novelraw Chapter 81: Hogsmeade Guide
Chapter 81: Hogsmeade Guide
Draco Malfoy appeared to be in good spirits when he arrived at Honeydukes sweet shop.
As soon as he entered, he noticed the messy, brown-haired head.
Hermione Granger.
She stood alone before a shelf in the corner of the sweet shop, examining a display of suspiciously blood-red lollipops, her expression somewhat hesitant.
"Oh, I doubt they'd like those. They're for vampires," Draco said slowly as he approached.
She turned and saw him, and the smile lines beneath her eyes immediately appeared. She was no longer the reserved person she'd been at Hogwarts. "Draco! Thank goodness you're finally here. I'm truly rather overwhelmed."
That magical path from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade, a journey taking an hour on foot, had transformed Hermione Granger's demeanor.
Originally, that road was supposed to feel long. If you remained silent, simply trudging along that somewhat muddy path, wondering when you'd reach that distant, unfamiliar, and only-rumored all-wizarding village, you'd feel the silent road shrouded in morning mist seemed endless.
However, that road could be short. If someone casually discussed along the way the very things that interested you—the secrets to brewing Shrinking Solutions and alternative methods to neutralize their side effects, or the amazing abilities of Occamies, Jarveys, and Swedish Short-Snouts, or whether Professor Trelawney, whom students idolized, was a self-proclaimed fraud—you'd certainly find the road unusually brief.
"I still think Lavender is making an enormous fuss about the rabbit," she complained, tugging at his sleeve as they walked along the misty path. "Although Professor Trelawney claimed that 'what she feared would happen on October sixteenth,' there are several inconsistencies: First, she only received the news that day, which doesn't mean the rabbit died that day; second, her fear that the rabbit would die is absurd—it was a young rabbit, not an elderly one; and besides, even if she feared the rabbit would die, she never expected it to be killed by a fox..."
"I understand what you mean," he said, leading her around a puddle with interest. "From the perspectives of timing, cause of death, and manner of death, it's very imprecise."
"Do you think so too?" She focused only on looking up at him, letting him lead the way, oblivious to the puddle.
"Mm." He paused momentarily, then subtly led her away from a passing Thestral, echoing her assessment. "Your analysis is quite rational. In my opinion, your roommate is rather paranoid and seems to be forcing a prophecy to fit events."
"Precisely." Her tone was somewhat pleased, completely unaware she was passing a black winged horse and nearly stepped on its long black tail. "Very few people think that way. They all think I'm heartless or something."
"Heartless?" Draco paused, nearly choking. "Who said that? Are they blind? I don't think there's anyone more compassionate than you in all of Hogwarts."
Look at how helpful she was daily! She'd practically taken care of every unfortunate soul at Hogwarts!
"Ron said that to me. He felt sorry for Lavender and said I didn't care about other people's pets," Hermione said, her voice hesitant.
In fact, Ron's exact words were:
"You and Draco are exactly alike—neither of you cares about other people's pets! You two are truly a perfect match—" He'd taken a breath, thought momentarily, and added, "—Study partners!"
Why was Ron so agitated? Hermione thought with embarrassment and annoyance, clutching the boy's sleeve tightly.
"Don't listen to him! He was furious for ages when I sent his rat to Azkaban last time. You can't stoop to the level of a pet fanatic like him," Draco comforted her, his gray eyes sweeping over her as if brushing away the emotional dust settled in her heart. "The masses are blind, and truth is often held by the minority. Isn't that right, fellow minority member?"
Her heart felt soothed by his gaze and words, regaining its former rationality and sense of order.
So she cheered up again, and the inexplicable embarrassment and annoyance subsided temporarily.
She started tugging at his sleeve again, asking all sorts of questions. "What exactly is that alternative solution you mentioned for neutralizing toxic effects?"
"Oh, about that." Draco seemed to recall something amusing, and the corners of his mouth curved slightly. "Regardless of the Shrinking Solution's effects, from a purely toxicological perspective, all you need to do is stuff a bezoar in your mouth."
Hermione stared wide-eyed, speechless momentarily.
"That's right." She suddenly realized. "That's exactly it."
"Oh, incidentally, why were you nervous earlier?" Draco finally couldn't help asking as they approached Hogsmeade's gates.
"I wasn't," Hermione suddenly denied hastily. "When was I nervous?"
He didn't speak but raised an eyebrow at her.
"Well, perhaps a little," she said guiltily, carefully choosing her words, burying her nervousness about him and only daring to show him the surface of her emotions. "I've never been to Hogsmeade before. I don't know where to go—"
"What's there to fear? I'll be your guide," he said calmly. "I won't let you get lost."
"Really?" She suddenly perked up. "I thought you didn't like crowds, didn't like going to these sorts of places—"
During summer holidays, every time she'd dragged him to stroll through those bustling Muggle streets, he'd hesitated.
"I don't like it, but I can make an exception today. We've arrived—" Draco paused, smiled slightly, and said to the girl whose face was full of surprise, "Welcome to Britain's only all-wizarding village."
Hermione finally saw the legendary wrought-iron gates of Hogsmeade village.
Above the entrance hung the Hogsmeade sign, a hollowed-out wolf-shaped emblem. Beyond the gates was a winding cobblestone path, with rows of gray-walled, white-roofed Gothic buildings huddled together on both sides, their shop windows flashing with colorful lights to entice overly excited young customers to enter.
The students carried all sorts of oddly shaped sweets and joke items. They moved in groups of three or five through the streets, emerging from one shop and rushing into the next.
"The architectural style here is quite different from Diagon Alley," Hermione said with interest, observing the pointed roofs, slender chimneys, and stepped gables.
"That's right. In terms of overall commercial center structure, it's similar to Diagon Alley, but the architectural style is quite different. I see you noticed those iconic Scottish features, which differ from English architectural styles," he said casually. "Actually, the buildings here are quite different from where I live."
"Where do you live?" she asked curiously. "I remember you have lodgings in London."
"Oh, that's just temporary lodging," Draco said with subtle pride. "My ancestral home is in Wiltshire. It's a manor house; if you went to see it, it—"
He glanced at her delicate, rose-petal-like face and suddenly stopped.
In his previous life, she'd visited Malfoy Manor once. In his house, she'd been tortured by blades, tormented by curses, and subjected to Bellatrix's cruelty.
A vibrant English rose had nearly withered, shattered, and turned to dust at Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire.
"What about it?" she asked, her clear eyes shining with innocent light.
"It's nothing," Draco said, a shadow of disappointment clouding his eyes. "Nothing. Just another residence."
Could this beautiful, peaceful moment escape its fate and remain untainted?
At this moment, she was still innocent and naive. Could she remain as she always had, without being broken and desperate?
"Regardless, it's still your home," Hermione said, seeing his sudden dejection and comforting him with well-meaning presumption. "Some people complain that old houses aren't modern enough and maintenance is too much work, unlike new houses which are less troublesome. But the term 'ancestral home' sounds very historical, and I'll bet that house is very beautiful."
Since it was ancestral property, Draco's family home must be quite old and require frequent repairs. Her parents had a Muggle friend often troubled by renovating his ancestral home.
Draco's family must be similar, correct? Hermione glanced at him discreetly, thinking: Look at him—he becomes listless whenever the ancestral home is mentioned. He must have invested considerable effort.
"Perhaps," Draco said, giving her a forced smile and abruptly ending the previous topic. "Hermione, I need to see Harry's godfather first. Is there anywhere you particularly want to go? I can take you there first."
"Oh, I want to look at Honeydukes' sweets first," Hermione said hastily.
She had to buy some sweets for Harry and the others to take back and soothe their hearts, which had been wounded so badly by Professor Snape.
Draco quickly led her into Honeydukes, positioned her before the shelf with over seven hundred flavors of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and then hurriedly departed.
"Have a look around first," he told her before leaving. "There are so many sweets to choose from—take your time. I'll be right back."
Hermione nodded in agreement. She only knew he was going to relay a message to Harry; she had no idea he'd be gone so long.
She memorized all the Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean varieties, passed a whole shelf of Chocolate Frogs, and stared absently at the Sugar Quills for a while. She wandered aimlessly among the colorful shelves, no longer caring what she saw.
She began worrying about him.
She was thinking about him, wondering why he hadn't returned yet. The longer time passed, the more she cared, to the point that she had no motivation to select any sweets.
Lost in her own expectations, she wandered into the gaps between shelves.
Then his voice finally appeared, freeing her soul from its inexplicable imprisonment.
"Oh, I doubt they'd like those. They're for vampires," he said in a drawn-out tone—those who didn't know him well would probably only hear slight arrogance—but Hermione sensed he was in good spirits, at least better than when he'd left the shop.
She didn't know why she made this judgment, but she was simply very certain about it.
She turned and saw a faint smile creeping onto his face—just as she'd guessed.
So she said with satisfaction, "Draco! Thank goodness you're finally here. I'm truly rather overwhelmed."
"It's all right—let me show you what's in the shop first, then you can decide," Draco suggested.
They walked toward the central shelf to look at bestselling items.
At this time, Honeydukes was attracting more customers. Hogwarts students comprised only a portion; there were also many ordinary witches and wizards who'd come to shop.
Customers thronged the shelves, marveling at the variety of goods. They jostled and pushed, turning the once bustling sweet shop into a tin of sardines.
However, Hermione seemed oblivious to the crowd—the boy had her half-encircled in his arms, protecting her securely.
Even in such confined space, he maintained a certain gentlemanly propriety that might have been inherited from the Middle Ages. He'd wrapped his arms around her, but his arms didn't touch her; there was a subtle distance between them, which gave her a strange yet reassuring feeling.
At that moment, the clamor of voices drowned out her pounding heart. She was bewildered, enveloped in his protection, her nervousness overshadowed by the dazzling array of sweets before her eyes, even experiencing strange, sweet joy.
He was like an experienced guide, leading her past rows of shelves and through the bustling crowd to admire the delicious, colorful confections. He kept whispering in her ear, explaining each sweet's special qualities, his gentle voice melting her heart:
Hundreds of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and various chocolate products, Sugar Quills, Peppermint Toads, Fizzing Whizzbees, Jelly Slugs, Acid Pops, Liquorice Wands, Cockroach Clusters, pepper imps, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Fudge Flies, sherbet lemons...
"So?" Draco asked her loudly amidst the background noise after they'd circulated.
"Too many! I can't choose! All the sweets you mentioned are interesting, but I haven't quite worked them out yet! The only thing I'm certain of is that I'll probably never want Fizzing Whizzbees..." Hermione was caught in choice paralysis.
She turned to him eagerly and, in the noisy crowd, had to lean close to his ear and even raise her voice. "Draco, tell me—what kinds of sweets do boys like?"
"Are you buying for Harry and the others?" Draco suddenly realized, leaned closer to her, and asked loudly.
At that moment, even more people poured into the sweet shop, and a new wave of crowding ensued. Suddenly, several excited students rushed forward like bulls, crushing Draco's loosely positioned arms. Like dominoes, the girl in his arms also pressed against him.
Hermione gasped and, under the relentless external force, ended up giving him a tight, full embrace.
Instantly, her heart twisted into a knot, like a shriveled fig.
Oh Merlin! Her worst fears had materialized!
Her stomach cramped instantly, and her navel felt constricted. Her heartbeat abruptly stopped, then intensified violently, racing at a frequency she couldn't comprehend.
She might have developed some condition, such as "heart palpitations."
She was finished.
The distance she'd carefully maintained with him over the past month was now completely rendered meaningless.
His perfunctory handshake, her pulling at his sleeve through his clothes, his half-circle around her instead of touching her... all these deliberate efforts were completely wasted.
The surrounding voices fell silent, leaving only their embrace as tangible reality.
A refreshing scent wafted from his neck, so pleasant it made her dizzy and her soul tighten.
In that instant, she seemed to understand how Crookshanks felt when he smelled catnip.
"Oh, sorry," Hermione said, resting her chin on his shoulder and whispering in his ear, not daring to look up at his face.
She couldn't lift her head either—she was firmly pinned in his arms by the crowded throng.
A warm sensation came from her back; it was his hand. He seemed to be slowly clenching his outstretched hand into a fist, which made her feel flustered and lost, and her body trembled slightly.
"I'm sorry, I didn't think this through," Draco said, somewhat stunned by the situation.
His ears felt hot from her words, and his cheeks burned from her thick hair brushing against them.
Anyone hugged tightly by a sweet-smelling young witch—even accidentally—would have their heart skip a beat for a second or two.
Besides, she was none other than Hermione Granger. She'd even instinctively wrapped her arms around his waist, her cheek pressed against his shoulder and ear, seemingly with unreserved trust in him.
He knew, of course, that it was merely an illusion—she probably didn't want to embrace him, nor did she completely trust him.
He hadn't ignored her recent actions deliberately maintaining distance from him.
She seemed to be gradually becoming wary of him, just like in their previous life. He could sense that at times, when he got closer to her, her expression would become uncomfortable, and her body would stiffen.
They shouldn't exceed the safe distance. He shouldn't be greedy and overthink.
It was enough that she wasn't hurt, wasn't it? As long as she kept smiling, that was enough.
He was merely a study partner she occasionally thought of, a Slytherin friend she could chat with. Nothing more.
She didn't like him. He couldn't take advantage of her vulnerability.
Draco clenched his fist, resisting the urge to embrace her tightly, and whispered, "It's too crowded here—let's go to a quieter corner..."
"Right." Her voice trembled slightly as she said in his arms, "Let's do that."
Draco continued holding Hermione close, leading her away from the crowded area.
Both were busy. He was busy carving a path through the frenzied customers with his back and elbows; she was busy burying her increasingly flushed face in his shoulder and neck, her fingers gripping the fabric of his back, her heart pounding faster and faster, not daring to look at the surrounding people, as he led her away.
Only when they returned to the shelf filled with blood-red lollipops did they have room to separate and no longer cling so tightly together.
"You're safe now," Draco said, releasing the sweet scent with a hint of loss, not daring to look at her closely, afraid of seeing more of that distant expression that would wound his heart.
"Yes," Hermione said, lowering her head, hiding her flushed cheeks in her thick hair, not daring to look up at him, afraid he'd trigger more of her abnormal heartbeat symptoms.
"Hermione," he said, glancing back at the noisy crowd of customers, his voice tinged with annoyance, "since you're not interested in the sweets, let me decide."
"All right." She nodded absently, blinking nervously as she stared blankly at the pile of lollipops.
"Wait here for me." After saying that, he resolutely re-entered the crowd, regardless of how much he detested the congestion, noise, and chaos.
Draco decided to end the battle quickly.
He pushed aside several hesitant students before the counter, slammed a handful of coins before the broad-shouldered, bald man, and shouted, "Mr. Flume, bring me all the bestselling sweets! Fewer of the less popular ones... and several individually wrapped..."
Mr. Flume recognized Draco by his hair color—this wealthy regular customer who patronized his business through owl order. He admired young Master Malfoy's decisiveness and quickly packed the sweets for him, soon stuffing a large pile of colorful confections into Draco's hands.
Hermione was patiently waiting for the boy in the corner.
His hair was very noticeable, and she could clearly see him squeeze to the counter quickly. Then she watched him forcefully push through the crowd, emerge, and return to her.
"Take out your beaded bag," he said, helping her stuff the large bag of sweets into her enchanted purse. "These are for Harry and the others." Then he grabbed a bag of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum and a bag of various Sugar Quills and handed them to her. "These are for you."
"How did you know I wanted—" she asked in surprise.
"You looked at them several times," he said casually. "I guessed you'd be interested."
Hermione was at a loss for words. He'd considered every single detail!
How could he do everything so perfectly? He'd even noticed she'd glanced at something a few times?
There was probably no boy in the world who cared for people better than him. How could she have thought him aloof before? He was clearly gentle and attentive. He was wholeheartedly taking care of her, not anyone else.
This strange thought filled Hermione with strange joy. She finally dared to look up at him. Her face flushed slightly, and her brown eyes brightened. "Thank you, Draco."
Draco glanced at her—ensuring she didn't seem uncomfortable—and finally managed a satisfied smile. "Let's go—let's look at something else."
"Where to?" she asked, her tone tinged with curiosity.
"Lunch is approaching," he said, taking out his pocket watch, checking the time, and waving it before her, kindly reminding her. "It's nearly noon, and all the hungry students will be seeking places to fill their stomachs. If you still want a seat, you'd better hurry."
"Oh, let's hurry then!" Hermione quickly packed up the sweets, carefully clutched his sleeve, and followed him back to the cobblestone path.
The Three Broomsticks was already in sight. When they went inside, there were already numerous customers, and they could only find a small, reasonably clean table in a corner.
"What would you like to drink?" After ordering the main course, he handed her the drinks menu from the table.
Hermione held the menu absently, her gaze lingering on "Butterbeer."
She'd heard it was something special and really wanted to try it. But she hadn't fully recovered from her "heart palpitations" and didn't think drinking beer alone with the boy was a good idea.
"Perhaps sparkling water would be nice," she said, glancing longingly at the Butterbeer illustration on the menu, secretly deciding she'd definitely buy one to try next time she came with Harry and the others.
Draco raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Hermione Granger hadn't chosen Butterbeer but this bland beverage? Wasn't it her favorite in his previous life?
Every time he'd encountered her at the Three Broomsticks, it was when she was boldly drinking Butterbeer with foam on her mouth.
"Are you certain?" Draco asked again, which elicited a distracted "Mm" from her.
He looked up at her and found her gaze still lingering on the Butterbeer picture. Her expression, wanting to drink but hesitant, was somewhat endearing. Her thoughts were as clear as an open book.
He suppressed a laugh and slowly rose to order at the counter. Moments later, Madam Rosmerta approached with a tray, bringing their lunch, along with a glass of sparkling water and a glass of frothy Butterbeer.
She casually set aside the clear glass of sparkling water, clearly more interested in his Butterbeer. Draco noticed she was pretending to study a Hogsmeade map, but her eyes were secretly glancing at the beer glass.
"Why don't you try mine?" he kindly suggested. "You can sample it."
"Is that all right?" Hermione asked softly, attracted by the beer's golden, translucent color and its dense, delicate foam, feeling somewhat tempted.
"Of course," Draco said calmly, pushing the glass toward Hermione.
"Then I'll have a sip," she said solemnly, picking up his glass and taking a delicate sip.
Then her eyes widened. "It tastes rather good."
Hermione was surprised to find it tasted completely different from regular beer.
The beer's bitterness was completely neutralized by the rich butter aroma, yet the beer's delicate fragrance still managed to suppress the butter's greasiness. No wonder everyone said that when you visited Hogsmeade, you must try Butterbeer.
"You can have more. It's all right—I'm not thirsty right now," Draco said lazily, a hint of a smile in his eyes.
Hermione glanced at him and, seeing he seemed unconcerned, focusing only on the chips, took another small sip. The foam was perfectly sweet; she liked it.
As she savored the sweetness, she heard Draco ask her, "Which shops interest you? I can give you some suggestions in advance. We can't possibly visit every shop in Hogsmeade in just one day, so we need to be selective."
"So what is Scrivenshaft's for?" she asked, sliding her finger across the map.
"Oh, that's a quill shop. They're famous for their pheasant-feather quills and raven-feather quills..." he told her, speaking with the air of someone experienced.
"I've also heard the legend of the Shrieking Shack. Is it really that eerie?" She took another sip of her sweet drink and looked at him with curious eyes.
"I can't guarantee there's nothing there. Some people have reported hearing wolves howling..." he said cautiously.
By the time Draco finished giving a brief introduction to the relatively well-known shops, his mouth was quite dry.
However, his Butterbeer glass was already empty—Hermione had finished it in just a few small sips.
"You really like Butterbeer?" he asked, an "I knew it" expression on his face.
"Oh dear! I'm so sorry—" Hermione finally realized what she'd done and said shamefully, "I didn't mean to..."
She didn't know if she liked Butterbeer, just as she didn't know if Draco's belongings were particularly appealing.
She knew she could never face him again. This guide, who'd so diligently shown her around Hogsmeade, not only had to endure the noisy atmosphere he disliked, but she'd also exploited him so thoroughly that she'd even finished his drink!
For Hermione, consuming someone else's food without self-control was unprecedented.
"Oh Merlin, this is so embarrassing. I'm so annoying!" she said, covering her slightly flushed face. "I'll go buy you another—"
"No need for that. If you don't mind, give me your sparkling water," Draco said with a chuckle, making up a reason casually. "I actually quite like sparkling water."
She wasn't annoying at all; on the contrary, she was quite genuine and endearing.
"Of course," she said hurriedly, pushing the glass toward him.
Draco smiled and took a sip to moisten his throat.
"Have you decided where to go?" He calmly changed the subject, not wanting to embarrass her further.
"Well then, Zonko's—it'll be good to tell Harry and the others when we return," she said after thinking it over.
"All right," he said casually. "I have no objection."
So they finished the rest of their fish and chips—Draco drank his sparkling water—and headed for Zonko's Joke Shop. Just as they reached the shop's entrance, a Dementor suddenly emerged from the other end of the alley and approached them.
"Draco! Dementor!" Hermione was startled and forgot her composure, grabbing his hand again.
"It's all right," he said, holding her hand and quickly pulling her into the joke shop, his face also rather pale. "Those are Dementors patrolling Hogsmeade. They're controlled by the Ministry of Magic and generally don't target wizards."
"But they're everywhere! And they're so dangerous. How could the Ministry of Magic do this?" Hermione whispered, her mind wandering as she watched the overly excited boys buying Stink Pellets, Belch Powder, and Hiccough Sweets at the counter, unaware she was intertwining her fingers with the boy's.
"My father doesn't approve of this either, but he can't do anything about it," Draco said somberly, handing her a bar of chocolate so she could break off a piece. "Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, and his staff insist on it. They'll stop at nothing to recapture Peter Pettigrew."
"Yes, Peter Pettigrew," Hermione said, eating the chocolate absently. She glanced at him with concern and suddenly felt her heart grow heavy.
"So? Anything you're interested in buying?" Draco asked her, attempting to release her hand—respecting her comfortable distance—but feeling her hand had its own ideas.
Hermione shook her head, still gripping his hand tightly. At that moment, worry overwhelmed all other emotions.
She worried that the boy before her might be pursued by that rat.
Peter Pettigrew was, after all, an adult wizard who'd even managed to escape from Azkaban; he was no ordinary wizard.
She knew Draco had once captured him. But examining it closely, there'd also been an element of luck involved—they'd simply caught Peter Pettigrew off guard.
Now that Pettigrew was on guard, Draco might not be able to catch him again. That rat remained extremely dangerous and could very well retaliate.
Draco, however, had no idea what she was thinking. He felt strange joy stirred within him by her tightly clasped hand, a joy that also stirred a desire to share.
So he asked her mysteriously, "Want to see something different?"
"What's different?" His unusually vivid expression piqued her curiosity.
"A place you wouldn't expect," he said with a soft chuckle, taking her hand and leading her away from the Dementors, winding forward.
"Wait! This is the route to the Shrieking Shack, isn't it?" Hermione asked hesitantly.
"Yes, but it's also where you open the door to a new world," Draco said, leading her around the last bend and proudly declaring, "The most popular shop in Hogsmeade!"
The next second, the words "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes" flashed with colorful light, suddenly bombarding Hermione's vision.
George and Fred had transformed the place. The shop windows were set up like firework displays. All sorts of rotating, twitching, flashing, jumping, and screaming merchandise was on display, like a feast for the eyes, attracting passing students.
This shop made all surrounding shops pale in comparison.
"Is this run by George and Fred?" Hermione exclaimed in surprise.
"Yes," Draco said, a hint of pride in his voice. "This shop just opened in Hogsmeade, and I've heard it's very popular."
"Let's go in and look!" she said with interest, pulling him into the small shop.
The store was bustling, not much more relaxed than Honeydukes. Fred stood behind the counter, looking around, completely overwhelmed. While packing some Skiving Snackboxes for a customer, he loudly explained to a fourth or fifth year, "Nose-Bleed Nougat? You'll need some Murtlap Essence too..."
Hermione looked at the shelves, which were piled high with cardboard boxes reaching all the way to the ceiling.
Products such as Skiving Snackboxes, Nosebleed Nougat, and Spell-Checking Quills had all found a place here.
There were also boxes of quills labeled "Self-Inking," "Spell-Check," and even "Smart-Answer," as well as some rather strange-looking Muggle gadgets.
Just then, George rushed over from beside them, patted Draco on the shoulder, and asked enthusiastically, "So? Not bad, right?"
"Quite good," Draco said with reserved approval.
"That's incredible!" Hermione exclaimed enthusiastically, smiling at George.
George's gaze fell on their clasped hands, and he gave them a meaningful smile.
Hermione then realized they'd been holding hands ever since they'd encountered the Dementor!
"Ah, I'll go look over there," she said. Like a startled rabbit, she released his hand and walked toward the large display case nearby—where products like Daydream Charms were displayed.
"Don't wander off, and don't leave the shop," Draco said, his hands empty, unable to resist adding his own words of caution.
"I know, I'm not a child!" Hermione said impatiently, her face flushed. She moved closer to the cabinet, pretending not to care about George's teasing laughter, Draco's words, or the look Draco was giving her.
"Rebellious phase?" George glanced at Hermione with interest, then looked at Draco. "Honestly, you shouldn't talk to girls like that. Nobody likes being told what to do. You're being rather overprotective."
"You don't understand," Draco said, following George toward the counter. "She just encountered Dementors and is somewhat frightened. I think—"
"Oh, it's all right—Fred will keep watch," George said knowingly, then whispered in his brother's ear, "Fred, keep an eye on someone's girl..."
"Yes, sir," Fred said with a mischievous grin, handing a product to the customer before him, and winked at Draco. "Don't worry, I'll make sure she's perfectly safe."
Draco sensed something sinister in the brothers' smiles. He glanced back at Hermione; she seemed quite interested in the products, intently examining something. He shook his head, temporarily setting aside his worries. "Let's discuss the shop."
"You have to come upstairs with me! We've finally finished the second floor! Dobby was tremendously helpful! Dobby assembled these shelves, and upstairs..." George led Draco up the stairs, showing him the newly renovated staff dormitories and the workshop used for developing new products, which were filled with all sorts of strange and wonderful items.
Draco glanced around the somewhat cluttered workshop. There were several long tables, one of which was piled with a rusty dagger from Grimmauld Place and a crystal vial filled with an unknown liquid. Animal claws and coiled snakeskins hung on the wall. In a cabinet over there was a large pile of dull, tarnished musical boxes.
Several licenses and permits hung on the wall. Draco looked at the Ministry of Magic Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects stamp and asked George, "Have the invention registration and patent application for the joke products been completed?"
"All done. The approval process took considerable effort," George said, pursing his lips. "Their efficiency is abysmal. We had to make several trips before they finally sorted everything out for us."
"Did Mr. Weasley find out when you went to the Ministry?" Draco asked with interest.
"The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office is on the second floor of the Ministry, and the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, which belongs to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, is on the second floor as well. As long as you don't encounter anyone you'd rather avoid in the lifts, it's not a problem," George said lazily. "We usually disguise ourselves when we take the lifts."
Draco smiled approvingly. He walked to a corner and curiously lifted the lid of a huge iron cage covered with black cloth, peeking inside. He found piles of unconscious Bundimuns locked up inside.
"Merlin, how many have you saved up?" He replaced the black cloth with distaste.
"Those Bundimuns are rather useful... they can be used for research on Skiving Snackbox venom..." George said with a grin.
"All right," Draco said with a shrug, then glanced at the boxes of wands and a pile of oddly shaped hats beside him, wisely refraining from touching them.
"We're working on a new wand that delivers a nasty surprise to the user..." George said, seeing his interest and enthusiastically explaining, "and there's also a hat to ward off curses, the purely defensive kind..."
"That's rather good," Draco said, his tone finally becoming somewhat more positive. "Keep producing those hats. They might be very popular."
In his previous life, the Ministry of Magic had placed a huge order for those Shield Hats; there was definitely profit to be made, he thought pragmatically.
The shop was packed with people, and Fred soon couldn't cope. He shouted upstairs, "George, get down here right now!"
"Then you can look around here yourself—I have to go help," George said, smiling at Draco and hurrying downstairs to sell goods.
Setting up Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been no easy task. It had taken them a full year to get it operational.
Draco didn't know exactly how many days a week the Weasley twins buried themselves in the Wizard Wheezes workshop, but judging from the workshop's condition—he guessed—the path leading to Hogsmeade must be worn smooth by their constant use.
They currently only opened on weekends. This was at Draco's request; he didn't think the two brothers should have their studies affected by it. On weekdays, the brothers sometimes conducted owl-order business or developed new products.
"Two people are still too few," Draco said softly to the coiled snakeskin. "We need to hire more staff."
The snakeskin remained silent, but the iron cage covered by the black cloth began rustling.
The nearby buildings were lit with faint lights; it was getting late.
He walked slowly down the stairs and immediately saw Hermione.
She seemed to be having a wonderful time, and there was no trace of the fear she'd shown when frightened by the Dementors. She leaned over to observe the clumps of pink and purple fluffy balls that rolled around in the cage, emitting piercing squeaks.
"Those are Pygmy Puffs," Fred introduced to her in a friendly tone, "miniature Puffskeins. They just arrived today. You can touch them; they don't bite. I can give you two if you'd like."
"They're so adorable," Hermione said, stroking them excitedly, then said disappointedly, "No, I already have Crookshanks—they'd get eaten."
"That's a shame," Fred said with a shrug. "Ginny likes these things. Could you select a couple for me to take back to her?"
"That's no problem," Hermione said, then lowered her head and picked through the small creatures.
Just then, a group of older girls rushed into the store, grabbing George and bombarding him with questions in the "WonderWitch" section, which included various strange and unusual items such as acne remedies, magical cosmetics, hair-smoothing potions, and love potions...
"Fred, come help me!" George said awkwardly.
"I'm busy right now!" Fred said, winking at him.
"Oh, he's down here—we don't need you anymore!" George said with a grin.
Fred's eyes flickered in Draco's direction, and he smiled kindly at the girl. "I'll get back to work now, Hermione."
"Oh, of course, you go ahead and get busy, Fred," Hermione said, extremely puzzled, not understanding why the shopkeeper would take time from his busy schedule to come and keep her company while she looked at a bunch of miniature fluffy things.
Fred, overjoyed, rushed to greet the group of excited girls—who were laughing incessantly at a row of dazzling pink products—and enthusiastically introduced them: "Have a look! Our finest love potions—you won't find them anywhere else! Each dose can last up to twenty-four hours, depending on the weight of the boy and the attractiveness of the girl..."
"What are you doing?" The platinum-haired boy suddenly appeared behind her, his tone somewhat relaxed.
"Draco," Hermione said, glancing at him and asking cheerfully, "where did you go? Come help me select one!"
"Yes, ma'am," Draco said, smiling happily. Amidst Fred's enthusiastic introduction in the background, he sorted through the pile of small balls, picking them out one by one for her.