novelraw Chapter 71: Green Apples and Pepperup Potion
Chapter 71: Green Apples and Pepperup Potion
A glorious tradition of Slytherins is to ridicule Gryffindors to the best of their ability, seizing every opportunity regardless of consequences.
For instance, at breakfast the next day, Pansy Parkinson displayed her usual domineering style, using the act of "feigning fainting" to win cheers from the Slytherin girls around her.
Draco could tell at a glance whom she intended to embarrass.
"Don't do that—it's tasteless," Draco said as he passed her. "I made that abundantly clear yesterday."
"I know you've got connections with Potter's lot," Pansy said nonchalantly, turning to wink at her group of friends before addressing Draco, "but that's none of your concern."
Pansy Parkinson.
Like Vincent Crabbe and Theodore Nott, she was a childhood friend of Draco's.
As one of her childhood companions, Draco Malfoy knew her character intimately.
She was as arrogant as any spoiled Slytherin heiress and couldn't tolerate any disobedience.
"Who did you associate with during the holidays? How did you acquire so many deplorable habits?" Draco glanced suspiciously at her group of friends behind her and inexplicably received a burst of silly laughter from the girls.
"Whom they associate with isn't the point—I think they're right!" Pansy said dismissively, arms crossed. "I've worked it out: 'Scarhead Potter' is simply exploiting the Headmaster's favoritism to do whatever he pleases! Last year's House Cup—the Gryffindors won unfairly! Each of them receives two hundred extra points, that's four hundred points total. Who can compete with that? What's the point of us working so hard? No matter how much we try, it's not as good as Dumbledore's bonus points!"
"What does this have to do with you feigning fainting?" Draco said impatiently. "He didn't earn points by pretending!"
"He earned points for the Chamber of Secrets incident—everyone praises him! Just thinking about the Chamber makes me furious! Last school year, because of that cursed Heir of Slytherin legend, how many scornful looks and accusations did we endure for no reason? Nearly every Slytherin was pointed at and treated like filth by the other three Houses! In the end, the truth emerged, and it had nothing to do with us. Not a single person apologized to us—not one!" Pansy's face twitched. "Speaking of which, why should Slytherins only earn ten points for doing something commendable? Draco, are you satisfied? Don't you feel wronged?"
It was like his previous life repeating itself.
At this point in his past life, Pansy had complained to him identically. And the other Slytherin students couldn't conceal their resentment either.
Slytherin students were inherently more arrogant than students from other Houses. Most came from pure-blood wizarding families and often considered themselves superior, displaying an air of condescension toward students from other Houses. However, this group of students, who seemed to wear their "pride" on their sleeves, had been wounded by rumors during the Chamber of Secrets incident the previous year and became objects of contempt for students from other Houses for an extended period.
Who wouldn't feel angry? Wouldn't feel their dignity was compromised? Wouldn't feel the school's handling was unjust?
At that time, Draco had shared the same sentiment.
He'd felt it was unfair, resentful, that his self-esteem was damaged. He'd felt that Potter and his gang had claimed all the glory, exploiting the Headmaster's favoritism to congratulate themselves whilst claiming innocence.
At that time, from a distance, he'd only thought Potter was the most arrogant, attention-seeking, and hypocritical git in all of Hogwarts.
But in this life, when Draco was close enough to Harry, when he'd witnessed firsthand the hardships Harry faced in the Chamber of Secrets and personally experienced the immense damage caused by the Dementors... to some extent, he could understand Harry.
He knew Harry didn't think that way.
Often, Harry wasn't in control of his own destiny.
Harry Potter was merely a pitiful person forced forward by fate's hand. What had he done wrong?
If Harry had a choice, he'd probably prefer his mother still alive, embracing him on the Express platform. He might not want the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his head that gave him his "heroic aura," but rather to be an ordinary, happy young wizard, cherished by his parents.
What others perceived as a halo was, to Harry, more like a heavy shackle. Draco thought to himself, putting himself in Harry's position.
Pansy continued railing at him, glancing disdainfully at the Gryffindors seated there. "I'm going to make the Headmaster's darling 'Potter' feel miserable too, and let him experience what it's like to be ridiculed by the other Houses!"
Pansy had completely gone astray. Draco sighed softly.
Competition between Houses and conflicting viewpoints were never solely one student's fault.
They shouldn't blame Harry for all that resentment and make him suffer even more.
But Pansy didn't understand these things, nor did the disgruntled students.
Any teenager, in the heat of youth, would find it difficult to grasp the deeper issues.
They still acted solely based on personal likes and dislikes, reacting instinctively to the outside world based on feeling hurt, regardless of whether this would harm innocent people or cause more unnecessary conflicts and contradictions.
"Is it futile no matter how I try to dissuade you?" Draco asked, looking at Pansy's rebellious face.
"It's futile. Someone must pay the price for 'offending Slytherin,' and I'm simply seeking justice," Pansy said maliciously. "I won't show any mercy to the 'Gryffindor hero.' I'll mock him to death and let everyone know he's actually a coward. How could someone who faints at the slightest provocation possibly venture into the Chamber of Secrets to slay monsters? There might be some shady dealings involved! Soon everyone will discover he's a coward who doesn't live up to his reputation!"
"That's rather extreme," he said, his tone carrying disapproval.
"Your heart's gone astray, growing closer to the Gryffindors!" Pansy said with a stern face. "Draco, if we hadn't grown up together and known each other thoroughly, I'd have thought you were some blood traitor's child! I've never said a word about your behavior, so you shouldn't interfere with what I do. Even if you don't want to mock him, don't stop me from mocking him, all right?"
"Very well. Since you enjoy gossiping and mocking others so much, I happen to have something I'd like to discuss with your group of friends," Draco approached her expressionlessly, speaking through gritted teeth in a voice only they could hear. "Last night, you and Blaise... the broom cupboard under the spiral staircase on the first floor... Do I need to continue?"
"What?!" Pansy's haughty expression vanished, replaced by utter offense. "How did you know? Did Blaise tell you?"
"No. He said nothing, but I have my methods. Want to see how this plays out? Let those gossipy witches discuss something besides Dementors? Experience the joy of rumors spreading everywhere?" Draco smiled at her mercilessly.
The Marauder's Map was truly useful.
"You git! This isn't gentlemanly behavior!" Pansy's arrogant face finally cracked with panic. She stammered softly, "We were simply unlucky... locked in there by Peeves... we didn't do anything..."
"A gentleman? I never claimed to be a gentleman. I'm a Malfoy, a Slytherin, nothing more." He calmly settled into his usual seat and began eating his porridge, ignoring Pansy's disapproving glare. "Besides, how many people do you think will believe your excuse? When faced with rumors, people tend to interpret them in the most scandalous ways—"
"Stop! Don't say more! I'm not doing it," Pansy glared at him and said angrily.
"Truly?" Draco said. "Surrendering voluntarily? Don't claim I forced you."
"That's enough!" Pansy said viciously. "Draco, you have no class whatsoever!"
"Likewise," he chuckled lazily.
"You'd better keep this secret." She was extremely annoyed and waved away her group of friends behind her. "Go, go, go! Disperse! Don't block the way! Daphne, what are you staring at? Go do what you're supposed to be doing!"
Draco watched with amusement as the group of reluctant, gossipy girls scattered like birds and clicked his tongue. "You truly went to considerable trouble to recruit such a group to cooperate with your performance."
"Don't push your luck. You'd better not let me discover one day that you're secretly consorting with some girl in the broom cupboard." Pansy turned and squeezed out the words through gritted teeth.
Draco shrugged dismissively.
A filthy place like the broom cupboard? What was she thinking?
A moment later, Harry and his friends rushed into the Great Hall. They settled at the Gryffindor table and began eating breakfast. The Great Hall was peaceful—no one mentioned the Dementors again.
Much better, he thought with satisfaction.
Pansy Parkinson wasn't a malicious girl.
In some ways, she was rather foolish, because she always performed the thankless job of being the "first to speak out."
Truly shrewd people would only hide behind her and observe, fanning the flames and giving her a push from behind the scenes.
She was just like him before. For the vanity of being the center of attention, for gaining false recognition, she was willing to be instigated by those around her to be the "trailblazer," to lead in wantonly mocking others, and to regard hurting others as justified.
She wasn't unaware that such ridicule and gossip would cause pain. She knew it perfectly well.
She refused to be the subject of gossip herself, didn't she?
However, she was numb to others' pain.
She didn't truly care as long as the pain didn't affect her directly. She didn't understand pain's true meaning.
Just as Draco only understood what Thestrals looked like after learning what death meant—that death wasn't a joke.
By then, it would be too late for regret.
The dead couldn't be resurrected; once damage accumulated to a certain extent, many things couldn't be undone.
In this life, he needn't fall into the same pitfall twice, and ideally he'd have no more wayward friends, Draco thought inscrutably.
After Pansy was abruptly stopped by Draco, the Slytherin table fell silent.
Pansy Parkinson's tantrums, capriciousness, and lack of tact were notorious within Slytherin.
She never cared what others thought. In her life and conduct, she only cared about her own feelings.
One moment she could be incredibly affectionate with you, the next she could turn on you instantly. She could smile sweetly and say pleasant things to people, or she could dismiss anyone she disliked and do everything possible to be sarcastic and mocking.
Few people earned her genuine respect. She was backed by a prominent pure-blood wizarding family that had once produced a Minister for Magic. The family's connections and influence were intricate and complex, making them formidable.
Whilst Slytherin students might grumble about her arrogant personality behind her back, they were outwardly very polite to her. Few wanted to directly provoke such a gossipy, sarcastic, and dreadful witch who often lost her temper.
Draco Malfoy had defeated her with just a few whispered words—who would dare underestimate him?
Under such pressure, naturally no one dared resurrect the topic of Dementors.
It was a day that could be considered relatively calm.
Draco sipped his hot coffee, somewhat dazed, sighed dejectedly, and strolled from the Hall.
His eyes had slightly dark circles, a sign of poor sleep.
He was always haunted by nightmares from his previous life. They were like maggots on bones, following him everywhere in his dreams, and he required many Occlumency sessions just to achieve decent sleep.
Yesterday, the Dementor attack had further activated those nightmares—keeping him awake all night.
He regretted it slightly; he should have taken the opportunity yesterday to request Sleeping Draught from Madam Pomfrey.
But Hermione had been right beside him, listening intently, and he hadn't wanted her to hear; otherwise, she'd have given him that probing look and demanded he "confess" and explain why he couldn't sleep.
This willful girl—what right did she have to demand his honesty? Draco thought to himself, still bothered by her own secrets, attempting to conceal something from him.
At quarter to nine in the morning, he was seated in the Arithmancy classroom, about to open Numerology and Grammatica to peruse it, when he suddenly saw Hermione rush into the classroom, panting.
He raised an eyebrow in surprise and gestured for her to sit in the seat to his right. "I thought you were attending Divination. This morning, I saw you apparently follow Harry and Ron toward the North Tower."
"Honestly, Draco, are you certain you're not mistaken?" Hermione deftly placed the several thick books she was carrying on the desk, extracted her quill and timetable from her bag, and gave him a mysterious smile. "How can someone possibly attend two classes simultaneously?"
Draco regarded her stack of books suspiciously—the top one titled Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles. He had reason to suspect it was within the scope of Muggle Studies.
"I'm genuinely interested in your timetable." He remembered she'd taken Divination in his previous life and had a falling out with Professor Sybill Trelawney.
Why was this life different? His gaze fell on the timetable, and he prepared to examine it.
Hermione moved swiftly, slapping his outstretched hand and saying warily, "Don't touch."
"So fierce?" Draco pouted at her, withdrew his hand, and conceded.
Best not to provoke her, lest he drive this study partner away. He was genuinely impatient to work with those other dim students to complete the massive calculations in Arithmancy.
At Hogwarts, very few students chose Arithmancy; most students were more interested in the dubious crystal ball.
From a practical standpoint, Professor Sybill Trelawney, who taught Divination, didn't mind students fabricating prophecies of impending doom and was willing to generously award an "Outstanding" to those desperately cursing themselves; this was considerably easier than the precise calculations required by Professor Vector.
Therefore, Draco wasn't the only one curious about why others didn't take Divination; Hermione shared the same question.
"Why didn't you choose Divination?" she asked Draco before the professor arrived.
Having already taken the course, or being rather wary of Professor Trelawney, weren't reasons that could be openly stated.
Draco had no choice but to find another approach.
"Oh, I simply find Arithmancy more interesting. It's a discipline built on rules and rigorous mathematical calculations." He yawned to conceal his lie, lying to her without hesitation. "I think it's more rigorous than disciplines that interpret vague images from crystal balls, tea leaves, or palm lines."
Hermione was quite satisfied with his answer.
"I agree—Divination is rubbish compared to Arithmancy," she said firmly, as though recalling some unpleasant experience.
Professor McGonagall, who taught them Transfiguration, shared Hermione's views.
In her lectures on Animagi, she scoffed at Divination, claiming "Divination is the most imprecise branch of magic."
"Professor Trelawney predicted Harry would die," Hermione whispered to Draco as Professor McGonagall grumbled.
Draco wasn't surprised.
That's how it had been in his previous life's Divination class; the prophecy about Harry had caused quite a stir.
But—"How did you know?" Draco asked, puzzled.
She'd walked with him from Arithmancy to Transfiguration, and no one had discussed these rumors in between.
When had these matters reached her ears?
Hermione simply smiled without answering, continuing to listen with animation as Professor McGonagall ranted about how Divination was "unreliable, too casual, and illogical."
Behind them, Ron was muttering things like "the Grim, bad omen, death omen." Harry, meanwhile, appeared rather downcast.
The third-year schedule was considerably fuller than last year, which indirectly led to students wolfing down their lunches. Draco sat at the table, feeling somewhat drowsy. He glanced at his timetable and was annoyed to discover he had Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon.
How could he forget the Hippogriff?—A nightmare was about to unfold—Draco thought dejectedly.
Attempting to maintain his composure, he controlled his emotions, quickly finished a generous piece of steak, and drank a large cup of coffee.
Without warning, he spotted Hermione across two long tables. She was shouting something at Ron before angrily seizing her bag and heading from the castle.
What was happening now? Who'd offended her? Draco's gaze followed her every step until she reached the Hall entrance before he emerged from his daze. He had no intention of lingering, so he grabbed a green apple haphazardly, stuffed it into his pocket, hastily rose, and strode quickly down the aisle toward the Hall entrance.
More than the terrible lesson about to begin, there was an even more intriguing question—Hermione Granger's mysterious timetable.
What exactly had she discussed with Professor McGonagall that day? What secrets were they concealing? The more she refused to tell him, the more curious he became.
This made him want to follow her and discover what was happening.
That's right, precisely! He was following her simply to see what was wrong. Draco believed his reasoning was impeccable.
Once he'd found a reason, "following her and saying a few words" became something Draco Malfoy did without any psychological burden.
"Are you all right? You seem rather angry." He asked her tentatively, walking alongside her slowly down the grassy slope toward the Forbidden Forest edge.
The rain had ceased, and the sky was a clear, light grey, which reminded Hermione of the boy's eyes beside her.
The grass underfoot was still slightly damp. Hermione inhaled deeply, and the fresh scent of grass after rain filled her nostrils, lifting her spirits somewhat.
"Oh, it's nothing serious," she said, attempting to sound casual. "I just realized I'm not good at everything."
She seemed particularly sensitive to the phrase "not good at," and Draco studied her expression intently, noticing her lips twitched downward when she said it.
"No one can be good at everything. A person only has twenty-four hours daily—time is extraordinarily limited. It's already a tremendous achievement to do well at things you're interested in," he attempted to persuade her.
"But I think you can do everything," Hermione said, glancing at him with a frustrated expression.
"Oh, that's because you haven't seen me in Care of Magical Creatures," Draco said to her seriously. "I can't even control a textbook."
He dramatically shook the wildly writhing The Monster Book of Monsters in his hand—it was tightly bound by rope and appeared extremely dissatisfied.
"You need to stroke it down the spine." Hermione couldn't help but chuckle and simply took his book, attempting to demonstrate.
In her haste, her fingers accidentally brushed his, and it felt as though an electric current passed between their fingers.
She panicked and quickly withdrew from his hand, not daring to look at him, pretending to be completely absorbed in stroking the book.
Good heavens, was there a faulty wire somewhere? She was extremely puzzled.
Draco, naturally, felt the electric current. It flowed down his fingers, through his arm, and straight to his heart. He raised his eyes, glanced at her briefly, and said nothing.
She was demonstrating. Her beautiful, nimble fingers lightly stroked the book's spine, making his heart flutter. The fuzzy, brown-covered textbook trembled slightly, then opened and lay quietly in her palm.
"Dangerous creatures, insane textbooks. I'll have to rely entirely on Miss Hermione Granger to protect me in this class." Draco concealed his strange inner turmoil, not daring to let his gaze linger on her fingers too long. He exclaimed loudly at the empty grass, as though reciting poetry.
Hermione was amused by him, but soon her smile faded.
She recalled her disastrous Divination session and the static electricity issue—was it because she had too much hair causing static?
She glanced at the boy with suspicion, only to be met by his grey eyes, which seemed to reflect the sky and clouds' light and shadow. She asked hastily, "Shall we go?"
"Let's go." He spoke calmly, as though the electric current existed only in her heart and had nothing to do with him.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and continued walking with him, exchanging malicious jokes about Divination and giving Professor Trelawney's "Inner Eye" theory a thorough dressing down.
"In short, I believe destiny should be in our own hands." She concluded firmly, maintaining a delicate distance from him, carefully preventing the electric current from spreading again.
"Precisely. You've always thought so," he said softly, keeping a tacit distance from her, just as she hoped.
They arrived at Hagrid's hut. Several students were already waiting there, all apparently at a loss with their textbooks.
Some had bound them tightly; some had stuffed them into narrow, tight bags, as though they'd caught a disobedient hedgehog; and some used absurd large clips to tightly hold the pages together.
"Let's help them." Draco didn't like seeing Hermione so preoccupied with Divination and wanted to give her something to do. He glanced around at the students, who were disheveled from their books, and encouraged her, "You want Hagrid's first class to go smoothly, don't you?"
Hermione hesitated for approximately a second before nodding to him. He took the heavy rucksack from Hermione's hand so she could travel light, but frowned the moment he held it—how many books were inside?
However, judging from how enthusiastically she went to instruct other students, her mood was indeed considerably higher than before.
Thanks to Merlin, Hermione had worked out how to handle the textbook. Draco, naturally, knew how to quiet it—Narcissa had told him when she'd purchased it; and he'd taken Hagrid's class in his past life.
He simply didn't want to stand out in this class. Hagrid might accidentally make him demonstrate riding that enormous bird, which would probably be another nightmare.
The lesson proceeded fairly smoothly. This time, nearly all the students—although Neville Longbottom still struggled with the book—opened the textbook without difficulty. Hagrid appeared very pleased.
Just as in his previous life, the newly appointed Care of Magical Creatures professor, wearing his moleskin coat and accompanied by his large, fierce-looking but cowardly dog Fang, excitedly led them to a small paddock at the Forbidden Forest edge to show them a dozen Hippogriffs.
These beasts were hardly endearing! They had horses' bodies, hind legs, and tails, and eagles' forelegs, wings, and heads. Even though he'd seen them in his previous life, Draco still found them ferocious and bizarre.
"...Walk toward it, bow, and if it bows back, you can touch it. If it doesn't bow, retreat quickly—its talons can wound you," Hagrid said enthusiastically to his students. "Right, who wants to go first?"
The students were completely silent.
Hermione looked at their menacing heads and half-foot-long talons and involuntarily retreated a step with Draco.
She wasn't completely over her upset, so much so that she stubbornly refused to stand with Harry and Ron. Instead, she stood beside Draco, separated from them by a large boulder.
She wanted to stand beside him.
He was the only one willing to put in effort to make her laugh and comfort her, instead of mocking her for not being good at something.
He never mocked her.
Hagrid asked again, but still no student was willing to step forward. Eventually, Harry was pushed forward by his mischievous friend Ron, becoming the first volunteer for the class.
Harry was stiff and tense. However, Hagrid was already beaming at him with pride and expectation—it would be difficult for anyone to refuse at that moment.
Harry had no choice but to step forward and meet the orange eyes of the large Hippogriff called Buckbeak. He bowed as Hagrid had instructed and then looked up.
Buckbeak stared fiercely at him, remaining unmoved, apparently having no intention of bowing to him.
The paddock was quiet, save for the students' heavy breathing; all eyes were fixed on Harry's movements. Hagrid, sensing something was amiss, nervously gestured for Harry to retreat.
Harry appeared flustered. He attempted to step back, but his shoe accidentally trod on a dry twig, making a sudden crack.
Hermione was naturally very concerned about Harry. Compared to the tall and mighty Hippogriff, Harry's frame appeared extremely small.
At this moment, she had no time for anger; worry overwhelmed all her emotions. She stared intently at the boy and creature facing off in the paddock, holding her breath, her heart pounding.
At that moment, Buckbeak suddenly bowed to Harry—and the anxious students all breathed a sigh of relief.
However, something even more frightening occurred: Harry's hand was attempting to reach for its head, drawing closer and closer to its cold, steely beak...
"Won't it suddenly bite him? It seems about to open its mouth toward Harry..." Hermione's eyes widened.
Amid these unsettling speculations, she panicked and suddenly grasped the hand of the boy beside her.
The boy didn't flinch; instead, he instinctively reached out and grasped her hand, interlocking their fingers perfectly, as though it were his natural course of action.
Suddenly, the electric current she'd felt before became clearer, spreading from her fingertips to the depths of Hermione's heart.
The sudden electric current froze her in place, rendering her completely immobile.
This had absolutely nothing to do with faulty wiring or static electricity, she thought, speechless.
She didn't know what was wrong with her, why her heart was pounding so fiercely, and why her mind was completely blank.
She even felt as though there was a tiny heart beating between her fingers.
"He'll be fine—don't be afraid." His gaze didn't leave Harry; he simply tilted his head slightly and whispered in her ear.
Perhaps because of the breeze, a couple of platinum blond hairs touched her earlobe, making her feel slightly ticklish.
His hand was still wrapped around hers, as gentle as the autumn breeze.
She suddenly remembered that one night in Bath, he'd held her hand in a dimly lit corridor, and she could almost still smell the scent of roses that had filled the air then.
And there was Professor Slughorn's stuffy Potions laboratory, where he'd held her hand firmly as he stirred potions. His hair had brushed her ear as he'd leaned closer to examine the cauldron. She could almost still feel that tickle on her earlobe.
Or perhaps, in that compartment where the Dementors appeared, he'd shielded her, holding her hand tightly, and cast a powerful spell to ward off the monstrous creature. Her heart seemed to pound as fiercely as it had then, so fiercely she could hear it in her ears.
Harry had already ridden away on Buckbeak. Most students on the ground followed Buckbeak's shadow with whooshing sounds.
Only Hermione remained rooted to the spot.
Her heart was still pounding at a rate that could terrify her. It didn't seem to be solely because Harry had disappeared into the sky on an apparently dangerous creature, but for some other, unknown reason.
Hagrid approached her with a smug grin, rubbing his large hands together as he asked, "How was my first lesson, Hermione?"
"Er, very... very wonderful," she stammered, hastily releasing the hand that had been so easily manipulated by her memories.
"I rose at five o'clock today to prepare. I wanted to leave a good impression on everyone." Hagrid's large beard couldn't conceal his smile.
Hermione smiled at him encouragingly.
Hagrid appeared very pleased with himself for receiving praise from Hermione, the brightest young student. He happily ran to the paddock and enthusiastically invited students to view the other Hippogriffs.
After Harry's self-sacrificing flight, students were clearly less afraid. Some students were even eager to try, pestering Hagrid with questions, and the grounds were filled with a lively atmosphere.
Draco didn't gather around like the other students. He was clenching his empty hands, appearing lost, and found some solitude beneath a sycamore tree.
When Hagrid had approached Hermione, she'd abruptly released his hand, just as abruptly as she'd grasped it. He'd walked away dejectedly.
The notion of "maintaining a safe distance" was probably just wishful thinking. Draco gazed at her hair being gently blown by the wind, lost in thought.
He seemed completely unable to refuse her. If she wanted to hold his hand, he could only let her hold it, and even hold it tighter.
For a moment, he hadn't wanted to release her. Her hand strangely filled the emptiness in his heart that had persisted for so many days; then it cruelly withdrew, leaving his heart even emptier.
This cruel girl. She'd emptied his heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and stomach. Even his mouth was dry and thirsty, desperately craving a certain taste.
The taste of green apples.
Draco resignedly extracted the green apple from his pocket and bit into it absently.
If he couldn't fill his heart, at least he'd fill his stomach. He thought absently as he looked at her face, which glowed with a rosy pink in the sunlight.
The ordinary apple was making a crisp sound.
Hermione turned to regard him and noticed certain details about him biting the apple that she couldn't ignore. She could smell the fresh, sweet aroma, mixed with the slow, deliberate sound of him chewing the apple, which made her feel strange.
It was very strange. His gaze remained fixed on her the entire time he was biting the apple.
For a moment, she felt as though she were that green apple.
This notion was utterly absurd. "Hermione Granger, are you mad?" she said to herself.
"Aren't you going to observe? A Hippogriff with a horse's body and wings?" Under his stubborn gaze, she attempted to find her normal voice.
"Oh, no, I'm genuinely not interested in that. Believe me, this is entirely for Hagrid's benefit." Draco glanced at Hagrid from afar, recalling his past grievances and disputes with Hagrid over this matter... He didn't want any unpleasant interaction with this newly appointed professor.
In this life, he had absolutely no interest in "enraging a Hippogriff."
He shook his head, leaned casually against the thick tree trunk, and attempted to focus more on the green apple in his hand.
"That's the most feeble excuse I've ever heard," Hermione said dryly.
It seemed as though a small voice in her head was warning her that stepping forward was dangerous, that it would lead to unpredictable consequences; but she couldn't help stepping forward and drawing closer to him.
She tilted her head slightly to regard the platinum-blond-haired boy, whose eyelashes were tinged with pale gold by the sunlight filtering through the treetops.
Draco said nothing, but raised his eyelids and smiled at her.
"Why do you always have green apples in your pocket?" Hermione asked him with a helpless smile, attempting to conceal her surging emotions.
"Want some?" he asked her, his expression utterly innocent.
"No, I'm not hungry." Hermione stared at his hand—the hand that had just intertwined with hers. His well-proportioned hand was bent into a strong arc, tightly gripping the juicy green apple.
She suppressed her panic and asked him with concern, "Aren't you full?"
"I was full. But lately I've been feeling hungry." The boy before her casually licked the juice from his lips, a hint of pleasure in his grey eyes as he stared intently at her. "Oh, perhaps it's not hunger—perhaps I simply fancy the taste."
Hermione stared at his lips, suddenly at a loss for words. His replies were incoherent, and his gaze was strange. She felt her face flush. Perhaps she should abandon this topic. Perhaps she should discuss something else. Perhaps she should observe the Hippogriffs instead of keeping her eyes fixed on the boy's face.
She wanted to look away but didn't know where to look. A breeze gently brushed her cheek, and she heard the sycamore trees above rustling.
She looked up, bewildered, and saw the first autumn leaf swirling down from the sky, passing over his platinum blond hair and pale grey, clear eyes, before finally landing softly on the still-green grass with a soft plop.
This gentle sound struck right to the heart.
It disrupted her pulse.
Hermione Granger sensed something was very wrong.
Yes, something was very wrong. Ever since she'd finished Care of Magical Creatures, she'd been feeling chest tightness and her face was burning.
"Was it too windy near the Forbidden Forest? You've caught cold. Autumn's here, and it's easy to catch cold," Hagrid said to her with concern. "You seemed rather listless during the second half of class. Why don't you visit the Hospital Wing and get some medicine?"
So, as the school bell rang, she hastily ran from the Forbidden Forest back to the castle, knocked on Madam Pomfrey's door, and requested a stimulant.
Madam Pomfrey gave the young Malfoy boy waiting at the door a suspicious look, then examined Hermione, but ultimately said nothing and gave her Pepperup Potion anyway.
"One dose is sufficient," she instructed, seeing Hermione, who thanked her profusely, to the door.
As the door closed, Madam Pomfrey whispered to herself, "Regardless, there's no harm in taking precautions."
"I despise this stuff!" Hermione complained disheveledly as she drank her potion outside the door. "Why does Pepperup Potion make my ears steam for hours on end... Is there any way to improve it and eliminate this side effect?"
"Something we can research. But are you all right?" Draco asked with concern.
What had he said?—With her carefree and uncaring nature, she'd catch cold sooner or later.
She tossed the empty potion phial into the bin outside the Hospital Wing, sneezed, and said listlessly, "This is dreadful."
"You appear dreadful." He approached her seriously, bent down slightly, brushed his hair aside, and pressed his forehead against hers to feel her temperature.
Hermione's eyes widened suddenly.
His face was very close to hers, the tip of his nose nearly touching hers, carrying the refreshing scent unique to young men.
Too close—her heartbeat experienced another wave of turmoil.
"What are your symptoms now?" He moved away from her forehead, but his grey eyes remained fixed on her.
"My face is burning, my ears are throbbing, my legs are weak, and my heart's beating very fast..." she began with difficulty, listing a series of abnormal symptoms.
"Your temperature's still normal, but your face is definitely flushed—it seems even redder than before." Draco examined her for a while, puzzled, and then simply pulled her arm to sit on the bench by the door. "Let's rest for a bit."
Hermione nodded, feeling dizzy and disoriented.
After pondering why she wasn't feeling well, he finally frowned and said, "I told you ages ago that Care of Magical Creatures was unreliable, dragging someone to the Forbidden Forest edge to be exposed to the cold wind—"
"Oh, this has nothing to do with Hagrid." Hermione raised her hand listlessly and waved it dismissively. "I haven't seen anyone else catch cold either."
"That means you're under excessive academic pressure. Merlin, it's only the first day of term!" Draco casually perused the books she'd brought. "'Unfogging the Future'? Why did you bring this? Do you need to take that course?"
Hearing his question, Hermione wanted to turn and refute him, but suddenly, seeing his profile, she felt sudden physical and mental trauma, as though her lungs were suffocating.
She felt as though she were dying.
It must be a side effect of that Pepperup Potion! She thought with tears welling in her eyes.
"And there's 'Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles.' What's this? A textbook for Muggle Studies? You're Muggle-born—do you genuinely need to read this?" Draco asked, flipping through the book.
Hermione didn't dare look at him again.
"I think it's very interesting to study Muggles from a wizard's perspective; it opens a different viewpoint..." she said weakly, clenching her fist. Because her ears were practically steaming, she couldn't muster her usual vigor and couldn't explain Muggle Studies' significance to her.
"Even if you're interested, you needn't carry these books constantly, do you? You have classes all day today—how do you find time to read these books?" Draco said helplessly.
Hermione didn't know how to answer, so she clutched her collar and huddled on the bench without speaking.
"Where are you going next? Back to your dormitory to rest?" Draco asked.
"Oh no, I still must visit the library to finish Professor McGonagall's assignment..." Hermione struggled to her feet.
She saw Draco's face suddenly darken.
"You're ill," he reminded her.
"I'm not that ill. In fact, I'm almost recovered!" she said, her face flushed.
"Fine." He appeared displeased, collected her pile of books, and strode away.
"Where are you taking my books?" Hermione was extremely nervous, ignoring her disheveled appearance, and jogged to catch up with him.
"The library!" he said impatiently, subtly slowing his pace. "Are you going to carry this mountain of books yourself? You're ill—what are you trying to prove?"
"Oh, thank you," she said softly.
"Of course you should thank me. I wouldn't even carry my own books!" Draco said with a hint of arrogance, whilst carefully securing the stack of books in his arms.
Hermione followed him, swinging her arms—she was still sneezing unpleasantly from the potion's effects—and a subtle smile appeared on her lips.
Madam Pomfrey stood quietly for an extended period behind the Hospital Wing door.
She watched the departing boy and girl with gleaming eyes and exclaimed, "Oh my... how sweet!"
"Ugh, it's so bitter." In the ward, behind the curtain of a certain bed, a black-haired patient complained weakly, holding a cup of medicine. His handsome but gaunt face was contorted with distaste.
"Sirius, you're not a child anymore. Do you still need me to feed you sweets? Drink it all! You dare leave a single drop!" Madam Pomfrey's eyes flashed, she placed her hands on her hips, and transformed back into the serious and responsible matron.