novelraw Chapter 34: The Beautiful Golden Thief
Chapter 34: The Beautiful Golden Thief
A/N:
Why hello there, everyone! I've uploaded quite a bit recently, but mass uploads will slow down from here on. On average, chapters are about 3.5k words, so yes—this fanfic is going to be a long one. I have a lot of chapters in reserve, though uploads might not be regular. Thank you for reading, and any comments, reviews, or Power Stones would be greatly appreciated!
Chapter Thirty-Four: The Beautiful Golden Thief
Hermione Granger decided to brew Polyjuice Potion, regardless of whether Harry and Ron supported it or not, and regardless of whether the process would violate school rules.
"Those Slytherins must know something," she said confidently to Harry and Ron, standing in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom with a frown.
She wanted to enter the Slytherin common room to see if she could find out anything about the Slytherin Heir. If she was lucky enough, she also wanted to sneak into that particular Slytherin boy's dormitory and find Herpo's notebook to see what other terrible things were written in it.
Harry and Ron were skeptical of her theories about Draco. They also didn't support her taking such a big risk by brewing some "Polyjuice Potion" based on a baseless suspicion.
"Just ask him!" Ron said impatiently, glancing around the gloomy bathroom. "He'll definitely be willing to tell you something—he always thinks highly of you. By the way, are you two still fighting?"
"He won't tell me! He won't even tell me the legend of the Chamber of Secrets, let alone something as secret as this. And..." Hermione hesitated, not finishing her sentence.
There were many things he asked her to keep secret, and he always kept them hidden from her.
"What else?" Harry asked curiously.
"Nothing! You don't think someone who's the Heir to the Chamber of Secrets would be foolish enough to go around telling everyone, do you? They'd definitely keep quiet!" Hermione said.
"But rather than Draco being the Heir, his father is more suspicious. He's more like the kind of Heir Salazar favors than Draco..." Ron said, face flushed.
Harry shrugged in agreement.
"Fine, so be it," Hermione said sternly.
Hermione knew her idea was mad—but she couldn't help it.
She had to do this, or her heart would be like a cauldron of boiling potion, never finding peace until it boiled dry.
She wasn't being delusional. She already knew the contents of Moste Potente Potions inside and out, and of course she knew how to brew Polyjuice Potion. It was Draco who'd recommended the book to her—and she was contemptuously using his recommendation against him.
Whenever she thought about this, a feeling of self-loathing welled up inside her.
"I hope I'm just overthinking it!" Hermione prayed silently.
Draco might be innocent and have nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets. He didn't seem like an evil boy at all.
He had absolutely nothing to do with evil. He looked as pure and innocent as a unicorn.
Perhaps he was just a bit aloof and liked maintaining his mysterious nature, right? she wondered.
However, she couldn't accept "perhaps."
She needed to be one hundred percent certain about this!
With a mix of trepidation and determination, Hermione—carrying the book Moste Potente Potions, a pile of potion ingredients, a cauldron, a stirring rod, and other miscellaneous items—pushed open the door to the long-neglected girls' bathroom.
Myrtle was sobbing in her cubicle. She'd been mocked by Peeves today, who said she had "spots all over her face," which made her extremely sad and reminded her of some miserable past experiences of being ostracized.
"Myrtle, are you all right?" Hermione asked hesitantly to the ghost in the cubicle.
Upon hearing this greeting, the long-haired, bespectacled ghost immediately stopped crying.
"Oh, Hermione, you're here again." She wiped away her tears, patted her cheeks, and secretly glanced around. "The two boys who came with you yesterday—aren't they here today?"
"You mean Harry and Ron?" Hermione found a relatively dry spot and carefully arranged the bottles and jars. "They think boys shouldn't come to the girls' bathrooms so often. Weren't you a little upset about that yesterday?"
"Indeed, they're right," Myrtle said with a worried look, regretting her earlier words. "But, to be honest—since they've already come once, it doesn't really matter."
"Oh, I'll ask them next time, all right?" Hermione said.
Myrtle nodded and suddenly became happy.
She pushed up her glasses, which wouldn't slip off her ghostly face, and floated around Hermione, asking curiously, "What are you planning to do here? Brew potions?"
"Yes. I think it might be quieter here. You don't mind, do you?" Hermione asked her.
"That's all right. Feel free to use any of the other cubicles besides mine," Myrtle said listlessly.
She stopped crying and went back into the toilet, floating up and humming a tuneless old song.
Hermione carefully set up her cauldron and, with Myrtle's voice playing in the background, went over the ingredients for brewing Polyjuice Potion again in the book: lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass... as well as powdered Bicorn horn... a bit of Boomslang skin... and a little something from the person she wanted to become.
"The fluxweed has to be picked at the full moon... the lacewing flies need to be stewed for twenty-one days... the Bicorn horn is not easy to obtain... as for things like Boomslang skin, I'm afraid I can only try to get my hands on Professor Snape's private stores—I hope he doesn't catch me and turn me into a toad," Hermione murmured.
And so, Hermione began brewing Polyjuice Potion alone, filled with despair and doubt for Draco and a sense of unease.
To some extent, she hoped to prove herself wrong through this.
She hoped more than anyone that her reasoning was wrong.
However, until she figured all of this out, it was difficult for her to return to the days when they'd trusted each other and laughed together.
In the days that followed, Hermione and Draco's relationship reached a stalemate.
Although the two were still partners in Transfiguration, it was as if there was an invisible ice wall between them. In Harry's words, anyone who accidentally got too close to them would be chilled to the bone by the atmosphere.
Draco could sense that Hermione was keeping her distance from him and seemed determined not to make any eye contact with him.
Her cold and haughty attitude made him feel somewhat uncomfortable.
She wouldn't even look at him directly, nor would she touch him in the slightest, as if he were a slug!
Of course! The Gryffindors, who pride themselves on being bright and righteous, certainly wouldn't want to associate with evil Slytherins, Draco thought wearily.
In recent days, students from the other three Houses had been subconsciously keeping their distance from Slytherin students, as if the air around them were poisonous. Many rumors circulated, with people believing that evil students from Slytherin were behind it all.
She was probably no exception.
"You don't have to force yourself." He stared at her tense profile and said coldly, "If you want to change your study partner, just tell me. I fully understand."
"I don't understand what you're talking about," Hermione said, staring at her wand like an emotionless spellcasting puppet.
She was suppressing herself—she couldn't look at him.
She had to suppress herself. The boy was too deceptive.
If he were just a little nicer to her, smiled at her, or even if he didn't smile but simply said a few more words to her casually, all suspicion about him would be dispelled.
Then, she'd probably immediately stop what she was doing and become immersed in the gentle and comfortable atmosphere he'd created, never finding the suspect who opened the Chamber.
"What I mean is, if sitting with 'evil Slytherins' makes you so uncomfortable and unbearable, you can leave." Draco chuckled, lowering his grey eyes, which were filled with faint sadness. "Why make things difficult for yourself and wallow in self-pity?"
"Are you trying to get rid of me? I think you don't want to be my partner anymore, do you? You think I'm not good enough for you, right?" Hermione raised her eyes angrily, wanting to glare at him, but found he was no longer looking at her.
He'd finally revealed his true colors. He wouldn't even look her in the eye anymore.
He felt that she, a Muggle-born witch, was unworthy of learning magic, unworthy of being his partner, and even unworthy of making eye contact with him. Was that what he meant?
"Quite sharp-tongued, and quick to turn the tables." Draco said with a blank face, wondering if her saying "unworthy" was mocking him, as he turned the beetle Professor McGonagall had given him into a magnificent goblet. "Say what you want. Do as you please."
"Very well." Hermione stared blankly at her goblet, face pale. "I'll change partners next lesson and give that 'noble' Slytherin young master some peace!"
"Very good." Draco said wearily, stealing a glance at her. Looking at her haughty profile, he felt she was both so close and so far away, and his heart clenched. "I couldn't ask for more."
Hermione probably doesn't want to be with me anymore.
I knew this day would come, didn't I? Draco thought, face gloomy, as he lowered his head.
Once she knew the legend of the Chamber, she would no longer trust him. She wouldn't reveal Halloween's details to him, but would be wary of him. She'd probably look at him with that cold, unfamiliar gaze again, just like in his past life.
He'd be reverted to his original form, becoming the evil Slytherin once more. The evil Slytherin was "unworthy" of being friends with Gryffindor, or even of being a study partner.
Draco sighed and didn't dare look at her again, missing the fleeting glance the girl beside him secretly cast at him.
Wake up! That intense and unwavering gaze of hers was never meant for you, he told himself, bowing his head.
Like a lone unicorn licking its wounds, he didn't know where to go. His platinum blonde hair fell down, obscuring his eyes and his unsettled sadness.
It's no big deal. I didn't have any expectations or illusions to begin with, did I?
But that frozen heart seemed to have cracked, causing Draco a dull ache.
That's strange. I clearly underwent Occlumency training, yet I still feel inner pain.
Amidst this intermittent torment of inner turmoil, the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor was about to begin.
On Saturday, Draco would face Harry once again at the Quidditch pitch.
This time, he would absolutely not do anything foolish again, letting that damned Snitch go and giving Harry an opportunity.
Referee Madam Hooch was almost driven mad by Draco.
In the week leading up to the match, Draco urged her to check the match balls at least three times.
"Spare me, Mr. Malfoy—these balls are practically worn smooth from handling them so much!" Madam Hooch said angrily.
Marcus Flint, standing nearby, was quite understanding and quickly spoke up for his team's Seeker. "Madam Hooch, it's his first match—he's young and doesn't know much. It's normal for him to be a little nervous."
"All right." Madam Hooch took a deep breath, trying to calm her anger. "This is the final check! The match starts in half an hour, and I still have other preparations to confirm!"
Very good, now I can rest assured. Draco secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
He vividly remembered his first confrontation with Harry.
It was hard for anyone to forget this experience, especially with a horrible ball chasing after you and, in the end, embarrassing yourself in front of your father by breaking your arm.
First, he needed to nip that seemingly cursed ball in the bud, and he'd already largely succeeded.
Secondly, he could focus entirely on dealing with the Golden Snitch. As long as he spotted it before Harry, he was confident that with the speed of his broom, he could catch the Snitch before Harry did.
At eleven o'clock, the whistle blew.
Draco, like the other team members, soared into the smoky grey sky. It was a hot and humid day, with occasional claps of thunder in the air.
Draco looked around intently, searching for that small golden shadow.
Slytherin were in excellent form this year—their morale was high, and they looked like several green streaks in the air. By the time it started raining, Slytherin were already leading sixty-nil.
Draco wiped the rain from his face, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father, Lucius. He was sitting in the stands with the Board of Governors members, his long platinum blonde hair shining even in the rain.
All right, Father, this time I'll show you what I'm capable of, Draco thought.
Just then, he saw the shadow of the thief—its pale golden wings swept across the sky, not far from him.
Draco's lips curled into a smile. He turned and flew over, accelerating as fast as he could, because he saw a red Gryffindor figure following him.
Rather than be caught, the golden thief seemed to prefer staying in the sky a little longer. It sped up, weaving and dodging along the scaffolding beneath the stands, fighting desperately for freedom and attempting to evade capture.
Draco had no choice but to grit his teeth and fly in after it. Harry followed closely behind, along with a damned black ball.
It's that rogue Bludger again!
"What's going on?" Draco yelled at Harry while keeping his eyes firmly on the Snitch. "What's wrong with that Bludger?"
"I don't know! It's been attacking me!" Harry yelled, chasing after Draco. "Can we blow it up?"
"No, no, that's a foul!" Draco shouted.
"That's right!" Harry cried out in despair. "Wood seems to have mentioned it!"
"We can't deal with it unless the match is over! Unless we catch the Snitch!" Draco slowed down a bit and couldn't help but look back at the rampaging ball.
Merlin! The nightmare has begun again.
"Then catch the Snitch! Catch it! And then deal with that mad Bludger!" Harry yelled as he caught up, his broom just a step behind.
Draco could hear the sound of scaffolding being smashed behind him—it was that mindless rogue Bludger that did it.
That shouldn't be the case. Didn't Madam Hooch just check it? He accelerated nervously, afraid of being hit by that mad, rogue Bludger. This thing didn't seem to know anything about "gentleness."
At this point, the Golden Snitch finally tired of its trick of "flying between narrow scaffolds," seized an opportunity, returned to the open space of the pitch, and flew high into the sky.
This was a test of both skill and speed. Draco and Harry not only had to chase the elusive Snitch, but also dodge the dark, round madman.
We need to catch the Snitch first. Otherwise, this will never end.
Draco made up his mind and decided to prioritize the Snitch.
Fortunately, the Golden Snitch was right in front of them. Its dazzling light made the black Bludger behind it seem less important.
Whatever the rogue Bludger—as long as I can get that Snitch, Draco thought irritably.
Closer, closer still, Draco leaned forward and grabbed hard, feeling the cold, rain-soaked Golden Snitch in his palm.
I got it!
A surge of ecstasy rushed through Draco's heart, and he didn't even notice Harry yelling at him from behind, "Get out of the way!"
The Bludger that tried to hit Harry was propelled by Harry's quick dodge and ended up at the back of Draco's broom, smashing the tail of the broom to pieces.
Amid Harry's horrified gaze and his cry of "No!", and a chorus of gasps from the stands, the platinum-blonde-haired boy, like a bird without wings, plummeted straight to the ground in the storm.
When Draco opened his eyes, it was already dark.
The Hospital Wing was empty except for Captain Marcus Flint, who was dozing by his bedside.
"Flint, hiss—" Draco tried to get up, but found that the pain all over his body made it difficult for him to move.
"Please, call me Marcus," the usually fierce Slytherin Quidditch team captain said to Draco with a rare moment of calm.
"Don't move, Draco. You have more than thirty fractures. It's a miracle you only have fractures after falling from such a height." Marcus's words were full of warmth. "The team just came to see you, but you were sleeping, so I sent them back first."
"What happened?" Draco lay there motionless, discovering that only his eyeballs could move.
"You got the Golden Snitch—we won." Marcus nodded to the bedside table next to Draco's bed, where there was a transparent box containing the Golden Snitch that Draco had caught.
A genuine smile appeared on his usually cold face. "That was a beautiful catch, Draco. I don't think anyone will question your abilities anymore, at least not the Slytherins."
"Oh..." Draco's nose tingled, unsure whether it was from the pain or from Marcus's gentle attitude.
"After you fell from the sky, your father and Professor Snape simultaneously cast Cushioning Charms upwards, slowing your fall. When you landed, you lay motionless on the lawn, and everyone was terrified. The Slytherin students all ran down to see you. Potter flew down too, and the Gryffindors came too." Marcus recounted the entire process in detail, and Draco was slightly surprised by his unparalleled patience.
Then it dawned on him. He understood that at this moment, he'd earned Marcus's respect and reverence. This was the only reasonable explanation for why he was willing to go to such lengths to explain all of this to Draco.
"How's Harry Potter?" Draco asked softly. "That rogue Bludger—"
"Potter is fine. As for that rogue Bludger," Marcus chuckled briefly, then said with great interest, "that Gryffindor girl—what was her name again, the one who came to watch your tryouts—is no pushover. She went straight for that rogue Bludger and blasted it to smithereens, leaving not a trace."
Draco gave a strained smile.
Look at the Gryffindor girl he'd chosen. A girl not to be trifled with. A troublesome girl.
Hermione Granger.
Was she worried about him?
Although she'd avoided him like the plague, she'd blown up that rogue Bludger.
Did she still consider him a friend, even if he was an evil Slytherin? A spark of hope rekindled in his heart.
In any case, she'd saved his life, and he should thank her properly, Draco thought.
At this moment, he was clearly in pain all over his body, but the inner pain that had tormented him for so long had mysteriously disappeared.
"And your father was absolutely furious. He was yelling at Professor Dumbledore and Madam Hooch. I don't think he'll let it go. Later, he and we escorted you to the Hospital Wing, and he just left." Marcus recalled Mr. Malfoy's furious outburst at the Hogwarts staff and couldn't help but feel deep respect for him.
"...Your father, he's quite something. That good-for-nothing Lockhart was trying to cast some kind of spell on you, but Mr. Malfoy just shoved him aside. I've never seen a Hogwarts professor so humiliated, standing there obediently being reprimanded," Marcus said gleefully.
He finished recounting everything, shut his mouth, and smiled at Draco.
Thank Merlin! Thank you, Father! Draco had no desire to be treated by that fraud.
"Thank you, Marcus. I'd like to know how long it will be before I can be discharged," he said softly.
"Oh, Madam Pomfrey just gave you some Skele-Gro and Sleeping Draught. I guess you'll be here tonight growing back bones," Marcus shrugged.
At that moment, the Hospital Wing door suddenly opened.
Marcus was astonished to find that the dignified and elegant lady he'd met a few times at social gatherings—Narcissa Malfoy—rushed in like a whirlwind, completely losing her composure.
She ran to Draco's bedside, wanting to touch her son, but afraid of hurting him, she could only helplessly freeze her hand mid-air, asking him in a heartbroken tone, "My poor Draco! How are you feeling?"
Marcus heard Draco say, trying to sound cheerful, "Never been better."
"Like this, completely wrapped in bandages? Thirty-four broken bones?" Narcissa's blue eyes filled with tears as she turned to look at Lucius, who was stepping into the Hospital Wing entrance. Her voice rose angrily, "My son, whom I raised with all my heart and soul, was so healthy and lively when he left home! Only a few months later, he's like this! I told you he was too young—he's only twelve..."
As for Lucius Malfoy, the wizard who'd just been cold and cruel to the professors and had just disciplined Lockhart like a dog, he was now at a loss and even a little... cautious because of his wife's rare emotional outburst.
"Mother!" Draco interrupted Narcissa, disapprovingly, not wanting Marcus to see his spoiled side.
He didn't want to lose the respect he'd worked so hard to earn from the team captain.
Narcissa shut her mouth.
She realized there were other people present.
She realized her hysteria had left no dignity for her husband and son.
She realized that this was something a twelve-year-old shouldn't be reminded of, yet her Draco seemed even calmer than she was.
She stopped, trying to regain composure, feeling somewhat guilty for her undignified outburst.
As for Draco, he couldn't care less about Marcus's feelings—sure enough, speaking loudly caused him extra pain.
His bones were screaming.
Marcus touched his nose—knowing he should give the Malfoys some privacy—and politely, but with a touch of awkwardness, whispered his goodbyes.
He couldn't stay any longer. The notoriously aloof Mrs. Malfoy was shedding tears—unheard of in a century—which made him feel a pang of guilt for illegally employing child labor.
Draco could only say goodbye to him with his eyes.
After Marcus left, Draco whispered to Narcissa, who was wiping away tears, "It's all right, Mother—I'll be fine tomorrow. Look at the first Golden Snitch I caught—it's on the bedside table. Isn't it beautiful?"
Narcissa's lips trembled as she looked at the bedside table. She picked up the transparent box—a beautiful little golden ball was sleeping inside, occasionally fluttering its delicate silver wings.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Mother, don't cry." Draco forced a smile at his mother, trying to ignore the groaning of his bones. "From childhood to adulthood, I've relied entirely on my parents for support, never earning anything on my own. This is the first thing I've earned through my own efforts, and I want to give it to you. Do you like it?"
"I like it... I like it so much," Narcissa said in a trembling voice, repeating herself over and over. She clutched the box tightly in her hands, tears streaming down her face, staining the white sheets with dampness.
"All right, all right, Cissy. Don't worry. Someone will definitely pay the price for this." Lucius comforted her, patting her shoulder, his face clouded with worry.
He studied Draco for a moment, trying to force a strained, distorted smile onto his worried face. "Draco... I, I am proud of you, my son."
"How dare you! Lucius, you're still encouraging him?" Narcissa turned and glared at her husband, her beautiful, fair face clouded with gloom because of his incoherent tone.
But her son was overjoyed at the rare, undisguised praise from his father.
"Oh, of course, be careful. Don't worry your mother anymore." Lucius gave a stiff smile, trying to sound lighthearted. "Next time, stay firmly on the flying broomstick and don't fall off, all right?"
Lucius's heart had nearly stopped the moment he saw Draco fall.
His good-natured but foolish son had almost fallen to his death!
This time he just happened to be there, so he could still save the day. But what about next time? And the time after that?
He couldn't guarantee he'd come to every match, nor could he guarantee he'd cast the spell at every crucial moment.
"All right," Draco agreed to his father, his smile suddenly freezing. He stammered, "My Nimbus 2001—"
"This is not something you should worry about right now. Go to sleep," Lucius glanced at the battered, tailless flying broom lying on the bedside table, waved his hand, and clearly didn't take the matter seriously. "I will take care of the flying broomstick."
Draco was finally relieved.
He smiled at his father and, under the influence of Madam Pomfrey's Dreamless Sleep Potion, drifted into a brief sleep accompanied by bone-growing contractions.