novelraw Chapter 32: The Seeker's Protectors
Chapter 32: The Seeker's Protectors
Chapter Thirty-Two: The Seeker's Protectors
By October, Draco was not surprised to find that Harry seemed to dislike Lockhart even more, and would try sticking close to walls to avoid him whenever they crossed paths.
Even so, Draco still managed to encounter Harry looking embarrassed several times—he was always being dragged along by Lockhart for glamorous photos in the corridors.
There was also an annoying first-year who constantly surrounded Harry with a camera, taking numerous pictures—often of him awkwardly dodging.
Is that annoying git named Colin Creevey? Draco sighed and decided to ignore him.
There was nothing he could do to help.
This was perhaps the so-called "celebrity troubles" that Harry himself had to face.
The reason Draco was too busy to attend to this was that he himself was extremely occupied.
He needed to participate in Slytherin's Quidditch practice three times weekly as Seeker, which was exhausting.
Not that he feared getting tired. In his previous life, he'd participated in plenty of arduous Quidditch training—it was more enjoyable than tiring.
The wonderful sensations that flight brought always captivated Draco.
The twists and turns between goalposts, the darting and weaving through the air, the thrilling and sudden dives—all these gave him a faint sense of proof that he was still alive, a vitality resurrected from death.
"Hey, Malfoy, watch out—you're going way too steep with that dive!" Chaser Adrian Pucey nearly stumbled from the gust of wind as Malfoy charged past, yelling, "I almost thought you were a Bludger!"
"It wasn't on purpose!" Draco suddenly lifted the broom handle, soaring into the air, and shouted back at him.
"New players are always like that—too excited, too cocky." Beater Peregrine Derrick grinned, shook his bat, and said to his teammate Lucian Bole beside him, "I wonder how good his reflexes are."
"Malfoy, take this!" he shouted, swatting a Bludger hurtling toward him.
That madman, Peregrine Derrick! Just as insane as he was in his past life—definitely the original! Draco cursed inwardly, hanging upside down on the broom and performing a Sloth Grip Roll.
"This isn't funny at all!" Draco yelled at him through the howling wind. "You're supposed to be protecting the Seekers!"
"Very agile!" the Beater exclaimed excitedly. "One more?"
Draco rolled his eyes at the sky.
Peregrine Derrick was a dark-haired, upperclassman Slytherin who was somewhat unruly and one of the team's biggest troublemakers. But undeniably, his Beater skills were top-notch, which gave him the right to be arrogant and only respect those who truly possessed Quidditch ability.
Having lived a second life, Draco now understood his personality very well.
You couldn't show weakness against Peregrine Derrick—you had to be tough.
So, before the second Bludger came, Draco charged straight at him, using a Transylvanian Tackle to scare him. At the last moment, instead of touching the Beater's nose, he deftly dodged and, with a clever twist, snatched the bat from his hand.
"How's that?" Draco asked, hovering mid-air, hefting the bat.
"You've got nerve, Draco Malfoy! I'm starting to like you," the arrogant Beater laughed loudly mid-air, not angry at all. "They definitely underestimated you!"
Very good, Draco thought calmly. Peregrine Derrick's approval would save him considerable trouble—his teammates, whose skills were inferior to Derrick's, should think twice about whether they had the ability to mess with him.
"Malfoy, come here!" Flint shouted to Draco from the stands.
Draco tossed the bat back to Derrick, and moments later landed lightly in the stands, standing before his captain, letting him look him over.
"You've surprised me a bit, Malfoy. You're like a Golden Snitch. In a word—agile." Flint nodded smugly at him, hands on his hips facing the pitch. "Look at this pitch. Soon it'll be packed with spectators, and they might be cheering for your brilliant performance."
This was Captain Slytherin's inspirational speaking technique.
Flint spoke privately with each player every year to offer words of encouragement.
Draco stood silently beside him, looking out at the empty stadium. Several silver-green figures, enhanced by Nimbus 2001s, blurred into afterimages.
He could hear his teammates yelling at each other, hitting Bludgers, or throwing the Quaffle.
This feeling was both familiar and strange.
Returning to the pitch, he felt both reborn and apprehensive.
He didn't know how he'd feel facing those spectators—whether he'd be thrilled or still feel utterly despondent.
"Malfoy, I originally thought you were too pampered to keep up with the training pace, but you're actually promising talent. If you keep training like this, you'll definitely surprise them when you get on the pitch," Flint said with satisfaction. He stopped looking at Draco and instead squinted at the afterimages, looking smug and confident, as if determined to win this year's Quidditch Cup.
Draco, on the other hand, wanted to continue training for much longer.
Let alone three days weekly—even seven days of training would be fine.
He'd done this in his previous life.
But right now, he couldn't push himself that hard. Overtraining would exhaust him.
His frail twelve-year-old body wasn't yet as strong, robust, and sturdy as it had been at fifteen or sixteen.
This mismatch between his physical and psychological state sometimes made him feel very disappointed.
The good thing was that it meant there was still time before the Dark Lord's rise to power, so he had to hurry and deal with that damned Horcrux as soon as possible.
When he wasn't training, he'd spend long periods in the library, busy studying Ancient Greek and translating that damned, obscure little black diary.
He had no idea how useful the little black book really was.
This caused him to struggle with translation while simultaneously doubting himself.
This damn incomprehensible book! To some extent, Draco was even looking forward to the Chamber of Secrets opening. If he could get his hands on a Basilisk fang—which would be the end of all problems—wouldn't he not have to translate this book?
For a moment, Draco couldn't tell whether the translation work was more tiring or the new identity of "the Seeker" was more exhausting.
Meanwhile, Draco's identity as "Slytherin's new Seeker," just like in his previous life, caused Hogwarts students to gossip about him—in a rather unfriendly way.
That day, as Draco stood beside a crowded bookshelf, bending down to retrieve the thick Ancient Greek dictionary, several students' words inadvertently drifted into his ears.
"No matter what, this is blatant corruption!" Draco could see a blond boy through the tiny gap between books and bookshelf. "Slytherin is filthy, making a second-year the Seeker!"
"So, Ernie, he really got onto the House team by donating brooms? That Malfoy?" A boy with a full head of curly hair asked.
"Justin, it's so obvious. What other family besides the Malfoys could pull off something like this? I heard Slytherin's captain, Marcus Flint, bragging about it to Gryffindor's captain, Oliver Wood. Seven brand-new, gleaming racing brooms—Nimbus 2001s..." Ernie said, tone somewhat indignant.
Draco could even hear the students gasping in envy.
Money is a powerful thing. Even when mocking me, there's undisguised envy in their eyes, Draco thought sarcastically. He lazily stood, preparing to leave.
Nobody wanted to listen to gossip about themselves. Even if Draco's heart had been tempered to be stronger than in his previous life, there was no need to create unnecessary trouble, was there?
"Oh, shut up—you don't know anything!" A somewhat familiar voice angrily interrupted the conversation.
Draco stopped and turned back in confusion, peering through the gap—it was Hermione.
She hadn't appeared in his library's private space for several days.
That made sense. After all, she was no longer that unpopular Gryffindor girl, and naturally no longer needed to hide under his protection—this corrupt Slytherin's.
Hermione stepped out from the other side of the bookshelf and said to Ernie with a haughty expression, "If I were you, I'd be careful with my words. I'd at least know all the facts before speaking."
The boy named Ernie looked very unhappy at being rudely interrupted.
He was half a head taller than Hermione, making her appear exceptionally petite as he approached. "What does this have to do with an ignorant Gryffindor girl like you?" he said angrily.
"Ernie, don't talk like that—she doesn't mean any harm..." said a brown-haired girl.
"Susan Bones, we're arguing about Slytherin! Think about what this House represents! This is a matter of principle, a battle between good and evil! This isn't the time for you to take her side, even if you're both Lockhart's biggest fans!" Ernie said impatiently, continuing to glare at Hermione.
The girl named Susan immediately fell silent.
"You, a Hufflepuff, can spread rumors everywhere, but I can't come and refute them?" Hermione raised her head, her imposing manner not at all suppressed by Ernie's height. She said righteously, "I witnessed the Slytherin tryouts with my own eyes that day. He won the Seeker position fair and square, defeating all the other candidates."
"What are you doing watching Slytherin tryouts? Since when did a Gryffindor start defending Slytherin by any means necessary? Are you even thinking straight? Do you know what you're doing?" Ernie's face showed a contemptuous and puzzled expression.
"This has nothing to do with Houses! No one should be wronged! Who gave you the right to call yourself righteous? Maybe you're the destroyer of justice yourself!" Hermione's face flushed red. She threw down these words and stormed around the bookshelf, ignoring Susan's attempts to persuade her to stay. She wanted to leave this group of boring, gossipy Hufflepuffs.
What right do they have to say that about him? They know nothing!
What does this have to do with Houses? And what does it have to do with justice and evil?
To categorize something as good or evil based on Houses is pure prejudice!
He's just an innocent Slytherin boy, completely unrelated to evil!
When she'd lost fifty points last school year, he was the only one willing to encourage her. Back then, the Gryffindor students all treated her like she had dragon pox! She thought, pursing her lips.
There were indeed rumors questioning the legitimacy of Draco being given the Seeker position.
This was exactly what Harry had experienced last year. There were always people who looked at others with malice and slandered them wantonly, without considering the impact of their words on the person involved!
Hermione grew angrier the more she thought about it.
At the same time, worry for him welled up in her heart: If that boy heard such talk, would a sad expression appear on his usually calm and indifferent face?
She stormed around the bookshelf and suddenly realized that the boy she was worried about was standing there.
A rare smile appeared on his pale face as he looked at her with gentle eyes.
"Hermione, thank you for speaking up for me," he said, a beautiful smile curving at the corners of his mouth—the kind Hermione sometimes imagined.
He looks really good when he smiles, Hermione thought to herself.
"Oh, you're welcome. I think I know your flying skills better than anyone else. You taught me to fly very well last year, and you can even take passengers, but they don't know..." she said hurriedly, face slightly flushed.
There were many reasons to blush.
For example, it might be lingering effects from her emotional outburst during the argument; or it might be embarrassment that he'd seen her throwing a tantrum; in short, she would never admit it was because his smile was too handsome.
"I don't care about their gossip—you can never shut everyone up. But I'm glad you didn't misunderstand me." Draco lowered his head, pretending to flip through the dictionary in his hand, to hide the sudden surge of tears welling in his eyes.
Being talked about behind one's back was always unpleasant.
Even though he thought he was mature and tough enough, in the end, he found he was still someone who could be hurt and cared about others' opinions.
If no one had defended him today, he would probably have pretended not to care, quietly walked away as if nothing happened, and continued numbing himself. But once someone spoke up for him, he couldn't help caring, and even felt some unfamiliar emotions—heartache and grievance.
These strange feelings were so intense and overwhelming that they startled even himself.
When he discovered the person who'd spoken up for him was actually Hermione Granger, his surprise and emotion doubled.
After all, in his past life, she'd mocked him about the Seeker. Those sharp words from her had stayed with him for a very long time.
But now, all those memories had vanished like smoke.
He was at peace with it.
Most importantly, she'd believed in him at that moment and was willing to defend him. That was enough.
At this moment, she was willing to believe he had the ability to be Seeker.
Now, she might be the only one willing to believe in him so passionately and speak up for him.
This realization was like an axe, breaking a small hole in his heart, which was as hard as ice.
It was late autumn in October, but it felt as if a warm April breeze was blowing toward him, and a small section of the frozen riverbed cracked open with a ridiculous crack.
As Hermione said, Draco hadn't gotten onto the team entirely by donating brooms, which would be underestimating the ambition of the Slytherin Quidditch team.
This concerned the honor and disgrace of the entire House for the whole year—how could it be treated so lightly?
People generally thought of Slytherin captain Flint as rude and uncouth—and to some extent that was true—but he was also a very responsible and ambitious captain.
Flint wanted Slytherin to win the Quidditch Cup more than anyone else. All players were rigorously selected by him, including Draco, the Seeker.
Money and financial support could win a Slytherin's favor, and perhaps even grant a ticket to participate in tryouts. But ability was the decisive factor in earning a Slytherin's respect.
But people often overlooked a Slytherin's effort, talent, and hard work.
It seemed the phrase "by any means necessary" could sum up everything about Slytherin.
Hermione secretly glanced at the boy with his head down. His profile was shrouded in shadow cast by the bookshelf, and although she couldn't see his expression, she could feel the sadness emanating from him in the silence.
"Oh, right, Draco, I'm here to thank you for the birthday present—" she wisely changed the subject, pretending not to see the glistening in his eyes, tone cheerful. "A very useful pair of Omnioculars."
"I'm glad you like them." Draco composed himself, looked up, and said with sudden enthusiasm, "This is the latest model. You'll find them particularly useful at Quidditch matches—they've used the newest lenses, making them much clearer than the old ones."
Hermione stared intently at his face, and only when she saw he seemed to have stopped dwelling on the gossiping students did she feel relieved and happily nodded.
Noticing the dictionary Draco was holding, she asked with interest, "Is this Ancient Greek? I didn't know Hogwarts had such a course."
"It's not part of the school curriculum, just some extracurricular research," Draco explained to her as he walked toward his private space.
"It's a very unusual hobby," Hermione said, catching up. She felt she shouldn't leave him alone now. At least, someone should talk to him a little longer.
So she adopted a surprised tone and extended the conversation. "I thought no one but me would like this language."
Draco raised an eyebrow and glanced at her. "It sounds like you speak Ancient Greek."
"Just a little bit. My mother used to take an elective course in Ancient Greek, and she always loved reading Dante and Plato in Ancient Greek as my bedtime stories..." Hermione said calmly, but Draco sensed her slight boastfulness.
Mrs. Granger, who seems gentle and kind, is being a bit too strict with her daughter, isn't she? Don't underestimate Draco's knowledge of Muggles.
Most Muggle kids probably listened to bedtime stories like Snow White, right?
However, at this moment, Mrs. Granger's approach to childrearing proved very beneficial and a pleasant surprise.
"Very impressive," Draco said seriously, satisfying the little girl's vanity.
"Then, could you please translate this for me? What does this passage say?" He took out a page from his little black diary and carefully handed it to Hermione.
Hermione was clearly a little smug. She was glad she could help Draco. Helping him in some way—perhaps the best way to ease her sympathy and worry for him.
"I can give it a try. Come on, bring that dictionary—let's look at it together," she said enthusiastically.
And so, a fluffy brown head and a smooth platinum blonde head leaned side by side on that comfortable, spacious sofa, engrossed in the ocean of Ancient Greek.
After an afternoon of work, the text was finally presented to Draco in a language he could understand, with clear logic.
"I was born in a remote village on the Mediterranean coast, and people called me Herpo. I was captivated by the wonder and intricacy of magic, and I discovered many fascinating things. They called it heresy, evil. But what's wrong with magic? I enjoy the joy of exploration. If anyone sees my notes, sees my achievements, please pass them on—don't bury them. Remember, it's not magic itself that's wrong, but the people who use it to do wrong..."
"I've heard of him!" Hermione's brown eyes gleamed in the firelight. "That could be the despicable Herpo, that Dark wizard from ancient Greece! I've read about him in a book!"
"Really? Tell me more about him," Draco said with interest.
This is truly remarkable! She actually knows things that Draco doesn't, Hermione thought.
"I stumbled upon that book while browsing," she recalled the passage softly. "Herpo the Foul was an Ancient Greek Dark wizard. He was one of the earliest known Dark wizards, and many of his studies still influence Dark Magic today. He's known as the first wizard to breed a Basilisk. In addition, he invented many evil curses and became the first wizard to successfully create a Horcrux. He was also one of the earliest Parselmouths."
The amount of information was overwhelming. Draco looked bewildered, his mind reeling. It not only involved Horcrux knowledge appearing in the notes, but even mentioned the Basilisk.
So, the problems that have appeared at Hogwarts in the past two years were basically set up by Herpo before 100 AD.
"Hermione, you're amazing. Your knowledge is so vast that sometimes I feel like you're not a Muggle-born witch..." Draco said sincerely after a moment of hesitation.
He'd never paid attention to the name "Herpo" in either of his lives.
If it weren't for her reminder, he might not have realized how important the little black diary in his possession was.
"Where did you get this text from?" Hermione asked, watching him warily.
"I saw it in a notebook," Draco said briefly. "I can show it to you next time if you're interested."
"Why would you think I'm interested in evil Dark Magic?" Hermione asked with a look of disgust, and then seriously advised him, "I suggest you don't try to learn about it either—it sounds dangerous."
"Of course, I won't actually practice it—I just want to learn about it," Draco said.
Hermione didn't believe him; instead, her expression became even more suspicious.
Under her intense gaze, Draco knew she hadn't given up her suspicions about him. His eyes darted around, and he countered, "So, when you encounter something new and unfamiliar, your first reaction isn't to explore, but to run away?"
"That's not quite right. Of course I'm curious too. There were several terms in that description I didn't quite understand, like Horcruxes. I've never heard of them before, and I couldn't find them in the library." Hermione's face showed a look of doubt.
"It's probably some kind of evil Dark Magic," Draco said somewhat awkwardly, giving Hermione a vague answer.
He didn't really want her to know too much about Horcruxes—it was too dangerous for her.
She'd better not be in danger.
Even just swooning over Lockhart is better than studying Horcruxes, Draco thought through gritted teeth.
But in Hermione's eyes, this attitude was somewhat evasive. Moreover, he'd admitted his research involved "evil Dark Magic."
As a result, she looked at him with even more suspicion and uncertainty, as if seeing him for the first time.
Just as she'd been arguing for him, believing he had nothing to do with evil, she seemed to discover his unknown dark hobbies.
She wasn't sure if she could understand the merits of this wicked hobby.
Draco braced himself for Hermione's scrutiny, not intending to explain further.
He tried to focus all his attention on Herpo's notes.
Who translated that passage about Horcruxes from Ancient Greek to English?
Draco sincerely hoped it would be anyone but the Dark Lord.
It wasn't impossible for the Dark Lord to have translated it, Draco thought. After all, before the first downfall, the Dark Lord had always favored the Malfoy family—perhaps not only because of their connections, wealth, and methods, but also because of their rich background in Dark Magic.
"So, what is Parselmouth?" Hermione persisted, her eyes still glancing at the parchment.
"Oh, I do know that. Parselmouth refers to people who can speak Parseltongue and communicate with snakes." Draco carefully put away the parchment filled with translations, deciding not to let her read any further.
Hermione Granger, with her boundless curiosity as abundant as her thick hair and her frighteningly active mind, bombarded him with a barrage of pointed questions that left him somewhat overwhelmed.
"This is an extremely rare ability, and few wizards can master it. The last wizard known for his Parseltongue was Salazar Slytherin." He thought for a moment, then briefly told her some information, attempting to deflect.
Actually, those were just superficial contents that could be found in Hogwarts: A History.
Parseltongue. If Hermione had just looked it up in books, she would have known that among modern wizards, the Dark Lord was a well-known Parselmouth.
In his past life, at Malfoy Manor, the Dark Lord was always inseparable from the giant snake named Nagini, hissing at it in a language no one could understand.
Another Parselmouth who was about to become world-famous was Harry Potter.
Perhaps he should subtly remind Harry at the appropriate time, at least to prevent him from revealing the secret in front of everyone and being gossiped about by those ignorant students who believed everything they heard—especially the Hufflepuffs.
After all, being misunderstood was not a pleasant experience, even if some of the misunderstood information was based on basic facts. Draco smiled bitterly and fell into deep thought.