novelraw Chapter 85: Draco's Protective Intent
Chapter 85: Draco's Protective Intent
Chapter Eighty-Five: Draco's Protective Intent
One Saturday in December, Hogwarts Castle awoke to find itself covered in several feet of snow and the lake frozen solid.
On this day, Ron Weasley was finally able to stand at the door of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, speechless with astonishment.
"Merlin! I'm really shocked! How did they do that?" he said to Harry in awe, stepping first into the joke shop.
This was a Hogsmeade weekend before Christmas.
The streets were decorated with lights and colorful decorations, creating a festive atmosphere. The rooftops of the shops lining the streets were covered with snow, resembling rows of three-dimensional gingerbread houses sprinkled with icing sugar.
Yet people could still recognize Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes from among the similar buildings at a glance.
Its decorations were so eye-catching that it seemed to be celebrating more than any other shop—a version combining Halloween and Christmas, constantly sending gasps of amazement and laughter to passersby, and even spreading to streets further away.
"If it weren't for those Dementors on the corner and Professor Snape, today would have been perfect," Harry said happily to Draco. He peered into the shop from the doorway, his face beaming with excitement at the rows of products displayed on the shelves.
In preparation for the Hogsmeade weekend, Harry had been extremely cautious in Potions—resisting the urge to throw a hundred crocodile hearts at Professor Snape—giving him no chance to find fault.
Unfortunately, the professor seemed to be haunting him. Just minutes earlier, Harry had spotted a glimpse of Professor Snape's black robes and his cold, dark eyes on a street.
"He won't do anything to you. He's a professor at Hogwarts—he won't attack his students," Draco said impatiently.
"Yes, Harry, you haven't done anything wrong, so why are you afraid of him?" Hermione also advised Harry.
She was no longer as intimidated by Professor Snape as she used to be.
Last time, when she'd gone with Draco to learn about Wolfsbane Potion, Professor Snape had been as sarcastic as ever, but he hadn't sent her away. Her opinion of this Potions Master hadn't changed, but at least Hermione acknowledged that he was truly talented and willing to fulfill his duty as a professor to guide her—in a spirit of doing his best.
"But I heard Sirius sent him a Howler the day before yesterday... and made a mess of his office..." Harry said uneasily.
"So that's why you were able to get into Hogsmeade so easily!" Ron shouted with a laugh from inside the joke shop. "It's exciting to think about! Your godfather's trick was brilliant—I really want to know what he yelled in that letter!"
Harry smiled genuinely.
"It's good to have a godfather. Uncle Vernon would never sign my permission form for Hogsmeade, let alone threaten Professor Snape. They'd rather punish me every day and then gloat over me—" he said happily to Draco. "What did you talk to him about last time? He's much better now—he replies to my letters every time and always sends me loads of sweets."
Draco didn't answer his question, but instead said meaningfully, "Yes, it's good to have a godfather. I bet your godfather might give you a very nice Christmas present—"
Although Harry looked expectant, he said, "I'll love anything he gives me. Having him as my godfather is the greatest Christmas present I could ever receive."
"Stop dawdling, come in!" Ron yelled from inside. "You have to see this, Harry!"
Harry temporarily forgot his doubts about Professor Snape and his curiosity about Sirius's change of attitude. He happily stepped into the shop to explore the wonders with his good friend Ron.
Draco glanced at the black robes fluttering in the wind on the street corner and was quite certain that it was Professor Snape.
That said, what was Professor Snape doing, and why was he following Harry?
And he didn't seem like the kind of person who'd give in just because someone sent him a Howler.
What exactly had Sirius Black written in that letter? With this question swirling in his mind, Draco lifted his foot, ready to enter the shop, but was suddenly pulled back by the witch behind him.
"Draco, I have something to tell you. Come with me." She said with a solemn and extremely serious expression.
He was surprised and turned to look at her tightly pursed lips.
It was a rare opportunity to leave school for fun—shouldn't she be excited? What was so important that she was putting on this face, and why did she have to say it now?
However, Hermione gave him a resolute look, which was unusual. Draco looked her over, his expression turning serious as well. His heart pounded, and he silently followed behind her.
Hermione led him quite a distance. They followed a path, passing rows of tall, snow-covered trees, leaving the hustle and bustle of Hogsmeade far behind. She headed straight for a secluded, less populated road, stopping only near the Shrieking Shack.
There was no sign of human life here, only the howling north wind and rows of iron fences. Behind the iron fences stood the lonely Shrieking Shack on the wasteland, exuding a silent and desolate atmosphere.
She stopped and stared at the Shrieking Shack, without turning back. In just a moment, darkness fell, and a few snowflakes began to drift down. A snowflake landed on her nose, and the cold wind made her sneeze slightly.
"Come on, Hermione, what do you want to say? Why do you have to come all the way here to say it?" Draco finally couldn't help but ask her. He walked up to her, standing with his back to the Shrieking Shack, trying to shield her from some of the biting wind blowing from the wasteland.
"Because it's a secret, and nobody can hear it!" Hermione looked at him sharply, her expression like that of a wary cat. "You know, don't you? That day, you were hinting at something, weren't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about..." Draco said softly, his mind racing as he recalled the whole bunch of unspeakable secrets he'd been keeping from her.
"Stop pretending! I don't believe you don't know about werewolves! Every full moon he gets sick and has to take leave, so Professor Snape has to cover his lessons. At the same time, Professor Snape inexplicably needs help brewing Wolfsbane for him!" Hermione gasped, her voice trembling. "Professor Lupin—he's a werewolf, isn't he?"
"Oh, about that." Draco was relieved and regained his relaxed demeanor.
Hermione was very unhappy with his attitude. She didn't say anything, just stared at him, hoping to get a definite answer from him.
"Isn't it obvious?" Draco said casually, noticing a snowflake in her hair. "With your intelligence, you should have guessed it ages ago, shouldn't you?"
Knowing that his dark secret was still intact, he smiled lazily, leaned forward, and brushed a tiny snowflake from her hair.
He managed to remove it before it turned into icy water—soaking into her hair.
"I'd only vaguely suspected it before. But that day, our conversation solidified my belief. But why didn't you just tell me?" Hermione asked him, her face slightly flushed.
The way he gently stroked her hair sent a tingling sensation through a patch of her scalp.
The feeling wasn't unpleasant. His movements were gentle, causing her no discomfort. Instead, she felt as if she were being cherished and protected—a strange, light, ethereal feeling.
"Why are you being so vague and hesitant?" Hermione pressed, her tone gradually softening.
His grey eyes—like ice beads reflecting the color of snow—were fixed intently on her. How could she possibly have the audacity to question him? She pouted in annoyance, like a bewildered squirrel with its mouth full of hazelnuts, unsure which one to eat first.
The boy noticed her expression. He suddenly had a desire to reach out and pinch her cheek, to dispel that anger.
But never mind—she seemed a little unhappy right now. Draco thought sullenly.
"Sometimes, I feel so stupid, being completely fooled by you, watching you give me such profound and unfathomable hints..." More snowflakes were falling on her head, seemingly weighing Hermione's head down.
She lowered her head and said dejectedly, "And all I can do is follow behind you, trying to guess. Why are you doing this to me?"
Draco continued picking snowflakes from her hair—as if it were some huge task—and said with a smirk, "I thought you were the kind of witch who liked riddles and puzzles."
"I enjoy riddles and solving puzzles, but I don't like being kept in the dark. There's a fundamental difference!" Hermione said angrily, staring at the tiny marks on the snow, which seemed to have been left by some rodent.
"If I told you directly, would you believe me?" Draco chuckled lightly, a touch of sadness settling in his heart.
"Of course! I'll believe whatever you tell me—anything." The hazel eyes looked up defiantly, meeting his gaze directly.
Her proud eyes were unexpectedly filled with a kind of firmness.
Draco's hand, which was reaching for the snowflakes, froze in midair.
"You—would you believe me?" he asked doubtfully, as if he couldn't understand her eyes.
There shouldn't be such pure and sincere trust in them.
She shouldn't trust him. She should be wary of him. She should be at least cautious about him—she should doubt everything.
That's how Hermione Granger should treat Draco Malfoy, wasn't it?
"Of course I believe you. Why not?" she said matter-of-factly.
She looked him over and felt that the light in his eyes was extremely complex.
A mixture of confusion and surprise lingered in his eyes, with a kind of tender, fragile ash settling deep within them.
What was he thinking? She was very puzzled.
After a long pause, the stunned boy before her came to his senses and whispered, "I—I am very moved by your trust."
Moved? Hermione found this feeling of being moved rather perplexing.
Why? Why was he so moved? Did he feel that she didn't trust him?
Had she left him with that impression? A girl full of suspicion?
She thought there would be at least some understanding between them—weren't they trusting study partners?
Did he think that just any boy could touch her hair and lull her to sleep? Hermione thought, blushing and indignant.
"So, what are you going to do? Report him, or continue to remain silent?" Draco changed the subject to hide his emotions.
He was genuinely curious about what choice Hermione was about to make.
How would a Gryffindor witch who considered herself "brave" deal with this?
Hermione hesitated, about to say something, when she suddenly saw something strange through the gap past Draco's ear.
"Draco... if I remember correctly, the Shrieking Shack is uninhabited, isn't it?" Her voice began to tremble.
"Of course, don't you know it's the most famous haunted house in all of Britain?" Draco said impatiently, but his hands didn't stop.
Damn snowflakes! They were falling more and more. Looked like he'd never finish picking them all.
"Look!" Hermione exclaimed, raising her hand and pointing toward the Shrieking Shack.
Draco briefly abandoned his snow-collecting project and nonchalantly turned back—following her pale fingertips—he saw a faint light flickering in the Shrieking Shack.
This was something new. He frowned. He'd never seen anything like this at the Shrieking Shack before.
"Let's go," he said suddenly, a sense of foreboding creeping into his heart. "Let's get away from the Shrieking Shack."
"All right," Hermione said cautiously. She quietly tugged at Draco's sleeve and followed him back the way they'd come.
However, they'd only taken a few steps back when a snowball appeared out of thin air.
It suddenly charged at Draco, who reacted swiftly by tilting his head, and it whizzed past his fur-lined hat.
"Who?" His clear voice echoed coldly across the empty snow.
No one responded.
Draco glanced around, tensing up. He took a step closer to Hermione, adopting a protective stance—she looked frightened, her face instantly turning pale.
Both the werewolf revelation and the eerie atmosphere of the Shrieking Shack had made the two of them somewhat paranoid.
Another snowball. It came suddenly, this time aimed at Hermione.
Draco reacted and swung his wand, shattering it. Snowflakes scattered, and cold fragments flew everywhere, landing on their faces and bodies.
Before he could think, his body reacted instinctively. He suddenly stretched out his arm, wrapped his free hand around her, and held the witch tightly in his arms. Then he turned to the side, pointed his wand at the snowball's trajectory, and looked on warily.
Hermione was startled.
His arm moved with lightning speed and power. Caught off guard, they collided. She fell into his arms, held so tightly by that hand, it felt like a dream.
She was a budding firework in the snow, and he was a silent spark beneath the ashes.
He pulled her into his arms, like sparks embracing fireworks, bursting forth with color in the silence.
Fireworks suddenly soared into the air, exploded with a deafening roar, and were dazzlingly spectacular.
Fireworks, loads of fireworks—fireworks were blooming in her mind.
They bloomed cruelly in clusters, scattering sparks that scorched the liver, intestines, and lungs.
Why did a mere physical collision trigger such a complex chain reaction in her soul?
In her daze, the air in her mind was burned away by the fireworks, and the flames spread to her heart.
Heart palpitations.
That terrible feeling of palpitations.
For a moment, her legs went weak. She was almost overwhelmed by this sudden, fresh, and intense feeling of palpitations.
Hermione rested her face on his shoulder, snuggling close to him, breathing rapidly, her cheeks slowly burning.
Then came a sudden, boiling reaction within her body, like a cauldron of confusing potion with the wrong ingredients added, leaving her in a terrible state of torment.
"Hermione, your wand," he said sharply.
She snapped from her daze, her hands trembling, and after two tries, she managed to pull out her wand, then, just like him, aimed it forward.
She didn't want to see him.
Reason told her she should pay attention to what was happening ahead. But it was no use. She couldn't help but look up and glance at his profile—it was extremely serious, yet possessed an indescribable, cold beauty that filled her with despair.
It was both heart-wrenching and despairing. Hermione inexplicably sighed inwardly.
You can't look anymore—your heart is pounding. If you keep looking, you might die, she told herself. She forced herself to turn her head away, forced herself to ignore his sharply defined profile and his cool, intoxicating aura, and continued looking ahead.
Two lines of footprints quickly appeared in the distance, getting closer and closer to them.
Someone must have cast a Disillusionment Charm.
Draco pointed his wand tip in the direction of the footprints and said coldly, "Show yourself, or I'll cast a curse."
Two humanoid figures suddenly appeared before them—they were Harry and Ron.
They burst into laughter as they removed something from their heads. Draco recognized it as an Invisibility Cloak.
"Harry! Ron!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise and delight, her face now as red as her beanie. "You two are so naughty!"
Yes! Harry had an Invisibility Cloak. However, Draco hadn't anticipated that Harry would use it in this situation. He breathed a sigh of relief, his body finally relaxing and no longer displaying an aggressive demeanor.
Harry folded the Invisibility Cloak and put it in his pocket, still unable to stop laughing. "Sorry, I know this kind of prank isn't good, but I just couldn't help it."
"We originally used it to hide from Professor Snape! Then we found you two, so we thought we'd play a joke on you." Ron grinned from the side, laughing heartily. "Look at your faces, the way you looked like you were facing a formidable enemy! It's hilarious!"
"This isn't funny at all." Draco frowned. "I might have hurt you."
"That's quite right." Hermione relaxed, and the despairing feeling in her heart eased somewhat.
As she put away her wand, she suppressed her pounding heart and asked Draco, "What spell were you trying to cast just now?"
"Confringo, or Expulso," Draco said casually.
These were clearly not spells that a third-year student could access.
"We just threw a snowball! Draco, you're overreacting." Harry stopped laughing and said incredulously.
"Has anyone ever told you that sometimes you're scary? The creepy kind of scary?" Ron glanced at Draco with awe, and at the hand still resting on Hermione's waist. "Especially when it comes to being protective."
"Yes, maybe," Draco muttered to himself. He subtly withdrew his hand, pretending to be focused on putting away his wand.
Hermione suddenly became busy as well. She quickly moved a step away from Draco, dramatically brushing the snowflakes off her hair, the suspicious redness on her face still lingering.
"Harry? What are you doing here?" a pale, thin man called out as he walked over from the other side of the road. Draco recognized Lupin from his shabby, thin clothes.
Did he get paid at Hogwarts? Draco looked up at the sky speechlessly. Please! Buy yourself some new robes!
Hermione quietly took a step back. As Lupin drew closer, her expression grew increasingly tense. She stared at Lupin, then moved closer to Draco, her hand involuntarily rising to slowly grasp the hem of his robes.
"Don't be nervous. Try to stay calm and be natural," Draco whispered, tilting his head slightly, his breath warm against her ear.
Hermione glanced at him in alarm. The embers of fireworks still lingered in her heart. That last bit of heat almost reignited them.
She was in a terrible state, torn between two options: should she save her burning insides and get away from Draco, or should she cling to this corner of safety and stay away from that seemingly kind werewolf professor who might attack them?
Lupin moved a little closer and was smiling at Harry.
She frowned in confusion, gave up thinking, and unconsciously clutched the hem of the boy's robes beside her.
Lupin, oblivious to Hermione's thoughts, kept his eyes fixed on Harry. At that moment, he smiled and asked, "Is there anything unusual here?"
They all shook their heads. Lupin, facing their direction, glanced at the Shrieking Shack and his brow twitched slightly.
"Professor Lupin, what are you doing here?" Harry asked curiously.
"I'm waiting for a friend, but he hasn't arrived yet," Professor Lupin said kindly, snapping from his reverie. "Harry, I just happened to be looking for you. Since we've run into each other, how about we go to the Three Broomsticks for a drink? How about a warm Butterbeer?"
Lupin looked better than last week. His youthful face no longer looked so haggard, though wrinkles were still visible.
"I say, shall we go grab a drink together?" Ron said, his teeth chattering. "It's too cold."
Draco was more than happy to agree. He glanced at Hermione questioningly and saw that she smiled genuinely, clearly agreeing with the idea—after all, being with werewolves in a crowd felt safer.
So the group walked back in high spirits, took a side path, and followed the street. A few minutes later, they escaped from the swirling snow and entered the warm, cozy Three Broomsticks.
In the cold weather, everyone wanted something hot to drink. The Three Broomsticks was crowded and noisy, filled with smoke. They finally found a slightly cleaner table in the corner, and each of them sat down with a large glass of foaming Butterbeer.
Draco took a sip of his drink and immediately felt a warm sensation rising in his stomach.
"Merry Christmas!" He clinked glasses with Hermione and Ron, and the atmosphere was extremely cheerful.
Lupin and Harry didn't sit down.
They stood before a misty window, watching the shadowy figures of pedestrians outside, seemingly having a heated discussion.
Hermione wasn't paying attention to her Butterbeer. Instead, she kept her round eyes wide open, watching Harry's movements warily.
The sudden confirmation that "Professor Lupin is a werewolf" was a huge shock to her. She was still in a state of alarm.
This matter was far more important than the Butterbeer before her.
"It's all right—it's already the end of the month." Draco glanced at her, finding her reaction somewhat amusing. He took a sip of his drink and said casually, "He won't suddenly transform in a pub."
Hermione chose to glare at him—how could he be so indifferent?
How long had he known this secret? How could he have turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to it?
"I always felt like you two were hiding something, you know—you talk like you're in riddles." Ron glanced at them suspiciously as he examined the Dungbombs, Belch Powder, and Frog Spawn Soap he'd bought.
"Nothing much. We were just discussing some trivial matters," Draco said with a smile.
"What, you have a cat too?" Ron asked, completely bewildered. Judging from his expression, he was probably thinking of Crookshanks.
Draco didn't say anything, but simply raised his eyebrows at him with amusement.
"I can't say this is a small matter." Hermione glared at Draco, emphasizing her words. "Can you? The Slytherin who hates risk the most?"
Didn't he pride himself on "hating risk"? Now, with a werewolf professor right before him, he wasn't worried about any danger?
"Yes, brave and fearless Gryffindor," he said lazily, raising his glass to her and taking a sip of his drink.
Hermione was furious. It seemed he was more concerned with whether his public demeanor was perfect enough to capture her attention than with the werewolf issue.
In the entire pub, she seemed to be the only one who was worried.
And yes, her eyes, which she couldn't help, were indeed drawn to him.
Why could some people exude elegance even when they were bored?
Why did he coldly survey the entire pub, yet always manage to slip a slight smile when he looked at her?
Why did she always notice these seemingly obvious details, even magnify these details that nobody else cared about, and teeter alone on the edge of a heart attack?
And he—always so calm, composed, and self-assured.
This was infuriating. Hermione angrily took a large gulp of Butterbeer, completely oblivious to the foam clinging to her lips.
"Hermione, on your lips—" Draco raised his eyebrows, gesturing to her.
"What?" Hermione asked angrily.
Draco gestured around his mouth with his hand.
"What riddle are you playing now?" Hermione said impatiently.
She was fed up with the guessing game. She rolled her eyes at him, took another gulp, and decided to ignore him.
She was suddenly thoroughly annoyed. Annoyed by her palpitations. Annoyed by his current calm.
As it turned out, rolling your eyes with a bunch of foam at the corners of your mouth wasn't harmful at all—it was even kind of cute. Hermione's extra sip of drink made the foam at her mouth look even worse, and even cuter.
Draco, unable to bear watching, turned away, reached for a serviette, and simply wiped away the ring of foam for her.
For a moment, Hermione was startled. She wanted to get away. She even leaned back in her chair.
However, his gaze was fixed on her face, his expression gentle and natural, making her seem like an anxious cat.
"Don't move," he said, bringing his face slightly closer to hers, his clear grey eyes unsettling her. He gently pressed the serviette against her lips a few times, then abruptly pulled away.
"That's much better now." He tilted his head and looked her over, then said with satisfaction, crumpling the serviette into a small ball and tossing it onto the table with a "thud," striking her heart at the same time.
Hermione coughed violently, turning her face red.
"Anapneo!" Draco quickly tapped her with his wand, patting her back as he complained, "Could you be more careful?"
"I didn't do it on purpose!" Hermione retorted, her face as red as a Pink Lady apple.
Good heavens! His gentle patting made her feel flustered, yet also vaguely happy.
In an instant, she stopped bothering—he was patting her gently—had her brain also been choked?
"Merlin's pants, just pretend I don't exist." Ron gave them a look as if they were idiots, made a face, and focused on fiddling with the Nose-Biting Teacup he'd bought from the joke shop.
Just then, Harry finally returned. He sat down excitedly opposite Hermione and announced, "Professor Lupin will be giving me private lessons on the Patronus Charm!"
"Brilliant!" Ron beside him whistled.
"What did he say?" Draco asked with interest, continuing to gently pat the witch who was coughing slightly.
"He thinks the Dementors have an unusual interest in me and that I need to practice more." A shadow crossed Harry's face.
"Indeed, he's got some skills—he's a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor with real talent." Draco said noncommittally. "You should practice more—maybe you'll be able to conjure a corporeal Patronus sooner."
"Yes! If you have any tips, remember to share them with us!" Ron finally put down his Nose-Biting Teacup and said with shining eyes.
Hermione didn't say anything.
Should she announce it widely? Tell everyone that Professor Lupin was a werewolf?
However, she'd also heard what Draco said. Indeed, Professor Lupin was a truly accomplished Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, far more knowledgeable than any other Defense Against the Dark Arts professor she'd encountered in the past two years.
Professor Lupin was dedicated and responsible, teaching his students so much useful knowledge. Moreover, he was always very kind to his students—the kind of encouraging teacher that Gryffindors admired—far, far better than Professor Snape's Slytherin-style harsh and sarcastic teaching.
Should such a talented and principled wizard be turned away simply because he was a werewolf?
So she fell silent.
She sipped her drink slowly, no longer daring to drink it in large gulps, afraid the boy beside her would wipe her mouth again. She was still flustered by Draco's touch, even though it had been through a serviette.
And the way he looked at her every time, the smile he'd just given her, the gentle pat he was giving her back now. And his swift and powerful embrace in the snow, the breath he'd taken on her ear.
All of this made her heart flutter with a sweet sensation, as if a thousand bees were buzzing around her.
She was a beehive that had never been harvested. Every casual thing he did for her felt like poking at her hive.
At that moment, the boy glanced at her, smiled at her with satisfaction, and stopped patting her.
Good heavens. In just one glance, her internal organs were stung by a thousand bees at the same time.
Oh no, oh no, this was terrible. She was in a daze, feeling utterly lost.
Harry took a sip of Butterbeer and sighed contentedly.
He continued to tell his friends, "Professor Lupin told me that my father's Patronus was a stag and my mother's Patronus was a doe. He said they were both very powerful wizards."
That sip of drink seemed to make Harry feel better, and his eyes sparkled with longing.
He said, "Maybe one day I can be as good as them."
Draco looked at Harry and suddenly remembered that in his previous life Harry had conjured that stag, which had scared him and Marcus, who were pretending to be Dementors, half to death.
He chuckled inscrutably and said to the black-haired boy before him, "You will. You'll conjure a Patronus. You'll be as powerful as them, or even more powerful than them."
Harry looked at him in surprise.
"They'll be very proud of you," Draco said with certainty and composure.
"Oh, thank you," Harry said, giving him a slight smile.