novelraw Chapter 14: Gentle Yet Icy Snow
Chapter 14: Gentle Yet Icy Snow
Chapter Fourteen: Gentle Yet Icy Snow
On the eve of the Christmas holidays, sudden heavy snowfall blanketed Hogwarts Castle, causing nearly all students to lose focus on their studies.
Even Hermione Granger—that anomaly at Hogwarts who was perpetually rooted in the library—had to admit that snow-covered Hogwarts was so beautiful it sparked the imagination.
She imagined that if someone rode a broomstick and looked down from mid-air, they might see Hogwarts as an exquisite gingerbread house sprinkled with icing sugar, or a model castle inside one of those singing, snowflake-filled snow globes from the Muggle world.
Why make such a conjecture from an aerial perspective? Hermione suddenly wondered.
It seemed that five-minute flight initiated by a certain Slytherin boy still profoundly influenced her way of thinking.
Draco—that boy who was as gentle as snow, yet as cold as snow.
Occasionally, during breaks or in the corridors, Hermione overheard Slytherins whispering, "That's Malfoy for you. Don't expect him to be friendly—his family is known for its haughtiness."
Arrogant? He was very approachable to her in private, Hermione thought, confused.
"I think there's something wrong with his nervous system that controls smiling," Lavender said to Parvati during a late-night dormitory chat. "I suggest looking at other boys. Malfoy is too aloof, and he's a Slytherin."
"I know, I never liked Slytherins either—they always act like they don't respect anyone," Parvati said dismissively. "But just looking, Malfoy is quite good-looking, isn't he? Hard not to notice."
"He's only good-looking when he's stern—who knows, maybe he's ugly when he smiles!" Lavender chuckled. "That's why he doesn't dare smile."
No way! Hermione thought angrily from behind her bed curtains. He was definitely handsome when he smiled.
She'd seen him smile. When they'd flown together and dismounted from the broom, he'd smiled so brightly and passionately, like a dazzling sun with starlight in his eyes.
He never laughed like that again. He always maintained a cold, aloof demeanor.
Come to think of it, when they were partners in Transfiguration, he never smiled—always stern-faced and serious.
But that didn't mean he was unfriendly toward her.
When they talked face-to-face, studied together in the library, or worked as partners, he was always friendly, spoke politely, and even subtly showed her special treatment.
This special feeling was reflected in certain details only the recipient could notice.
No matter the class, if she walked to the empty seat beside him and was about to sit, he would glance at her expressionlessly and pull out the chair—she'd never seen any other study partner care about such things. In fact, he didn't seem this considerate toward other students either.
When there were no seats in the library and she intended to sit or stand while reading, he would most likely emerge from behind a bookshelf and "accidentally" find her, taking her to that incredibly comfortable private space she could never locate herself, gently placing her in a soft armchair so she could read comfortably, even making her hot tea.
He was willing to respond to her greetings anywhere, regardless of whether Slytherins were watching. However, he rarely greeted her first—unless she was walking around carrying a precarious pile of books. Only then would he be more proactive, suddenly learning to greet her and offering to carry her books to her destination.
Was he giving her special treatment? Hermione wondered.
It was also possible she was imagining things.
Sometimes, she would inexplicably feel his gaze fixed on her, but when she turned around, he was looking elsewhere.
A boy who was neither too close nor too distant.
She didn't even know if their relationship could be considered friendship.
He never sought her out unless absolutely necessary. He only seemed to approach when she needed help.
Once she was all right, he left without hesitation. Afterward, he kept his distance coldly and even avoided eye contact.
As if he didn't want any trouble.
However, whenever she took the initiative to approach him—no matter when, where, or why—he never showed annoyance. In fact, his expression would be more relaxed than usual.
She could sense his thoughtfulness, even a touch of attentiveness. When she got close enough, he didn't act coldly at all, but let her feel a hidden tenderness in him.
Their conversations were always pleasant. When he was really engaged, he would give her a brief, slight smile—very occasionally—and then usually wipe it away immediately, his expression turning bitter and resentful.
The boy was an enigma. He gave off an air of mystery, even cryptic, but this didn't make him unpleasant. Instead, it piqued her interest in investigating him.
She began to observe him.
He was reluctant to talk much. In fact, he'd never use a sentence if a single word would suffice.
He rarely smiled. He didn't smile at anyone except professors. His attitude toward everyone was indifferent—calm demeanor, weary expression.
Compared to that, he actually talked to her quite a lot. Compared to his peers, his attitude toward her could be described as "unprecedentedly enthusiastic," Hermione thought.
For some reason, even though he exuded a "keep away" aura, the Slytherins still respected him. They didn't seem to find anything wrong with it.
At the Great Hall's tables, Slytherin students always surrounded him, eating and talking happily, following his lead, accustomed to his cold attitude.
This was utterly illogical. How could a cold person possibly cultivate friendship?
Could it be that Slytherins followed different friendship rules—that the more aloof someone was, the more popular they became in that House? Hermione wondered, puzzled.
In Gryffindor's friendship code, the more cheerful, outgoing, and enthusiastic someone was, the more popular they became. Her roommate Lavender Brown, for example, had befriended everyone in Gryffindor on the very first day.
Lavender had a special talent—she could quickly befriend all the Gryffindors. No matter who, she could greet them warmly and chat easily.
But judging from Draco's indifferent demeanor, he probably couldn't be as gifted as Lavender and quickly learn all the Slytherin students' preferences.
What about him made Slytherins want to flock around him?
Just like her—she always couldn't help wanting to be his partner, even though he didn't like to smile.
Hermione Granger, why have you been willing to partner with him again and again? she asked herself.
Ah, the Slytherin boy—as gentle as snow, yet as cold as snow.
The Gryffindor girl sighed wistfully, peeked from the corridor, looked up at snowflakes dancing lightly in the sky, and involuntarily stretched out her arm. A few crystal snowflakes drifted down like gifts from the smoky grey sky, falling with the wind, casually kissing her palm.
The slight chill melted instantly in her warm palm, leaving only faint watermarks.
Hermione shuddered at the icy touch, shook off the chilly droplets, breathed warm air on her hands, and a lively expression appeared in her eyes.
She smiled slightly, suddenly feeling happier. Shaking off the speculation sparked by snowflakes, she continued toward the library, carrying several books.
The girl was completely unaware that a pair of pale grey eyes watched her tilt her head back to catch snowflakes.
Draco certainly saw her.
The girl backlit by the corridor looked like a dream created by Merlin in a trance.
Fine hairs in her mane were clearly visible against the snow. She resembled a kitten that had wandered into winter, full of curiosity from head to toe. A few snowflakes clung to her fringe as they fluttered in the wind, unnoticed, and her eyes shone brightly as she gazed at the sky.
Her arms, which stretched into the corridor, were smooth and slender, unmarked.
The way she gently tried to touch the snowflakes was both fragile and endearing.
That fragility that made you reluctant to touch, that endearing quality that made your heart ache. Draco stared at her, faint sadness welling inside.
This was another side of Hermione Granger he rarely saw.
An innocent and joyful appearance. A precious appearance.
Stop thinking about it. Don't bother her. As long as she keeps smiling, nothing else matters.
Let her read her books peacefully and happily.
She loves books most, doesn't she?
The snow intensified, falling softly and covering his lonely face, choking his stagnant heart.
Suddenly jolted from yesterday's memories, Draco withdrew his gaze and turned his attention back to the noisy, bustling courtyard.
Students laughed loudly in the courtyard. The Weasley twins had enchanted several large snowballs to chase Quirrell around and eventually hit the back of his turban, causing watching students to burst into laughter.
Finally, Quirrell—embarrassed and furious—covered his head with his turban and announced he would dock points from the Weasley twins and give them detention.
"Wait, why don't you make the most of your talents?" Draco quickly caught up with the brothers and struck up conversation.
The Weasley twins, clearly unconcerned about their impending detention, were engrossed in discussing Lee Jordan's prized possession—a giant tarantula. Hearing Draco's voice, they stopped talking and glanced at him simultaneously.
"Look here, isn't this the Malfoy kid?" the left Weasley said with interest.
The right Weasley grinned at him. "Good show! We heard everything Ron told us..."
"...You were brilliant in the last match!"
The brothers, arms around each other's shoulders, asked, "So what does 'make the most of your talents' mean?"
Draco, savoring the snowball that had just hit Quirrell on the back of the head, gave a short, mocking laugh.
"What I mean is, you have real talent for pranks. Why not develop some funny products? Or even open a joke shop?"
He still remembered the large quantity of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder he'd anonymously ordered from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in his past life.
Clever products, and quite useful—though not used for anything good.
"Like biscuits that turn people into canaries when eaten, fake wands, sweets that make your nose bleed..." Draco racked his brain to recall products the Weasley brothers had developed in his previous life, gesturing to explain, feeling like a fool.
Such behavior clearly wasn't something a noble Malfoy should do.
But the effect was remarkable. Upon hearing this, the Weasley twins' nonchalant expressions vanished, and they quickly exchanged glances.
They were clearly very interested.
"We don't know what you mean by that," one Weasley said, feigning indifference.
"A Slytherin's advice is often ill-intentioned." Another Weasley looked at Draco probingly, as if trying to discern true thoughts beneath his cold exterior.
"And, if we may be so bold, although you have some connection with our brother... the Malfoys and Weasleys have never been on the same side," the twins said in unison.
"I understand. However, I personally admire your sense of humor. So this will be my personal investment and has nothing to do with my father." Draco handed them parchment with preliminary plans and cooperation agreements written on it.
"You can look first, and contact me if you're interested." Draco smiled at them with feigned nonchalance, then turned and left.
"Has he gone mad?" Behind him, the brothers' faint voices of surprise could still be heard.
"He really has gone mad..." came the sound of rustling parchment, spoken with awe.
Draco had always planned to spend his Galleons on various investments rather than letting them sit in Gringotts. While the Malfoy family had plenty of Galleons, they couldn't squander inherited wealth.
A qualified Malfoy must know how to make money work for him, ensuring the family's continued prosperity.
In the magical world, he couldn't make big moves lest his parents discover his schemes. Especially in areas where his family had already invested, he couldn't touch them. Otherwise, a single action would have far-reaching consequences, and Lucius would soon discover what his son was doing.
Draco didn't want his parents to know these things. Sometimes, not saying everything was best, even to parents.
Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes would be a highly profitable and discreet investment in the wizarding world—he'd already seen the Weasley brothers succeed once, and most importantly, no one would believe a Malfoy would invest in the Weasleys.
He also planned to invest Galleons in several properties in Muggle Britain; in future, he'd gradually venture into currency and stock trading markets.
The Dark Lord had always looked down on Muggles, which meant investments in the Muggle world were safer than those in the wizarding world.
Regarding properties, he planned to use some for rental income and convert the rest into safe houses. Like a cunning rabbit with multiple burrows, these undisclosed houses could provide temporary shelter should danger arise.
Nothing surprising about it. Respect for pure-bloods didn't mean blindness to Muggle world benefits. For the Malfoy family, investing in the Muggle world was nothing new.
Needless to say, over centuries, the Malfoy family had annexed countless Muggle lands in Wiltshire; their close ties with Muggle royalty, their abundance of paintings, gold, antique furniture, and jewelry; just naming their Muggle world assets would take days.
As for the wizarding world's rumor—that the Malfoy family had successfully dabbled in Muggle currency and asset trading for centuries—Draco knew perfectly well the rumors were true, despite family heads' vehement denials after the International Statute of Secrecy's enactment.
How could wealth channels and networks accumulated over nearly seven centuries, from the eleventh century to 1692 when the Statute was formally implemented, be lost overnight? They were simply transferred from open to covert.
To this day, the Malfoy family still held large amounts of Muggle currency. When principal was substantial enough, simply sitting on money and collecting interest became perfectly reasonable, secure income. Moreover, it was natural that Malfoy wealth was pegged to Muggle currency in some way, allowing it to soar with Muggle currency inflation.
Anchoring—what a sweet word. Draco thought that if those impoverished pure-blood families had seized any opportunity during those three hundred years of isolation to observe soaring Muggle world prices, they wouldn't have declined so drastically.
Draco only learned these circumstances after his father's imprisonment, when he'd tried helping the Malfoy family by handling household affairs.
The fact that a large portion of immense wealth supporting a pure-blood wizarding family derived from the Muggle world was perhaps the most ironic thing of all.
However, for any Malfoy, the clinking of Galleons in one's pocket was the most beautiful melody. It was family tradition—making money wasn't shameful.
Therefore, when Draco considered investing in the Muggle world, he felt no psychological burden, no shame about "a pure-blood wizard lowering his status."
That said, Draco wasn't sure if the Weasley twins had foresight to agree to his investment plan.
What was certain: the brothers were troubling Quirrell because they felt Potter had been treated unfairly.
After all, Potter's out-of-control broom never alerted the school.
"We told Professor McGonagall exactly what happened when Quirrell cursed Harry, and Professor McGonagall promised to tell Professor Dumbledore." Hermione was furious during Transfiguration. She whispered to him, "But the school never punished Quirrell!"
This outcome might have angered those in the know, Draco thought calmly. Even he was somewhat surprised by how the matter was handled, let alone the Weasley twins.
It seemed Dumbledore didn't realize the situation's seriousness. He seemed determined to use Quirrell as a whetstone in Potter's path to growth.
But perhaps this time, even a great wizard like Dumbledore would misjudge.
Quirrell wasn't simply a remnant Death Eater. If the Dark Lord behind him wasn't restrained and allowed to return to power, it would bring immeasurable, serious consequences.
Draco remembered that in his previous life, Quirrell was brought to justice, but the Dark Lord's soul escaped. Later, with Peter Pettigrew's help, the Dark Lord regained physical form, plunging the entire wizarding world back into darkness.
Draco thought of Malfoy Manor in his previous life, where the once magnificent house had been turned into filthy mess, all thanks to the Dark Lord. And from beginning to end, someone had long since noticed danger signs but shortsightedly let it run rampant. Didn't he find that ridiculous?
Filled with anger, he kicked a snowdrift, getting his shiny black dragonhide shoes covered in dirty snow water.
In this protracted game of wizards and chaotic battles, every player had their own calculations. No one was completely selfless.
No one.
It should have been expected, shouldn't it?
What's there to be angry about?
He tried calming himself, then lazily waved his wand, Scouring the grime away.
Exposing the Dark Lord wasn't actually that difficult. Draco took a deep breath, thinking as he walked: If I remove the turban in public, everyone will understand.
The problem was that this dangerous soul shouldn't be underestimated. Once exposed, it would be difficult to find any trace—whether it took advantage of chaos to possess others at Hogwarts or escaped outside again.
How could one deal with an ethereal, elusive soul?
Even after entering the Potions classroom in the dungeons, Draco was still absentmindedly pondering the question.
"Ron and I have been practicing the Leg-Locker Curse lately. Next time Quirrell curses Harry, we'll make sure he can't move." In the last row of the dungeon classroom, amidst rising steam from the cauldron, Hermione—who'd once again partnered with him—slammed a lionfish spine heavily onto the workbench and said fiercely.
This rash act finally drew his attention back from the annoying Dark Lord.
"Wait!" He grabbed her wrist to prevent her from touching the spine again.
"What's wrong?" She turned and looked at him in surprise.
The boy before her was holding her wrist.
His hands were icy cold, yet his grip was gentle, like snow.
She couldn't think about Quirrell anymore. Hermione only felt her face warming slightly from the cauldron's steam.
Draco took a pair of dragon-hide gloves from his pocket, patted them into her palm, and released her wrist—which looked like it could snap at any moment. A slight sense of loss lingered in his mind as he said calmly, "Wear these before grinding. Lionfish spines are no joke—they might spit venom."
"Oh, thank you." She realized what she'd done, and holding the gloves, her brown eyes no longer filled with anger but with a hint of a smile.
"And goggles." While she put on gloves, he frowned and glanced at her, feeling her bright eyes also needed protection.
"Isn't this excessive?" She looked troubled. "The gloves are so thick, and wearing goggles would be difficult. Maybe we shouldn't—"
"Let me help you." He grabbed goggles and started putting them on her head.
"Isn't this a bit much?" She glanced shyly at classmates, then at the serious-looking boy before her, tone slightly resistant. "Look, no one else is wearing these."
"Their operations are irregular and unsafe," he explained.
"Draco, I have to admit, I don't like goggles—not just because they're inconvenient with gloves, but also because—" Hermione said in a low voice with pained expression, "Every time I wear them, the strap catches hair, and it hurts terribly."
"I understand. I'll be careful. All right?" He raised his grey eyes and finally met her gaze briefly.
Hermione stared straight into his eyes and couldn't help but nod.
So he bent down and tilted his head to help adjust the goggle straps' length.
That Slytherin boy, he's doing it again, she thought absently in the dungeon classroom's flickering candlelight.
He appeared indifferent, and his words were shockingly brief. Yet simultaneously, he was clearly taking care of her, being considerate and attentive, even fussing about her safety.
He was intently adjusting the stubborn binding strap, lips pressed tightly together, pointed chin very close to her profile. For some reason, a hint of tenderness flickered in his usually aloof, pale grey eyes.
Hermione stared at the color in his eyes, somewhat dazed.
His eyes were so beautiful—like glass shards, both bright and soft.
"Oh, it's all right if it catches." After stunned silence, she suddenly came to her senses and said in flustered manner.
She didn't want to pressure him. She frowned slightly, waiting for pain to strike, tone tinged with resignation. "I have so much hair, it's hard not to—"
"Done," Draco said, slight smile playing on his lips where she couldn't see.
Hermione was utterly astonished. He'd actually put them on completely.
Gently, meticulously, and swiftly.
Not a single hair caught.
Even she couldn't do it flawlessly, so how did he manage? Hermione wondered in astonishment.
"Thank you," she stammered.
He nodded at her with satisfaction, then turned to stir the potion in their cauldron.
Look at a boy like this—how could you refuse his help? Why would you want anyone else as a partner?
Anyone else would seem clumsy compared to him.
Does it really matter whether he's Slytherin or not?
Whether he's indifferent, whether he smiles—what does it matter?
Anyway, Lavender and the others were completely wrong! She'd already seen him smile, and she might be the only one in the whole school who had! His smile was definitely the most handsome in the whole school, absolutely! Hermione ground the powder fiercely, making noise, feeling extremely flustered.
Draco had no idea what she was struggling with—he assumed her outburst was because she was still upset about Quirrell.
"Actually, I think you should practice the Full Body-Bind Curse and Langlock." Watching her overly indignant grinding motions, he slowly stirred their potion and reminded her, "When facing an adult wizard stronger than you, it's best to incapacitate him as quickly as possible so he can't swing his wand or cast spells."
"Langlock?" Hermione forgot her anger and said with interest, "How come I've never heard of that spell? It must be very advanced!"
"Oh, I forgot where I read it, but the effect is to stick a person's tongue to the roof of their mouth, making them unable to speak," Draco said somewhat guiltily, touching his nose.
Langlock was a spell he'd learned during a previous life when he and Potter were dueling each other.
"Given that some wizards may use nonverbal spells, relying solely on Langlock would still carry risk. I think the Full Body-Bind is the first choice," he quickly added.
She looked at him with awe, expression one of adoration. "Draco, you know so much. It seems there's no problem you can't solve. I've always been curious—how can a first-year like you know so much magic?"
"Maybe I'm like you, enjoying extracurricular reading for leisure," Draco said casually, glancing at her.
Hermione Granger's adoration.
Rare sight. Better remember that unusual expression.
"And what's with this stack of books?" He nodded slightly at the large volumes on Hermione's desk.
"I'm investigating Nicolas Flamel. I've searched through Notable Magical Names of Our Time, but I can't find him anywhere. We suspect he's connected to what the three-headed dog is guarding. Hagrid accidentally told us it's a matter between Nicolas Flamel and Dumbledore." Hermione looked troubled.
"If I were you, I'd check out older wizards." Draco finished weighing the lionfish spine powder and, when Professor Snape wasn't looking, whispered to Hermione, "Think about it—how old is Dumbledore this year? His friends might be even older. Some wizards can live for hundreds of years."
These words were like a wake-up call! Hermione's eyes lit up instantly.
"I think you're right! Now I have so many new ideas! I'll probably have to make several more trips to the library; there are probably several shelves to consult..." A flash of inspiration struck her, and a beaming smile spread across her face. "Thank you, Draco."
Draco shrugged at her, and before her smile could infect him, he quickly lowered his eyes.
Now, Draco had become increasingly accustomed to providing extra help for the Potter trio's "adventures."
He couldn't help wanting to help. He could never forget the helping hand Potter had extended to him, nor that Potter might be his greatest hope in defeating the Dark Lord.
Moreover, once you and Potter showed goodwill to each other, you found it hard to hate them anymore.
Although Gryffindors could sometimes be as intelligent as trolls and act too recklessly and impulsively, their sincerity, enthusiasm, and wholehearted trust still exceeded a Slytherin's expectations.
In his previous life, his circle was limited to Slytherin. He only knew the Slytherin friendship code—relying on hierarchy, command, and submission, adhering to "eternal interests." Obviously, this code never applied to other Houses, especially Gryffindor.
Upon returning to Hogwarts, he humbled himself and tried being polite and courteous to Potter—not because he'd suddenly changed personality and fallen in love with Gryffindor's friendship style. In this life, he remained quite indifferent to those unrelated to him. But because it was profitable.
However, Potter and his friends clearly didn't think that way. They brought out something genuine.
What should he do? How should he respond? Slytherins were never this open and honest. No one had ever taught him how to handle this situation!
Draco often felt fearful, flustered, and lost when facing them.
The Gryffindor friendship style was too shocking.
No roundabout probing, no covert observation, no scheming tactics.
They were direct, proactive, and enthusiastic.
Especially Hermione Granger.
He'd originally intended to be just friends with her. He'd be content as long as they didn't hate each other or remain indifferent.
To his surprise, she approached him, hugged him, and smiled at him.
She was becoming more and more irresistible.
Draco admitted that if she encountered problems and sought solutions, he couldn't help offering hints. He couldn't bear seeing her distressed and trapped in mental blind spots.
If she came to talk and discuss academic issues, he couldn't refuse. You'd be hard-pressed to find someone her age smarter than her, and no one suited his taste better.
If she couldn't find a partner and stood timidly before him, or couldn't find a comfortable library seat... he couldn't bear watching her suffer such injustice.
She was just a young girl, and he couldn't help wanting to take care of her.
His body always reacted faster than his brain. His mouth always reacted faster than his brain. His smile always reacted faster than his brain. His uncontrollable liking always outpaced... Sigh! Draco sighed softly.
Whenever he realized she was fine and didn't need help, he wanted to leave her and return to a safe distance.
A safe distance that had nothing to do with danger.
But she would take the initiative to find him.
Ignoring his cold face, she stood before him again and again, smiling slightly, asking him to be her partner.
Sometimes she'd look at him with sparkling eyes, as if he were someone she could trust.
How precious that look is! Who could resist its power?
She was innocently trying to pry open his frozen heart, regardless of whether he'd struggle or suffer, or whether he'd be heartbroken.
Hermione Granger, do you know there's no light in my life?
I am the mire, the night dew, the hollow tree. I am filth, heaviness, and utter fragility.
You are fiery and unrestrained, radiant and brilliant. I'm not worthy of your passionate treatment.
My life is nothing but snow's coldness, nothing but desolate emptiness of death.
I'm doing something extremely dangerous. I'm an extremely dangerous person. I don't want you involved in any danger.
Having been given a second chance at life, I'm keenly aware of my grave sins, and I dare not hope for anything more.
All I ask is to watch you from a safe distance.
I only ask that you be happy, that no harm can hurt you in the slightest. He felt bitter inside, head hanging low, not daring to look at her, pretending to fiddle with bottles and jars.
"Draco—" she called him again, so affectionately.
Hermione Granger, don't come closer. I'll destroy you. I'll hurt you. Draco thought desperately, stealing a glance at her.
She was lost in thought, tiptoeing to peer into the cauldron, eyes sparkling.
Hermione, what am I going to do with you? He sighed, full of worry.
"Draco, come quick—look at this potion's color!" She beckoned to him, hint of doubt in her voice.
She seemed to be in trouble.
So he could no longer ignore her.
He could finally respond with a clear conscience: "I'm here."
I just want to help her, make her feel better. Nothing more. Draco told himself, and unconsciously walked toward her.