novelraw Chapter 36: The Rogue Bludger and the Disarming Charm
Chapter 36: The Rogue Bludger and the Disarming Charm
Chapter Thirty-Six: The Rogue Bludger and the Disarming Charm
"He looks like he's in a lot of pain—sweat is dripping down his forehead," Harry told Ron in the Gryffindor common room, having slipped back from the Hospital Wing. "He's even gasping for breath when he's talking."
"Just think about it, thirty-four bones!" Ron said with lingering fear. "That's no joke."
Hermione was flipping through Moste Potente Potions by the fireplace, pretending not to care about Draco's injuries.
However, upon hearing Harry's words, she couldn't help but drift off into a daze.
Is he all right? He must be in a lot of pain.
The thought that he'd broken so many bones made her heart ache.
That damned, mad, rogue Bludger! Hermione frowned at the fire.
From the stands, she'd kept watching him through the new Omnioculars Draco had given her.
He'd clearly noticed the danger behind him—he saw that wildly careening Bludger!
But he still went to catch that damned Golden Snitch without hesitation!
He'd risked his life playing Quidditch, and everyone should know that. Those gossipy Hufflepuffs should know, those Slytherin players should know, and the entire school should seriously understand that!
It shouldn't be just her who knew. She already knew how talented he was at flying—he'd taught her to fly in just a few "private lessons."
Draco, as Slytherin's Seeker, could withstand any test.
Then, Hermione watched him fall from the sky. In that moment, whether he was an evil Slytherin, the Heir to the Chamber of Secrets... all her concerns vanished from her mind.
She'd had only one thought: to save him.
But she didn't know how to save him.
Hermione Granger, you don't know enough spells! she thought desperately.
Fortunately, someone in the stands reacted quickly and cast a spell, slowing his descent.
Otherwise—oh Merlin—he might have died!
Even so, he lay motionless and silent on the pitch.
Amidst the startled screams of the girls around her, she pursed her lips and hurriedly rushed from the stands, annoyed by her own utter uselessness. Many Slytherin students were also running down the stairs.
Harry was faster than everyone else. He landed on the ground first and bent down to check on Draco's injuries.
Then, that damned rogue Bludger came rushing over, and now it was even trying to attack them!
Hermione pulled out her wand and, amidst everyone's gasps, blasted the rogue Bludger to smithereens without hesitation—regardless of whether Madam Hooch would later angrily dock fifty points from her.
It was all its fault!
Also, Hermione Granger wanted to reiterate one thing: boys who liked Quidditch were mad!
"Why didn't you stop the match?" Hermione, amidst the growing crowd of Slytherin students, turned angrily to Harry, her eyes fixed on Draco's pale and lifeless face, and demanded, "Why did you have to catch the Golden Snitch?"
"We weren't thinking about that," Harry said dejectedly. "We were just focused on catching the Snitch as quickly as possible, and Draco felt the same way—"
"You're both mad!" she suddenly shouted, then looked at Pansy Parkinson approaching, shoving and pushing aside the Slytherin students before storming off in a huff.
"Watch it!" Pansy Parkinson said irritably from the crowd. "Blaise, are you pulling my hair?"
"Why would I pull your hair?" Blaise Zabini glanced at her, then simply stretched out his arm to shield her. "Can't you be a little more careful? Why do you have to get stuck in the middle of things?"
"I want to see Draco—see how he is!" Pansy yelled dramatically. "Crabbe, Goyle, get out of my way... get out of my way!"
"Get out of my way, all of you!" Marcus Flint rushed over, shoving aside the younger students—regardless of whether they'd stumble—and shouted furiously, "Peregrine, Adrian, get him to the Hospital Wing now, before Lockhart comes looking for trouble! Hurry!"
Forget it, there's no point in staying here, Hermione thought dejectedly as she walked away.
He had plenty of Slytherin friends who cared about him, didn't he? They were all children from wizarding families, "more qualified" to learn magic than she was.
Even without her, there would be others willing to blow up the rogue Bludger for him. Hermione sighed, clenched her fist, and walked faster.
That evening, Harry said he was going to see Draco. She should have been indifferent, but instead, she waited by the fireplace, repeatedly telling Ron, "No, I don't want to worry about Draco. I haven't finished reading Moste Potente Potions yet!"
"Come on! Weren't you bragging to us the other day that you knew it by heart?" Ron grumbled. "Why are all the girls so stubborn? Ginny too—she won't say a word as long as Harry's around..."
She didn't answer, staring at the fireplace flames.
The flickering fire waited patiently until all the students except the two of them yawned and went upstairs, until Harry's figure appeared before them through the portrait hole.
"He's asleep again." Just then, she heard Harry say to Ron, "Madam Pomfrey gave him another dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion."
"Merlin, one dose of potion isn't enough?" Ron clicked his tongue. "You can't drink too much of that stuff."
"What can we do? Even when he's asleep, he's groaning in pain," Harry said anxiously. "Hermione, could you come here for a second? I need to ask you something..."
Hermione was extremely worried.
She seemed somewhat distracted as Harry described the Basilisk. She was also a little absent-minded when Harry mentioned the secrets of Parseltongue—she'd long suspected it—which didn't particularly surprise her. As for tonight's "Colin Creevey incident," although it greatly shocked her, she began drifting off into a daze again after the initial shock.
She was thinking about the boy who was still suffering terribly in his sleep.
Lying on the four-poster bed in her dormitory, she didn't close her eyes for a long time.
She kept thinking about how those bones could regenerate overnight. Did this mean that the Muggle world's three months of suffering would all be inflicted on him in one night?
She tossed and turned, her inner peace gradually eroded by piled-up painful imaginings, and finally decided to abandon Cold War thinking.
I'll go to the Hospital Wing to see him tomorrow, she promised herself, before finally falling asleep peacefully.
However, the next morning, as Hermione excitedly approached the Hospital Wing entrance, she vaguely overheard Draco and Dobby talking.
It was Dobby, the house-elf, who'd bewitched that Bludger! A mix of confusion, anger, and rage welled up inside her.
From Draco's barely concealed anger, she knew he was unaware. And he was seriously injured because of it, wasn't he?
But she still wanted to take her anger out on him—it was his house-elf who'd caused all the trouble!
In a panic, she left the Hospital Wing, unsure how to face this bleak and bizarre situation.
After being discharged from the Hospital Wing, Draco became a Slytherin hero because of that spectacular catch.
When Pansy Parkinson, for the third time at the breakfast table, joined Blaise Zabini in praising Draco's flying skills, Hermione looked up from the next table and glared at Draco with the eyes of someone looking at a traitor, as if silently condemning him.
"All right, sit down. There's nothing to boast about." He uneasily stopped Pansy and Blaise.
"What's with all the modesty? You're just pretending! Too much modesty is arrogance, you hypocrite!" Pansy rolled her eyes at him.
"Yes, after yesterday's match, many people in the House have been praising you highly. I don't think you need to be so serious," Blaise chimed in. "Look at their eyes!"
Draco glanced around the Slytherin table and saw many people nodding and smiling at him, including several older students. Peregrine's partner, the other Beater, Lucian Bole, even shouted at him, "Well done, Draco!"
Draco smiled at him, then lowered his head.
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy being recognized by his arrogant teammates, but at the same time, he felt very uncomfortable.
He never imagined in his two lifetimes that the out-of-control, rogue Bludger was actually Dobby's doing.
If they took a slightly conspiracy-theoretic approach, people would say this was deliberately orchestrated by Draco, just to achieve that "despicable victory."
In his past life, Draco didn't care about the means to achieve victory.
The idea that any means necessary would achieve a goal was common cultural currency in Slytherin. In his past life, Draco was also influenced by his seniors—for example, impersonating a Dementor to scare Potter.
But he'd finally realized that a victory obtained by any means necessary could neither justify the outcome nor earn people's genuine respect.
What Draco wanted was genuine recognition from others, not contempt.
Now, across the Hall, Hermione's disdainful glance rendered the approving looks from everyone at the Slytherin table meaningless, and also made all the sweat, effort, and even the thirty-four broken bones he'd put into Quidditch seem pointless.
Sincerity.
He had no idea how much Hermione had overheard outside the Hospital Wing. Clearly, it was enough to provoke her displeasure with him.
Her attitude toward him was becoming increasingly cold, distant, and indifferent.
However, Harry seemed completely unconcerned about it.
When he encountered Draco in the corridor, he greeted him cheerfully, "How's it going? Have all the bones healed?"
"All right," Draco said cautiously, "it's nothing serious."
"Very good," Harry said in a low voice. "I think I know more about the Basilisk. Hermione told me a bit. We all think it's very likely the theory is true."
"In that case, you should be careful and stop chasing after that voice," Draco advised him. "It's too dangerous."
"Hermione said so too," Harry said. "But now that I can hear it, shouldn't I do something about it? It's hurting people everywhere."
"Then why don't you first figure out how to deal with a Basilisk?" Draco said. "Going head-on without preparation is tantamount to suicide. Besides, I'm still wondering how the Basilisk manages to roam around the school without being detected."
"Yes, do some research." Harry nodded, looking quite agreeable.
That's strange. Hermione doesn't seem to have told Harry about Dobby. Draco observed Harry's open expression and grew suspicious.
Otherwise, there would never be such a sincere smile in those emerald green eyes.
What is she really thinking? Why is she so cold to me yet keeps my secrets?
Does she dislike me or not?
Hermione Granger was like an unfathomable, brown-haired enigma. He couldn't fathom her every move.
Draco stared at her straight back as she sat in the front row, feeling increasingly uneasy and confused.
On Thursday during Potions, Draco finally couldn't resist trying to explain Dobby to Hermione. But she nimbly darted past him, head held high, ignoring him, and went straight to the back of the classroom to sit down, partnering with Neville Longbottom, that hopeless Potions disaster.
Is he even worse than Neville Longbottom? he thought bitterly.
So Draco retreated once again, like a snail retreating into its shell.
His face was ashen, and his mind was focused on the Swelling Solution that Professor Snape had assigned.
That lesson was a disaster.
At the front of the classroom, Goyle's cauldron inexplicably exploded, splashing half the class with the potion.
Lucky she ran to the back; otherwise, that proud little face would have been hurt. As he went to Professor Snape to get Deflating Draught, he couldn't help but think—little girls care most about their faces.
Oh, forget it! Worry about yourself—she doesn't need your concern at all. Draco interrupted his thoughts, applying potion to his swollen nose while thinking viciously.
She'd even be willing to partner with Neville Longbottom and leave you behind!
So he ignored the suspicious switch at the back of the Potions classroom door, ignored the small figure, and ignored the Bicorn horn and Boomslang skin she was holding.
Merlin, please! Hermione Granger, the most well-behaved student in Gryffindor, had actually stolen the Slytherin Head of House's private stores—an absolutely astonishing feat!
Yes, the turmoil in Potions class was something she'd forced Harry and Ron to create—that was it!
Everything was for that cauldron of Polyjuice Potion still simmering in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
"In my opinion, you shouldn't brew that potion, Hermione. He's really not—" Harry said to her as he played Wizard's Chess with Ron.
"How could you be so naive as to be blinded by such sweet talk?" Hermione said. "Don't you think he's getting more and more suspicious? Where does he know so much—about Basilisks and Parseltongue? And he's so confident? Only a culprit would be so confident!"
"He also said these were all just his guesses." Harry hesitantly moved his bishop around, trying to persuade her. "Didn't you say before that he was being secretive? You also said the Heir to the Chamber of Secrets would keep quiet. He seemed quite honest with me, not like what you described. He even advised me not to follow the voice, fearing I might encounter danger—"
"That's possible. They might be afraid you, a Parselmouth, will discover something," Hermione said sarcastically. "The Heir to the Chamber of Secrets probably doesn't want anyone to know his whereabouts, right? You're a Parselmouth, the only person in the entire school who knows exactly when and where the Basilisk is active. Any sensible Heir wouldn't want you to show up rashly and ruin his plans."
"Hermione, I used to think you had a pretty good impression of him. But now I realize you have a lot of prejudice against him." Ron shook his head as he fiddled with his chess set. "To be honest, I think you become particularly harsh when it comes to him."
"Much harsher than on us." Harry shrugged, looking thankful.
"This isn't being harsh, it's being cautious—it's making reasonable inferences! How can you be so trusting? A student has already been Petrified; you should be more vigilant!" Hermione said sternly. "In short, don't tell him what I'm doing! Don't alert him!"
Draco, that manipulative boy, managed to get Harry and Ron completely off guard! He's such a charmer, she thought angrily.
If she told them the secrets she'd kept for him, would they still be so relaxed?
This overly mysterious Slytherin boy always left things unsaid.
But she had no choice but to keep one secret after another for him.
What do you take me for, Draco?
Are you truly the Heir to Slytherin who will open the Chamber of Secrets? Does a calm, composed, intelligent, and studious young man like you have a hidden side?
Are you a hidden madman who wants to cleanse the wizarding bloodline? Like your prejudiced father? Like Voldemort, who was also from Slytherin?
These speculations and doubts left Hermione breathless.
She couldn't accept a bad answer, but she had to know! Charging past the portrait of the Fat Lady, Hermione once again headed toward the girls' bathroom.
The Duelling Club opened in the third week of December.
At eight o'clock in the evening, all the students in the school crowded into the Great Hall with their wands, and the long dining tables had disappeared.
Draco impatiently stayed in a corner of the Hall, not wanting to join the chaos.
He'd long anticipated that this would be far more of a disaster than the Potions lesson on brewing Swelling Solution.
As always, Lockhart was utterly incompetent and lacked any organizational skills. Under his irresponsible and haphazard command, the Duelling Club soon descended into chaos.
"The original purpose of tonight was for students to practice their duelling spells, but Lockhart doesn't know any spells at all," Draco heard Blaise say to Pansy. "Still think Lockhart is invincible? He himself was knocked away by Professor Snape."
Then, Draco, looking completely innocent, was once again chosen by Professor Snape to be Harry's duelling partner.
He frowned slightly.
Yesterday's events repeated—how embarrassing!
This was the moment Draco least wanted to duel Harry.
The disparity in skill was complete. Any spell he cast was like swatting a child. With Lockhart's command, Draco waved his wand and disarmed the innocent Harry.
"Here you go." Draco tossed Harry's wand to him, his eyes suddenly catching sight of Hermione.
She was duelling with a Slytherin girl named Millicent Bulstrode.
This wasn't a duel—it was violence. They hadn't even used spells. Millicent had Hermione's head in a headlock, making the little girl whimper in pain, and both their wands lay on the floor.
"Harry, help!" Draco shouted at him. The two immediately forgot about the duel and rushed forward to pull Millicent away.
"Hermione, are you all right?" Harry asked her.
"I'm all right... thank you." Draco's heart tightened when he heard her weak voice.
"Why are you helping the other House?" Millicent asked, shaking off Draco. "I was about to win!"
"Are you using your wand, Bulstrode?" Draco said coldly, resisting the urge to look in Hermione's direction, and instead reprimanding Millicent with a stern face. "Are you a witch or a Muggle? You're not bringing honor to the House—you're disgracing Professor Snape!"
Millicent Bulstrode was somewhat unconvinced and wanted to say something more, but was interrupted by Professor Snape's voice.
"You're right, Draco." His voice drifted slowly from the stage. "Professor Lockhart, look at this chaos. How many people are using spells? Perhaps we should have Malfoy and Potter demonstrate the proper way to duel."
To Hermione's surprise, Draco and Harry, as opponents, reluctantly stepped onto the duelling stage, one after the other.
Professor Snape taught Draco Serpensortia once again, but he was destined to be disappointed.
Draco didn't want to use that spell again. Professor Snape teaching him to conjure a snake was a terrible mistake.
If this tactic was used, the fact that "Harry is a Parselmouth" would be exposed, which would attract endless gossip.
"Expelliarmus." With a casual wave of his wand, he disarmed Harry once again.
Suddenly, Draco had a thought and turned to look at Professor Snape, noticing a regretful expression on his face.
What does this mean? Did Professor Snape do it on purpose? Did he deliberately teach me Serpensortia? Draco wondered in surprise.
Did Professor Snape know that Harry spoke Parseltongue, or was he testing Harry?
Could Professor Snape have anything to do with the Chamber of Secrets?
That's impossible. Draco thought. In my past life, Professor Snape wasn't affected by the Chamber of Secrets events in the slightest.
He must not be involved. Draco's thoughts raced before he finally came to this conclusion.
"It really isn't your fault." Draco stepped off the stage and handed Harry's wand back to him, comforting him. "That fraud Lockhart probably didn't teach you anything before letting you go up there, right?"
Harry nodded, looking somewhat embarrassed.
"Come on, let me teach you this spell. The Disarming Charm—it's actually quite useful," Draco said meaningfully. Harry had used it quite a bit in his previous life.
"That said, this is a basic spell that every qualified Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher must master. I don't understand why Lockhart doesn't know it." He casually criticized Lockhart.
"I've noticed that too. Lockhart doesn't know anything at all," Harry agreed.
By the time the club ended, Harry had mastered the Disarming Charm and successfully disarmed Ron's wand three times.
"Pretty good, very talented." Draco raised an eyebrow, acknowledging Harry's skill with spells.
He didn't spar with Harry directly anymore—he cherished his wand and didn't want to risk being disarmed.
He still vividly remembered the fear of losing his wand in his past life.
"Draco, listen, Hermione..." Harry hesitated, wanting to tell Draco what Hermione had been up to lately.
Harry thought Hermione was being far too fanatical about Polyjuice Potion.
He never believed that Draco could be the "evil Heir to the Chamber of Secrets." Hermione's suspicions might have gone astray.
However, Hermione was walking over alertly. Just as Harry was about to speak, she glared at him, which made Harry immediately surrender.
So he could only smile apologetically at Draco and say, "It's nothing."
It would be strange if nothing happened, Draco rolled his eyes, thinking to himself: Hermione must be planning something, and Harry must know the truth.
He glanced at Hermione. The little girl seemed unharmed, at least not injured by Bulstrode's roughness, and still had the energy to glare at him, turning her back on him.
He gave a wry smile, put his mind at ease, and decided to ignore their "little secret," leaving the Great Hall in a foul mood.
Behind him, the little brown-haired witch turned around, silently vowing: Draco Malfoy, just wait—I'll expose your secret!
She was so engrossed in watching the boy's retreating figure that she forgot to ask herself why she treated Draco with such obsession, contradiction, and unease, caring so much about his every move, and desperately hoping he wasn't the one who'd opened Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets.