novelraw Chapter 21: Losing 150 Points
Chapter 21: Losing 150 Points
Chapter Twenty-One: Losing 150 Points
Just as Draco returned to his Slytherin dormitory, munching on a chocolate muffin and relieved that Filch and his meddling cat hadn't discovered his nocturnal excursion, Potter and his friends got into trouble.
The morning after his kitchen visit, Draco had little appetite and settled for porridge at breakfast in his usual spot.
His classmate Blaise Zabini dropped into the seat beside him, grinning gleefully. "Look at the hourglass! The Gryffindors are furious—they lost a full 150 points!"
He high-fived Pansy Parkinson across the table. "Thanks to Hero Potter, that know-it-all Granger, and ridiculous Longbottom."
Pansy smirked. "I heard they ran into Mrs. Norris near the Astronomy Tower last night. Filch caught them red-handed."
The Astronomy Tower?
Ah yes—they must have been sending Hagrid's illegal dragon to Weasley's brother via the Astronomy Tower.
A while ago, when Draco had spotted Hagrid—who never read—lurking in the Restricted Section, he'd known something was amiss.
When he'd seen Hagrid reading *Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit*, combined with past experience, it hadn't been difficult to deduce what the gamekeeper was doing.
If one could find any commonality between the half-giant gamekeeper and Draco, it would be their shared passion for dragons.
Which young wizard hadn't dreamed of owning a dragon?
To some extent, Draco understood Hagrid.
But raising a dragon was dangerous. Hagrid's wooden hut was utterly unsuitable for housing a fire-breathing dragon.
One day that dragon might get excited and breathe flame, and the gamekeeper would become roasted Hagrid beside his pumpkin patch.
Keeping it indefinitely was no solution.
Given his currently peaceful relationship with Potter, Draco had no interest in making difficulties for them or informing on them.
He'd planned to feign ignorance and wait quietly for them to send the dragon away.
He hadn't expected them to be so unlucky. Even without anyone informing, Filch's sharp-eyed cat Mrs. Norris had caught them.
Speaking of which, didn't Potter have an Invisibility Cloak?
The boy possessed such a treasure yet didn't know how to use it properly?
This unexpected development only worsened Draco's already gloomy mood.
Had he been near the Astronomy Tower, he might have considered helping Potter. But he hadn't been near there lately—instead, he'd been haunting Ravenclaw Tower, tirelessly attempting to engage the Grey Lady in conversation, only to watch her glide away time and again.
His investigation into the diadem had stalled completely. It was deeply frustrating.
Even Slytherin's commanding lead in the House points couldn't lift Draco's spirits.
As Draco chewed his porridge, contemplating how to approach the Grey Lady, he heard several Slytherin students clapping and whistling from the Great Hall entrance. "Thank you, Potter—you've done us a tremendous favor!"
Harry Potter had been ostracized by his own House.
Draco noticed Potter often sat dejectedly at the Gryffindor table with only Weasley beside him. Other students kept their distance.
Longbottom occasionally appeared, trying to ask fellow Gryffindors for help after forgetting the common room password, but no one acknowledged him.
Hermione had become even more withdrawn. Her lively personality was severely suppressed—she no longer eagerly answered questions in class and had lost all enthusiasm for smiling.
Before Transfiguration, Draco strode through the crowd, went straight to the listless, ignored girl, and sat beside her.
He pushed a book toward her. "Here. The book you mentioned wanting to read."
"Thank you," she said quickly and quietly, taking the book while keeping her head down, refusing to meet his eyes.
Draco studied her melancholy profile and found himself unable to maintain his usual indifference.
She looked pitiful. Like the world's most wronged kitten, abandoned and desperate for help.
For some inexplicable reason, he couldn't help asking, "Aren't you going to give me a smile in return for finding you this book?"
Hermione finally looked up, expression showing surprise.
She hadn't expected him to initiate conversation. Normally, without so many worries weighing on her, she would have responded more positively.
But now, all she could manage was a bitter expression. "I'm not in the mood."
"Smile," Draco continued sternly.
Hermione couldn't muster enthusiasm. Her mouth unconsciously turned down again.
"I'll put it on account." Draco stared at her momentarily, then said in a calculating tone, "Hermione Granger owes Draco Malfoy one smile."
Hermione looked up and tried to smile, wanting to settle the debt quickly. But Draco noticed her eyes remained sad—the smile wasn't genuine.
"A forced smile doesn't count," he said.
Hermione sighed and lowered her head again. Everyone around them was staring.
Amidst whispered murmurs, Draco swept his gaze around menacingly until all ill-intentioned stares were driven away by his even more malevolent look.
But Hermione saw none of this. She kept her head down, trying to bury her face in the book he'd given her.
---
"Elizabeth, I think I understand how you feel now—maybe even more." After class, Hermione addressed the bathroom stall door. "They don't just mock me—they treat me like an enemy. It's horrible."
"Yes..." Myrtle said miserably. "Like being abandoned by your entire House, isn't it?"
Myrtle peered through the gap, quietly observing Hermione's face.
It was filled with frustration and melancholy—a stark contrast to the bright face she'd seen before.
She realized she wasn't alone anymore.
"I need to tell you something," Myrtle said suddenly, no longer wanting to lie. "I actually have another name..."
"I know—Myrtle." Hermione crouched on the floor, staring at the wet tiles and dim candlelight. "I asked around. There's no student named Elizabeth in Ravenclaw, let alone Olive Hornby. But there's a ghost in the abandoned girls' bathroom on the second floor. I figured that was you."
"You're right." Myrtle darted through the door, her transparent form circling Hermione once. "You don't want to be friends anymore, do you? Nobody likes a crybaby like Myrtle..."
"But you're my friend now. What does it matter? Are living people any friendlier than ghosts? Look how my classmates are treating me!" Hermione said bitterly, forcing a smile. "I prefer calling you Elizabeth anyway—it reminds me of a noble princess or queen."
"You can call me that." Myrtle's entire demeanor transformed.
Feeling smug from Hermione's flattery, she posed vainly before a stained, cracked mirror, face radiant.
However, when Myrtle glimpsed her spectacles and the spots on her chin, she let out a sorrowful sob.
"Don't be sad, Hermione. You're much luckier than me... At least you're alive—you can wear pretty clothes, you don't wear spectacles, and you don't have spots..." She finished sobbing, then dove headfirst into the toilet, disappearing.
Hermione sighed, whispered "See you later" to the toilet, and returned to cold, unwelcoming reality.
The window seat in the library had temporarily lost its appeal—Gryffindor students would pass by with critical looks, and their unfriendly attitudes stung.
She began arriving at the library early when few students were about, collecting books she wanted, then taking them to an oak tree beside the Black Lake.
The lush foliage and verdant undergrowth easily concealed a sad, melancholy, unpopular girl.
---
One day in May, Draco was walking beside the Black Lake when he encountered Hermione alone.
"Hermione Granger, where's that smile you owe me? When will you repay it?" he said demandingly.
Hermione sat beneath a large, leafy oak tree, listlessly studying.
"Oh, stop bothering me, Draco. I really can't laugh right now." Hermione slammed her book shut, face etched with worry.
"I must admit, you're a true Gryffindor—utterly reckless." Draco knelt before her, picking up her densely written notebook. "The Werewolf Code of Conduct, 1637? The House-Elf Rebellions?"
He clicked his tongue and raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you overcomplicating things? Even Professor Binns would admit this knowledge is too advanced for first-years."
"Put it down, Draco, and leave me alone. This is none of your business," Hermione said irritably, like a sensitive newborn hedgehog whose soft quills had been accidentally touched.
Why was this Slytherin boy always hovering around her like a debt collector?
Why did he insist on making her laugh?
Maybe he wanted to mock her. Was he finally dropping his mask to ridicule this "reckless and impulsive" Gryffindor?
"Alright." Draco shrugged, set down the notebook, but didn't leave. Instead, he calmly sat beside her.
He couldn't bear seeing her so unhappy, so he advised, "I must remind you—no one in this world is perfect. You needn't be so hard on yourself."
The sun shone brightly. He simply put his hands behind his head, lay back, closed his eyes, and felt warm sunlight on his face.
Hermione turned to look at him. His face glowed white in the sunlight, eyelashes casting small, thick shadows that trembled slightly—beautiful as a butterfly that might fly away at any moment.
This relaxed demeanor and beautiful profile seemed completely unthreatening.
He didn't appear to have ill intentions.
He'd been willing to greet her and start conversations.
He'd been willing to sit beside her in every class, and seemed to want to make her laugh in a clumsy, earnest way—even though she'd been listless lately, barely talking, rarely smiling.
Then she suddenly realized her earlier attitude had been terrible.
"I'm sorry, Draco. I shouldn't have snapped at you. You didn't deserve that... You've always been so kind to me." Hermione lowered her head, rubbing her eyes as tears welled up.
"It's fine." Sunlight fell on his face, bringing comfortable warmth that made him look lazy.
"I understand how you feel," he said. "I was once just as naive and sensitive. When people around you act cruelly, you feel a certain pain."
"Yes—it hurts so much," Hermione whispered. "I hate this feeling of shame."
"You should know it's not shameful to feel sad. Pain is normal. Only people with hearts of ice don't feel pain." He continued, a hint of someone who'd endured much flashing across his face.
Draco considered himself someone with a heart of ice.
In his previous life, when the Malfoy family fell into ruin, he'd endured countless cold stares. If he hadn't frozen his heart and become numb, how could he have survived?
How much warmth would it take to thaw the ice frozen deep in his heart?
"You're a year younger than me!" Hermione said through tears, voice thick with congestion. "But you sound like you're speaking from experience."
She was perceptive—hitting the nail on the head. In the hazy glow beneath his eyelids, Draco shifted nervously.
"People have short memories. It'll improve soon. Once everyone forgets, or something new happens, life will be much easier." Draco turned to look at her, opening his eyes, comforting her in a lighthearted tone.
Hermione sighed.
She lay down beside him, gazing wistfully at the lush green leaves overhead, recalling the recent scorn and contempt.
"But I lost fifty points. Nobody loses fifty points at once." Her eyelashes were wet, voice carrying a sad, mournful tone.
Draco could almost smell the bitter, salty scent of tears.
She must be devastated.
A first-year at Hogwarts, facing disdain from housemates and gloating from the other three Houses.
Hermione Granger, not yet grown up, was just a girl who cried easily and couldn't hide her vulnerable, fragile, sentimental side very well.
"But you've earned more than fifty points for Gryffindor this year. You've received House points from professors in nearly every course for outstanding performance—some more than once. If you're upset about those fifty points, take action. Earn more points before term ends to make up what you've lost. And tell Potter that instead of wallowing in self-pity, he should train his Quidditch properly—a Golden Snitch is worth many points." He stared at the shimmer in her eyes and, before it could overflow, rattled off more than he usually said in an entire day.
Hermione stared at him, taken aback by his lengthy speech.
Perhaps because of the weather, she suddenly noticed his grey eyes seemed exceptionally light—like a clear lake.
The lake seemed to want to absorb her tears, radiating gentle, comforting warmth rather than the cold indifference it usually held.
She listened blankly to his advice, gazing intently at the unique, clear lake in his eyes, where the sorrow in her heart was silently dissolved.
Suddenly, a mischievous grey squirrel passed overhead and accidentally dropped its pinecone.
The pinecone tumbled toward her face. She turned and gasped—only to find it had instantly transformed into a pale pink flower, swirling down to land gently on her face.
Like a dream woven from fine silk.
Curious, she picked up the flower and examined it against the light filtering through leaves.
It was a beautiful pink bloom with a shallow cup shape, somewhat like a rose. The color was soft, the form dignified and elegant.
She sniffed—the fragrance differed from ordinary roses, with an added rich myrrh scent.
"What kind of flower is this?" A bright, innocent smile unconsciously appeared as she turned to ask the boy beside her. The familiar curiosity, inquiry, and joyful light Draco knew so well shone in her brown eyes once again.
Draco smiled slightly.
Miss Know-It-All's energy had returned.
"This is a very resilient rose variety I often see at Malfoy Manor. The gardeners call it 'Gentle Hermione.' I thought you might like it." He tucked away his wand, pleasure flashing in his eyes.
"Oh! Of course I like it. Draco, my Transfiguration will never be as good as yours." Hermione examined the flower with a carefree expression, complaining half-jokingly. "I'm just a bookworm, but you use it so flexibly. That natural magical thinking, that smooth spellcasting... I really envy you."
"I only have a few more years' experience because I was born into a magical family. You learn quickly and stand out among our year. It won't be long before you surpass me." Draco stood and brushed grass from his robes.
He gazed at the calm Black Lake, eyes turning frosty again.
He knew so much because he'd experienced so much... those dark, suffocating things... He'd rather be a clueless fool—perhaps he'd be happier.
"Speaking of which, Hermione, I need to ask a favor." He hesitated, then finally turned, choosing to break the silence and make his request.
"Alright." Hermione stood from the lawn. The boy before her seemed to help without hesitation, reaching out to pull her up.
"Thank you." With his assistance, she suddenly stood and almost stumbled into him.
She hadn't expected him to lend a hand. This surprised her slightly, but also made her happy.
She hadn't been treated with kindness in so long. His hand was warm.
"You're welcome," Draco said. Once she was steady, he hurriedly released her hand and quickly tucked both hands behind his back.
He was terrified by his own actions.
He'd forgotten to maintain safe distance again.
He probably shouldn't have reached out. In his previous life, she'd never politely accepted his outstretched hand, let alone sincerely thanked him.
But in this life, without realizing it, he'd begun reaching out to her—even before his brain processed the action, his hand moved.
And she seemed quite happy. After all, she hadn't rejected him—she'd accepted his hand.
"You can refuse," Draco said softly.
"Refuse what?" Hermione asked, confusion in her eyes.
"I mean that request—the favor I'm asking," Draco said hastily.
She seemed to accept his touch and requests readily.
This attitude, so different from his previous life, sometimes left him at a loss.
"I said alright." Hermione glanced at him, finding his words cryptic. "Do you actually want me to agree or not?"
"Of course I hope you'll agree. But I must warn you—you'll be risking your life for this," Draco said hesitantly.
Honestly, he didn't want to involve her. She should stay happily in a safe area, doing whatever she wanted.
But he found himself in a predicament.
This matter was so important that if accomplished, it might end all his worries. He had no choice.
However, he had no one else he could trust, and this task required two people working together. Either Potter, Longbottom, or Hermione—he had to choose one for help.
In this situation, seeking help from Hermione Granger, with her exceptional spellcasting talent, seemed his only option.
"Will you come with me?" Hermione looked at him intently.
"Of course." Draco nodded.
"Then I agree." Hermione's face showed curiosity. "Tell me details—what exactly is it?"
"Remember the Full Body-Bind Curse I mentioned? You need to master it as soon as possible," Draco said seriously, predictably seeing her confused expression.