novelraw Chapter 84: Partners Who Care About Each Other
Chapter 84: Partners Who Care About Each Other
Chapter Eighty-Four: Partners Who Care About Each Other
On the day he returned from the hospital wing, when Draco appeared in the Slytherin common room, he was unsurprisingly greeted with cheers and applause from the Slytherins.
Once again, he'd earned their respect through his own abilities, not just his family background.
A blush rose to his cheeks, and he looked up at them with a cheerful expression, giving them a lazy smile.
"That's fantastic!" Blaise patted him on the shoulder. "I can brag to those dejected Gryffindors for a whole year now."
"Please don't," Draco shook his index finger to stop him. "Don't make any promises yet—there are still two matches to play."
"That's right," Marcus, who was passing by, agreed wholeheartedly. "That's how you should think."
After securing their first victory, Marcus went into an even more obsessive frenzy, seemingly determined to challenge some international Quidditch team, leading his players in intensive practice in the drizzling cold rain.
Each time Draco returned to the castle from the muddy Quidditch pitch, he was soaked to the bone. He predicted that Marcus's madness would continue like the cold rain until December—just like in his previous life.
Marcus's madness grew even stronger after Ravenclaw defeated Hufflepuff in November.
"The Gryffindors can't afford to lose again—they desperately crave a victory, and we can't afford to be complacent! The Hufflepuffs are strong this year—I've watched them train—Cedric Diggory has assembled a formidable team." In the tactics room, Marcus said nervously. "Ravenclaw actually beat them! What does that mean? It means Ravenclaw is even stronger this year!"
"Relax, Marcus, we—" Montague said, patting him on the shoulder.
"You don't understand!" Marcus snapped, shoving him away. "Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw last year!"
"We've beaten them before," Pucey said dismissively, twirling his short bat.
Marcus glared at Pucey, then turned to his favorite Seeker and said, "Draco! Ravenclaw's Seeker is strong this year—that Cho Chang—I know she's pretty, Pucey, don't laugh! This is serious! Cedric's head over heels for her, I can tell! Draco, you have to remember, this isn't the time for gentlemanly conduct."
"Oh, Malfoy can be a gentleman?" Pucey chuckled at Marcus's earnest attitude. "Didn't he just knock one of our girls against the wall the other day? What was her name again, Daphne? Merlin, the little witch was crying her eyes out, and he just turned and walked away, without a shred of sympathy..."
"You can't say that. Who told her to ambush me? She needed to be taught a lesson," Draco said coldly, then promised Marcus, "I treat all my opponents equally, regardless of gender."
"What about Potter?" Marcus asked, his face darkening. He suddenly remembered the Dementor incident. "You saved him last time."
"I caught the Snitch first before saving him," Draco said matter-of-factly. "I don't see any conflict between competition and saving lives."
"All right then." Marcus clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction and turned to discuss tactics with Keeper Bletchley.
The atmosphere between Quidditch team members from different Houses was often tense and confrontational. In his previous life, the escalating rivalry between Draco and Harry had been closely tied to the sport of Quidditch.
Both were Seekers, arch-rivals on the pitch, and natural adversaries. Mixed with past ridiculous grudges, their rivalry had gradually developed into irreconcilable hatred in their athletic competition.
At that time, Draco hadn't been mature enough to understand that opponents on the pitch could be ordinary classmates, or even close friends. They were simply fighting for the honor of their respective Houses, differing only in their positions on the pitch—they didn't necessarily have to fight to the death in every aspect.
At that time, he hadn't been mature enough to understand that, in relation to a competitor, one could express respect in addition to hostility. So he'd relentlessly displayed hostility, resorting to any means necessary, until one day he'd finally enraged Potter.
The naiveté of his previous life wouldn't be repeated in this one.
Finding a delicate balance between the two very different relationships of "close friends" and "competitors" wasn't easy, but it wasn't impossible.
Draco certainly wouldn't have the patience for complete strangers, such as Cedric Diggory the Hufflepuff Seeker or Cho Chang the Ravenclaw Seeker. But for Harry, his savior who had unrealistic trust in him and often acted foolishly, the boy who'd lost to him but sincerely thanked him, Draco was willing to spare a tiny bit of patience and kindness.
These days, due to the overlap in training times—Gryffindor's training time was right after Slytherin's schedule—they often crossed paths.
If the two made eye contact, Draco would try to greet Harry verbally, instead of provoking him as he had in his previous life, or being as cold and reserved as he'd been when they'd met at the training ground last year.
Harry, in turn, was always willing to respond to Draco in a friendly manner—putting aside the tense atmosphere between the House teams—smiling and nodding at him, ignoring Oliver Wood's shocked gaze.
This was a completely new experience, and Draco didn't find it unpleasant.
This friendship seemed utterly absurd to Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood, the two captains from opposing camps.
However, Draco and Harry seemed oblivious to their surroundings. After all, when you'd faced a hundred Dementors together before the entire school, the idea of "showing friendship in front of your own captain" didn't seem so terrible anymore.
Gradually, the other team members who'd initially been surprised by this became somewhat numb.
The two captains were somewhat at a loss. Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood grimaced at each other, but were helpless in the face of Draco and Harry's friendship.
One evening, Draco thought of a new tactic during training and wanted to go to the tactics room to discuss it with Marcus. He could vaguely hear the two captains arguing from inside the room.
"Aren't you going to do anything about this? You blockhead, do something about your Seeker! Stop him from smiling at our Seeker! He's smiling so cheaply!" That was Marcus's voice.
"Why don't you control your own Seeker? He's always greeting our Seeker! He was the one who initiated it!" Wood shouted.
"Nonsense, if Potter didn't look at Malfoy, would Malfoy greet him?" Marcus said through gritted teeth.
"Malfoy should just blindfold himself and stop looking around!" Wood retorted.
"Gryffindor should change their Seeker to prevent Potter from throwing the match, shouldn't they, Madam Hooch?" Marcus suddenly calmed down and said with ill intent.
"I think you're afraid Malfoy will go easy on Potter, aren't you? Why don't you replace him?" Wood said bluntly.
"Draco Malfoy is the best Seeker! He trains incredibly hard! He's never lost a match—why should I replace him?" Marcus said fiercely.
"Harry is the best Seeker! He just lacked a bit of luck and ran into the Dementors, otherwise he'd have gotten the Snitch ages ago, and Malfoy would never have had a chance," Wood said in a condescending tone.
"All right! Stop arguing like two old in-laws! What kind of drama are you putting on for me? Romeo and Romeo's two antagonistic fathers?" Madam Hooch said impatiently. "I understand now. I don't think there's anything wrong with these two Seekers, and there's no evidence that their friendship would lead to them throwing matches. What I saw in the match were two excellent Seekers giving their all. Being opponents on the pitch doesn't mean you can't have a friendship off it, and it has no necessary connection to team morale. I think you can relax a bit."
Draco didn't rush in. Instead, he smiled slightly, quietly left, grabbed his broomstick, and flew back into the wind and rain of the sky.
Indeed, such an unusual friendship would be strongly opposed by the team captains. However, in the face of absolute strength, any objection would seem pale and powerless.
They were the best Seekers in their respective Houses, and even if the captains minded this, nobody was willing to replace them.
It was that simple. Draco didn't understand why he'd been so awkward in his previous life, thinking that Slytherins couldn't be friends with Gryffindors.
Even after becoming friends, the sky hadn't fallen down.
Thinking of this, Draco, soaked to the bone by rain, couldn't help but glance at the ground. Through the torrential rain, he saw golden-scarlet shadows appearing on the ground at the edge of the pitch.
Draco knew this meant Slytherin's training time was over and the right to use the pitch was about to be handed over.
He also knew that when he landed on the muddy ground, he'd often see Hermione Granger, who would always cast a waterproofing charm on Harry's glasses before he took off to make sure he could see clearly in the rain.
"What terrible rainy weather?" Harry greeted him that day.
"It's dreadful. You can barely see anything up there," Draco complained to Harry, fiddling with his wet hair.
Harry smiled at him, walked straight from the shelter under the stands, and bravely rushed into the torrential rain from above.
"Harry is lucky to have such a caring friend like you," Draco said casually to Hermione as he watched Harry leave. His hair was soaking wet and clung to his face, and his robes were dripping wet, making him look rather disheveled.
Hermione chuckled softly. She quickly cast a dozen Drying, Scouring, and Warming Charms on him until he was completely dry.
"Thank you." Draco would always feel a surge of emotion at this moment.
This witch was truly not to be underestimated. When term started, he'd used a Drying Charm on her once, and she'd remembered it perfectly and mastered it very well.
In first year, he'd used a Freezing Charm on her once, and she'd remembered it, using it in second year to freeze the arrogant Cornish Pixies released by the good-for-nothing Lockhart.
The Patronus Charm was the only spell she'd admitted to mastering relatively slowly. Even so, she'd conjured an otter in just two months. Draco, on the other hand, still hadn't managed to.
Comparing yourself to others would only make you miserable.
Draco increasingly discovered that she had a better understanding of spells than most wizards. At the same time, her ability to absorb knowledge silently was astonishing.
He believed that if he didn't make good use of his spare time for academic work, she'd soon regain the top spot in exams, just like in his previous life.
Hermione had no idea what the boy before her was thinking.
She looked at his soft, platinum-blond hair with amusement, teasing him, "Look, who's luckier now? I bet your friend cares about you just as much as he does about Harry."
The bond between Slytherin and Gryffindor—and it wasn't just about Harry—had never been just about Harry. Draco looked into her bright eyes, a bubble of joy rising in his heart.
After observing for a while, he'd gradually realized that his impulsive behavior that night hadn't angered her. Her attitude toward him remained as kind as ever, even more so.
Every time he greeted Harry, he'd take the opportunity to chat with her for a while, making her proudly take care of his wet, cold, and tired body, making him feel dry and happy, both physically and mentally.
That's right, Slytherins never did anything without benefit. That was the biggest advantage of greeting Harry.
"That's more like it," he said lazily, unable to resist smiling at her.
Hermione suppressed her intermittent "heart palpitations" and laughed along with him.
She'd made up her mind not to avoid Draco because of her own problem—it was pointless. Draco was innocent in this matter; he'd done nothing wrong. Besides, during that Quidditch match, she'd witnessed him being attacked by the Dementors and realized that the thought of "him possibly having an accident" was more unbearable than her own heart condition.
Besides, he was so good at being affectionate and adorable. Lying in his hospital bed, he'd shown her a Draco Malfoy unlike any she'd ever seen before.
Although he'd only shown it for one night, and the next day he'd returned to his proud and calm demeanor, she'd already firmly remembered his vulnerable manner.
This became their unspoken secret.
Sometimes, looking at the serious-looking boy in the crowd, Hermione would feel smug and self-satisfied thinking about this secret, and would often fall into a secret smile.
She wanted to see him. She wanted to see him every single day.
The moment she met him was the happiest time of her day.
If he said a few more words to her, it would be perfect.
A Gryffindor shouldn't associate so closely with a Slytherin. Stop any Gryffindor student, and they'd tell you that.
Hermione had already done the most outrageous thing—on the very night that Gryffindor was defeated by Slytherin, she'd climbed into the sleeping bag beside the Slytherin Seeker.
She'd even slept in his arms all night, and then, like a foolish girl, quietly slipped away the next day.
Now, what was wrong with just taking another look at him?
She'd even found some minor loopholes: she happened to meet Draco three times a week, rain or shine, just to take Harry to the pitch for training, so nobody could say anything about it. It was also normal for them to be partners in lessons on weekdays, wasn't it?
Hermione Granger, with her brilliant Gryffindor mind, devised a Slytherin-esque circuitous path to achieve perfect self-consistency in her thinking, and unhesitatingly discarded her psychological burdens.
For Draco Malfoy, the most immediate feeling was that he'd regained Hermione Granger's favor overnight—as her study partner.
She no longer avoided him like the plague. Before each lesson, a lively, brownish shadow would linger by his desk, like a butterfly occasionally flitting about in a dream. He'd lift his eyelids, smile at her in good spirits, and lazily pull out the chair beside her.
Then, risking a racing heart, Hermione sat down with a proud look on her face, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The same applied to Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and Potions.
In any classroom that required collaboration, they were always a pair—learning partners, as usual.
"Why?" Draco asked with interest, arranging the empty beakers, measuring cylinders, droppers, and flasks. "Why not partner with some students who need extra help anymore? Tired of helping others? Decided to try Slytherin methods and not do things that don't benefit you?"
"Of course not! I have absolutely no interest in Slytherin methods and tricks! Of course I'll still help classmates in need!" She blushed—intending to weigh the huge, slippery crocodile heart—and impatiently tossed her hair aside. "If Neville asks me about his studies, I'll still tutor him! I just... I just... don't want to get any more points deducted by Professor Snape!"
"Yes, that's right." He chuckled softly and didn't ask any further.
This willful witch! She treated him like someone she could summon and dismiss at will.
But he was only concerned with feeling satisfied—it seemed she finally knew who was the most suitable person for her.
Don't get me wrong, he was just talking about study partners. That's all.
Draco stared smugly at her flushed profile, watching her toss her hair in distress, as if afraid it would fall on the crocodile's heart, and he understood.
In high spirits, he picked up a hair tie from the corner of the workbench, leaned closer to her, and said in a lazy tone, "Don't move. I'll tie your hair up—before it touches that heart."
"Oh, thank you," Hermione said, bowing her head.
What a blunder! Suddenly partnering with him, she'd panicked and become careless, forgetting the crucial step of "tying her hair." Now, her hands were wet, and she was in a bind, seemingly with no choice but to seek his help.
He was already close to her. His hands, as light as dragonfly wings, brushed past her ear and grasped her hair. His hands gently gathered her hair, and his fingers inadvertently slid lightly across the back of her neck—as soft as a feather—and a ticklish sensation traveled down her neck, triggering her "heart palpitations."
Hermione closed her eyes, trying to suppress the turmoil in her heart.
They were at the back of the classroom, the students before them all busy at work, nobody noticing what he was doing. But she still felt something was wrong—her face was burning. She silently stared at the markings on the scales before her and the weights beside them, feeling as if the cold, slippery crocodile heart in her hand was still beating.
Draco was unaware of her inner thoughts.
All he knew was that she had to tie her hair before brewing potions, and her hands were already sticky from that bloody heart, so how could she touch that lovely, fragrant hair again?
Moreover, the potion-brewing time was limited. If she just washed her hands and fiddled around with it, she probably wouldn't have enough time to hand Professor Snape a decent potion before lesson's end.
Besides, there was indeed a little selfish motive. He'd recently developed a fondness for touching her hair. Ever since that day when he'd fallen asleep holding her hair in the hospital wing, this habit had become somewhat uncontrollable. He always wanted to hold those brown, curly strands in his hands, to keep his palms from feeling empty.
It might be a lingering effect of the Dementor's attack. Yes, that's it. He carefully tied her hair into a low ponytail, being very careful not to hurt her or pull any unruly strands.
"All right." He gave her a satisfied look and prepared to light the flame beneath the cauldron.
"It's tied too loosely." She felt it and complained. "It'll fall apart before lesson's over."
"Oh, is that so? Shall I start over?" He turned around, his grey eyes fixed on her, seemingly quite willing to fuss over her hair again.
"No, no, let's leave it at that," she said hastily, afraid he'd give her another heart-pounding frenzy. "It should last until we're brewing the potion. Professor Snape is looking this way—let's get started."
Severus Snape was in a relatively good mood lately.
Slytherin's first Quidditch victory had completely pulled him from the Boggart shadow of Defense Against the Dark Arts.
In the staffroom, both Minerva and Lupin looked rather listless. In the hourglasses in the entrance hall, which displayed the House points, Slytherin's emeralds were piled high, far ahead of the rest.
Even Potter, that troublemaker, didn't seem so irritating anymore. If only the boy could stay quietly in the castle instead of running off to Hogsmeade, how much trouble would be saved! Severus frowned, glanced silently at the boy's green eyes, and turned away.
As for that fool Longbottom, Severus chose to avoid him today—out of sight, out of mind. The boy's cauldron was teetering on the brink of collapse again—he was utterly hopeless! Today, even Granger, that know-it-all who spent all her time memorizing textbooks without ever using her brain, had given up on him and was no longer standing beside Longbottom as a conspicuous target.
However, the next second, he intended to go see his prized student, the one who'd contributed 150 points to Slytherin, only to find that standing right beside him was that annoying, conspicuous target—the know-it-all—Hermione Granger.
Of course! Where else could she stand? Only when she stood beside Draco did she appear less arrogant, ignorant, and presumptuous, and instead exude the humility and caution befitting an excellent student!
"Draco, I received a letter from Horace Slughorn, the former Head of Slytherin House. He says you're interested in the Wolfsbane Potion." He glanced at the potion in their cauldron, a hint of pleasure on his face, and nodded. "I happen to be brewing this potion and need an assistant... Come to the Potions classroom at eight o'clock Friday night."
What a pleasant surprise! Draco had long wanted to ask Professor Snape for guidance—the fact that he'd only learned half of the Wolfsbane Potion during the summer holidays had always been a regret.
"What about Hermione? Could she come?" Draco asked, glancing at the witch beside him who seemed casual but was actually listening intently. "She's also learned quite a bit about the basic preparation of Wolfsbane Potion, and her practical skills are no worse than mine. Mr. Slughorn probably mentioned her too, didn't he?"
Professor Snape's expression returned to its usual stiffness. He gave the Gryffindor witch a cold look, and his thin lips reluctantly uttered a sentence. "Whether she comes or not is up to her. If she dares to cause me trouble, I'll kick her out."
"Oh... thank you, sir," Hermione said, rather flustered.
Professor Snape snorted and strode to the front of the classroom, his black robes billowing.
"I've always felt he doesn't like me," Hermione said with a bitter face, handing him the last bit of measured ingredients. "Draco, you really shouldn't have added that. Look at Professor Snape's face!"
"But I thought you wanted to learn how to brew this potion." Draco sprinkled ingredients into the cauldron, observing the potion's color and the steam rising. "Wasn't this the potion you originally wanted to learn?"
"That's true," Hermione said softly, peering into the cauldron, "but—"
"By the way, I left early during the summer holidays because of Peter Pettigrew's matter. Why didn't you continue your studies?" Draco made room before the cauldron so she could get closer and see more clearly. "I believe Mr. Slughorn would be happy to continue teaching you."
"Oh, I was hesitant at first. After all, it was a rare opportunity." Hermione flicked her wand, turning the flame beneath the cauldron to a simmer, and said to him, "But after you left, my parents and I discussed it—though it was a real shame—and I ultimately decided not to continue. You know, Mum wouldn't feel at ease if you hadn't taken me home."
"I had no idea I was so important." Draco's lips curled up slightly. "It seems Monica really does have a good impression of me."
She smiled at him and shook her head, seemingly helpless.
Her expression was somewhat detached, and she still seemed hesitant about learning Wolfsbane Potion.
"Listen, Hermione, Professor Snape may be a bit sharp-tongued, but I don't think he dislikes you," Draco reassured her, tidying the remaining potion ingredients on the workbench. "If Longbottom could answer his questions perfectly, he'd probably kneel down and thank Merlin. But when you answer them, he always mocks you for 'copying verbatim from the book.' Do you know what that means?"
She opened the storage box for him so he could sweep the herbs directly from the table into it. "What does this mean?"
"This means he's extremely demanding of you. He believes you can reach even greater heights, and he has higher expectations for you. He might expect you to answer questions beyond the textbook—he might think your talent is far greater than what you're currently demonstrating." He slowly packed the remaining materials, a hint of seriousness in his voice.
"Is that what you think?" Hermione was taken aback. She hadn't considered the issue from this perspective before.
"That's right, that's what I think." Draco's face showed a hint of familiarity. "To be honest, I've been rigorously challenged by him in private. Sometimes, his demands can be described as harsh. He's the kind of professor who constantly pushes you to your limits, although sometimes his methods and approaches are too extreme."
"Those methods and tricks unique to Slytherins?" she teased him.
"That's right." He paused, then admitted.
"Incomprehensible methods and means. I cannot agree with them. I believe that professors should encourage students rather than undermine their confidence. Look at what he did to Neville—did it achieve any good results?" Hermione pointed out incisively. "And dare you say he's not biased toward Slytherin students? Even the giraffe in the castle portrait complains that he's biased! He never deducts points from you, but when he deducts points from me, he's ruthless."
"That's right. I admit, he's biased—it's a weakness of his nature." Draco shrugged, waved his wand, and neatly arranged all the bottles, jars, and storage boxes on the table with "Pack!" "But then again, are the Heads of the other Houses completely unaware of any 'special treatment' they give to their students?"
"Professor McGonagall is very fair!" Hermione said proudly, gesturing to him—the potion in the cauldron was ready.
"Yes. Fairness." Draco chuckled briefly, glanced at the potion simmering in the cauldron, and extinguished the flame.
Hermione nodded, satisfied with the potion's quality and his words.
"Remember when Harry broke Madam Hooch's rules and flew on his broomstick in first year? Professor McGonagall didn't deduct any points or punish him. Instead, she made an exception and made him the Seeker for the House team, didn't she? Can you say she didn't have any students she favored?" Draco said sharply, glancing at her. "Don't be so quick to deny it. You were quite angry about it back then."
Hermione had been put on the spot. She suddenly didn't want to continue the conversation.
With her cheeks puffed out, she didn't look at him again and went straight to the stone sink at the front to wash her hands.
But the boy was persistent and followed. His tone finally softened a bit. "Of course, even if Professor McGonagall has her own preferences, I have to admit that she's one of the more impartial Heads of House."
"It's good that you admit it," Hermione said haughtily, and had the boy turn on the tap for her.
"Hermione, think about it," Draco said gently, looking at the haughty little witch. "If Professor Snape didn't want you to study, he could have just called me over after lessons and told me alone. Why did he have to choose to tell me this when you were there?"
"Oh," she finally looked up at him and murmured, "that's true."
"Believe me, he likes you far more than he shows right now. He still has a tiny bit of appreciation for your talent, even if it's hidden behind his harsh words and ruthless expression." Draco said in an encouraging tone, pouring a handful of Scouring Solution into her hand. "Trust me, I'm a Slytherin—I can understand what Slytherins are thinking."
"Slytherins... well, since you put it that way—" Hermione muttered, renewed fighting spirit flashing in her eyes. "Friday night at eight o'clock, isn't it?"
"That's right, the location is the Potions classroom." Draco chuckled softly.
Judging from Lupin's condition, the Wolfsbane Potion brewed on Friday was a success. Lupin didn't even howl during this month's full moon.
"Professor Snape was quite pleased with our performance that day," he told Hermione. "He told us to start next month and try to brew a dose of Wolfsbane on our own and give it to him."
"All right." She shrugged and continued studying a densely filled notebook, scribbling and drawing on it with a quill.
When Draco found her, she was slumped over a large table by the library window, with a jumble of books before her: Ancient Runes Made Easy, Spellman's Syllabary, The Rune Dictionary, Simple Spells to Fool Muggles, The Domestic Life and Social Habits of British Muggles, and diagrams of how Muggles moved heavy objects.
"Why don't you go to our study corner anymore?" he asked, puzzled. "It seems like it's been ages since you've come to see me."
"I love the view from this window," Hermione smiled at him. "From this window, you can see the whole of Hogwarts."
Although she longed to be with him, she couldn't be with him all the time. Otherwise, she'd be too preoccupied with her heart condition and neglect her studies. Besides, she was hiding a little secret about a Time-Turner, and if she kept studying before Draco, it might be exposed one day.
Draco walked to the window and glanced at the view outside: the nearby grounds, the distant Black Lake, the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and even a corner of the Quidditch pitch were all visible.
Hermione Granger, even when looking at scenery, wanted to know everything that happened at Hogwarts—which was quite similar to him—there was a subtle sense of control in her.
"Not a bad spot," Draco said. Amidst the scratching of her quill, he silently sat in the chair beside her, tilting his head to scrutinize her face. "Speaking of which, with so many lessons, are you really managing? Look at those dark circles under your eyes."
"Is it that obvious?" Hermione nervously picked up a silver hand mirror to examine her eye sockets. She lowered her head and said dejectedly, "I can't help it—I have too much homework."
"Why don't you drop at least two courses?" Draco asked, watching her move the books aside, seemingly searching for The Rune Dictionary.
"I can't do it!" She glared at him indignantly, like a cat that had been scalded. "I can't give up any of these things!"
"You have to learn to make choices. Life is about making choices—you can't hold onto everything, or you'll lose everything. There's no such thing as perfection in this world, and nobody can learn everything." Draco rested his chin on his hand, studied her flustered movements as she flipped through books for a while, and finally lazily picked out the dictionary for her and handed it to her.
"Thank you! But I've heard that there have been students in Hogwarts history who've earned twelve O.W.L.s!" She pursed her lips, suddenly opened the dictionary, and a defiant expression appeared on her face. "I'm just following in their footsteps!"
Following in the footsteps of those who came before—was that all? Draco's lips twitched—he didn't know how to respond.
In Draco's memory, he'd only heard of the two Weasley children—Bill Weasley and Percy Weasley—who'd earned twelve O.W.L. certificates. Perhaps others had done so before, but that was long ago.
Miss Perfectionist Who Knows Everything. He silently studied her profile and remembered that in his previous life, she'd earned a total of ten certificates in the O.W.L.s exam: nine Outstanding and one Exceeds Expectations.
That was already quite an amazing achievement. Enough to make Lucius and Narcissa in their previous lives so jealous that their faces twisted with envy, so jealous that they'd remembered the name, appearance, and everything about this Muggle-born witch they'd always looked down upon.
If Hermione were their child—and achieved such a dazzling feat—they'd probably throw a huge celebration throughout the wizarding world for a month, or even a whole year.
Some children from wizarding backgrounds were lazy, perfunctory, and lacked ambition—they were content with obtaining three or four certificates.
A Muggle-born little witch had far greater ambitions than a wizard-born child.
Having ambition was good—Draco admired ambitious witches. Slytherins admired ambitious people.
"Besides, these courses are all very interesting," she stubbornly added, to show that she wasn't solely focused on grades or competitiveness, but had other, more important reasons.
"Interesting? Maybe. At least you can drop the Divination lesson. I thought you didn't like it or weren't interested." Draco shrugged, glanced at the book at the bottom, Unfogging the Future, and then looked back at her profile, studying the slight darkness beneath her lower lashes.
"I admit I don't like Divination, and I've never believed in Professor Trelawney's nonsense. But, since others can—" Hermione flipped through the book, a complex expression flashing across her face. She continued scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment covered in writing, muttering to herself, "I'm not one to give up so easily!"
Draco frowned. Was there any witch in the world more stubborn than Hermione Granger?
If others can do it, why can't I? Draco guessed that the second half of her sentence was something like this.
Hermione Granger never gave up. He admired people who never gave up.
She looked quite pretty with her lips pursed. Her focused and serious expression was also quite captivating.
But didn't she get tired?
If this continued, would her delicate and beautiful neck suddenly break due to twenty-four-hour academic studies with her head down?
Spare yourself, Hermione—what deep-seated grudge could you possibly have against your cervical spine?
Draco tried to distract her, but to no avail. She seemed determined to stay at the table, flipping through books with lightning speed and scribbling furiously on parchment with her quill, without even looking up.
She didn't even look up at him.
Just then, the ugly, ginger-colored cat named Crookshanks tiptoed in through the library window.
It strolled leisurely across the windowsill, skipping over Hermione's huge stack of books with a lightness Draco couldn't comprehend, and finally lay down on the empty table before him, watching him intently.
Draco glanced at it casually. The cat had a grumpy, oddly squashed face, as if it had once charged headfirst into a wall.
He smiled and tried to touch it, but it stood up and bared its teeth at him.
"Oh, Crookshanks, don't do that!" Hermione finally noticed the commotion. She softened her tone and said to the cat, "He's my study partner, so you'd better be polite."
Crookshanks meekly wagged his fat, bottle-brush tail at Hermione, then glanced at Draco with his round yellow eyes, as if assessing his abilities.
Draco watched the cat silently, sensing that it was pondering something.
Finally, like a large, ginger-yellow furry blanket, Crookshanks lowered his guard and lay motionless before Draco once more.
"He does this all the time, you know—he jumps in through the library window to see what I'm doing..." Hermione said to him, taking a new sheet of parchment—the previous one was already full of writing. "When I'm just reading and not writing, I pet him for a while, and he gets really happy."
Draco stroked Crookshanks's messy fur with great interest and flipped up his ears to take a look.
"Where did you get him from?" Draco asked.
"A magical creature shop in Diagon Alley." Hermione looked up quickly, glancing at him. "Is there a problem?"
"If I'm not mistaken, this isn't an ordinary cat," Draco said with a smile, staring at her with his light grey eyes. "He's a Kneazle-cat hybrid. A very intelligent and loyal breed."
His words now captured Hermione's full attention, and she finally deigned to look up from among those massive books.
She looked at Crookshanks with delight, then reached out to embrace him. "Really? Crookshanks, you're so amazing!"
Crookshanks raised his head, nimbly leaped into her arms to accept her caresses, and abandoned Draco without hesitation.
"You heartless little rascal," he muttered with a laugh.
Merlin knew who he was really calling heartless.
"I know absolutely nothing about Crookshanks's breed. You know, when I went to buy him, the shop assistant said he'd never been bought. Isn't that right, you poor little thing?" she said to the cat in a sweet voice, oblivious to everyone else.
After speaking, she grabbed Crookshanks's bulging cheeks with both hands and rubbed her nose against his.
Poor thing? So sickeningly sweet.
Did she say that to everyone? Draco thought with disdain, annoyed by her nose-rubbing gesture.
"How can you be so cute? I love you the most..." Hermione said in a loving tone, stroking the soft fur on his face.
"Oh, please, Hermione, don't get so close. He has grass stuck to his head. Did he have a bath?" he said, sounding affronted.
Crookshanks gave him a sharp look. He yawned and lazily hopped off her lap.
Draco watched as he nimbly circled around Hermione's chair and stealthily jumped from the window along the same path he'd taken.
"Yes, that's a big problem." She pouted and picked up her quill again. "Crookshanks is a bit lively, sometimes even a bit wild. He always disappears mysteriously, and every time he comes back, his paws are covered in dirt and fallen leaves. I think he might be wandering around the Forbidden Forest. Is it safe for him there?"
"He's fine," Draco blurted out abruptly. "Uh—just keep an eye on him during the full moon."
"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
"The Forbidden Forest isn't always peaceful. Wizarding families' children are usually warned by their parents that there might be werewolves in the Forbidden Forest." Draco imitated a wolf howl with a half-smile—Madam Pince, who was passing by, glared at him—which made Hermione laugh out loud. "During the full moon, never howl like a wolf, or werewolves will come running at you."
"Draco, aren't you making a mountain out of a molehill? Since when have you become so neurotic and cowardly? I remember when you were in first year, you begged me to take you to the Forbidden Forest—" Hermione couldn't help but chuckle.
This was no exaggeration. There really were werewolves at Hogwarts! Draco thought, frowning.
Hermione didn't take his words to heart. Instead, she asked him casually, "Hey, you cowardly Slytherin student, could you sometimes learn some of the bravery of Gryffindor from me?"
Courage? That was something Draco Malfoy would never have.
"I can never learn Gryffindor's courage." After a pause, he said calmly, "Slytherins don't put themselves in danger. As for me, I've always hated risk."
There was an overly serious edge to his tone. Hermione noticed it. She scrutinized him with her keen eyes, her smile fading, and asked suspiciously, "Are you serious about werewolves?"
"This—" Draco hesitated. He didn't know whether he should make this public.
Draco had always kept his distance from Lupin. A Slytherin hated getting involved in trouble. He didn't want to create unnecessary rumors or cause the students to gossip.
Although he didn't want to admit it, deep down he knew that Lupin was a fairly harmless werewolf, unlike Fenrir Greyback.
During his time teaching at Hogwarts, Lupin had never harmed any of his students.
What right did he have to influence the fate of others?
However, Draco couldn't control himself—he always had some ridiculous and unnecessary worries about her.
He couldn't help but think of how Greyback had gazed at her greedily in his previous life.
At that moment, Greyback had wanted to bite her to death. Draco felt a pang of pain in his heart at the thought of the werewolf's filthy eyes and the terrifying possibilities implied in his words.
He knew perfectly well that Greyback was thousands of miles away, didn't know her yet, and kept his distance. He knew perfectly well that Lupin had Wolfsbane to suppress his werewolf nature, and that she was safe at Hogwarts.
He still couldn't help but care about her and worry about her. He didn't want her to have even the slightest scratch.
Perhaps Blaise was right. He was being a little too protective of her.
He was worrying excessively—it was completely irrational. Draco thought, watching her face tighten.
He'd probably crossed the line—gotten much closer than the safe distance—and she was becoming tense, wary, and alert.
He was just a study partner. He was nothing more than that.
"Fine, just pretend I didn't say anything." He suddenly stood up and left in a flustered and abrupt manner.
Only the witch, who'd stopped writing, remained sitting motionless by the window. She stared at his retreating figure, lost in thought, for a long time.