HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 46: Ron, Filled with Resentment

The North Sea.

In late winter, frigid waters cruelly embrace a desolate island. This place is the last destination any wizard wants to visit, and a paradise for Dementors.

No one can escape from here. No one.

Those imprisoned here often go mad within weeks. Everything is drained by this terrible place—spirit, health, youth all become forfeit. Prisoners scream in their sleep. Under the Dementors' influence, they shriek incoherently, refuse food, lose their minds, and eventually surrender the will to live.

Most who enter never leave. This place is the graveyard for countless prisoners. Even when inmates die tragically in this horrific fortress, they receive no sympathy from the wizarding world—those imprisoned here are considered the most heinous criminals.

There might be one exception.

He was a haggard, dark-haired man with filthy, matted hair that reached his elbows. His pale skin stretched taut over his cheekbones, and he was gaunt as a skeleton. His gaze was vacant as he leaned against the prison wall like a corpse, oblivious to the screams and shouts of neighboring prisoners, ignoring the Ministry officials walking down the corridor.

"Sirius Black! You've been exonerated." The Ministry official stopped before his cell and spoke in a gentle voice he hadn't used with Black in over a decade. "We... we were mistaken. You're innocent. You're free."

Sirius Black showed no reaction, didn't even glance at the speaker, as if the entire matter had nothing to do with him.

"We've captured Peter Pettigrew, and he's on trial now," the official said uneasily, studying him. "He was hiding at Hogwarts and was caught by Harry Potter's friends. You must know Harry Potter, don't you?"

Sirius Black raised his eyes. A light kindled in his deep-set dark eyes.

"Potter," he rasped, like a stopped clock being wound again. "Harry Potter?"

"Thank Merlin you remember. The Dementors haven't completely destroyed you. Now the Minister can finally sleep soundly." The official looked at him with surprise and relief, adding in an even more enthusiastic tone, "That's your godson, isn't he? Come with me. Let's leave this place and start a new life..."

---

In late February, the arrest of Peter Pettigrew caused an enormous uproar throughout the wizarding world.

Draco Malfoy didn't look well that morning.

He'd suffered nightmares all night and woken feeling wretched. Seeing Peter Pettigrew's face again several days ago had triggered painful memories: the tortures and murders the Dark Lord had carried out, sometimes in the dungeons, sometimes at the dinner table, always with Pettigrew present.

Then, as he entered the Great Hall, he encountered Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies professor, at the entrance. He bowed to the cheerful-looking teacher, not daring to look up, and only moved on reluctantly long after she'd passed inside.

He would always remember how Professor Burbage had been tortured before his eyes, how she'd died a gruesome death at his family's dining table. All because she'd written an article in the Daily Prophet defending Muggle-born wizards. All because she'd called pure-blood wizards marrying Muggle-borns a "welcome development."

He remembered how she'd floated above the long table, tears streaming from her eyes into her hair. He remembered how she'd called out Professor Snape's name in a pleading voice, and how Snape had remained unmoved. He remembered how she'd been extinguished by green light, crashing onto the table with a sickening thud that made the entire surface tremble and groan.

He remembered slipping from his seat to the floor, unable to bear witnessing what happened next, unable to watch Nagini devour her corpse.

The creaking sound kept echoing in his ears. That sound reminded him of his fear, his cowardice, his weakness.

At that moment, he'd understood completely that there could never be anything between him and her.

Draco Malfoy, you can never take that chance.

As long as the Dark Lord lives, you never can—

He walked past her in the aisle, glancing at her expressionlessly—she was drinking milk while intently studying a thick book—and felt a pang of sorrow in his heart.

He flicked his wand, cast a silent Occlumency charm, and sat in his usual seat at the Slytherin table, intending to have a quick breakfast.

He was running slightly late. Draco pulled out his pocket watch to check the time, confirming he had only fifteen minutes before heading to the greenhouses for Herbology. He took a sip of coffee, sighed wearily, and suddenly felt uneasy.

Many eyes were inexplicably focused on him. Students throughout the Great Hall were covertly observing him.

He swept his gaze around menacingly, trying to drive their attention away with a cold stare.

It was useless. Those gazes only intensified.

"What's wrong with everyone?" he asked Blaise Zabini impatiently.

"This isn't the time for scowling. Put away your morning irritability and try forcing a smile," Blaise said with a peculiar expression, suppressing laughter. "You're the center of attention right now, so you should be mindful of your image and do Slytherin proud."

"Should I take that as sarcasm?" Draco glared at him fiercely.

Across the table, Pansy Parkinson couldn't suppress a foolish grin as she handed Draco a copy of the Daily Prophet. "Look!"

Draco took the newspaper and frowned. On the cover was a photograph of Peter Pettigrew weeping and wailing behind bars in Azkaban. The headline read: "Peter Pettigrew Imprisoned, Sirius Black Exonerated."

"The Ministry acted swiftly," he said calmly. "But what does that have to do with me?"

Blaise abandoned his usual arrogance and considerately helped unfold the newspaper. "Here, my hero, look at page two."

Draco raised an eyebrow and glanced at Blaise, whose expression seemed entirely genuine rather than mocking.

Why would someone as proud as Blaise be so accommodating? Had the sun risen in the west? Curiosity piqued, Draco lowered his gaze and scanned the article.

"...The Ministry of Magic has confirmed Sirius Black's innocence through Prior Incantato on his wand. Some Ministry officials believe that Bartemius Crouch (currently Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation), who served as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time, was far too hasty in his judgment against Sirius Black... Draco Malfoy, a second-year Slytherin student, along with fourth-year Gryffindor students George Weasley and Fred Weasley, made outstanding contributions in the capture of Peter Pettigrew, and the Ministry of Magic has decided to award all three the Order of Merlin, Second Class..."

Not surprising. In the wizarding world, the Order of Merlin was the highest honor. He wondered if his father and mother would be proud... Draco allowed himself a faint smile.

"We've finally been vindicated," Pansy said. "The newspaper even hints that Peter Pettigrew might be connected to the recent Chamber of Secrets incidents at Hogwarts. Now they can't blame us for the Chamber anymore. Honestly, I'm tired of arguing with them." She gestured toward the tables of the other three Houses.

"Nevertheless, I highly doubt Salazar Slytherin would have chosen such a pathetic Gryffindor student as his Heir," Blaise said disapprovingly.

Pansy smiled indifferently. "Whether it's true or not, who cares? As long as someone takes the blame, that's what matters."

Exactly. Cornelius Fudge simply wanted to quell the situation as quickly as possible without investigating the actual truth, Draco thought with conflicted feelings.

"Draco, well done," Marcus Flint said, walking over with raised eyebrows and high spirits. "But don't let fame go to your head. We have a Quidditch match against Ravenclaw in a few days... Hopefully you'll play as well as last time..."

After a moment's thought, he added, "Of course, try not to fall off your broom again... I'll inspect the Bludgers carefully." It seemed the previous rogue Bludger had frightened him considerably.

Draco nodded and smiled at him.

Marcus was burning with determination to make a run for this year's Quidditch Cup. He held practices three times a week, sometimes even forcing the team into extra sessions. Draco understood—last year's Slytherin team had been utterly thrashed.

But not all students could regain their focus like Marcus and continue doing what they should be doing.

The students at Hogwarts were abuzz with news, regarding Draco and the Weasley twins as heroes. As they walked down corridors, students pointed excitedly, whispered among themselves, or stared with undisguised awe.

This was understandable. Three months had passed since the last attack, and nothing had happened since. The fear of the Chamber had gradually faded, and almost everyone believed the attacker had given up and abandoned this cruel game.

Coupled with the vague hints in the newspaper, most students believed that Peter Pettigrew was the mastermind behind the Chamber and had been arrested and sent to Azkaban.

Moreover, during Herbology, Professor Sprout happily announced some excellent news: the Mandrakes were showing signs of maturity.

"Yesterday, several Mandrakes held a rather rowdy party in the greenhouse," she said enthusiastically. "They'll be ready when they start moving into each other's pots."

This brought a sigh of relief to all the students who heard the news.

It meant those poor souls who'd been Petrified would soon be revived. The students became noticeably more enthusiastic when helping compost the squeaking Mandrakes.

"Draco, are you avoiding me?" Hermione strode up and cornered him.

"No." His gaze drifted to the Venomous Tentacula hanging from the ceiling. Remembering Professor Burbage he'd seen that morning, his heart clenched, and he drew back slightly.

"You absolutely are! You were so nervous this morning you wouldn't even look me in the eye!" She was holding a flowerpot, brushing aside the lush Mandrake leaves, and complained fiercely. "I've always felt something was off about your attitude toward that rat. And the question you asked me in Transfiguration... Didn't you say you'd tell me once you figured it out? You broke your promise! Harry was the one who told me everything!"

Draco could no longer drift into distraction. Looking at her vibrant, animated face, he couldn't ignore her for a moment.

"It happened so suddenly. Once we were certain something was wrong with the rat, we immediately took it to the Headmaster's office. I have to thank you for that Muggle fairy tale reference—it was very helpful." He explained while quickly catching the pot that had slipped from her arms.

That was close!

"Thank you." She looked startled. "This pot is unusually heavy."

"You're welcome." A slight smile appeared on his face.

Clumsy, know-it-all girl—where had all the dexterity from Potions gone?

"All right, I understand the need for expedient action in an emergency. But how exactly did you determine that the rat was an Animagus? That's not something you can dismiss with 'intuition' or 'inspiration'..." Hermione looked at him curiously, her eyes shining like searchlights, as if trying to find evidence on his face.

"It's an unspeakable secret." He winked at her, which earned him a cold snort.

"A Slytherin boy full of secrets!" she muttered under her breath, looking dissatisfied, and prepared to fetch more pots.

"Let me do it. How many more do you need?" he asked.

"Six pots," she said primly. "I can carry them myself."

"Come now," he said lazily, his mood improving. "Those skillful hands that brew Polyjuice Potion aren't meant for heavy lifting. Why don't you hold this pot steady? That Mandrake is practically sprouting out..."

She quickly steadied the pot and pressed the Mandrake plant into the soil. Seeing him so diligently carrying pots for her, she couldn't bring herself to frown at him.

Then came the repetitive work of composting. Hermione held the pot and watched him fertilize the sulking Mandrake with a look of disgust, finding it quite amusing to see his gritted teeth and helpless expression.

She finally couldn't help but smile at him.

"Draco, do you think Peter Pettigrew was behind the Chamber of Secrets incidents?" She was in good spirits and started asking questions again.

"Of course not," Draco said. "If Pettigrew ventured into the Chamber of Secrets, he'd merely be the Basilisk's dessert."

"I think so too," she said softly. "We still can't let our guard down, can we?"

"Absolutely not." He gave her a meaningful look. "Stay alert. Be careful, all right?"

Yes, that was it, Draco convinced himself. He couldn't ignore her until the Chamber of Secrets matter was resolved.

She wasn't safe. She could be harmed at any moment. How could he possibly feel at ease and keep his distance?

After Herbology, Draco and several Slytherin classmates walked through the vegetable gardens, intending to return to the common room for a quick wash, but were unexpectedly stopped by Ron.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Ron said, his face stormy. "You've suspected Scabbers for ages, haven't you? I noticed you staring at him constantly lately. Why go through all that trouble and have George and Fred take him away?"

Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, watching with anticipation, eagerly drew their wands—they'd never liked the Gryffindors and had only refrained from arguing with "certain people" because of Draco.

Now, seeing someone actively seeking conflict, they couldn't help feeling excited.

"So you've replaced Crabbe and Goyle with new bodyguards after all?" Ron said, not moving. He glanced at them contemptuously.

Pansy glared at him. Blaise's expression turned glacial.

Draco knew Ron's words had stirred up trouble. Pansy and Blaise were both incredibly proud. Unlike Crabbe and Goyle, they weren't dim-witted followers. They would never accept being treated as inferior servants or bodyguards. Those words had deeply offended them.

"You ungrateful wretch!" Pansy pointed her wand at Ron, giving him a threatening look. "He saved your life, you realize? That rat could have killed you at any moment, you idiot..."

"What's it to you? You—" Ron said angrily.

"There's no need to insult my friends, Ron. I don't believe you're the type to lash out indiscriminately," Draco said, turning to Blaise, whose face had darkened dangerously. "You should know his anger is directed at me, not you. Take Pansy and go."

Blaise looked Ron up and down and gave a dismissive "hmph." Ron's face flushed crimson.

"Blaise, you dare, don't you dare drag me..." Amid Pansy's protests, Blaise forcibly pulled her away, though she kept looking back.

Before leaving, Blaise spat on the ground. "Weasley, use your brain! Don't push your luck!"

"Go on," Draco said, waving them off with a reassuring smile.

Once they were far enough away that they wouldn't suddenly return to escalate things, Draco said calmly, "I admit I deliberately kept it from you. I thought that was the only way to maximize our chances of success."

"So I'd drag down your efficiency? Hinder your glorious progress toward the Order of Merlin, Second Class?" Ron said mockingly, his face as red as his hair.

"That's not what I meant. I simply thought you wouldn't hand Scabbers over to me easily," Draco explained patiently.

"That's my rat! Of course I have the right not to give him to you, the right to question you, and the right to be angry!" Ron shouted.

"That's precisely the problem. I certainly respect your rights. But if I may be frank, while we argued about whether Scabbers was an Animagus, he might very well have escaped." Draco calmly pointed out the issue. "You know wizards can understand human speech in their Animagus form, don't you?"

Ron faltered. He realized Draco had a point, but he refused to acknowledge it.

"I completely understand how you feel. I know you loved that rat—even though you complained daily that he was listless and useless—you were genuinely concerned about his health and cared for him well," Draco said with a hint of helplessness.

It was precisely because he understood Ron's attachment to the rat that he'd taken extra precautions to ensure Peter Pettigrew's capture went smoothly. He continued, "That's why I was certain I couldn't obtain the rat from you quickly enough."

Ron was furious.

Why did Draco have the right to define him so arbitrarily, then act as if he were trying to understand Ron's perspective?

A feeling of betrayal welled up inside him, along with profound indignation—the injustice that Draco didn't trust him to make the right choice.

"Don't claim you know me! You know nothing about me! I even considered you a friend, but you don't deserve my trust! I've figured it out now—you're a complete Malfoy, an evil Slytherin, just like everyone says! Arrogant, conceited, callous, and ruthless!" Ron shouted at him, startling a flock of ravens foraging in the vegetable garden.

"Yes, I am," Draco said coldly, his gray eyes fixed on Ron. Whether in his previous or current life, being verbally attacked like this was commonplace; he was accustomed to it.

He took a deep breath, lowered his eyes, and said wearily, "I'm glad we've clarified that."

Ron snorted, turned, and strode away, leaving Draco standing there. Harry, who'd been waiting at a distance, gave Draco an apologetic look and followed Ron.

Harry hadn't dared get too close; he hadn't wanted to become involved in the argument. Truthfully, he found Draco's actions understandable. Ron did have an unusual attachment to the rat, and in many ways, Draco's assessment was accurate.

But Ron... Ron was his best friend. Harry felt rather sorry for Draco.

Draco stared at the ravens that had landed again in the vegetable garden, watching them frantically search the soil, trying to maintain an indifferent, composed expression.

Just then, two arms draped over Draco's shoulders, one on each side. He looked up alertly, drawing his wand, and saw it was Ron's older brothers. Fred said casually, "It's all right, he flies into a rage about once a week—"

"Sometimes twice," George added.

"Actually, he got angry at us this time too, yelling that we didn't respect him or something. We reckon he's just jealous that we got the medals—" Fred said nonchalantly.

"Mum was ecstatic. The last time she was this excited was when Percy got his Prefect badge—" George said, blinking.

"No, it might have been when Bill got his—" Fred said, grinning.

"Or perhaps when Charlie got his—" George looked like he was enjoying himself.

"Actually, she's never been quite this excited before," Fred said frankly to Draco.

Draco smiled faintly.

"It won't be long before that git comes back to you. I've always thought he needs to work on his emotional management..." George told him.

Draco pursed his lips, thinking he really shouldn't have bothered with a twelve-year-old.

Besides, losing a pet was genuinely heartbreaking. He said to the twins, "I'd like to ask a favor. Use the dividends from my investment to buy Ron a pet—a decent owl or something. Given his current state, he probably won't accept an apology or gift from me directly."

---

On the morning of March first, Ron opened his eyes and found a small owl perched on his pillow.

"Where did you come from?" He looked at the little creature with curiosity. The owl flapped its wings excitedly and gave a short hoot.

"Your birthday present, mate." George sat on the corner of his bed, casually toying with his wand. "Don't be mad at us."

"It's entirely mine?" Ron asked incredulously. He stroked the owl's feathers with a grin. "I'm going to call you Pigwidgeon. Do you like that name?"

Pigwidgeon hooted happily and bounced around on his pillow.

"I can't believe it. This must have cost a fortune! You actually bought me an owl?" Ron asked excitedly.

"Oh, we made a bit of money. The Skiving Snackboxes sold very well," Fred said with a smile, ruffling Ron's messy hair, only to receive an indignant glare. "Don't tell Mum what we're up to."

"Even if she knew, it wouldn't matter. You two are her proudest sons now. Two sons with Orders of Merlin! Percy has to take a backseat!" Ron said sourly.

"Don't sulk like Ginny. We've got enough of a headache trying to comfort her," George advised. "It's a good thing that rat is gone. You know he was a dangerous Death Eater. Draco told us he was worried sick about you sleeping with a Death Eater every night..."

"Don't speak up for him! I'll never forgive him—despicable Draco Malfoy, ruthless Slytherin git!" Ron shouted irritably, waking Neville Longbottom in the next bed.

"What happened?" Neville asked in alarm, huddled under his covers. "Has Malfoy come here?"

"Why are you so afraid of him?" Ron asked sternly.

"His eyes have always been terrifying, haven't you noticed?" Neville said nervously.

"Come off it, Neville! Don't boost his ego and diminish your own! Next time you see him, just glare right back..." Ron said angrily.

The twins were utterly helpless. They exchanged glances, shook their heads, shut out their younger brother's angry tirade, and walked arm in arm toward the common room.