novelraw Chapter 25: From Potter to Harry
Chapter 25: From Potter to Harry
Chapter Twenty-Five: From Potter to Harry
"So, how about it?" As usual, Draco rested his hands behind his head, lying leisurely on his back on the grass under the great oak tree by the Black Lake.
The dappled shadows of oak leaves fell on his face, obscuring Hermione's expression.
A week had passed since the exams, and today was the day results were released.
Because of his promise to Hermione, Draco couldn't help but feel a tiny bit of curiosity about the outcome.
"Um—" Hermione looked down at him amidst the rustling of leaves in the wind, and suddenly fell silent.
She was a little resentful but also a little helpless.
With her bushy brown hair and irritated expression, she looked like a grumpy cat whose sweet dreams had been interrupted under the intense June sun. Draco squinted, peering at her through the gaps in his eyelashes.
"There will be a next time, Draco Malfoy—don't be so smug." She crouched down, looking at his trembling eyelashes, and threatened, "The gap between us isn't that big. One day I will surpass you. And then you'll have to tell me everything."
"Then you'll have to work really hard. Never doubt a Malfoy's determination to keep a secret." Draco remained unmoved, revealing a bright, radiant smile.
It seemed the top spot had changed hands.
In this life, many things were changing.
He liked change.
This meant hope.
A faint, scattered, precious hope.
For Hermione, Draco's smile at this moment was extremely unusual.
To be precise, this smile was quite unusual for everyone at Hogwarts.
She rarely saw him smile genuinely and brightly—aside from the brief smile he'd displayed after that flight—he hardly smiled at all that year. To be clear, polite, fake smiles didn't count.
This boy was like a pearl in an oyster.
He lacked the passion of Gryffindor, yet he also lacked the mindless malice displayed by some Slytherins. He possessed some kindness, and tenderness welled up within him, but she only saw it in certain moments of crisis.
Usually, he wore a calm, weary, and arrogant expression—polite yet distant. Occasionally, she'd see him give off a menacing look if anyone dared to provoke him. The rest of the time, he had a detached, indifferent air, as if he cared about nothing and found nothing of interest.
Yes, "watching from the sidelines"—that was the phrase, Hermione thought.
You rarely saw a genuine smile on Draco's face because everything seemed irrelevant to him.
Even so, Hermione thought he was handsome enough—among the boys in their year, no one was as good-looking as him.
Therefore, when this platinum-blonde boy revealed a genuinely happy smile, with deep-set eyes, light-colored pupils, a touch of pink on his cheeks, and a perfectly curved mouth...
Good heavens, how should she put it?
From the perspective of a 12-year-old girl, she could only think of superficial descriptions: even if all the flowers by the Black Lake were picked and piled up, they wouldn't be as beautiful as his smile.
Hermione suddenly couldn't be angry with him anymore.
Although he was very cunning and still refused to tell her anything.
She snorted, stole another glance at him, stood up intending to turn and leave, but hesitated before turning back and asking in a proud tone, "Will you write to me during the holidays?"
*Of course. Need you even ask?* He thought instinctively.
But was she expecting him to write to her? He sat up and casually observed her expression.
Judging from her haughty yet stubborn demeanor, it seemed she wouldn't leave easily without his answer.
She probably wouldn't dislike him writing to her.
But how should he respond from the perspective of "just a friend"? The boy pondered.
"Oh, when I have time." Draco yawned half-jokingly and said lazily, "You know, I'm very busy."
Hermione felt a little disappointed.
A cold and arrogant boy wasn't cute at all.
She frowned at him, pouted, and walked away decisively.
The platinum-blonde boy remained—he lay down again, facing the sky obscured by oak trees, and smiled slightly.
Draco wasn't lying.
There were so many things that required his attention!
The Dark Lord's soul remained unresolved and could be resurrected at any moment, causing him extreme anxiety and sleepless nights.
According to the Grey Lady, to destroy the Dark Lord's Horcrux—Ravenclaw's Diadem—one of three things could be tried: the Sword, Fiendfyre, or basilisk venom.
These three things were all more troublesome than the last, and none could be obtained easily.
Was it possible that the Fiendfyre Curse and its counter-curse existed in the Hogwarts library?
Thinking of this, Draco could no longer smile, nor could he enjoy this rare moment of leisure.
Resignedly, he stood up, brushed the grass off his robes, and reluctantly headed toward the library.
The library was quiet and deserted. The older students who usually frequented this place had been freed from their exams and were either sleeping soundly or celebrating.
Only Madam Pince remained at her post, listlessly dusting the bookshelf in the corner with a feather duster.
Draco headed straight for the Restricted Section. Among a row of shelves he'd never explored before, he casually browsed through those bizarre, interesting, and illegible Dark Arts books.
Today, he seemed to have a grudge against books that made sounds: at first, he opened a book with dark stains and heard a faint whisper coming from it. He tried another one—a large black and silver book that went even further, screaming at him. He slammed it shut and quickly stuffed it back onto the shelf before it could unleash more high-pitched, deafening cries.
He rubbed his temples and decided to try another section to see if he could find any information related to Fiendfyre.
Where had Crabbe found this spell? He'd tested him yesterday, but unfortunately, Crabbe still knew nothing about it.
Furthermore, how could he restrain that terrifying, inextinguishable Fiendfyre? He pondered as he moved among the shelves. Clearly, judging from the ominous outcome, Crabbe knew even less about the counter-curse.
As for Gryffindor's Sword, how could you expect a Slytherin to know about it?
In his previous life, Bellatrix had been quite fond of that Sword.
She'd even used it as an excuse to torment Hermione.
Torture her, carve her piece by piece.
To find out if the Sword was real or fake, and to find out if they'd been to her vault. That madwoman!
Hermione Granger, screaming, gritted her teeth with a courage he couldn't comprehend, refusing to betray her friends or tell the truth.
That Sword. The Sword of Gryffindor.
In seventh year, Bellatrix took it from the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts and put it in the Lestrange family vault. Draco had always assumed the Sword was in Dumbledore's possession.
But now, the Grey Lady said the Sword was nowhere to be found.
This meant the elusive Sword of Gryffindor most likely appeared in recent years, and after its appearance, it was acquired by Dumbledore and placed in the Headmaster's office.
He needed to find an opportunity to ask about it. Draco pondered.
There were also basilisk fangs.
According to memories from his past life, the Chamber of Secrets in Slytherin would be opened inexplicably next school year.
In some ways, this was a good thing, as it meant he had a slight chance of getting his hands on basilisk fangs.
But he didn't want anyone to be Petrified. He didn't want her to be Petrified.
Although Professor Sprout's Mandrakes could be used to prepare Restorative Draught...
But one wrong move and you could lose your life.
He was tired of death, and even more so of seeing her hurt. He thought, his face pale.
The scars on Hermione Granger had become Draco Malfoy's lifelong nightmare.
She should be able to stay comfortably in the library reading, safe and sound, without a single scratch.
He exhaled, sealing away his memories, and began to wander among the shelves. Finally, his steps were stopped by a book—a yellowed, old library volume.
His long, slender fingers flipped through the pages rapidly, finally stopping at a page containing a description of the basilisk:
*"...The Basilisk, also known as the King of Serpents...can grow to enormous size and live for hundreds of years...born from a chicken egg hatched beneath a toad...with deadly fangs...anything that looks directly into the Basilisk's eyes will die instantly. Spiders flee before the Basilisk...the crowing of a rooster is fatal to the Basilisk."*
In their past lives, those who were Petrified didn't die simply because they were lucky enough not to look directly at the Basilisk, not because the Basilisk couldn't kill people.
That was too dangerous.
It was too dangerous for her.
Perhaps he should give her some advice and tell her not to run around like that.
Perhaps he should brew some Mandrake Restorative Draught in advance, just in case.
Draco absentmindedly picked up the book, intending to go back and study it properly.
There was still far too little useful information. In his previous life, Hogwarts always kept the Chamber of Secrets closely guarded.
Although Potter and Weasley had cracked the secret of the Chamber and successfully rescued the Weasley girl, even receiving Special Awards for Services to the School... few Hogwarts students knew the specific details of their rescue.
Draco, as Potter's former "enemy," had no opportunity, no right, and no interest in knowing the specifics. At that time, he'd been concerned with other things.
He scratched his head in frustration, racking his brains, trying to find a trace from his limited memory.
Just then, two reckless figures darted out from the other side of the shelf, startling Draco.
"Potter? Weasley?"
"Draco, you're here!" Potter said, looking pleased.
"Why are you two here?" Draco looked at Potter and Weasley suspiciously. "You two shouldn't be indoors on such a nice day."
"Aren't you inside too?" Weasley asked, puzzled.
Draco remained silent.
"No need to be so formal—you can call me Harry," Harry said to him in a friendly manner.
"By the way, you can call me Ron," Ron added.
Draco raised an eyebrow, momentarily surprised.
In his previous life, he'd never experienced such a scene. They were actually willing to let him call them by their first names. This was an honor only close friends enjoyed.
This was probably the most unexpected of all the "changes" he'd experienced throughout the year.
"I heard from Hermione you might be in the library, and I... I just wanted to come and thank you." Harry smiled kindly at him. "A lot has happened this year, and you've helped us tremendously. You saved our lives! You defeated that horrible troll! You also helped us discover Quirrell's true nature, although I still don't like Professor Snape. He's too sarcastic... and always so harsh on us..." Seeing Draco's gloomy expression, he knew Draco was defending his Head of House, so he wisely changed the subject.
"Also, the Full Body-Bind Curse you made us practice—although in the end I didn't really need it, Hermione saved me, thanks to you..." Harry scratched his ear. "Thinking about it, Nicolas Flamel was also found on the Chocolate Frog Card you gave me."
"Harry, I think you've exaggerated my role," Draco said smoothly, glossing over the matter. "But I'm curious—how's the Philosopher's Stone doing?"
"Dumbledore said Nicolas Flamel decided to destroy it," Harry said, disagreeing. "Dumbledore also said that death is nothing but the next great adventure."
"I disagree," Draco said with a complicated expression.
Nicolas Flamel, that old man, must have gone mad!
This rare and precious product of alchemy, capable of turning any metal into pure gold—did he even realize what that meant? And he just destroyed it like that?
Nicolas Flamel had probably been driven mad by Dumbledore.
"Yes, I understand. I also think Dumbledore is a bit mad." Ron looked at his contorted face and shrugged.
"Oh, and also, Hermione told me to focus on Quidditch and not worry about marks," Harry said cheerfully. "You're right. Ever since we won the Quidditch Cup, my classmates haven't been giving me the cold shoulder."
"So you're just showing off your trophies in front of me?" Draco was furious at the thought.
In the final Quidditch match at the end of term, Harry Potter successfully caught the Golden Snitch from the Ravenclaw Seeker—meaning Gryffindor had finally won the Quidditch Cup.
Because of this, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint had lashed out at the House team players in the common room, smashing things around.
The House Cup therefore belonged to Gryffindor.
Slytherin suffered the same Waterloo-like defeat as in the previous life.
"I told you not to mention that!" Ron said, tugging at Harry's robes. "I knew he'd be angry!"
"That's not what I meant... Anyway, thank you." Harry pulled Ron up, trying to slip away before Draco could get angry.
"Potter! You wait—once I join the team, I'll beat you to a pulp!" Draco finally lost the composure and elegance he'd maintained for a whole year, yelling at their backs.
The two small figures didn't even pause before rushing out of the library.
"No shouting, or you're out of the library." Madam Pince appeared out of nowhere, glaring at Draco as if the feather duster in her hand had finally found its purpose.
At this moment, Harry and Ron had no idea what kind of person they'd "offended."
He was someone who appeared innocent but was actually cunning and calculating, and who loved stirring up trouble.
"Oh, do me a favor," Draco said with interest to the Weasley twins on the Hogwarts Express. "Ron and Harry have to try these."
He gestured to the Nosebleed Nougat his twin friends were showing him.
"No problem. We plan to do some small experiments this summer," the Weasley twins said to Draco with a grin.
"Besides this, we're also working on Puking Pastilles. I bet those students who don't like going to class will love them," George—or rather Fred—said smugly.
"Good idea," Draco said. "As long as I don't have to eat them."
Unsurprisingly, the twins looked a little disappointed.
"All right." They turned their mischievous gazes back out the train window, fixing them on Ron, who was struggling to drag his trunk on the platform.
Draco looked at the other side of the platform, where two familiar figures stood.
Lucius and Narcissa stood side by side.
Father, gripping his cane, stood out awkwardly among a group of expectant parents, his usual look of distaste for the noisy crowd around him.
Mother, however, remained the same arrogant, haughty woman, saying something disdainfully to her husband.
Their unchanging arrogance filled Draco with a strange sense of satisfaction, as well as pressure from unspoken expectations.
"What made you take so long to get off the train?" Lucius snorted and looked disgusted as soon as he saw Draco.
However, his body language betrayed him, and he automatically took the trolley from his son.
Narcissa took her beloved son's hand and smiled a long-lost smile. "Welcome home, Draco."