novelraw Chapter 82: The Portrait Torn by Fate
Chapter 82: The Portrait Torn by Fate
Chapter Eighty-Two: The Portrait Torn by Fate
When Harry and Ron escaped exhausted from Professor Snape's day-long "Potions Classroom Volunteer Marathon," dusk had already fallen over the spires of Hogwarts.
They spread themselves out on the armchairs in the common room like pancakes, and soon Hermione returned from Hogsmeade—she showered them with sweets like raindrops.
"Draco bought these for you—he brought a little of everything," she said with a smile, her cheeks flushed from the cold wind.
"Merlin's pants! Is this even a little bit?" Ron exclaimed, his mouth agape. He was covered in sweets, looking just like a sugar-coated display in Honeydukes' shop window.
"Thank him for me," Harry said from the side, his mouth stuffed with several Pepper Imps—he looked starving.
"I've already spoken for you," Hermione said with a smile. "How was your day?"
"It couldn't be worse. That greasy git Snape!" Ron said angrily, gritting his teeth as he grabbed an Ice Mouse and crunched it loudly. "We've been doing manual labor all day! Washing dozens of cauldrons, cleaning all sorts of sticky Flobberworms and animal entrails, and Harry even got a telling-off and lost five points for daydreaming."
Harry didn't seem inclined to discuss this somber topic. Holding a piece of fudge, he asked Hermione, "Did you go shopping with Draco? How was it?"
"It's brilliant," Hermione said cheerfully. "I had a wonderful time."
Draco had been the most considerate guide in the entire village of Hogsmeade. He'd noticed her unease and subtly eased her nervousness about her first visit to Hogsmeade. He'd patiently introduced her to the fascinating shops she'd had no idea about before, which were dazzling to the eye. He'd taken meticulous care of her, keeping her far away from Dementors and potential danger, so she was never frightened. Eventually, she'd completely let go of her awkwardness and fully enjoyed the lively atmosphere of Hogsmeade.
At this moment, Ron picked up a Liquorice Wand and examined it closely, then asked Hermione, "How's Hogsmeade?"
"Oh, apart from those patrolling Dementors being a real nuisance, everything else is quite good. Honeydukes has a spectacular amount of sweets—you should definitely check it out... Zonko's Joke Shop is packed with people buying Dungbombs, Belch Powder, and all sorts of things... The Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks is especially good... And of course, the most worthwhile place to visit is Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes." Hermione said enthusiastically, counting on her fingers.
"What did you say?" Ron gasped, stopping mid-duel as he and Harry were wielding the Liquorice Wands like swords. "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes? George and Fred actually opened it?"
"You know about this?" Hermione asked, looking surprised.
"During summer holidays, they were always whispering about this, about applying for patents and such... I'd occasionally overhear a word or two... but I didn't expect it to happen so quickly..." Ron asked, puzzled, as he popped a Jelly Slug stuck to his collar into his mouth. "The problem is, where did they get so many Galleons to set up a shop? Mum and Dad definitely don't know—they'd never agree to it."
"I don't know either. But they've certainly made quite an impression—you should really go check it out." Hermione shrugged, indicating she had no clue.
She turned around, looked about for a moment, and stopped the red-haired girl who was rushing down from the girls' dormitory. "Oh, Ginny, you've come at the perfect time. This is a miniature Puffskein Fred asked me to bring you, called a Pygmy Puff..."
"Thank you!" Ginny said with delight, taking the two little creatures from Hermione's hands.
Then she glanced quickly at the two boys happily rolling around in the sweet pile by the fireplace and asked Hermione, "Aren't you going to the feast? It starts in five minutes."
Harry and Ron immediately realized what was happening, stood up, dropped all the sweets on the ground, and hurriedly squatted down to pick them up.
"Are you really wizards?" Hermione shook her head and pointed her wand at the sweets on the ground. "Pack!"
The sweets immediately jumped back into the packaging bag and stacked themselves neatly.
"Hermione, that was brilliant!" Ginny exclaimed admiringly, stepping through the portrait hole after Hermione. "The last time I saw such a beautiful Packing Charm was when Mum cast it... Oh, you can never expect boys to cast a neat Packing Charm..."
"Can't expect it..." Hermione repeated softly, recalling how Draco had used this spell to neatly arrange the wizard chess pieces back in first year.
She was so adept at the spell thanks to the tips he'd given her and the practice sessions he'd had with her.
However, they had no time to discuss these things anymore. All the Hogwarts students had come from all directions of the castle, excitedly and noisily lining up at the entrance and filing into the Great Hall, which was decorated with hundreds of jack-o'-lanterns with lit candles.
One of Hermione Granger's weaknesses was that when there were two or three queues at the Great Hall entrance, she could never get ahead. There was always someone who squeezed in before her, and her manners wouldn't allow her to rudely push others aside.
Complaints came from the back of the queue behind her—"What are the people in front doing? Why aren't they moving?"—but she was powerless to do anything about it.
She was so anxious that her face turned red, until the boy approaching her stretched out his arm to block the queue beside her, raised his pointed chin at her, and said briefly, "Go in."
"What are you doing?" Zacharias Smith, who'd been stopped next door, said angrily, glaring at Draco.
"Smith, if I were you, I'd consider whether my manners have been sucked away by Dementors," Draco said coldly. "Didn't you learn the saying 'ladies first'?"
Zacharias watched as the brown-haired witch smiled at the meddlesome Slytherin boy and led a red-haired girl through the doorway.
He muttered angrily words like "rotten luck, Mudblood" as he tried to follow, but Malfoy beat him to it and elbowed him, making him stumble.
"You just wait!" Zacharias threatened. "Until Quidditch—"
"Yes, I'm waiting," Draco said lazily, giving him a dangerous smile.
Hermione Granger had a good appetite tonight. She ate a little of everything on the table, even though Draco had already fed her quite a bit in Hogsmeade.
Sipping her warm pumpkin juice, she happily looked up and saw a flock of live bats hovering above her, seemingly brewing a storm, while bright orange streamers, ablaze with flames, writhed and twisted like serpents.
"Hermione, I really didn't expect this," Ginny asked her. "Are you close to that Malfoy? He actually let you go first."
"Oh," Hermione said, "he's my study partner."
"You're studying with a Slytherin?" Ginny exclaimed in surprise, nearly knocking over the pumpkin pasty before her.
Hermione shrugged, took another sip of the sweet pumpkin juice, and glanced at the opposite table, studying the boy with a somewhat indifferent expression.
"Oh, Ginny, relax." Ron grabbed a pumpkin pasty and said to his sister in a casual tone, "You have to be realistic. No Gryffindor with any self-respect wants to partner with her. She'll relentlessly correct all your mistakes—from the pronunciation of your spells to the way you wave your wand, and she'll nitpick the length of your essays and your handwriting until you're ashamed or furious."
"Oh, so you sent her there to cause trouble for the Slytherins?" Ginny exclaimed, feigning sudden realization. Imagining Hermione bossing the arrogant Malfoy around, she couldn't help but laugh. "Won't Malfoy go mad? Won't he want to hex her every day?"
"Oh, no. They don't seem to have had any disagreements," Ron said suspiciously, turning to Harry beside him. "Draco has quite a temper, doesn't he? He's been quite patient with her, actually putting up with her—"
"That's because he's flawless! Everything he does is perfect!" Hermione said haughtily, snapping from her reverie. "I haven't found a chance to fault him yet!"
"Is this why you haven't been enjoying being his study partner lately?" Harry asked with interest. "Because you can't find fault with him? Because you can't showcase your strengths?"
"No!" Hermione said, her face slightly flushed. "I just wanted to help Neville..."
She simply had to change study partners because of certain concerns for her own health.
Even so, her favorite study partner was still him, it would always be him, it had always been him.
She met his gaze across the tables and subconsciously gave him a slight smile.
It was a pleasant night, at least that's what Draco thought.
Today, he felt a great weight lifted from his shoulders. Sirius Black was no longer a threat but a potentially helpful ally. His investment in the Weasley twins' joke shop had opened successfully, and the financial prospects looked promising. Not to mention, with the two Horcruxes destroyed in succession not long ago, his plan to sabotage the Dark Lord was proceeding smoothly and methodically.
He glanced at the front of the Great Hall and saw that the ghosts of Hogwarts were performing the grand finale.
He didn't watch Nearly Headless Nick reenact his near-headless experience—he just kept staring at the Gryffindor table, which was filled with laughter and chatter.
Hermione said something to Harry and Ron, then smiled at him across the crowd.
He felt that everything was moving in a positive direction.
However, fate always loves to play tricks.
When Draco returned to the Slytherin common room, greeted a few burping students, and prepared to go back to his dormitory for a good night's sleep, he was told by Blaise that they should return to the Great Hall.
"Hurry up! Draco—" Blaise yelled at him, roughly pulling the yawning Pansy from the common room. "I heard someone broke into the castle!"
This gave him a bad feeling.
Draco followed Blaise and Pansy into the Great Hall with the Slytherin procession. The long tables that had just been used for the feast were now neatly arranged against the wall. Hundreds of soft, purple sleeping bags lay obediently on the floor, waiting for the students.
Students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw also arrived, and they were discussing amongst the Gryffindor students.
"The Fat Lady's portrait has been slashed—" the Gryffindor boy who never put down his camera shouted from the center of the crowd, his face beaming with excitement. "I just took a photograph of her."
"Colin, that's not funny at all! You know it's because someone tried to force their way into Gryffindor Tower!" Ron's sister, Ginny Weasley, retorted.
"Who?" Susan Bones, a round-faced Hufflepuff girl, asked from the edge of the crowd.
"Oh, Susan, it's Peter Pettigrew. The Fat Lady said so herself!" Neville Longbottom, standing beside her, said in a frightened tone, patting his pockets and then suddenly asking in a panic, "Have you seen my wand?"
"Oh, Neville, did you leave it in the common room again..." said Seamus Finnigan, the Cauldron-Melter, with sympathy.
"This is outrageous!" Draco couldn't help but exclaim.
"Yes, how did he do that?" Goyle's face was filled with horror. Crabbe beside him was also ashen-faced, clutching his Peppermint Toad, unable to speak.
Draco paused, then turned and left the crowd, not continuing the conversation.
What he really wanted to say was, why did the Fat Lady's portrait still have to be slashed on the same day, even though Sirius Black hadn't appeared?
The hand of fate was stirring things up. It was trying to make certain things happen according to a predetermined path.
Draco's alarm bells rang again. Perhaps the recent days had been too comfortable, and he'd lost the vigilance he'd had at the beginning of his rebirth.
How could he think the world had been completely changed?
Admittedly, he'd changed many things, but fate seemed to still be operating according to some kind of inertia.
The escape of the Azkaban prisoner, the slashes on the Fat Lady's portrait—all of these had traces in his previous life.
Were the changes brought about by his interference meaningless?
Were there some predetermined things that wouldn't be disturbed by his meddling?
This hypothesis horrified him, and he dared not delve into it further.
The candles had gone out. The only flickering light was the starlight on the ceiling. Next door, Crabbe was snoring loudly, and the Peppermint Toad in his hand clattered to the floor with a loud crash, enough to keep anyone awake. Goyle was grinding his teeth unconsciously. Further away, Blaise and Pansy seemed to be whispering.
The Great Hall, in every sense, was not a good place to sleep.
Draco frowned, quietly dragged his sleeping bag away from the group making a commotion, and walked in the dark toward the wall in the distance.
"Who is it?" As he approached the wall, he heard a familiar girl's voice asking, with a hint of nervousness in it.
"It's me," he said softly.
"Draco, over here." The tension in her voice disappeared, replaced by cheerfulness.
By the faint light emanating from a nearby silver ghost who'd died in the Victorian era, Draco saw the shadow of Hermione's arm waving at him.
He felt a sense of relief and approached her. He placed his sleeping bag on a small patch of open ground beside her and crawled inside, fully clothed.
It was very quiet here. Most students were gathered in the center of the Great Hall—few would want to sleep near the walls.
"You—how did you end up lying here all by yourself?" Draco turned his head, only able to make out her vague outline in the darkness.
"I want some peace and quiet. I can't sleep," she whispered, looking up at the starry sky on the ceiling.
The events of today had been too complicated and too sudden, leaving her with mixed feelings and a vague sense of unease.
"I understand. I'm a little unsettled too." He couldn't see her clearly, but he accidentally touched a strand of her hair that had escaped her sleeping bag onto the floor.
Curly hair. A little coarse, a little smooth. He gently stroked it, reluctant to let go.
Unaware that her hair was now in the boy's hands, she said with lingering fear, "What a close call today. Who knows when Peter Pettigrew entered the castle? Maybe he was lying in ambush all day, or even in Harry's dormitory. We were in the common room—thankfully they were busy eating the sweets you gave them and didn't go back to their dormitory! Thankfully, nobody got hurt..."
"...except for the Fat Lady," Draco said, deep in thought.
"Oh, that's right. Except for the Fat Lady," she said softly.
Draco remained silent for a moment, pondering the Fat Lady's predetermined fate of suffering a terrible misfortune.
"Draco, I don't think I've thanked you for everything you did today. You came with me to Hogsmeade and showed me everything... I knew nothing about it before, unlike you all who know it so well..." she broke the silence, speaking hesitantly.
Draco's thoughts were temporarily interrupted by her whisper. He smiled in the darkness. "I'd be happy to keep you company."
Hermione smiled in the darkness as well.
After a whole day of noise and bustle in Hogsmeade, they seemed to have had no time to speak quietly, making the current tranquility all the more precious.
"Oh, I should thank you. You let me go first at the door," she whispered.
"What else?" Draco said, amused. "Should I have left you waiting at the door?"
"You could have ignored me too. Just like they do—" she said lazily.
"I can't just ignore you," he said gently.
"Oh, I see," Hermione said, feeling rather pleased.
When she could no longer see his alluring face and only hear his gentle voice, her wariness lessened considerably.
Her "heart palpitations" were finally brought under control to a relatively stable level, unlike the relentless onslaught she'd experienced during the day.
"Draco, are you afraid? I mean, of Peter Pettigrew?" she said, trying to turn her head to face him.
"No." Draco stared blankly at a twinkling star on the ceiling.
"He's dangerous, isn't he?" Her voice held a worried tone.
"He's a coward." He tried to soothe the worry in her voice.
"Will he break in again?" This question made her uneasy.
"No, it won't happen," he reassured her.
"I really don't know how he got in, or how he escaped." She was puzzled. "Are Dementors completely useless...?"
"It seems that way," Draco said.
The barrier formed by the Dementors was useless against an Animagus.
"And Dementors—" Hermione said softly, recalling the rotting, dark creature she'd encountered during the day. "They were terrifying..."
"Don't be afraid... they're far away from you..." His voice was slow and gentle, as if he were afraid of startling the shy stars in the sky.
Hermione yawned.
She was puzzled to find that she seemed to have entered a drowsy state—she'd been tense and wide awake before.
Why was she no longer feeling uneasy?
"Draco, aren't you sleepy..." she asked him, her voice tinged with weariness.
"Not yet." His voice was as calm as still water, soothing her ears.
She sleepily reached out and found his hand, gently taking it in hers.
When her mind was exhausted and confused, she followed her instincts and her heart, instead of deliberately avoiding them as before.
Warm and soft hand. Draco let her hold it, thinking to himself.
"See, that's much better." She murmured contentedly. "When I was little, if I couldn't sleep or was feeling down, Mum would always hold my hand like this and stroke my hair."
Draco chuckled.
He turned to the side, leaning closer to her, and gently stroked her hair with his free hand, as if petting a small creature.
He didn't know if this method could treat insomnia or low spirits.
But at least he wasn't in such a bad mood anymore. Perhaps that was still somewhat helpful.
"Sleep," he whispered to her, continuing to stroke her hair.
Hermione tried to say something more—she'd actually wanted to persuade him to sleep—but she only managed a few soft murmurs.
The exhausted witch held the boy's hand tightly, her breathing gradually calming as she drifted into a peaceful dream.
At dawn, Draco awoke, puzzled.
He'd never expected that he could actually fall asleep on this cold, hard floor without having any nightmares.
How had he managed to forget his thoughts about the Fat Lady's fate last night?
He closed his eyes, trying to return to the vortex of thought, but was suddenly assaulted by the sweet aroma of green apples.
His sensory cells had awakened. His stomach was empty, and his mind utterly desolate.
He reluctantly opened his sleepy eyes and was surprised to find the sleeping witch nestled in his arms.
Or rather, he held her entire sleeping bag, along with her inside, tightly in his arms. Just as he'd hoped in the Honeydukes sweetshop, he embraced her tightly and closely, an unconscious smile on his face.
Hermione, that sweet little witch who was completely oblivious to her situation. She'd buried her face affectionately in his neck, her fingers obediently clutching his collar, her hair cascading over him, and the corners of her mouth slightly upturned, as if she were having a sweet dream.
How had she ended up in his arms? Draco swallowed hard, glancing around guiltily to find the students still fast asleep. A few coughs occasionally drifted from afar—the sounds of the prefects on night patrol and the ghosts.
He was secretly relieved that nobody had noticed when he saw the Grey Lady quietly float over, glance at him with a knowing look, and then slowly leave with a faint smile.
Draco felt incredibly uncomfortable. For a moment, he felt like a wayward student caught red-handed.
A faint blush rose to his face, but he paid it no heed.
He quickly and gently removed Hermione's slender fingers, one by one, from his robes—and soothed her unhappy groan by stroking her hair—then tucked her sleeping bag in, wrapping her up securely.
That's right. She was completely covered up—nobody could see her sweet and innocent smile at that moment.
That's too dangerous.
Draco muttered to himself as he tiptoed from the Great Hall, following the swaying Grey Lady into an empty, dark corridor.
The Grey Lady glanced back at him and asked suspiciously, "What are you doing? Following me?"
"No, Lady Grey, I have something I want to share with you," he said.
"What is it?" she asked warily.
"Not long ago, the other two pieces of his soul were also destroyed," Draco told her. "I thought you might want to know about that."
"The other two pieces?" The Grey Lady's gentle, ethereal voice turned shrill as she rushed toward him, her usually elegant and beautiful face contorting instantly.
"Yes." Draco was startled by her sudden change in expression and tone, but he tried his best to remain calm and stood still.
"Oh, Merlin's beard, he's a devil—" The Grey Lady exhaled slowly like a deflated balloon, muttering, "and a fool too."
"What do you mean by that?" Draco asked.
"Splitting the soul..." The Grey Lady turned around and looked at the distant mountains outside the window. "It's not something you can do at will. Nobody can precisely divide the soul into equal parts. When you split it, all your qualities at that time will be reflected in the split soul, just like another you."
Draco looked at her, puzzled, a thought stirring within him.
"This means that every split is a process of one becoming two," the Grey Lady said softly.
A long silence followed.
A cricket, not yet frozen to death, chirped in a drawn-out, melodious voice from a crack in the bricks, like some kind of humorous background noise.
"You mean—" Draco said in shock.
"The first time, he split his soul in half. The second time, he was left with only a quarter of his soul." The Grey Lady's face twisted in disbelief—she couldn't believe she'd been fooled by such a fool.
"But he has a third, a fourth..." Draco continued, his eyes widening suddenly as he awoke from his drowsiness. He felt a chill run through him. "How much of his soul—how much of it does he still have left in his body?"
"I don't know." The Grey Lady's face returned to its calm, even indifferent state. "It depends on how many times he has split."
"How many times..." Draco murmured, gradually losing his ability to speak.
"Ha! Now I understand why he was defeated by a baby..." She laughed mockingly, then floated away, leaving behind a profound statement. "His soul is so fragile, even weaker than a baby's... He is so broken that he can no longer support his body. His soul must be suffering the torment of being fractured every moment."
Draco stood frozen in place, utterly shocked. Was this... the truth?
His worldview, like a stack of building blocks, was shattered by the Grey Lady's analysis, crumbling into pieces.
He recalled what his grandfather Abraxas had once told him: "The rupture of the soul brings irreversible and permanent loss, resulting in mood swings, lack of judgment, and growing detachment from human form..."
If things went as the Grey Lady predicted...
So the fact that the Dark Lord's personality became increasingly eccentric and his face increasingly distorted day by day in the later stages finally had a reasonable explanation.
With such a fractured soul, he could no longer be called a human being, but a hideous and broken monster.
How could such a monster possibly lead those pure-blood wizards with beautiful dreams to restore their glory?
What else could a monster, constantly immersed in the pain of ruin, desire but slaughter?
Draco stood on the cold, wind-swept corridor, feeling a chill run through him.