novelraw Chapter 38: The Private Bedroom at the Bottom of the Lake
Chapter 38: The Private Bedroom at the Bottom of the Lake
Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Private Bedroom at the Bottom of the Lake
This was Hermione Granger's first time entering a boy's dormitory.
Draco's bedroom.
She was naturally very curious. Everything about him intrigued her, especially in such a private place.
However, Hermione couldn't bring herself to openly and brazenly look around.
After discussing the conjecture about the Basilisk, she held the steaming cup and stared blankly at a single tea leaf standing upright in it: When will the party outside finally end?
"I'll go out and check things," Draco said after a moment's hesitation. "Don't be afraid—I won't lock the door. Wait here for a bit, all right?"
"Will other people come in to see you?" Hermione asked. "Will they just barge into your room or something?"
"No one dares break in without permission," he said bluntly. "However, in very rare cases, Blaise and Theodore will show up uninvited."
Seeing the faint worry on Hermione's face, he said easily, "It's all right—they're all very busy today. They probably won't come looking for me."
Draco knew that Theodore had gone home for Christmas, and Blaise, as long as he could argue with Pansy, would never bother him to kill time.
The boy went out and gently closed the door behind him.
Hermione turned her head and stared blankly at the shimmering silver fish outside the window for a while, then stared at the Giant Squid swaying its tentacles in the corner of the window for a moment. Finally, she couldn't help but turn her gaze to the interior of the spacious private bedroom.
The style here was completely different from the flamboyant and lively atmosphere of the Gryffindor dormitories. Elegant emerald green and silver filled the entire room—very Slytherin.
She was surprised to find that this color combination wasn't offensive, but rather calming.
Are all Slytherin dormitories this exquisitely furnished? Hermione wondered.
If you treated this place as a corner of an antique exhibition, those Muggle tourists would probably believe it.
The walls were inlaid with many exquisite silver candlesticks, and the flickering candlelight reflected mysterious, unpredictable shadows throughout the room.
A large fireplace made of white marble, covered with intricate relief patterns, stood quietly. In the center of the fireplace, within a carved black marble surround, flickering flames warmed the entire room.
On the foldable leather-embossed desk at the far end of the room, there were several intricately designed silver candlesticks.
Hermione strolled over and browsed the desk, finally picking up a silver cherub-shaped candlestick with scrolling floral patterns. By the flickering light, she admired for a moment the smooth wood inlays and the French Baroque bronze sculptures on the desk.
The hand-embroidered medieval tapestry depicting Slytherin's adventures hanging on the wall had a rather intricate pattern, and the mermaid swimming outside the window looked rather ugly. The silver floral scroll bookcase, crammed full of books, was much more appealing.
Hermione perked up immediately upon seeing the books. She excitedly ran over and held up the candlestick to illuminate the titles: One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Magical Drafts and Potions, The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, Forgotten Ancient Magic and Spells...
He seemed no different from any other exceptionally studious young wizard—except for being somewhat interested in Dark Magic, Hermione secretly shook her head.
Just then, a slight rattling sound came from the keyhole. Was it him—or someone else?
Hermione was a little flustered.
Instinctively, she quickly placed the charming candlestick on the table, opened the wardrobe door beside her, and rushed inside in a panic. However, once inside, she realized that the wardrobe door couldn't be closed properly from within.
The awkward thing was, it was too late to find another hiding place. She heard the door open. She couldn't even let go, or the wardrobe door would open even wider.
She could only close the tiny crack little by little with one finger, silently praying that no one would notice it.
The unhurried footsteps grew closer.
Her finger was pinched.
"Got you." A boy's voice, tinged with a slight smile, came from outside the wardrobe.
With a creak, the Rococo-style wardrobe door slowly opened. She peeked out from behind a long robe that smelled of boyish freshness and saw Draco standing outside, tilting his head and staring intently at her.
"What a weird habit, hiding in wardrobes—pretending to be a Boggart?" He couldn't help but laugh, seemingly amused by her current appearance. "I wouldn't mind if you lived in there, if you don't find it boring."
"I wasn't planning on staying in there. I thought someone else had come!" Hermione popped out from behind his robes, striking a proud pose, and hurriedly explained, "I don't want to be discovered—"
"Yes, that's the kind of awareness you should have." He released his grip on her finger and naturally raised his arm so she could support herself as she jumped out steadily. "If you'd figured it out earlier, you wouldn't have ended up in my hands after running in and 'getting caught.'"
She landed lightly on the carpet in front of the wardrobe, and upon hearing this, she glared at Draco with a distressed expression.
He glanced at her face, which was flushed with indignation, and asked in a softer voice, "Are you hungry? I brought some strawberry ice cream cake."
"I'm not hungry—" she said stubbornly, ignoring the protests of her stomach that she'd silenced during the argument.
"Then have some more with me," he said lazily, walking toward the coffee table in front of the fireplace—where some refreshments he'd just brought in were arranged. "I didn't really enjoy dinner—I didn't eat enough."
Hermione followed him reluctantly.
She felt he was implying something, but she had no proof.
Moreover, the cake did look quite nice, as did the delicate little pastries beside it.
"Where did you get all this?" Hermione asked in surprise. "Did you pack up the Christmas feast?"
What is she thinking? Draco shook his head inwardly. She actually thinks I'd pack up leftovers for her?
"No. They're all freshly made, never been served," Draco said briefly. "We got them through some special channels."
"House-elf channels," he chuckled smugly.
"It's happening again... special channels... all mysterious." She muttered under her breath, frowning. She couldn't resist taking a bite of the cake, a satisfied look on her face. Then she scooped up a large piece with her spoon.
Draco smirked and gave her a knowing look. "You spent the whole night thinking about how to sneak in, didn't you?"
Look how hungry this little girl is.
Hermione lowered her head guiltily, pretending to examine the strawberries in the cake, and didn't answer.
Draco sat on the sofa behind the coffee table, staring at her for a while without touching the food.
"After you finish eating, go to bed and take a nap. The bathroom door is over there, and there are new toiletries and bedding in the cabinet next to the sink," he said to her matter-of-factly.
Seeing Hermione nod obediently at him, he became even happier and refilled her tea. "I reckon they'll be making a ruckus for a while longer—the party won't end so soon."
Hermione wanted to fight off sleepiness for a little longer.
But after she finished the cake, a feeling of fatigue and drowsiness gradually overwhelmed her. She'd already experienced too many emotional ups and downs and tense atmosphere today, and the sudden relaxation naturally made her feel tired.
She quietly yawned and looked at Draco. "And—what about you?"
"I'm going to wait in the common room outside for a while. I'll come and get you when no one's around." Draco took a wool blanket from the wardrobe and placed it in Hermione's arms. "It's new."
"Wait—" Before she could finish speaking, Draco quickly left.
Of course he had to leave. Any gentleman would give the girl enough privacy in this situation.
Hermione stood there stunned for a few seconds, then decided to stop being coy. She went to the bathroom briefly, then climbed into his bed and covered herself with the blanket embroidered with silver Slytherin serpents.
Well, it's good to rest for a while. Even if I can't sleep, it will relieve some fatigue, Hermione thought.
She thought she wouldn't be used to sleeping in the unfamiliar bed and would toss and turn for a long time, just like the first few nights when she'd first arrived at Hogwarts.
But unexpectedly, she obeyed Hypnos's summons almost as soon as she touched his pillow.
She was completely unaware of her sweet and comfortable dreams.
It wasn't until four in the morning that Hermione vaguely felt someone shaking her arm.
That must be a dream.
In her dream, there was an enlarged, exquisite face. Light eyebrows, golden hair, deep double eyelids, pale grey eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and thin lips tinged with pink—like a delicate porcelain doll.
Hermione wasn't awake at all.
With her eyes half-closed, she reached out and tugged at the doll's ears, then ruffled its hair, murmuring in her sleep, "Cute."
She huddled deeper into the blanket, tilted her head, and fell asleep again.
Draco's ear was pulled red.
Hermione Granger, that audacious little girl! Who else but her would dare to pull me like that?
However, he didn't even have time to stop her! Everything happened too suddenly.
She'd barely opened her eyes, and didn't even have a chance to notice the deliberate aloofness in his gaze.
Draco stared at her sleeping profile, completely at a loss.
"Fine, go to sleep, since you praised me," he muttered under his breath, and got out of bed again.
The next day, as sunlight streamed into the Black Lake and dappled through the windows of the dormitory, Hermione finally woke from her dreams.
As her consciousness gradually returned, she felt the soft, warm bed, the dim, gentle light, and the faint, refreshing scent of watermelon surrounding her...
Hermione sniffed the pillow contentedly, not wanting to open her eyes, and planned to stay in bed for five more minutes before returning to her studies.
She seemed still lost in a dream. She'd been practicing flying, and the boy in front of her had platinum blonde hair...
As she savored the lingering effects of her dream, she gradually came to her senses.
She stared blankly at the dark green velvet curtains above her head, wondering why they weren't the usual deep red.
Looking down at the silver-embroidered bedsheet beneath her, she felt even more bewildered.
Where am I?
Suddenly, she remembered everything.
Oh no! I'm still in Draco's dormitory!
Where is he?
She jumped off the springy four-poster bed, glanced around the room in alarm, and spotted him on the long armchair by the fireplace. She tiptoed over to see the boy curled up on it.
He was covered with a Slytherin green blanket, and his platinum blonde hair, no longer shiny and smooth as before, was fluffy and messy, sticking to his face and eyebrows, making him look dazed and endearing.
"That's wonderful," she couldn't help but smile.
He wasn't some Slytherin Heir, just a clever boy with an exceptionally sharp mind and a slight interest in Dark Magic.
Overnight, the thorny vines that had bound her for a month finally withered and fell from her heart in pieces.
It was as if a balloon was floating in her chest, light and swaying, filled with joyful air.
Hermione crouched down silently in front of him and studied the boy for a while.
She rarely had the chance to see him so unguarded.
He wasn't aloof at the moment—he looked quite peaceful.
Isn't he endearing?
Hermione's eyes lit up. As if bewitched, she suddenly poked his smooth cheek with her index finger.
Soft.
And there were his slightly furrowed brows. A faint smile played on her lips as she reached out and smoothed his brow with her fingers.
That's better—he looks better when he's not frowning, Hermione thought.
Next was the corner of his mouth.
His lips drooped slightly, as if something in his dream had upset him.
When she tried to touch the corner of his mouth and lift it upwards, her wrist was suddenly grabbed.
"Stop messing around," he mumbled incoherently, eyes still closed.
He moved his head, and the dim light shone on his face, finally revealing the faint shadows under his eyelids.
Hermione suddenly realized something—he didn't seem to have slept well last night.
After all, she'd taken over his bed, and he'd had to spend the night on the sofa.
She didn't even know what time he'd got back to the dormitory or what time he'd gone to sleep. Perhaps he'd just fallen asleep.
Right now, the boy in front of her was struggling to move his eyelids, trying to open his eyes.
"Who?" He asked warily, his brows furrowing again, as if uncomfortable with someone touching him so casually.
"It's me, Hermione," she said, feeling him grip her a little tighter.
"Oh, you're awake." Draco propped himself up on the sofa, opened his sleepy eyes, and mumbled softly, "I tried to wake you earlier, but you were sleeping soundly."
"I'm sorry—" Hermione sat down next to him, her wrist still being held by him.
Although it wasn't as tight anymore, he was still holding it.
At this moment, she didn't have time to think about her wrist. Instead, she was busy explaining, "Sorry, your bed was too comfortable."
A faint pink blush rose to her cheeks. This inexplicably reminded Draco of the pink roses that bloomed on his estate—the same shade as Hermione's blush.
"It's all right," Draco said lazily.
Only then did he realize he was still holding her wrist.
A wrist so white and delicate, without a single flaw, that looked like it would break if pinched.
He pulled her to sit on the sofa, then let go, feeling somewhat awkward.
Draco instinctively tucked the hair obscuring his vision behind his ear, only then realizing that his usually meticulously styled hair was now a mess. "Oh no!" he exclaimed.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
"My hair is so messy and unkempt—" Draco blushed and covered his hair. "—I need to fix it."
"I think your hair looks great without Sleekeazy's. Using hair gel at such a young age increases your chances of going bald in middle age!" Hermione said seriously.
"It can't be that bad, can it?" Draco asked, tone full of doubt.
Baldness—I can't even imagine it!
He cherished his hair most, and wouldn't allow anyone to touch it. He couldn't even imagine the possibility of "going bald."
Hermione glanced at the platinum blonde hair between his fingers, a bright smile spreading across her face. "That's what my dad said. You could consider a different style—your current hairstyle looks quite nice."
Does she find me so likable? This question filled Draco with a strange sense of pleasure.
"All right, I'll consider it," he said in a nonchalant tone.
He wasn't against changing his hairstyle, if she liked it.
"Very good," Hermione said with satisfaction, completely ignoring his awkward tone.
After a series of conversations yesterday, she'd gradually figured out a trick to getting along with Draco: you needed to ignore his sarcastic remarks and pay attention to the thoughts hidden beneath them.
He never expressed his feelings directly. Instead, he took many roundabout ways to convey his care or approval for you.
What an awkward boy! Judging from his uneasy yet thoughtful expression, he'd clearly taken it all in! She keenly noticed this.
However, Hermione didn't have a chance to be smug for long.
On the desk not far away, the silver-plated, gold-plated, openwork amethyst gemstone musical clock suddenly chimed with birdsong—through the purple enamel dial, she could clearly see that it was now exactly seven o'clock.
Hermione panicked at the time pressure and anxiously asked him, "How do we get out now? Is there still enough time?"
"Relax. It's Christmas—nobody's up early. Oh, and by the way, Merry Christmas," Draco said calmly, glancing at the huge pile of presents at the foot of his bed.
"Merry Christmas!" Hermione flashed a bright smile.
He was the first person to wish her a Merry Christmas. For some reason, this small gesture made her feel a little happy.
"Your Christmas present," Draco stood up, pulled a small, dark green box from a drawer in his desk, and handed it to Hermione. "I think since you're already here, there's no need to send an owl to deliver it."
Hermione opened the box and found an exquisite sterling silver engraved hand mirror on a black velvet base inside, with intricate Rococo-style scroll and wave patterns carved on the back.
"It's quite old, made in nineteenth-century France. Witches seem to want to carry a mirror with them everywhere," Draco said with a smile. "My mother was like that."
"I will use it well." Hermione admitted that the pattern on the mirror was quite beautiful.
She'd always liked antique things, and—
Draco watched her tuck the mirror into the inside pocket of her robes and said, "That's right—always carry it with you. Now that we generally agree that the monster in the Chamber of Secrets is a Basilisk and can roam freely through Hogwarts's ubiquitous pipes, you'd better check yourself in the mirror if you ever turn a corner in the corridor."
Hermione's cheerful smile and her preconceived notions about the mirror vanished instantly, replaced by a look of surprise and fear.
Ah, that's what he meant by giving me the mirror.
He made a lot of sense.
However, these words turned the joyful gift-unwrapping session into a brutal bombardment of realism.
The shadow of the Chamber of Secrets loomed over her once more. Yes, there was still a Slytherin Heir roaming freely somewhere in Hogwarts, and she had no idea who it was.
The only saving grace was that it wasn't him.
The boy in front of her didn't stop talking because of her disappointment. His pale lips continued uttering jarring remarks. "If you have to encounter a Basilisk, I hope you're at least Petrified, not killed."
If she's Petrified again—I could still save her. Draco buried this worry deep in his heart, trying to look at her with an indifferent expression.
"Draco!" Hermione said angrily, "Do you really want me to be Petrified?"
How can he be so annoying! Why does he have to bring up something so sensitive? Now he's completely ruined the Christmas atmosphere.
"Don't be angry—I was just joking." Draco raised his hands in surrender, smiling at her with one corner of his mouth turned up.
"This is not funny at all!" Hermione puffed out her cheeks like a puffer fish.
She was somewhat endearing, he thought, staring at her with interest.
"It's really not funny. To be honest, I'm quite worried about you. You have to be careful." Endearing as she was, Draco still said to her with concern, "If that Basilisk really does wander around the pipes as you guess, then danger is everywhere."
"I know! But statistically speaking, the probability of a Hogwarts student encountering a Basilisk is equal! It has absolutely nothing to do with bloodline! I always try to explain this to people, but nobody listens! Don't wizards learn Arithmancy?" Hermione said indignantly.
"Arithmancy is considered advanced magic and is not part of the first or second-year Hogwarts curriculum," Draco advised her. "You can't expect everyone to be like you."
It was also unrealistic to expect all parents to be like Mrs. Granger, pushing their children to excel.
"So, have you studied it? Do you know addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division? Do you know what probability is?" She looked at him as if he were dim.
"Of course—do you think I've been just grinning like an idiot all my life?" Draco said, both annoyed and resentful.
"Very well. Then you should understand what I'm saying." Hermione said smugly. "Normally, all students should have an equal probability of encountering the Basilisk. It's just that the sample size is too small, and those who happen to be Muggle-borns are the ones who get hit, which is why rumors like 'cleansing the Muggle bloodline' have spread. Unless the Basilisk can sense the difference in bloodline, it's all nonsense, isn't it?"
"You're right, statistically speaking," Draco said. "There's no evidence that the Basilisk has the ability to distinguish wizarding bloodlines. However, I don't believe in 'just a coincidence.' It must have been the Heir who made the selection."
"You mean, the Heir needs to know who the Muggle-born wizards are, right?" Hermione thought of a possibility. "Then the Heir must be familiar with the victims! Only by being familiar with them can they figure out if they're Muggle-born!"
"Oh, Hermione." Draco paused. "You're right. Blaise said before that we should start with Filch's enemies. The underlying logic is similar—we need to know them, even be familiar with them, and perhaps even have a grudge against them."
"Then let's examine the logic! Mrs. Norris, Colin Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Nearly Headless Nick..." Hermione said with great interest, sitting next to Draco deep in thought. "Justin Finch-Fletchley of Hufflepuff is going around saying that he was supposed to go to Eton and that he's a Muggle-born wizard. It's practically an open secret."
"Then let's not consider him. Let's think about Nearly Headless Nick. Do you think he was caught in the crossfire or was he targeted?" Draco said. "To be honest, the people who know him best are probably the Gryffindor students, right?"
"Let's just say he was caught in the crossfire for now. He's already a ghost! And he's always been kind to people—he doesn't have any enemies." Hermione glared at him, displeased by the bias in his words. "Don't forget Colin Creevey—he's a Gryffindor."
Stop trying to find suspects in Gryffindor. There are plenty of victims in Gryffindor! Hermione thought indignantly.
"Not many people in Slytherin know he's Muggle-born. They only know he's always hanging around Potter. I guess it's similar in the other Houses," Draco said casually. "Does he have any enemies?"
He didn't dare call Colin Creevey by his full name. In his past life, Draco had seen his lifeless face directly in the castle ruins. The thought of this child weighed heavily on Draco's heart.
"Never heard of any," Hermione said wistfully. "His greatest hobby is indeed revolving around Harry. Apart from Harry being unhappy about it, no one says anything. Almost every Gryffindor student knows that he's Muggle-born, because when he's pestering Harry in the common room, he always boasts that he's the son of a Muggle milkman. No way—could it really be a Gryffindor student?"
Panic flickered in her eyes. She was terrified by this possibility.
Draco, noticing her unusual mood, immediately changed the subject. "Don't jump to conclusions. There's also Mrs. Norris, Mr. Filch's beloved pet. How many people in Gryffindor know that Mr. Filch is a Squib?"
"None of the three of us knew, and many Gryffindor students didn't know either. When Harry saw the Kwikspell course in his office, he had no idea what it was." Hermione sighed with relief as she spoke. "We only found out when Mrs. Norris was attacked and he yelled at Harry."
"But was Harry the only one who went to his office?" Draco reminded her. "There must have been others who went and found out. Perhaps we should find out who else was put in detention during that time. Not just Gryffindor, but the other Houses as well."
"Yes, let's do it that way." Hermione said with a serious face, agreeing with his idea. "Besides that, I'll also find out if Colin has ever argued with anyone or anything."
"Of course you will," Draco said in a low voice.