark Mark on his wrist and the "Mudblood" scar on hers—he couldn't even tell which one disgusted him more.
"Whatever mark it is, you won't get it," Draco assured her. "You'll be fine. I'll make sure of that."
"All right," Hermione said, looking at his suddenly serious gray eyes—a mist swirling within them—and speaking hesitantly. "Thank you?"
"No need," he said softly. "No need to say thank you."
"But I should say thank you," Hermione said. "Professor McGonagall told me you insisted on putting my name on the award—even though I didn't do anything."
"You've done a lot, helped me a lot—you just haven't realized it," Draco said. "If you insist on arguing with me about this, I'd like to ask you, why did you put my name on your award? Even threatening to refuse the honor? Do you know what a Special Award for Services to the School means?"
"Of course I know! Because you deserve it! Back in the Chamber incident, I thought you should receive a commendation from the school, but you always refused," she said stubbornly. "The same goes for Moody's case. Without your map, how could I have discovered it? But you wouldn't tell them the role you played."
"I—" He didn't know how to answer.
At that time, he'd only wanted to keep a low profile and survive in this world, and hadn't wanted anyone to notice his abnormality.
For him at that time, honors had been more of a burden than an achievement.
"I know you're always too modest and low-key, so I took the liberty of doing it myself. I have no right to comment on other people's honors, but why can't I decide on my own?" Hermione said proudly, trying to put on a tough expression that said, "I won't accept any rebuttal." "I hope that one day they'll know what you've done and what sort of person you really are."
She could never forget Barty Crouch's past prejudice against Draco. Just because he was the son of a Death Eater, he'd viewed him with prejudice.
She also couldn't forget the harsh comments she'd overheard from some of her classmates. Just because he was a Slytherin student, everything he did was first and foremost viewed through a lens of evil.
He was clearly not that sort of person. He was a kind, gentle, and brave young man who sometimes even selflessly helped others.
However, his inherent arrogance made him reluctant to explain himself, and his cold exterior but warm interior led to misunderstandings.
Hermione couldn't ignore those misunderstandings.
She just couldn't do it, she couldn't do it a thousand times, ten thousand times.
Draco gazed at her, deeply moved by her words; a thousand words choked in his throat, unable to be uttered.
"So, can you imagine the consequences of being listed alongside a Malfoy—a Slytherin—the son of a former Death Eater?" Finally, with a guilty pleasure, he struggled to remind her, "It won't make you more popular; it might even make you a target of criticism someday."
"Draco, how can you think like that? You're not just a Malfoy, a Slytherin, not just someone's child. You are first and foremost yourself," Hermione retorted seriously. "Beside my name is Draco, who vanquished the darkness. You have light in your heart, and no one can ignore that."
"Is that what you're thinking?" He finally curled the corners of his mouth into a smile, as if confirming some momentous event. "Hermione Granger, you'd be willing to have your name listed alongside mine?"
"Of course—why not? Why were you so serious just now?" Hermione asked, puzzled, looking at his suddenly bright eyes. "What are you happy about now?"
"It's all right," he said, smiling gently, suddenly feeling a sense of relief. "It's all right."
By now, Hagrid had dug the grave and was throwing the shattered, flattened gray bodies of the Blast-Ended Skrewts into the pit. Then he filled the pit with soil and wept bitterly for the passing of his beloved pets.
Amidst the crying, the students joyfully learned about Murtlaps on their own.
The Murtlap was a marine rodent with anemone-like growths on its back. Ingesting these growths was believed to ward off bad luck, and the essence secreted from them could heal cuts and abrasions. Draco had once seen Madam Pomfrey use this substance to treat Sirius's wounds at the hospital.
"It was Hermione who suggested it to Hagrid," Harry whispered to him as he walked over. "He really wasn't in the mood to prepare for another 'wonderful new lesson.'"
"Oh, thank Merlin," Draco said, deftly filling a small vial with Murtlap essence, glancing at the girl in the distance who was instructing a bewildered Longbottom. "She should just become a professor for Care of Magical Creatures—she'd always come up with some good suggestions."
Just then, he glanced at the pumpkin patch and saw a woman with her teeth showing approach Hagrid, waving her outstretched fingers at him with great interest.
Draco recognized her from her signature jeweled spectacles and her elaborately styled blonde hair.
Today, the female reporter, skilled at stirring up trouble in the wizarding world, was dressed in a thick magenta robe with a purple fur collar. Her thick fingers gripped a crocodile-skin handbag, her bright red nail polish reaching two inches in length, while her other hand was taking a Quick-Quotes Quill from the bag.
Clearly, the naïve and trusting Hagrid was about to fall into her clutches.
Draco sighed gloomily; this woman's ability to spread rumors was simply astonishing.
In recent days, he'd occasionally seen gossip about Harry and Hermione in the *Daily Prophet*, sometimes mixed with Ron and even Krum, which often made him irritable.
Anyone would feel disgusted to see their carefully cultivated rose bitten by insects.
Moreover, this was a despicable insect that didn't care about the facts.
Draco didn't want Rita Skeeter to get her claws into Hagrid. She'd definitely use Hagrid to hurt others.
After hesitating for a moment, he still went over.
"Rita Skeeter," he said slowly, standing on the edge of the pumpkin patch. "I have something to tell you."
Rita turned around in surprise. Her eyes glanced at Draco through her spectacles, and perhaps thinking of something from the color of his hair, she flashed him what she thought was a charming smile and walked toward him happily.
"Young Master Malfoy," she said, her smile widening as she approached him, extending her thick hand toward him. "Is this our first meeting?"
Draco didn't touch her hand. He said coldly, "My mother knows you. So I'd like to try negotiating with you first, to save face for both of us."
Rita Skeeter's lips tightened. She could hear the unspoken meaning in the other person's words and sense they were up to no good. The female reporter awkwardly withdrew her hand, giving Draco a cunning look, but on the surface, she put on a show of listening attentively.
"I know you're an unregistered Animagus," Draco said bluntly, pleased to see the female reporter's face turn pale. "If you don't give me any respect, I don't mind revealing your little secrets to the public."
"I don't know what you're talking about—" she said with a forced smile.
"No, you know perfectly well what I'm talking about," Draco said coldly. "As you know perfectly well, it's illegal for an Animagus not to be registered with the Ministry."
"What do you want?" Rita said, her face darkening.
Now her expression finally looked like that of a normal person.
"Don't write anything negative about Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, or Hermione Granger, or any romantic gossip. Can you do that?" Draco said meaningfully.
He couldn't risk leaving Hermione alone in front of Rita Skeeter, so he'd included Harry and Ron as well.
Merlin above! He was such a benevolent man.
"This won't do! Harry Potter is an important part of my reporting—" Rita was furious.
She was always the one using threats and inducements, but today the roles had reversed; she was the one being threatened—and that wasn't a pleasant feeling.
"Your mother wouldn't want to see you treat me like this," Rita said with a stiff, fake smile.
"You can try. See if my mother's on my side or yours," Draco said, squinting. "If I ever see a beetle near Harry and the others, I'll tell them to crush it without hesitation."
Draco wasn't trying to frighten her.
In his past life, Hermione had cleverly caught Rita Skeeter and locked her in a small jar to reflect on her actions for a while.
Her behavior had been quite to his liking—it had had a touch of Slytherin ruthlessness. He smiled appreciatively.
Rita thought the smile was threatening and immediately turned pale.
Draco leisurely observed her expression, a mixture of panic and anger, for a moment before finally saying, "As long as it's not Harry and his friends—write about some other heroes—that's my bottom line."
Rita Skeeter nodded grimly.
Now she wouldn't even spare Hagrid a glance—he was of no use to her anymore. The female reporter quickly climbed from the pumpkin patch, carrying her expensive crocodile-skin handbag, glared fiercely at the bewildered Hagrid, and left indignantly along the main path.
"What did you say to her, Malfoy?" Hagrid asked, puzzled. "Why did she leave? She said she wanted to learn about my Blast-Ended Skrewts—"
"Oh, she probably has more important things to do," Draco said, drawing out his words. "Honestly, sir, you shouldn't have talked to her so much. Have you considered how to answer her if she asks certain questions?"
"What d'yeh mean?"
"For example, what if she asks where these Blast-Ended Skrewts came from? How should you answer?" Draco said. "Was it through legal channels? Could it be reported? Would it cause trouble for Dumbledore?"
Hagrid's face, hidden behind his disheveled black beard, suddenly flushed. Clearly, he didn't want to answer the question.
"I knew it," Draco said, nodding knowingly. "Illegal channels, weren't they?"
"Go study those Murtlaps, Malfoy. Stop pacing around here," Hagrid said gruffly, turning back to the ground to mourn, continuing his heartbroken sobs. "Yeh all don't understand how lovely, vibrant little creatures those Blast-Ended Skrewts were..."
At this moment, the culprit who'd broken Hagrid's heart was walking through the corridors of Hogwarts Castle.
Sirius Black, now healthy and youthful, was a visual shock to the young ladies of Hogwarts.
A persona of someone burdened with infamy, enduring humiliation, and remaining innocent often evoked overwhelming sympathy from women. Coupled with a handsome, slender face, a noble and extraordinary demeanor, and the maturity and mystery inherent in a thirty-something single man, he completely outshone those naïve, acne-prone young boys—naturally becoming the ideal object of affection for some girls.
"Oh, I really don't know whether Sirius is better or Cedric is better," Pansy said wistfully, holding her autograph book in the common room. "I choose both."
"Oh, I'm glad to hear you say that," Blaise said sarcastically. "Perhaps I should get Fleur Delacour's autograph."
"How dare you?!" Pansy said, standing from her armchair. "What do you mean?"
"What do you mean?" Blaise said coldly. "Praising another man in front of me?"
"I meant autograph!" Pansy said, shaking the notebook in her hand. "Just an autograph!"
"Yes, I was talking about autographs too!" Blaise said, rolling his eyes at her and storming off.
"He's absolutely incomprehensible!" Pansy said to the listless Crabbe. "Isn't that right, Crabbe? Where have you been lately? I haven't seen you hanging around the common room in ages."
Crabbe nodded at her, his eyes shining. "Draco's added to my training program—he says my Quidditch has improved."
"Oh, you haven't given up yet?" Pansy said, clicking her tongue with a forced smile. "That's good. You seem to have lost some weight. At least it's good for your health, isn't it?"
Crabbe gave her a silly grin. "Yeah. I should go to training, Pansy. Thanks for the encouragement."
"I don't think she was encouraging—" Draco sighed as he heard Crabbe relay her words on the pitch. "Oh well, just think of it that way."
"Sirius Black is really popular," Crabbe said wistfully. "When I came to the pitch, I saw loads of girls surrounding him asking for autographs. But he refused them all."
"Of course—you can't expect the head of the Black family to just give his signature to anyone," Draco said. He was used to this sort of thing. "If someone were to tamper with this signature, he'd lose considerable amounts of money."
Upon hearing this, Goyle, who was walking over carrying a broomstick, widened his already small eyes as he spoke. "Is that what those girls who wanted autographs meant? Are girls really that frightening?"
"Oh, I doubt many people think that far ahead. Most girls are just infatuated," Draco said. "But you can't ignore the tiny possibility I'm talking about—it's never too much to be cautious."
It was no wonder the girls were so infatuated; even the boys were captivated by Sirius Black.
One Thursday morning, Draco strolled from the abandoned girls' bathroom on the second floor, and after searching around, finally stopped George and Fred in the courtyard—they were praising Sirius Black to Lee Jordan.
"He's so brilliant!" Fred said excitedly. "We created a Portable Swamp in the corridor that day, and he came over and told me how to cast the charms to make them last longer."
"Didn't you lose any House points?" Lee Jordan asked.
"Not at all—they even wanted to give us extra points," George said with a grin. "To encourage our practical application of the charms."
"Yes, and those difficult fireworks we experimented with in the courtyard. He suggested we make some special, not boring shapes, like a dragon—" Fred said dreamily. "A dragon! How come I didn't think of that? Hogwarts finally has a reliable Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. I feel like I've wasted the first half of my life."
"Please, don't take your good fortune for granted. Your professors have been doing quite well, haven't they?" Draco said, walking over pointedly. He was referring to Remus Lupin.
Lee Jordan glanced at Draco in surprise.
He didn't understand why a Slytherin could walk up to the Weasley twins and speak to them so openly, even with a hint of familiarity in his tone.
To Lee Jordan's surprise, the Weasley twins exchanged a glance and responded cheerfully to Draco Malfoy, an outsider two years their junior.
"Of course—he's currently focusing all his efforts on researching defensive magical items, such as Shield Cloaks and Shield Gloves. He could basically make a whole series of them. These things are surprisingly popular, and even the Ministry's placing large orders with him—" Fred said, grinning. "Can you imagine? Many Ministry employees can't even cast a decent Shield Charm."
This wasn't surprising. Draco thought rigid management models and redundant departments inevitably led to an increase in incompetent people.
Indeed, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was thriving—a truly successful and worthwhile investment.
"Take this to him for me," Draco said, handing George a crystal vial—freshly brewed Wolfsbane Potion. George nodded, and under Lee Jordan's questioning gaze, he placed the small vial deep in his inner robes pocket, a serious expression on his face.
"Draco, we have to go. We have an appointment for Defence Against the Dark Arts tutoring, and we need to ask him about some details on Decoy Detonators," Fred said, glancing at his watch.
"Not bad—now you're all worshipping at Sirius's feet," Draco said, shrugging and ending the conversation praising Sirius Black.
The Black family really did produce trouble.
Even the girls from Beauxbatons would gather at a distance, observing the newly appointed substitute teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts with interest.
At the door of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Draco looked up and glanced at Hermione, who was walking toward him in the distance, chatting with Susan Bones. Suddenly, he felt a sense of crisis.
The last time they'd chatted so animatedly was when Lockhart had been welcomed by all the girls in the school.
"What do you think of Sirius Black?" Draco asked her, frowning, as they sat in the classroom. "Are we going to fill our timetables with hearts again?"
"Why do you remember such old, trivial things?" Hermione said, slapping her clean timetable before him. "Look—nothing! Of course I admire him—Sirius Black has real talent—he's not a fool."
"That's right," Draco said. He breathed a sigh of relief, examining her perfectly normal timetable, and asked casually, "Didn't you prepare an autograph book or something? I remember someone once secretly kept Gilderoy Lockhart's autograph."
"Shut up, Draco!" She angrily snatched the timetable from his hand. "I only did that to get access to the Restricted Section! I'm not the sort of frivolous girl who only cares about looks! Besides, Sirius is Harry's godfather—he's a respected elder to me, you idiot!"
"Oh, right—what about Cedric Diggory? Viktor Krum?" Draco asked sourly. "Isn't there any boy you'd like to get an autograph from? Someone you find likable or something?"
"Why would I want their autographs?" Hermione said, glaring at him and busily flipping through her Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook. "What good are their autographs? They can't even get Madam Pince to lend me a book from the Restricted Section!"
"Oh, I can," Draco said softly, suddenly wanting to show off his privileges as the son of a school governor. "I can get you books from the Restricted Section."
"Really?" Those bright brown eyes suddenly turned to him, looking at him intently, as if worshipping him as some sort of deity.
For some reason, Draco felt rather thirsty—looking at her lips that instantly lit up with a smile—he heard her ask cheerfully, "Is it possible to get a book like *Moste Potente Potions*?"
"All right," he said, nodding slightly—seeing her instantly beaming expression—he could no longer frown and show his deep resentment.
"Well—you're still the most likable one," Hermione whispered, then turned her slightly flushed face away, trying to concentrate on what Sirius Black was saying from the front of the classroom.
Draco raised an eyebrow and smiled smugly. He could finally relax for a moment and listen to Sirius's eloquent speech in the lesson.
Sirius Black brought relief to all the students. Instead of continuing Professor Moody's horrific experiments on them, he solemnly planned to teach them how to deal with Dark creatures such as Dementors, Inferi, man-eating trolls, and Inferius in the days to come.
"We'll cover Monster Repelling Charms, as well as some defensive spells such as the Patronus Charm, Shield Charm, and Protego," Sirius said. "If there's anything you're interested in or want to know more about, feel free to let me know—"
"Sir, do you know how to deal with a dragon?" Neville Longbottom actually raised his hand and asked a question that made everyone burst into laughter.
"Mr. Longbottom, it seems you're a man of great ambition. I must admit, the methods employed by the champions were brilliant, and we can certainly learn a thing or two from them," Sirius said, smiling. "I heard you've already learned about Harry's Summoning Charm in Professor Flitwick's lesson—"
Harry smiled proudly at his godfather.
"As for the transfiguration used by Cedric Diggory, that's Professor McGonagall's area of expertise, and I don't think anyone could teach it better than her," Sirius said with a smile. "However, I can teach you how to cast the Conjunctivitis Curse and the Stunning Spell. They're offensive spells, the sort that are very useful. All right, students, don't rush—we'll learn them one by one."
The students were thrilled and chattered happily—they hadn't expected the usually haughty Sirius Black could create such a friendly and relaxed atmosphere when he taught.
He was so different from the gloomy, easily startled Professor Moody!
Moreover, Sirius Black spoke of profound magic as simply as drinking water. This undoubtedly eased the students' anxieties.
"All right, let's practice the Patronus Charm today—the incantation's already written on the blackboard," Sirius said happily. "I heard some of you can already conjure it. Can you raise your hands?"
A few hands were raised sparsely in the classroom.
Harry, Hermione, Seamus Finnigan... were all Draco's former students.
"Very good—more than I expected. It seems students your age have already acquired the ability to use this spell. I believe that with some practice, you'll all be able to conjure decent Patronuses," Sirius said in a positive and easygoing tone. "Then I'd like to trouble a few of you to demonstrate. Oh, you don't need to come to the front—just sit in your seats and conjure them."
Amidst the students' exclamations of praise, Draco stared at the silvery-white animals running all over the classroom, feeling utterly frustrated.
Even after systematic learning and long-term practice, he still found it difficult to unleash the complete animal form of his Patronus. This tangled, wavering silver mist form had persisted for over a year, making him lose confidence in himself day by day.
Hermione had conjured her otter last year.
He looked at the carefree, silver-white otter leaping on the ceiling and sighed enviously.
It looked smart and clever—just like her, so adorable.
"Draco, think about it—what makes you happiest?" Hermione patiently reminded him during practice time.
"I don't know," he said, lowering his eyes and desperately trying to suppress the happy moments in his heart.
Most of that happiness was related to her.
Her soft hands. Her bright smile. Her beautiful eyes. The fragrance of her hair. Her slender waist. Her smooth wrists. Her dependent posture as she nestled in his arms. The tender touch of her unconsciously nuzzling his neck.
In the end, his thoughts would always drift, and his cheeks would always become burning hot.
"Draco, you need to concentrate! I think it's almost there!" She stared at him for the hundredth time, annoyed. "Oh dear, why is it starting to waver again?"
"Concentrating—it's not that easy," Draco said with difficulty.
In the past, it would have been such a willful and casual thing for her to stare at him, or for him to stare at her.
But now he was somewhat afraid to look at her—especially when he was recalling those happy moments.
Those memories were wonderful, but they didn't seem to be happy enough.
He greedily wanted more—more happiness emanating from those memories.
Since the day he'd turned into a ferret, he'd started having dreams more frequently.
When a girl appeared in your dreams every night without fail and mysteriously kissed and entangled with you all night long, probably no one could be completely at ease with her the next day.
Especially when she looked at you with those bright eyes, smiled at you with a joyful expression, and spoke sweet words to you with her soft, gentle lips, even blushing as she said, "You are the most likable person"—he became even more unable to distinguish between a dream and reality.
At times like this, his mind went blank, and he found it difficult to concentrate on anything he did.
"Draco, try again—you can do it," the girl said, still encouraging him, unaware of what she'd done to the poor boy every night. "I believe in you, as long as you focus on thinking about the happiest things."
So, with a flutter in his heart, the boy reluctantly agreed to her request—stealing glances at her—the unruly wisp of silver mist at the tip of his wand seemed to be drifting more and more erratically.