novelraw Chapter 78: Thoughts That Twist and Turn
Chapter 78: Thoughts That Twist and Turn
Chapter Seventy-Eight: Thoughts That Twist and Turn
Draco did not appear in class until Thursday morning.
Without the Horcrux's influence, he slept soundly for the first time in ages—the persistent fatigue that had been weighing on his body and mind finally dissipated.
This was Potions, a joint lesson for Gryffindor and Slytherin students. The students, who'd arrived early, were chattering amongst themselves around the tables in the dungeon classroom, preparing potion ingredients for the upcoming lesson. When Draco appeared in the doorway, the classroom fell suspiciously silent for three seconds.
He calmly glanced at the strange-looking Gryffindors—who quickly looked away guiltily and resumed their lively discussion—and casually walked to an empty workbench.
Hermione rushed toward him from the other end of the classroom, as if she wanted to embrace him.
Draco calmly extended his hand, waiting for her to rush into his arms. But finally, she came to an abrupt halt before him. She stopped, hesitated, and reached out to shake his hand in a perfunctory manner.
He raised an eyebrow, not understanding why she'd suddenly become so reserved, but still obligingly shook her hand in return.
A subtle current surged between their palms.
Hermione had thought that a handshake would avoid the strange feeling of an embrace. But to her dismay, the situation improved nothing—her heart rate was fluctuating again.
Suppressing her turbulent emotions, she tried to smile at the seemingly innocent culprit. "Draco, you're here!"
Draco had no idea what she was thinking—he just thought she was acting strangely today.
The boy, having had proper rest, was in good spirits, so he let her unusual behavior pass and simply nodded at her with a smile.
Hermione relaxed, lightly clasped her hands behind her back, hiding the slightly trembling hand that had been inexplicably shocked, and said to him, "Then I'll go back."
She prepared to return to her workbench.
"Why don't you come over and join me? There's nobody beside me," he said cheerfully.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Draco, I have to help Neville—he's been struggling with these last few lessons—he's really afraid of being punished by Professor Snape," Hermione said, glancing at him discreetly.
"He needs to learn properly on his own. I can say with certainty that there's no benefit to giving him constant assistance like this. Professor Snape won't be impressed." Draco squinted at Longbottom, who was frantically knocking over potion ingredients in the distance, and felt something inside him also being stirred up.
Hermione did not budge.
She smiled at him, then walked back with light steps.
Neville Longbottom—that troublesome idiot. Draco thought blankly, watching her swaying hair.
"Thank Merlin!" Ron squeezed beside him and patted him on the shoulder with a beaming smile. "I knew you'd be all right!"
"What's going on here?" Draco glanced at his hand and asked arrogantly, "Why do the Gryffindors look at me as if they've seen a ghost?"
"You didn't come to lessons all day yesterday, and the rumors are flying wild! People are saying you were kidnapped by Peter Pettigrew, some are saying it was the Dementors... George and Fred even set up a betting pool in the Gryffindor common room, with odds of you returning alive at 5 to 1." Ron looked at his increasingly sour face, and his tone inevitably changed from excited to hesitant.
"Should I feel honored by this?" Draco gave him a sharp look, sensing something suspicious in his unusual enthusiasm. "Did you bet?"
"Oh, I only bought a little, just to join in, you know," Ron said, blinking.
"Did you win?" He rolled his eyes at Ron.
"Of course," Ron said, beaming.
"Should I thank you for your faith in me?" Draco snorted irritably.
"Don't be angry. We were all worried about you. We bought tickets because we couldn't stand their spreading rumors, so we stood up to them," Ron explained. "It's not just me doing something stupid. Hermione even argued with Lavender yesterday after hearing the rumors because Lavender thinks you're the one Professor Trelawney said would 'leave us forever.'"
"What?" Draco asked in surprise.
He turned his head and glanced at her. Through the gaps in the crowd, he saw her busy fiddling with a brass scale, helping the helpless Longbottom weigh potion ingredients, her lips pursed, looking very focused.
It was hard to imagine that someone as peaceful as her could argue with anyone—except perhaps him in his previous life.
In his previous life, Hermione Granger always came to confront him because he'd bullied those around her. She was always cold and sarcastic toward him, even though he never provoked her directly.
She always tried to tenderly protect the misfits under her wing—Potter, Weasley, more Weasleys, Longbottom, Hagrid, house-elves, and even Hippogriffs—and for that reason she was fierce toward him and constantly argued with him.
What? Did that mean he was now a special being worth getting angry at and protecting?
Had he also been brought under her wing, becoming one of the misfits in her protective circle? Draco looked at her—who was casually picking up a hairclip to tie up her thick hair—and suddenly felt rather pleased.
She'd probably been quite angry at the time.
Draco knew, of course, that Hermione Granger was always friendly and rarely got into arguments.
But she'd broken this rule for him.
This gave him a strange sense of pleasure, although reason told him he shouldn't feel happy because she'd been angry.
"Is she all right?" Draco asked, his gaze fixed on her as she pushed through the crowd. The way her hair was casually tied up gave her an air of elegance.
"Oh, after Lavender apologized, they made up quickly. She's doing fine, still out early and back late as always—I wonder what she's busy with." Ron waved his hand dismissively.
Draco stared at her. She'd just finished weighing the potion ingredients and was thoughtfully fiddling with a slender pendant chain around her neck—the chain gleaming with a hint of gold.
"Hey, snap out of it, snap out of it!" Ron waved his hand before him, which successfully drew his attention back and also made him look slightly annoyed.
"What do you want?" he asked impatiently.
"Let's get down to business! Harry told us quietly! Yesterday morning, Fawkes grabbed him by the collar of his pajamas and dragged him to the Headmaster's office, then he spoke Parseltongue to some random locket..." Ron looked around and whispered to Draco, his freckles flushed with excitement.
"Oh yes, thanks to Harry," Draco interrupted him. "Speaking of which, where did Harry go?"
"He went to the hospital wing... you know, to see his godfather again," Ron said matter-of-factly.
Draco understood.
Sirius Black appeared to have been seriously injured in the process of destroying the Hufflepuff Cup.
Harry must have been very worried about him, visiting whenever possible.
"Do you know what that locket is?" Ron asked furtively, his face showing eager curiosity.
"Just some Dark artifact from the Black family townhouse. They sorted through loads of similar things during the holidays. I think Harry's godfather was injured because of this," Draco said casually, without telling him the truth.
"Sirius said the same thing. I thought I could get some inside information from you!" Ron clicked his tongue regretfully.
Really? Draco was slightly surprised.
Unexpectedly, Sirius Black thought the same as him, and they'd both chosen to deflect, giving the exact same reason.
He was quite tight-lipped, managing to keep the secret without revealing a single word to his godson.
As lesson time approached, more silver-green and gold-scarlet hues converged into a torrent, surging into the Potions classroom.
While Draco was busy setting up his cauldron, Harry finally arrived.
"How is your godfather?" he asked Harry, arranging beakers, droppers, and silver knives.
"He's not well," Harry said worriedly.
"He'll be all right. You have to have some faith in Madam Pomfrey's methods," Draco reassured him.
They didn't talk long, because Professor Snape strode into the classroom, his face dark with anger, and demanded that each of them brew a Shrinking Solution during the lesson.
While Draco was measuring the wormwood and asphodel essence, Professor Snape was again troubling Longbottom. "Orange, Longbottom, tell me, what can penetrate that thick skull of yours..."
Look! What did he say? No matter whether Hermione went to Longbottom's side or helped him measure potion ingredients, this potion idiot would be targeted by Professor Snape because of his foolish actions! Draco thought absentmindedly as he peeled a shrivelfig.
"Please, sir... I can help Neville correct it..." Hermione said crisply.
"I don't recall asking you to show off, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said coldly.
Even though they were several tables apart, Draco could still see how red the little witch's face had become. Professor Snape had never made things difficult for her while she was brewing potions beside him!
However, she'd suddenly had a change of heart and become determined to station herself near Longbottom! Aside from the problem of inefficiency, she'd also be dragged down and bullied because of this idiot. Draco shook his head, unable to resist glancing at her again.
At this moment, Professor Snape walked away, busy making things difficult for other Gryffindor students.
The word "give up" was clearly not in Hermione Granger's dictionary.
She was still like a living saint, generously helping Neville Longbottom prepare the orange potion, with her beautiful brown head facing away from him.
Wake up, Hermione Granger!
Open your eyes and see who is the best study partner! During the summer holidays, she'd sincerely said that he was "a very precious study partner, and it would be hard to find another one like him in the world." But after only a week of term, she'd found someone else without any regrets.
Did this little witch still have a word of truth in her mouth? Draco skillfully sliced the daisy roots evenly, muttering to himself as he listened intently to what was happening on her side.
When it was time to slice the dried caterpillars, he heard Finnigan's voice—that Gryffindor cauldron-exploding fellow: "This morning's Daily Prophet... someone saw Peter Pettigrew... a Muggle made an emergency call, in Dufftown..."
"The town isn't far from here, is it?" exclaimed a Gryffindor girl.
Here we go again.
It's always the same kind of dubious rumor. A shadow crossed Draco's face.
"If he wants to come, let him come." Harry said through gritted teeth as he chopped the poor daisy roots, cutting them into a crooked mess. "If possible, I'd rather duel him myself."
Draco was about to say something to dissuade him when he caught a glimpse of Professor Snape's stern face.
He quickly turned around, focused on his task, and obediently began adding ingredients to the cauldron containing the bubbling wormwood infusion:
A peeled shrivelfig as the base... sprinkle in evenly chopped daisy roots... toss in thinly sliced dried caterpillars...
Meanwhile, Professor Snape clearly had no intention of letting Harry off. He stood before their table, eyes lowered, looking down at Harry's forehead from his hooked nose, an unpleasant smile playing on his lips beneath his long, greasy black hair.
"What I just heard... a young, brave, hot-blooded fool... eager to die... what a moving spectacle," he drawled, speaking with a mocking tone.
Harry was startled. He immediately lowered his head and focused on cutting his daisy roots, saying nothing more.
Select the best-looking rat spleen and slide it into the cauldron along the edge... then stir counterclockwise with a stirring rod...
"Raise your head, Potter, look at me!" Professor Snape snapped. "Has nobody taught you basic manners? Making eye contact when speaking to someone is the least you can do to show respect."
Harry reluctantly looked up and found Professor Snape staring intently into his eyes.
Snape glared at Harry momentarily, then said threateningly to those emerald eyes, "You'd better behave yourself. Otherwise, before you even have a chance to duel anyone, the Hogwarts Express will be sending you home."
Add a tiny drop of leech juice... observe the color change drop by drop... until it turns bright, dazzling acid green...
Draco turned the flame to low. While tidying the unused potion ingredients, he glanced at Harry from the corner of his eye. Harry was currently glaring at Professor Snape, practically ready to leap up.
But in the end, he composed himself, lowered his eyes, and said, "Yes, sir."
"Very well, Potter," Professor Snape hissed like a viper. "I'll keep an eye on you. Don't let me catch you. Oh, Draco, the potion is brewing well."
The Potions Master glanced at Draco, seemingly quite satisfied, then turned smugly, preparing to check on Longbottom's workbench.
He took long strides, walking with a gust of wind, his black robes billowing beside Draco, allowing Draco to catch a faint scent of potion.
The smell was very familiar. He'd smelled it in Slughorn's cauldron before—the smell of Wolfsbane Potion. It seemed Professor Snape was helping Lupin, even though he'd shown unprecedented disgust toward Lupin at the Start-of-Term Feast.
Aside from Professor Snape, a highly skilled Potions Master, there was probably nobody else at Hogwarts who could brew Wolfsbane Potion—if you didn't count him and Hermione, who were only half-skilled—Draco pondered.
Meanwhile, several tables away, as expected, Hermione was furious when Professor Snape deducted five points for helping Longbottom successfully brew the Shrinking Solution—turning his toad Trevor into a tadpole—and her face turned bright red with anger.
"I told her ages ago that helping Longbottom wouldn't do her any good," Draco said to Harry, pursing his lips.
"But Professor Snape is so unfair to Hermione! He's always targeting us... it's so inexplicable!" Harry shook his head and whispered to him, "But then again, when I think about how he saved me and knew my mother when she was young..."
Saint Potter—always willing to think the best of people. Draco twitched the corner of his mouth.
"I understand. He still always wants to look into your eyes." He deftly hid several small vials of the Shrinking Solution he'd brewed and whispered to Harry.
"Yes, they're the same as my mother's eyes," Harry said mysteriously.
Severus Snape, holding Longbottom's wriggling tadpole, felt two chillingly sympathetic gazes on his back.
He looked around blankly at the students brewing potions—they all seemed perfectly normal.
It was truly bizarre. He hurriedly pulled a small vial from his robes, poured several drops of liquid onto Trevor, and Trevor instantly turned into a toad again.
He had no interest in dwelling on Longbottom's matter anymore. He tossed the toad onto the table, then turned sharply again, trying to find the source of the gaze, but to no avail.
Snape wasn't the only one who felt this "strange" sensation—Draco did too.
Draco didn't consider himself a prying person, but he couldn't help noticing something odd: Hermione's whereabouts were becoming increasingly elusive.
When Potions ended, he intended to slow down and wait for Hermione, who was dragging her feet behind him, to catch up and discuss with her how she'd altered the potion's toxicity for Longbottom.
But inexplicably, he suddenly saw Hermione rushing up from directly ahead of him, panting, and saying something to Harry and Ron.
Through the crack in the half-open zipper of her bag pocket, Draco could see at least a dozen large books.
That's fascinating!
Those books were definitely not for "entertainment." With such a heavy workload, she simply didn't have extra time to read so many other books.
Hermione noticed his gaze. She didn't speak to him, but simply nodded quickly before striding toward the Great Hall.
"Don't you think she's hiding something from us?" Draco overheard Ron saying to Harry as he passed by with Crabbe and Goyle.
Of course she's hiding something! Draco sat at the Slytherin table, watching the witch with the nonchalant expression—she was nibbling on a strawberry while reading a book. He'd bet his own hair that it was definitely related to her "little secret" about the timetable.
After lunch, the students rushed off to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin, just as Draco had seen him on the train, was dressed in shabby robes and carried a battered briefcase. This drew disdainful murmurs from some Slytherin students.
Goyle and Crabbe remained silent. Draco looked at them with surprise.
"Has the sun risen in the west?" he asked them. "I didn't know you'd listen to lectures willingly."
"He can drive away Dementors, can't he?" Crabbe's round face showed a hint of respect. "He seems to have some skill."
"That's right," Goyle said. "And he doesn't seem like the kind of person who'd bury us in textbooks."
Goyle's sixth sense was remarkably accurate. No sooner had he said that than Lupin asked everyone to put their textbooks away.
"Today's lesson is practical—you only need your wands," Lupin said.
Practical lessons were rare. The last one had ended with Hermione using a Freezing Charm to subdue the Cornish Pixies.
What kind of surprise or shock would this new teacher deliver? The students, some interested and some skeptical, followed him with their wands—watching him easily subdue Peeves along the way—and eventually entered a staffroom filled with mismatched old chairs.
This lesson was about Boggarts. The newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher walked to a wobbly old wardrobe, a mysterious smile on his face, and began asking questions.
Hermione Granger certainly shone in this lesson—she clearly explained what a Boggart was and earned Lupin's praise.
Draco watched her bouncing on tiptoe with such enthusiasm, but another question was on his mind: When had she arrived at Harry's side?
What followed was nothing new. Neville Longbottom transformed Professor Snape, who'd stepped from the wardrobe, into a cross-dressing man in his grandmother's lace dress, wearing a vulture-topped hat and carrying a large red handbag, which caused the Gryffindors to burst into laughter.
The Slytherins didn't laugh. Neither did Draco.
He looked at Professor Lupin coldly, not understanding what benefit he gained from targeting Professor Snape like this.
Didn't he have to rely on Professor Snape to brew his Wolfsbane Potion? Didn't he have any gratitude at all?
Next, the students lined up enthusiastically, waiting for the moment to confront the Boggart.
Draco glanced at the Boggart—which had become a bandaged mummy—and lazily joined the queue behind Theodore Nott, at the very end.
This way, he ensured he wouldn't have to confront the Boggart—he didn't think it was wise to have his Boggart displayed publicly, as it was too private.
What was Draco's own Boggart?
In his previous life, his Boggart had been his father—Lucius, who stormed out in rage—a discovery made during third-year final exams.
At that time, his biggest fear had been making his father angry or disappointed.
But in this life, when he'd broken free from the confines of father and son, no longer confined to that small plot in his heart but had more important things to strive for, his father was no longer the object of his fear.
In comparison, he might be more afraid of his parents dying than of them being angry.
Could it be the Dark Lord?
Yes, Draco had once deeply feared the Dark Lord. He'd brought suffering to his parents and the entire Malfoy family. He'd wantonly tortured and killed wizards at Malfoy Manor, right before Draco's eyes.
However, it wasn't entirely fear—it was more an emotion that disgusted Draco.
If you asked him what he feared most, it was probably this:
Draco shook his head, giving up on thinking.
It wouldn't be his turn. According to his memories from his previous life, when Harry's turn came, Lupin would stop the Boggart and make it disappear amidst everyone's laughter.
At this moment, the Boggart had transformed into a silvery full moon in the sky—the very thing Lupin feared most, the thing werewolves feared most.
After eliminating the Boggart, Professor Lupin happily assigned homework to his students, completely unaware that some of them had already discovered his secret.
"He seems like a good teacher," Draco overheard Hermione murmur beside him. "I also hope to have a chance to face that Boggart—"
Hermione? When had she arrived? Draco was startled by her.
This little witch was becoming increasingly elusive, appearing and disappearing without a trace.
"Then your Boggart will become Professor McGonagall declaring all your exams failed..." He couldn't help but tease her, seeing her interested expression.
"No way!" Hermione blushed, glared at him, and puffed out her cheeks like a Puffskein.
"And you? What is Draco Malfoy most afraid of?" After a pause, she looked at him with her defiant brown eyes and asked.
"Maybe it's you," Draco said, a shadow crossing his pale face as he adopted a nonchalant air. "Then I'd rather never meet my Boggart."
Hermione was genuinely angry now. She said sternly, "Draco, I don't like your strange sense of humor! It's not funny at all!"
After saying that, she opened the classroom door without looking back and walked away as the bell rang for lesson's end.
"Why is she angry with me?" Draco asked Crabbe and Goyle innocently, watching her huffing away. "I'm telling the truth."
Crabbe and Goyle just grinned at him dumbly, offering absolutely no constructive advice.
In the second practical lesson, the students followed Professor Lupin into the castle's dark dungeons to learn how to deal with Red Caps—ugly creatures resembling goblins who like to live in places stained with human blood.
"Students, be careful—they could appear at any moment!" Lupin said cheerfully at the dungeon entrance, watching the group of students gradually scatter, their faces wary.
The Red Caps set out.
"Hermione, don't be angry. I take back what I said, all right?" Draco waved his wand, sending a little goblin wielding a large club behind the witch flying against the wall, then spoke to her.
"All right," the witch said, glancing back at the large cudgel lying on the ground, still shaken. "I'll acknowledge you saved my life."
Draco thought everything would return to normal, that they'd still be the most compatible study partners.
However, she hesitated and wasn't very enthusiastic about "partnering with him."
Given other options, she'd still choose someone else first—often the least capable person in the entire classroom—instead of sitting directly beside him as she used to.
This wasn't right—how long had it been since she'd ignored him like this?
Draco felt disappointed and resentful. What had he done wrong?
In the third practical Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, Professor Lupin directed the students to take turns wading across the shallow pond beside the Black Lake to practice their skills and methods for dealing with Grindylows.
When it was Hermione's turn, she jumped into the water first. Draco pulled Longbottom away from the hesitant boy and glared at him: "You go to the next group, Longbottom."
Neville, his eyes wide with terror, was startled by the sudden, deadly gaze. He took several steps back on shore, stammering, "All right... all right..."
"Why did you come down here?" Hermione walked several steps in the water before belatedly realizing that her partner behind her had changed.
"Longbottom is frightened and doesn't dare enter the water," he said calmly, wading toward her. "What, afraid I'll hold you back?"
"Of course not." She blinked, standing in the pond's middle, feeling flustered.
"Speaking of which, how did you restore that poisoned Shrinking Solution to its original state?" Draco's eyes flickered, sensing her unease, and he tried to change the subject.
As he spoke, he kicked away the Grindylow that had leaped up and tried to grab her neck with its webbed hands—a type of water demon—and pulled her over.
"Oh, Draco, thank you, but that's not the right method!" Hermione tossed a small cucumber with her name carved on it to the snarling Grindylow—immediately attracting its attention—and gasped, "He just added too much, making it too acidic. I added the other ingredients in equal proportions, neutralized the acid with base, and then diluted it proportionally..."
"That requires very precise proportions! You calculated it without even using parchment?" He roughly pressed down on the Grindylow's head, who was examining the cucumber, and poured water over it—the little monster immediately softened its scaly body and slid into the pond.
"Yes," she said casually, as if it were no big deal.
Using her amazing mathematical talent to alleviate incompetence is simply a waste of talent! He thought with a frown.
"It must have taken quite a while, correct?" He strode onto the pond's bank, pulling her, who was soaking wet, up with him. He asked in confusion, "How did you still have time to brew your own potion? And even earn an 'Outstanding'?"
She shrugged, preoccupied with listening to Professor Lupin loudly announcing from the other side that their group had "successfully passed the test," and didn't answer Draco.
After several lessons, the Defense Against the Dark Arts course, which emphasized "practical lessons," was well-received, and Professor Lupin's patched robes were no longer the students' focus.
The only victim of this course—Professor Severus Snape—appeared unusually irritable.
His cross-dressing story spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts, reaching even the most obscure portraits and rustiest suits of armor in the castle.
So the victim intensified his bullying of Longbottom, the half-instigator, in Potions, and also nitpicked at the Gryffindor student beside him.
Hermione was the first to be affected.
"You're wasting your time. Not only are you not helping him, you're making things worse and giving Professor Snape more reasons to deduct points from your House." In Care of Magical Creatures, Draco caught her again as she tried to dodge him and made her his partner—he forced Longbottom behind Hagrid with his icy gaze—and tried his best to persuade her to abandon the idea of "being overly helpful."
"Oh, Draco, shouldn't we help students who have learning difficulties?" Hermione held the flowerpot steady so Draco could pull the little hawthorn sapling from it. "You can't look down on other students just because you're exceptionally talented—"
It was a sunny day, and they were in a clearing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid instructed them to work in pairs, choose suitable holes in the clearing, and plant the saplings that the Bowtruckles were attached to, thus giving the Bowtruckles a home at Hogwarts.
"But this isn't a matter of help, nor is it a matter of talent. It's his carelessness and lack of effort. What was he thinking, adding a whole box of rat spleens? And who would add so much leech juice? This isn't some difficult-to-prepare advanced potion—it's all clearly written in the textbook... yet he didn't even follow the basic steps," Draco said mercilessly.
"I think Professor Snape's harsh criticism exacerbated Neville's fear. He's so afraid that he keeps making foolish mistakes. He panicked when he saw Professor Snape walk by that day. Give him more patience, time, and space, and he can do better." Hermione paused, then said, puzzled, "Draco, sometimes I truly don't understand you. Why are you always saying one thing and meaning another? I mean, you always tell me not to waste my time helping others, but when I'm in trouble, you always help me. You've always been very patient with me—"
"I don't help just anyone," Draco said softly, watching the Bowtruckle hiding among the saplings curiously observing them.
"What?" she asked in confusion, but a gust of wind blew his words away.
"I mean, hold it steady," Draco gestured for her to hold the tree he'd positioned in the hole. "Watch out for that Bowtruckle."
Hermione leaned against the sapling. The Bowtruckle tentatively slithered through the branches, crawling up the back of her hand and onto her arm.
"Draco!" she exclaimed in surprise. "It's climbed on me!"
"Oh! Close your eyes!" Draco exclaimed in surprise, quickly reaching out to block its path. "It's not planning to attack you, is it?"
"No. I don't think so." She didn't close her eyes, but smiled as she looked into its small brown eyes—which shone with shy and uneasy light. "I think it might feel a little insecure because the tree keeps shaking."
Draco frowned at the Bowtruckle's long, sharp fingers, his heart filled with worry for her smooth, pale arm. He didn't want a scratch to appear on that arm, adding new fuel to his nightmares.
Hermione was using her free hand to offer it her wand, trying to temporarily replace the hawthorn tree that was being transplanted, but the little creature sniffed it and lost interest, pacing restlessly in place on her arm.
"Oh, use mine." Draco casually tossed her his wand. "It likes hawthorn wood, doesn't it?"
She caught his wand, pressed it close to her arm, and watched the little creature wriggle up the wand's tip, clinging to the hawthorn wand and remaining still.
"Yes, it likes it very much. Thank you," she said with a smile.
The weather in early September was still somewhat hot and dry. The boy removed his robes and tossed them onto a low branch of a nearby oak tree. Then he began slowly unbuttoning his shirt cuffs, revealing a slender but strong forearm.
"You're welcome. I'm glad to be liked." He said slowly, staring intently at her, then shook his head deftly and loosened his tie, which was embroidered with a dark green Slytherin serpent pattern, unbuttoning one button at the collar.
This ordinary gesture made her face burn.
She always felt that his gaze was somewhat meaningful.
She suddenly recalled that gentle kiss on the forehead in the morning sun.
Come on, Hermione Granger, it was just a friendly interaction! She kept telling herself. Mum and Dad would kiss her like that too—he was just too happy that day!
"Yes, friend, it's not a big deal." She tried to calm herself, attempting to regain her composure despite her racing heart.
Look how nonchalant he was. After ruining her mood, he just smirked and impatiently went to Hagrid for his shovel. Then he strolled toward her, his platinum-blond hair gleaming in the crowd.
She stared blankly at him as he stood before her, smiling lazily at her, before lowering his head and wielding the shovel, working on the fertilizer and soil.
Ordinary days, ordinary partners, ordinary lessons.
But for her, everything was progressing in an unusual direction.
Strange emotions often lingered in her heart.
Sometimes it was immense joy, sometimes it was painful palpitations. These intermittent symptoms only appeared in situations related to Draco Malfoy, and lately they seemed to be occurring more frequently, making her feel dizzy, short of breath, and disoriented.
Busy studies filled her heart and alleviated the distressing symptoms. But the moment she had a moment of leisure, even for just a second, she'd be swept away by that strange emotion again, like a small boat unable to withstand a huge storm, floating and sinking, unable to extricate herself.
She tried to avoid him—but that was easier said than done.
She'd once hidden in a far corner of the classroom, choosing as her study partner the student who needed the most attention and care in the entire class, yet she couldn't control her legs. She always wanted to wander near him, like a little animal trying to mark its territory, unable to resist.
What's most despairing was that he seemed to be everywhere.
No matter when or where, she could always capture that platinum-gold hue instantly.
He was too dazzling.
Hermione blushed slightly, her gaze drawn back to the boy before her.
She noticed that the exercise had given his pale cheeks a healthy rosy hue.
She noticed that he'd occasionally lift his rolled-up shirt sleeves to wipe the fine perspiration from his forehead.
Sometimes his eyes would peek at her through the gap in his drooping fringe—and whenever that happened, she'd look away, pretending to study the little Bowtruckle climbing on his wand.
She could feel his gaze sweep over her, like the gentle caress of a breeze. Then he'd continue working silently, filling the hole with soil.
He exuded the air of a "young master who doesn't do manual labor," and his movements while wielding the shovel were rather clumsy. However, he insisted on doing it himself, unwilling to let his female partner do the work.
She protested, feeling that he underestimated her strength. But he solemnly replied that holding the tree steady was more important.
"You don't want this tree to grow crooked, do you? You have to guide it." He grinned mischievously as he assigned tasks. "I'll definitely place it crookedly if you choose to use the shovel."
This unreasonable boy never directly expressed his thoughtfulness—he always used roundabout methods.
"What's wrong?" Perhaps because her silence had been too long, he looked up and asked her unexpectedly, completely unaware of the witch's complicated thoughts.
"It's nothing. Let's continue." Her face flushed slightly, and she quickly curved her lips into a smile, giving him a bright, triumphant laugh into his beautiful grey eyes.