HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 133: A Shameless Scoundrel + Goyle's Diary (Part 3)

Hermione Granger was conflicted.

She knew that Draco's unpleasant views on giants were supported by a vast body of evidence, but she still couldn't bring herself to smile at him.

She felt particularly annoyed when she saw that Hagrid's desk was empty and that the Hogwarts grounds were always missing a certain large, familiar figure.

If she were to easily reconcile with him, would it mean that she agreed with his harsh accusations against Hagrid? Would it mean that she'd surrendered to him and betrayed Hagrid psychologically? Even if the other giants were terrifying, she didn't believe that his biased assessment of Hagrid was entirely correct.

Moreover, his arrogant attitude as a pure-blood wizard had always bothered her.

"I've never seen Draco so servile to anyone... You have no idea how his friends make fun of him... The other day, when I passed by that group of Slytherins, I heard Zabini call him a 'coward without principles'—though it was a joke—do you know how much that hurts a boy?" Ron said.

"He has no principles? What about mine?" Hermione said angrily. "You're actually on his side?"

"Of course I'm on your side," Ron said. "But you have to tell me what you're arguing about."

"It's a matter of differing ideologies." Hermione's words were vague. Recalling Ron's subtle attitude toward the giants, she wrinkled her nose. "Don't pry or interfere. This is our own business."

"Of course it's your own business!" Ron glanced at her and said sullenly, "You two even have your own distinct way of arguing—we can't even get a word in edgewise. Who dares to interrupt?"

"So, you should be worried about Harry!" Hermione said impatiently to Ron after taking a big gulp of Butterbeer. "Why is Bagman showing up at the Three Broomsticks at a time like this? And getting along so well with a bunch of goblins who don't seem very friendly? Now he's even pulling Harry aside to talk to him. What is he planning to say to Harry?"

"He offered to help me unlock the secret of the golden egg," Harry said, standing behind her.

"He shouldn't have done that!" Hermione turned to Harry, looking utterly shocked, and said, "He's one of the judges! And you've figured it out yourself—haven't you?"

Harry opened his mouth, but didn't speak immediately.

Later that day, a tall, thin figure hurried along the snow-covered streets of Hogsmeade—it was Draco Malfoy.

He visited several shops, but he didn't have any luck and didn't see that brown-haired figure.

Maybe she'll be at the Three Broomsticks, drinking her favourite Butterbeer.

I wonder if those bubbles will still get on her lips... Draco thought to himself as he pushed open the tavern door and found Madam Rosmerta absentmindedly wiping the spilled liquor off the bar.

He looked around but didn't see Hermione. Through the mirror behind the bar, he only saw Rita Skeeter, sitting at a table in a banana-yellow set of robes, whispering to her portly photographer friend Bozo, "...Madame Maxim...yes, she's also...yes, a half-giant..."

The Quick-Quotes Quill was scribbling something rapidly on a piece of parchment.

Draco pondered for a few seconds, then made up his mind. He slowly walked over and sat down opposite her, saying bluntly to the photographer beside him, "Would you mind leaving for a while?"

"Bozo, would you like to sit down next door? Give us some space," Rita Skeeter said immediately to her partner. The man shrugged, picked up his drink, and walked away casually.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked with a fake smile, tapping the table with her long, pink-painted nails.

"I remember telling you not to report on Harry Potter's friends," Draco said to her, squinting.

"By Merlin! You only mentioned Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, and I kept my promise! Harry Potter has countless friends—even Stan Shunpike, the conductor on the Knight Bus, claims to be Harry Potter's friend. Am I supposed to take care of them all? If the entire Hogwarts school were Harry Potter's friend, would I be unable to write a single news article?" Rita Skeeter looked utterly exasperated.

Draco frowned.

"In fact, I just suffered a humiliation at the hands of Hermione Granger. If it weren't for your sake, I would have written a long story about her!" She took a sip of her drink and gave him an awkward smile.

"You can try," Draco said expressionlessly, his heart sinking, "if you've forgotten our little agreement."

"Of course I haven't forgotten. But don't push your luck!" Rita Skeeter clicked her tongue as if she had a toothache.

It was clear that the renowned reporter hadn't fared well in her recent confrontation with Hermione, Draco thought.

A wizard who could out-argue Hermione probably hadn't been born yet. A strange sense of pride welled up inside him, along with a peculiar pity for Rita Skeeter.

"Couldn't you report on something else, like Barty Crouch? Isn't he more sensational than the students of Hogwarts?" Draco softened his tone.

"I'd love to! But he's been out of the public eye for a while now, always on sick leave, so I can't even go and interview him..." Rita Skeeter complained.

This unintentional remark made Draco's ears perk up instantly.

What's wrong with Barty Crouch? Was he really ill, or secretly up to some other illegal activity? Had he found Barty Crouch Jr. and was trying to rescue his son again? This information needed to get to Dumbledore.

Rita Skeeter didn't notice Draco's thoughtful expression. Annoyed, she said, "Fine, I'm not going to bother with him anytime soon. Young Malfoy, stop nitpicking. I've been nice enough to you. Excuse me, I need to hurry and gather some other scoops—I don't even know what to report for next week!"

"Oh, isn't Ludo Bagman all cosy with a bunch of goblins? I just saw him on the street," Draco reminded her slowly.

Rita Skeeter gave a short laugh, her eyes gleaming. She grabbed her crocodile-skin handbag, tossed the roll of parchment and Quick-Quotes Quill inside haphazardly, and beckoned Bozo, who was standing nearby, to leave with her.

Draco watched her hurried figure go by and pursed his lips.

Rita Skeeter—a woman willing to cause trouble for everyone just to write a story. Dealing with that kind of person was a real pain.

Draco shook his head, about to leave, when he saw Hermione walk into the tavern with a stern face, pick up a book straight from the table next to him—probably one she'd forgotten to take—and turn away haughtily.

"Hermione, can we sit down and chat for a bit?" he greeted her hurriedly, his previously indifferent face relaxing.

"No. I don't think we have anything to talk about." She picked up her book and walked quickly toward the door of the Three Broomsticks, without even glancing at him.

"I'm sorry, I was too arrogant before. I never meant to look down on Muggle-born wizards. You have to know that you've always been the most brilliant witch in my eyes. How could I possibly belittle you?" Draco hurriedly followed behind her, chasing after her to say this.

Hermione stopped. But she didn't turn around or say anything.

"What, can't we even have a few words together?" Seeing her wavering attitude, he immediately softened his voice and said in a hurt tone, "You don't even want to look at me anymore?"

"I don't think I have anything to talk about with Rita Skeeter's friends." Hermione finally turned around—forcing herself not to be fooled by that beautiful yet melancholic face—and said coldly, "I saw it all! You were sitting across from her, chatting amicably for a long time. The young master of the Malfoys really does have friends all over the world—I had no idea you were acquainted with her!"

"I only know her—I'm not her friend," he said, frowning.

"Not friends? You even agreed with her report not long ago—I thought you two were like-minded!" Hermione said, then suddenly realized something, a look of suspicion appearing on her face. "Wait, that report about Hagrid wasn't written by you, was it? You... disgust me... Do you know how much Hagrid was affected by that report? He hasn't left his hut for a week!"

"That's not it!" Draco said irritably. "I was just warning her not to write anything bad about you!"

"Oh, as if you can make decisions for her! You're just someone I know, not even a friend! Why should she listen to you?" she said sharply, scrutinizing him.

"I gave her a reason she couldn't refuse." Draco gazed greedily at her rosy cheeks and delicate features, and smiled at her.

Merlin... she's so beautiful even when she's angry. He hadn't talked to her this much in a long time.

"If you're really that capable, why don't you make her leave Hagrid alone?" Hermione gave him a haughty look.

"I can't exactly tell her that everyone at Hogwarts forbids her from writing, can I? I don't have the energy to keep track of irrelevant people every day," Draco said with a troubled expression, trying to explain to her. "I can only make sure that a small number of people are safe."

All he wanted was to protect her. Why should he bother with anyone else?

"Irrelevant people? Hagrid is my friend! You're always like this, always spouting your pure-blood wizard rhetoric! Protecting a small group of 'good-blooded' wizards from fake news—is that it?" Hermione's face hardened again, her brown eyes flashing with fury. "You're always at the top, deciding what anyone says, what they write? Deciding who gets put on the front page and humiliated, and you don't even think you've done anything wrong, do you?"

"You're completely unreasonable—you don't make any sense at all!" Draco said angrily, suddenly realizing that he was starting to speak recklessly again.

Hermione's face immediately darkened. "Yes, I am unreasonable! And you, you selfish, arrogant bastard, you still haven't truly realized where you went wrong!"

"I—" he stammered, wanting to say something more to win her back, but she'd already turned around and walked away with an air of arrogance.

"Listen, that's not what I meant." A few days later in Charms, Draco seized the opportunity to practice the Banishing Charm and said to Hermione, who was waving her wand.

"So what do you mean?" Hermione asked sternly, precisely driving a cushion into the box they were supposed to be aiming at. "You don't know Rita Skeeter, or do you look down on giants, werewolves, or house-elves?"

"I can't deny these facts, but I didn't ask her to write about Hagrid, and I still don't think your attitude toward giants, werewolves, or even house-elves is rational." Draco waved his wand, his cushion lightly covering hers. "You need to understand one thing: my attitude toward them has nothing to do with you. I have always respected and admired you, and I have never looked down on you."

"How can it not be related? In some ways, I'm no different from them—we're all groups discriminated against by certain pure-blood wizards—I can't help but empathize with them," she said, resolving the issue of another cushion's placement.

"In my eyes, you are different. You are not like them. You are not like anyone else," he said stubbornly, continuing to cover her cushion with his, hiding hers completely.

Hermione glanced at him with a troubled expression, unsure whether she should be happy or annoyed.

"That's not enough. Do you think I only live in your eyes? Have you ever thought about how Hogwarts sees me, how the entire wizarding world sees me?" Her brown eyes rippled with emotion.

Draco was speechless. He hadn't really thought about that.

He'd always assumed she was safe and sound under his protection—there were no marks on her—and no danger could approach her at will.

But what if the harm wasn't to the body, but to the mind? How could he silence dissent and suppress damaging opinions?

"Did anyone say anything about you?" His tone suddenly became serious.

"No! But that doesn't mean it never will! As long as those injustices exist, they will eventually affect us!" Hermione said stubbornly. "Draco, can you open your narrow worldview and see the injustices suffered by the disadvantaged, instead of adopting that selfish and aloof attitude?"

After speaking, she took two steps back, nimbly dodging Professor Flitwick, who had been knocked away by Neville—he sighed helplessly in mid-air, eventually landing on a large cabinet and sliding down with no choice in the matter.

"I don't want to deceive you—I can't treat everyone the same. I have limited abilities, and even fewer people I can care about. I have never been a philanthropist," Draco said frankly, helping her up and kicking aside the cushion that had almost tripped her.

"Draco, you need to understand—I will always be a Muggle-born witch. I'm never ashamed of it. Just as I don't think Hagrid should be ashamed of his bloodline. What I'm asking for is equal treatment. If you can't understand that, then we have nothing to talk about." Hermione ignored Draco, frowned, and shook him off, shouting in that direction, "Neville, you need to practice your aim! We need to Banish the cushion, not the professor!"

In February, Hagrid finally made an appearance in Care of Magical Creatures.

Draco never imagined he'd be glad because of Hagrid's appearance, but at that moment he was genuinely pleased and filled with a sense of anticipation.

He hoped that Hermione might feel better because of this and perhaps pay some attention to him.

Hagrid acted out of character. In his first lesson back at school, Hagrid gently chose to introduce the students to a magical creature called the Niffler—a burrowing animal covered in black fur with a long snout and a particular fondness for anything shiny.

"They're like a treasure hunt. You can take one in a group and try them out in the pumpkin patch. I've buried some gold coins there," Hagrid enthusiastically told the students.

"Hermione suggested Hagrid choose this—instead of the Sphinx that Hagrid originally planned to introduce." Ron strolled over from the other end of the pumpkin patch and whispered to Draco, "When are you two going to make up? Harry and I are being driven mad by her. She forces us to do homework every day, and we don't even have time to drink water. We're as miserable as two house-elves whose brains have been wrung out!"

"I've tried a few times, but it always ends badly with her." Draco stared gloomily at Neville Longbottom beside Hermione—the hapless underachiever was partnering with her, enthusiastically searching for coins in the pumpkin patch.

"She has a terrible temper, she always has. Now it's gotten worse—she mutters 'bastard' fifty times a day. I reckon she's referring to you."

"That's right, who else could it be? Let's not think about it," Draco said coldly.

"You're really something, managing to make her even angrier. What kind of terrible ideas are you two discussing?" Ron watched with interest as the Niffler dug in the pumpkin patch.

"You didn't know? She hasn't told you yet?" Draco looked at him in surprise.

"She just said that your ideas are seriously incompatible. In the library, she buries herself in her studies. In the common room, she's always hanging out with Ginny, whispering to each other. Harry and I are afraid she'll get even angrier, so who dares to ask too many questions..." Ron said quietly.

"To be honest, I don't really understand what she's thinking either..." Draco murmured.

He'd expected her to rally everyone against him—whether it was his attitude toward Hagrid or his mysterious connection with Rita Skeeter—but instead she did nothing, keeping these secrets to herself.

Girls' thoughts were too hard to guess and too strange.

Completely baffled, he tossed the gold Galleon his Niffler had found to his partner, Theodore Nott, and glared at the troublesome Longbottom. Theodore silently placed the coin into the designated collection bag, his gaze shifting between Draco and Hermione, saying nothing.

Neville Longbottom was on the verge of tears.

He endured Malfoy's death stare for the entire Care of Magical Creatures lesson. It always reminded him of Professor Snape's chilling gaze.

"Hermione, please, I'll switch with Malfoy. Wouldn't it be better if you were in his group?" he pleaded pitifully.

"No! Neville, you don't even know who that bastard's partner is—why would you want to switch?" Hermione said angrily.

"But he looked like he really wanted to curse me..." Neville said, trembling.

"Neville, if that bastard casts a curse on you, I'll make him pay," Hermione said haughtily. "Neville, you can't betray me. I've helped you get through so many Potions lessons without incident—now it's your turn to repay me..."

Neville could only suppress his urge to cry and diligently collect the gold coins from the Niffler's mouth, not daring to say a word more to Hermione.

With each additional word he spoke, he felt the chill emanating from Malfoy's direction deepen.

Draco's chill stemmed not only from his troubled love life, but also from the fact that Dumbledore and Sirius had searched the Gaunt shack but found nothing.

"Not only the old house, but the graveyard is also normal. They're probably hiding somewhere nearby, waiting for the right moment to go there. They're being very cautious," Sirius said somberly.

"So, we can only hope that he hasn't discovered anything unusual about Barty Crouch Jr.—Professor Moody. By the time of the third task..." Draco said, his gaze drifting toward the Black Lake in the distance.

He could see Krum's faint, dark shadow leaping into the Black Lake, eliciting gasps of admiration from the witches around him.

"What do you think about Barty Crouch's claim of illness and absence from public life?" Draco shifted his gaze back to Sirius.

"We've increased the guard on young Crouch, set up many Imperturbable Charms around the headmaster's office, and have a lot of eyes watching. So far, nothing seems amiss. However, according to Percy Weasley, old Crouch seems to be genuinely ill—he's been looking very unwell lately," Sirius said thoughtfully.

"Yes, who wouldn't be anxious in this situation? His only son's whereabouts are unknown, which is a stain on his record, and that son is also a Death Eater whom he opposes the most." Draco said coldly. "This unstable factor flowing in his blood could explode at any time and blow his position as Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation to smithereens."

"It's not good for someone so young to be so worldly-wise." Although Sirius agreed with him in his heart, he deliberately contradicted him. "Couldn't it simply be that he was worried about his son's safety that he fell ill?"

"If he were truly worried about his son, why would he send him to Azkaban?" Draco said sarcastically. "Such worry is better left unaddressed."

"That's what I thought too. I saw Barty Crouch Jr. go to gaol with my own eyes. He was only nineteen years old then, and he looked so innocent and pitiful." Sirius looked Draco over inquisitively. "But Crouch Sr. risked everything to get his son out. Not everyone has the guts to do that."

"And then he locked his son in the house, trying to control a dangerous Death Eater with a mere Imperius Curse?" Draco said with disgust. "If it weren't for his stubbornness and arrogance, how could we have gotten ourselves into such a mess?"

Sirius was puzzled. "Why do you harbour such deep resentment toward him? We've got the situation under control, haven't we?"

Draco stopped gazing at the Black Lake and instead stared in the direction of the Forbidden Forest—the place where Barty Crouch's body had been found in his previous life—and fell into deep thought.

Of course he harboured resentment. In his past life, it was probably because of Barty Crouch Jr. that Harry was taken to the graveyard and the Dark Lord was resurrected.

That was the beginning of all evil, and the beginning of the Malfoy family's descent into utter ruin.

In this life, I must never repeat the same mistake—never.

"What do you think of Barty Crouch?" Draco suddenly asked. "Do you approve of what he's done?"

"Approve?" Sirius Black sneered, his expression suddenly darkening. His once vibrant face became frightening, and the light behind his eyes seemed to snap shut.

"He's an old acquaintance of mine. He was the one who ordered me sent to Azkaban—without even a trial," he said softly. "He's a remarkable wizard—no doubt about it—and some predicted he could be elected the next Minister for Magic. He's powerful, ambitious, and always publicly declared his opposition to the Dark Arts."

"Oh, that's not surprising. Taking a hard line is a common tactic for climbing the ladder of power, seizing opportunities in chaos and gaining support in panic," Draco said thoughtfully.

"That's right," Sirius said. "I reckon Crouch's principles were probably all right at first, but then he resorted to violence against violence and allowed the use of Unforgivable Curses on suspects. The Aurors gained some new powers—for example, they had the right to kill, not just arrest. I wasn't the only one handed over to Dementors without a trial."

"Oh, I believe you're telling the truth," Draco said softly.

He'd experienced it in his previous life as well. When his father Lucius was captured, the Malfoy family suffered treatment from the Aurors no less brutal than Sirius had described.

"In my opinion, he became as ruthless and cold-blooded as many of the Dark wizards he fought against. Even so, he had his supporters—many of whom believed he was doing things the right way—and many wizards called for him to become Minister for Magic." Sirius smiled coldly, "until Crouch's own son, Barty Crouch Jr., was captured and imprisoned in Azkaban."

"He didn't try to defend his son, did he?" Draco asked hopelessly.

"He'd personally handed his son over to the Dementors. He'd shown the public how much he despised the boy during his son's trial. That's why I was so surprised when I learned he'd secretly rescued his son and locked him in the house. I thought he'd stick to his guns," Sirius said. "In short, after this incident, his public image plummeted. Look at him—so decisive and efficient his whole life, only to be reassigned to the Department of International Magical Co-operation. Cornelius Fudge, that always-smiling 'nice bloke,' got the top job. Crouch, though he stands tall, everyone knows he was ruined by his family troubles."

"The son went down a completely opposite path to his father, ruining his future and disgracing him in front of his old acquaintances," Draco said, suddenly feeling a pang of bitterness. "This father must have been very disappointed."

He thought of his own father, Lucius.

He wondered what his father would think. If he knew that his son had chosen a different ideology and a different camp, would he also be disappointed?

Would his father betray his own son and hand him over to the Dark Lord?

Would his father cast a spell on him, locking him in the house and isolating him from the world?

Draco's face paled, and he suddenly felt unsure how to interact with his parents. For years, he'd been creating a facade for them, making them believe that he was still the obedient child who admired them, trusted them, and supported their ideals.

But hiding it wasn't a solution. One day, the secret would be exposed, and his stance would come to light. When the pain of the truth being revealed touched them, how could he make them understand him?

Before they knew it, almost half of February had passed.

Although it wasn't as cold and gloomy as last month, the weather was often unpredictable, just like the enigmatic relationship between Hermione and the bastard she was always talking about.

On Valentine's Day, Hermione lazily crawled out of bed and found a large bouquet of yellow roses in a vase on her bedside table.

She was somewhat puzzled, yet also secretly pleased.

Few witches disliked romance or truly hated receiving flowers—especially on such a special holiday.

She pulled a small silver card from the bouquet. It was blank except for the flamboyant "D.M." written on it—Draco Malfoy—of course, it was him.

Who else could it be?

"How could he do this! This is the ultimate humiliation! Who would actually send yellow roses on Valentine's Day? They mean a breakup! This is utterly despicable!" Lavender Brown, peeking out from behind the four-poster bed curtains, exclaimed indignantly, then asked sympathetically, "Hermione, are you all right?"

These words extinguished the tiny spark of joy that had just begun to ignite in Hermione.

Oh! A breakup?

Is that what he meant? Very well—he'd finally tired of this back-and-forth and didn't want to communicate with her anymore, had he? Now he was showing his true colours and didn't even want to be friends, was that it?

Hermione was so angry her hands were shaking, and she threw the card hard into the bin.

So much so that when Draco excitedly walked up to her and asked, "Do you like the flowers?" her expression turned even worse.

Hermione gave him an imperious look, then walked away without a word, as sacred and inviolable as a queen.

"Your method was completely useless, Pansy!" Draco exclaimed angrily as he returned to the Slytherin table. "Didn't you say that witches love receiving roses?"

"What? She doesn't like it? How heartless! On a holiday like this... tsk, our young Malfoy's pride has been trampled underfoot..." Pansy said gloatingly. "Is it because you're too stingy, and the bouquet isn't pretty enough?"

"Are you underestimating me?" Draco was extremely displeased. "The most fashionable style, the best quality—you even specially helped me choose a colour that symbolizes an apology!"

"What?! Don't tell me you gave yellow roses—today!" Pansy exclaimed in shock. "You absolute idiot—you can't give yellow roses on Valentine's Day! That's not an apology, it's a breakup!"

"What?! Why didn't you say so sooner?" Draco jumped up from his chair.

"You didn't even ask me! Honestly, you should really consult the Victorian Dictionary of Flower Language. How can a gentleman make such a basic mistake?" Pansy rolled her eyes, picked up her bouquet of red roses and walked away—intending to show it off to her friends—leaving behind a casual remark, "Look at Blaise, and look at you—acting like a complete prat."

"Blaise, you were laughing at me the other day, calling me a 'coward,' saying I had no principles, that I was too obedient to witches, and that I shouldn't have sent flowers—and what's with that ridiculously large bouquet of roses?" Draco asked through gritted teeth. "When Pansy was going on about wanting flowers the other day, didn't you stand straight-backed and say you would never send them?"

"Oh, so you didn't listen to me either? Besides, principles only apply to other people," Blaise said smugly, raising his chin at his friend who was fuming. "Anyone who believes otherwise is a complete idiot."

"You two troublemakers—I should have known I couldn't trust you," Draco said dejectedly. "I feel like a right fool."

"Honestly, you can't keep giving in without limits. She'll take you for granted," Blaise said. "Witches always love to push their luck, and she'll take your efforts as a given."

"She's not that kind of person."

"This has nothing to do with personality—it's just universal human nature," Blaise shrugged.

"You don't understand what happened," Draco said stubbornly. "There's been a little misunderstanding between us."

"Then why isn't she willing to be patient with you and listen to your explanation?" Blaise said meaningfully, looking at the boy who was deep in thought. "Have you ever thought about how she really sees you, and where you stand in her heart? Are you really that important to her? Important enough that she would get so angry with you over such a small misunderstanding?"

"I know what you're doing, you scheming bastard!" Draco looked up and gave him a warning look. "I know you've never approved of my feelings for her."

"No, I don't. But I respect your preferences. I believe my advice is fair and can be applied equally to anyone in a relationship," Blaise said calmly.

Draco glanced at him and noticed that his expression was unusually serious.

"Liking someone doesn't mean you have no self-respect. Because of her, you've become someone completely different from who you used to be, which often makes me feel like a stranger to you. What's even more troubling is that you've lowered yourself to coax her, and she doesn't even appreciate it." Blaise smiled sarcastically.

"You sound like a sycophant spreading lies," Draco said mercilessly.

"Maybe," Blaise began. "You know, Pansy gets angry often, explodes all the time, and goes mad all the time—but she never holds a grudge against me overnight. She never makes me guess what she's thinking. She's difficult, yes, but difficult in a frank way. She says what she wants and complains about what she's angry about. You always ask me what I like about her—and that's exactly what I like: her straightforwardness and her clear likes and dislikes."

"Oh, I'm going to be sick—" Draco said, his lips twitching.

"Go ahead, you pathetic wretch," Blaise said arrogantly. "She's sharp-tongued and cold to others, but she's different with me. If I give her a way out, she responds enthusiastically. She'll wholeheartedly support my positions, whether right or wrong, in front of others. She won't let anyone think I'm weak—she protects my pride..."

Draco's heart skipped a beat. Hearing this, he suddenly understood why Hermione had misunderstood him so deeply, yet still refused to tell Harry and Ron what they had argued about.

Perhaps she was protecting his relationship with Harry and the others in some awkward way—he could sense it at times—she never wanted him to be thought of too badly by others.

So, even though she was arguing with him, she was still protecting him, and she had separated "them" from "the world outside of them"? Draco smiled slightly.

"What are you laughing at? Are you mad? Have some principles, all right? Think about it—Granger, whom you cherish so much—can she do what I'm talking about?" Blaise asked.

"Blaise, I'm asking for advice, not for you to boast about your love life!" Draco rolled his eyes. "Obviously, we have different definitions of liking someone, and the ways we like someone are different too. She doesn't need to do what you're saying. Neither do I need her to."

Although Hermione was disappointed by the symbolism of the yellow roses, she ultimately couldn't bring herself to throw them away.

The bouquet, carrying its ominous meaning, was placed neatly by her bedside, and many days later, it remained as beautiful as ever.

Judging from his attitude, he didn't seem to want a breakup. That jerk would look at her pitifully across the table every day—that wasn't the attitude of someone wanting to end things. One day in Potions, he even rushed over to protect her when Neville blew up the cauldron, and then fussed over her in front of everyone, making her rather embarrassed.

Hermione changed the water for the yellow roses while absentmindedly thinking about him.

Perhaps he'd sent the roses as a gesture of goodwill, but his approach was rather clumsy. He was such an arrogant boy, and he was never good at apologizing.

Besides, this was the first time she'd ever received a bouquet of flowers on Valentine's Day—and they were so beautiful.

A gentle breeze blew by, and Hermione sighed as she looked at the first yellow petal that fell.

Although her face remained tense, the anger in her heart was involuntarily dissipating.

Hermione was no longer able to stay angry with Draco. She'd seriously offended Rita Skeeter at the Three Broomsticks, and she'd expected the Daily Prophet to launch a massive attack on her.

She'd seen what the Quick-Quotes Quill was doing—it was frantically writing all over a sheet of parchment.

Undoubtedly, the vindictive Rita Skeeter would produce a sensational report, using exaggerated language and a sensational tone to describe her background, her scandals, some slip of the tongue she might have unintentionally uttered, any unruly behaviour she'd committed in her youth, and everything about her that could be criticized...

But a few weeks later, Rita Skeeter first wrote a subtle article, "The Headmistress of Beauxbatons May Also Be a Half-Giant," which made Madame Maxim's face darken for many days. Then she changed the subject and began to report on "The Untold Story of Ludo Bagman and the Goblins," subtly attacking Bagman as a gambler who owed the goblins a huge debt.

The malicious reporter didn't mention Hermione at all.

Hermione didn't know how Draco had done it, but he had managed to get Rita Skeeter to change her mind.

She wasn't afraid of Rita Skeeter, but she was indeed worried about the consequences of being maliciously reported on.

After learning that Ginny had also had a run-in with Rita Skeeter, Ginny told her a lot about the people who'd been maliciously reported on—how their homes were filled with Howlers, and those dangerous, malicious letters that could burn, curse, and Splinch the recipients.

"You'll find that even your most rational friends can't help but believe the Daily Prophet's reports, even though they know you better than anyone else..." Ginny said with lingering fear.

Hermione was speechless. She seemed like an unknowing ship, sheltered in a safe harbour by him, where no malicious waves from the outside world could crash in and capsize her.

He was indeed protecting her, but she'd accused him without even knowing the facts.

Hermione was filled with remorse. She felt she'd acted too impulsively and said something excessive. Every time she saw the boy's forlorn profile and his hesitant grey eyes, she felt she'd committed a terrible sin.

She already knew what kind of person he was.

He'd long ago said that he was a prudent, selfish Slytherin.

He'd never hidden these personality traits—so why couldn't she accept them suddenly?

She'd known all along that he was cold and indifferent to most people, so why was she suddenly so irritable and angry about it?

Perhaps it was because his coldness towards others instilled a certain fear in her—she feared that one day he would no longer be warm towards her, but would treat her with the same indifference and ruthlessness he showed to others.

But when she calmed down, she remembered all the tender things he'd done for her. This rekindled a hope in her—if there was kindness hidden somewhere in his heart, perhaps there was also compassion, just waiting to be drawn out.

She clearly had a better solution. She should have tried to uncover his potential, guiding him to experience the joy of helping others, instead of relentlessly pressuring him and sulking at him. When had she become less rational and less clear-headed when it came to him?

Hermione was in a bit of a bind. She knew they should make up. But she'd been standing too tall and had her neck craned back for too long, so much so that she was clinging to her damned pride and couldn't bring herself to back down first.

It was another Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Hagrid had caught two baby unicorns and was continuing Professor Grubbly-Plank's lesson on unicorns.

"The cubs are easier to spot than the adults," Hagrid said. "They turn silver around two years old, and their horns appear around four..."

Draco glanced at Hermione and noticed that although she was standing beside him, her eyes were fixed on the two golden unicorn cubs—she seemed completely oblivious to him—and she looked utterly mesmerized.

He didn't dare take her hand, but tentatively tugged at the hem of her robes.

"What is it now?" she asked the unicorn cub, her tone curt.

"I admit that Hagrid is very knowledgeable in some areas—his understanding of unicorns is no less than Professor Grubbly-Plank's," he said in a low voice.

"You don't say," she snorted, her tone softening slightly.

"They don't turn pure white until they reach adulthood, around seven years old..." Hagrid continued on the other end.

"I don't hate Hagrid. But I can't ignore the risks he brings." Draco said softly in the background. "Hermione, you're a kind person who thinks the best of people first. I'm not as noble, generous, or selfless as you. I'm someone who thinks of the worst first. I have to consider all the worst possibilities. I'll deliberate and hesitate, thinking about whether I can bear the worst consequences, before I can decide whether to extend a good deed."

"Oh? Then—why are you willing to show me kindness?" Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she couldn't help but glance at him. "How many bad things did you think about me, how many wicked considerations did you make before deciding to show me kindness?"

"It's not the same. I never—" Draco tried to explain, but found himself unable to. Considering his past life, he had indeed treated her badly.

But in this life, he'd never wronged her. If she couldn't feel that—

"You can clearly feel this for yourself—there's no need to question me," he said dejectedly, looking into her stubborn eyes.

"When they're little, they're quite trusting... and not so averse to boys... come closer... if you'd like, you can pat them and give them a few of these sugar cubes..." As Hagrid explained, the students walked forward and surrounded the two cubs to admire them. Only the two of them remained standing there.

"Hermione, I know you have many misunderstandings about me, and if there was any unpleasant arrogance in my tone, I regret it. But my thoughts have absolutely nothing to do with prejudice. I want to explain to you again my views on giants and werewolves."

Hermione didn't say anything and started looking at the unicorn cub again, listening intently to what he had to say.

"Please consider this fairly. If it were a giant other than Hagrid, or a werewolf other than Professor Lupin, would your first reaction be to trust them and approach them—or to hang back temporarily before assessing the situation, or even run away? If treating everyone equally would cost you your life—even if the chance is slim—I would never risk your safety," Draco said. "I would always do that. I can't immediately trust strangers, whether they are giants, werewolves, goblins, house-elves, or even wizards—Muggle-born, half-blood, or pure-blood. They make no difference to me in that respect. I can't possibly trust an unknown person straight away, because I have people I need to protect. Do you understand?"

"I can't..." Hermione said defiantly, but suddenly she understood something about him.

Draco—perhaps he didn't just distrust giants and werewolves, but fairly distrusted everyone.

"Do you trust me? How much do you trust me?" Hermione asked, hoping for his answer.

"Hermione Granger, I never expected you to ask me something like this." Draco looked at her quietly, then suddenly chuckled, a hint of pain in his voice. "How much trust do you think I have in you?"

Merlin—when the only person you trust in the world doubts your sincerity, no one can help but feel a pang of pain.

"How much trust do you have in me? When you suspected me of colluding with Rita Skeeter, did you ever trust me?" He lowered his eyes and asked her, then turned and walked away as the school bell rang from the distant castle.

Harry discovered that Hermione and Draco were interacting in an incredibly childish way:

She would secretly glance at him each time, and when he looked at her, she would pretend not to see him. But when he looked away, she would keep staring at him until he started looking at her again.

This avoidance of eye contact and communication was so obvious, so charged, and so blatantly concealing, that everyone around them found it tiresome.

"You two seem really eager to make up—what are you hesitating about?" Harry said resentfully. "Please, Hermione, can't you two just be nice to each other? You're seriously affecting my mood—I can't even concentrate on studying the golden egg!"

"Harry, don't make excuses. It's all your fault for researching too late! You clearly said you'd already been working on the golden egg clue, and I thought you'd figured it out a long time ago!" Hermione glared at him angrily, and finally relented. "All right—next time he talks to me, I'll make up with him."

However, Draco had reclaimed his famously Hogwarts-wide arrogance. He stopped trying to talk to her and simply stared at her intently.

He seemed to have been stung by their discussion about "trust" and was unwilling to bow down to her again.

This bastard boy was like a patient cheetah, elegantly, proudly, and stubbornly watching his prey.

He would relentlessly appear within three metres of her—definitely thanks to that damned Marauder's Map—and smile at her with that perfect face, his grey, lake-like eyes almost suffocating her, but he wouldn't say a word to her.

He began to stare unabashedly at her lips. This reminded her of the passionate kiss she had kept hidden in her heart, and the possessive words he had once whispered to her:

"You are mine, only in my arms, my dance partner... You are mine, only I can kiss you... Hermione Granger, you are mine, do you understand..."

This always made her blush.

Later, Hermione finally couldn't hold back any longer and deliberately left an empty space next to her, trying to send him a signal that she wanted to make up.

But he walked straight past the empty seat, chose a seat across the aisle from her, crossed his arms and leaned back against the seat, staring at her indifferently.

An indescribable sense of loss welled up inside her. This loss tormented her, causing her to sigh at an alarming rate.

What was he thinking? Did he still like her? Did he still want to kiss her, to have her near? Hermione began to feel uneasy, her heart withering from the anxiety and questions.

These days, every time she passed by the stone wall alcove that was no longer covered by the tapestry, she felt a little reluctant to leave. When she saw the bookshelf in the library with books on runic literature, she often stared blankly for a long time.

The Butterbeer seemed to have lost the flavour she remembered. Without him, she described it as "extremely bland."

"If Madam Rosmerta heard you say that, she might pick up a broomstick and fight you," Ron said, staring at the plump and cheerful proprietress behind the bar.

Hermione sighed listlessly, sitting blankly amidst the clamor of the crowd, feeling like a soulless puppet.

Whenever the students around her chatted and laughed, discussing boring topics, she could almost feel herself burning up.

She'd been missing him for a long time. He would never discuss trivial topics, and he could respond to anything she said.

He knew the goblins should deal with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He would immediately understand why the goblins were dealing with Ludo Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and how ridiculous it was that "the goblins went to find Barty Crouch, the Head of International Magical Co-operation."

He would meet her gaze, deep in thought, rather than saying in bewilderment, "What's so funny about the goblins looking for Mr. Crouch? They probably need a translator..."

This inability to think clearly was so unbearable! It was as if she couldn't smoothly brew a perfect potion with any partner other than him in Potions—it was incredibly painful!

She missed him terribly. He could notice the problems she overlooked, just as he knew the answers to all her questions.

He must know the answer to that damned question: "How to stay underwater for a full hour!"

In the library, Hermione was incredibly agitated. She angrily blew a strand of hair off her forehead, put aside the book she'd just finished, Forgotten Ancient Magic and Spells, and flipped through a book called Strange Magical Puzzles and Their Solutions, feeling as if her intelligence had been chewed up and spat out.

This was the ultimate insult to her! Why couldn't she find the answer to this question?

So she missed him even more. Just looking at him from afar wasn't enough—it didn't quench her thirst at all.

If he could open his arms and hug her, pat her on the back, maybe she would cheer up again and finish reading the remaining twenty books in one go.

Moreover, her hair, cheeks, and lips were all shamelessly thinking of him.

He, having abandoned the private space of the library, sat elegantly near her usual seat, calmly reading a thin magazine—as if he didn't care about Harry's life or death at all—occasionally glancing at her, but never initiating a conversation with her.

That bastard—he definitely did it on purpose—this intense longing, tinged with a subtle guilt, was driving her mad.

Hermione even started spending time each day using Sleekeazy's Hair Potion to make her messy hair smooth and manageable. She always tied her hair up, hoping he wouldn't be able to resist coming over.

He'd once said he was deeply impressed by the way she styled her hair.

Would he like it? She stole a glance at him with a hint of anticipation, but he sat upright, calm and composed.

"Draco, I think she's not angry with you anymore. Try again—I bet she'll talk to you." In the library, Harry couldn't help but sit down and whisper to Draco.

"Harry, you don't understand. I've tried so many times, even asking a house-elf to deliver the flowers for me. I get hurt when I'm rejected so often. She doesn't even trust me—she's crushed my pride. Tell me, why can't she just take the initiative and talk to me?" He said slowly, tracing the shape of her lips with his eyes.

The witch had clearly noticed his gaze again. She was nervously biting her lip, and her hand, which had been rapidly turning the pages of the book, suddenly hesitated.

"Oh," Harry said blankly, suddenly realizing he'd narrowed his perspective.

"But you'll eventually make up with her, right?" he asked immediately. "You said you wouldn't make her cry."

"Of course. I will always make up with her. I've never actually been angry with her. I just want her to experience how I felt before." Draco stared at her with great interest, his fair face gradually turning pink from his prolonged gaze.

Harry rolled his eyes inwardly. He thought to himself that he'd really wasted his time trying to persuade Draco.

Now it seemed Draco was having a great time, and she seemed to be enjoying it too—in a frustrated sort of way.

Was this some kind of twisted quirk between couples? Harry adjusted his glasses, feeling he couldn't bear to watch any longer.

It wasn't that he wanted to meddle, but Neville was acting too pitifully. He was already having trouble sleeping because of Draco's occasional stern glares—

"I always feel like Malfoy is going to curse me any second now," he'd once told Harry fearfully, his round face having lost some of its roundness.

"Forget it—I'd better advise Neville to stay away from the battlefield and not get caught between these two," Harry thought.

"By the way, how's your search for the golden egg going? Do you know what you need to do yet?" Draco asked casually, ignoring Harry's mental whirlwind.

At this moment, he was busy coaxing a smile onto his lips, mischievously watching the pink blush spread from Hermione's face to behind her ears.

"I already know what I'm supposed to do on the day. I just don't know how to get it done. There's a dilemma I'm facing." Harry's voice rang in his ears, tinged with anxiety.

"What dilemma?" Draco asked, slightly regaining his composure. "Remember what I said? We'll do everything we can to help—as long as you ask."

"I remember. It's just that it's a difficult problem." Harry asked quickly and quietly. "How do you stay underwater for a full hour?"

Finally! Harry had taken a step in the right direction, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

He had finally, finally asked that question, and Draco could finally, finally tell Harry the answer.

"Bubblehead Charm, or Gillyweed—you choose one," Draco said casually, concealing his inner joy.

"That simple?" Harry said in surprise. "We've been racking our brains for days. Hermione's flipped through a pile of books, but apart from the outlandish idea of forcing me to learn Transfiguration in a single day, she's still got nowhere. And you've given me two answers all at once!"

"It's not that simple. The Bubblehead Charm isn't easy to learn, and with such a tight schedule, do you think you can master it?" Draco shook his head. "As for Gillyweed—that's quite simple. You just eat it. But there's only one place in all of Hogwarts that has it—Professor Snape's private Potions stores."

"Oh—" Harry let out a pained howl, earning a sharp glance from Madam Pince.

"Who told you to solve the puzzle so late? Procrastination is no good habit. If you'd figured it out a month ago, you'd have mastered the Bubblehead Charm by now," Draco muttered gloatingly. "Now, time is of the essence. Think about it—which one are you going to choose?"

Then, he cheerfully ignored Harry's ashen face and continued to stare at Hermione Granger, who had her hair tied up, determined to make this good Gryffindor witch uncomfortable for the rest of the day.

[Goyle's Diary (Part 3)]

Weather on February 14, 1995: Sunny turning cloudy

Today is Valentine's Day—what a bountiful harvest!

Early in the morning, Draco tossed me the pile of chocolate cauldrons he'd received from witches at various Houses.

Doesn't he really like chocolate? I don't understand him.

He saw me happily opening the thirtieth piece.

He glared at the sweet wrappers fluttering around me, his mood seemingly not as good as it had been that morning.

He walked over with his hands behind his back, complaining that I was eating chocolate too fast, and suddenly announced that he would be adding a new training programme for me—diving practice.

Extreme joy turns to sorrow!

Vincent and I sped along the chilly Quidditch training pitch, heads hanging low.

Today is Valentine's Day!

There isn't even a pile of Doxy droppings here, except for us!

By the way, why is Draco here too?

Why doesn't he go to Granger?

Oh, right—Granger rejected the flowers he sent.

Neither Vincent nor I dared to say "he deserved it."

Complete 20 laps of running, hit the ball 300 times, complete 30 minutes of flight training, practice Bludger drills for 30 minutes, and practice diving for 30 minutes.

Weather on February 17, 1995: Forgot.

During Potions today, Draco's expression was almost as grim as Professor Snape's on the podium.

I followed his fierce gaze and saw Granger teaching Longbottom how to adjust the size of the flames under the cauldron with his wand.

Granger didn't even glance at Draco. Longbottom, however, glanced at Draco several times, looking a little nervous.

That said, Longbottom's spellcasting skills are terrible! Looking at him, I suddenly feel like there's still hope for me!

Really, who would have thought that a simple spell to adjust the size of a flame could create such a disaster under his wand?

We watched helplessly as he waved his wand and sent the cauldrons flying! Almost all the students' cauldrons were destroyed, all their potions were ruined, and several Gryffindors had their faces splattered with the contents, screaming in pain from the heat!

Wait—when did Draco run up to Granger?

He even pulled her to the ground with him!

We watched with interest as Draco helped her up, brushed the dust off her back, softened his expression, and asked her gently, "Are you all right?"

Granger's mouth was agape, as if she hadn't quite registered it yet.

It's a good thing Draco always praises her for being clever—even the cleverest witch in the class can be caught off guard!

Later, she muttered something to Draco, then walked away blushing and shuffling off.

Parkinson said that Draco might be Confunded or had eaten some tainted chocolate cauldron, which is why he spoke to Granger in such a strange, unguarded manner, without any imposing presence.

Draco glanced at her, and his imposing aura immediately emanated from him.

He said fiercely, "Do you want to be Silenced for a week?"

Parkinson reluctantly shut her mouth.

Furthermore, Professor Snape was furious! He punished Longbottom by making him clean all the cauldrons in the Potions classroom and forbade him from using his wand!

Complete 20 laps of running, hit the ball 300 times, complete 30 minutes of flight training, practice Bludger drills for 30 minutes, and practice diving for 30 minutes.

Weather on February 20, 1995: Sunny

Today's Care of Magical Creatures lesson was quite interesting.

So unicorn cubs are golden!

They are very plump.

Draco and Granger seem to be making up soon.

I saw them standing together, talking quietly. He was still tugging at her robes.

Complete 20 laps of running, hit the ball 300 times, complete 30 minutes of flight training, practice Bludger drills for 30 minutes, and practice diving for 30 minutes.

Weather on February 21, 1995: Cloudy

They did not make up.

Draco stared at Granger all day.

I don't know what he wanted to do, but I bet he was starving.

His eyes looked exactly like the eyes I had when I saw a whole roasted Christmas turkey after starving for three days. No doubt about it.

Complete 20 laps of running, hit the ball 300 times, complete 30 minutes of flight training, practice Bludger drills for 30 minutes, and practice diving for 30 minutes.

Weather on February 23, 1995: Sunny

Complete 20 laps of running, hit the ball 300 times, complete 30 minutes of flight training, practice Bludger drills for 30 minutes, and practice diving for 30 minutes.

Suddenly I realized that it has been a long time since anyone in the House has ridiculed me.

I practiced the Bludger drills for an extra fifteen minutes.

I added those fifteen minutes myself—I don't know why I did that.

I'm exhausted.

I need to go to bed early tonight!

Tomorrow is the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, and everyone says they want to get up early to get a good seat in the stands!