novelraw Chapter 88: The Fist of Destiny's Cycle + Goyle's Diary
Chapter 88: The Fist of Destiny's Cycle + Goyle's Diary
"If you were to fall in love with someone for the first time, what would your first reaction be?"
On the night of Hogsmeade weekend, a group of older girls were chattering about love before the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. Their voices drifted to the ears of a girl hidden behind a thick book on the sofa.
"Confess?" Angelina Johnson asked excitedly.
"No," Katie Bell said mysteriously. "It's fleeing."
"Why?" Angelina asked, puzzled. "I don't understand the idea of 'fleeing.' If you fancy someone, just pursue them!"
"Oh, Angelina, don't bring your chase-the-Quaffle attitude into your first love," Katie said with the tone of someone experienced. "First love is sweet but also bittersweet. It's full of longing and uncertainty. Like a green apple—you crave it, but you're also worried it won't taste as good as you'd hoped after you take a bite."
Green apple.
His favorite food was green apples.
As he bit into green apples, he always stared intently at her. Hermione eavesdropped on the girls' conversation, hiding behind the upside-down *Book of Runes*, her forehead above the book beginning to flush.
"Hermione!" A red-haired girl passing by brightened and skipped toward her. "Did you get it? The potion?"
"Sorry, Ginny," Hermione said, her eyes twinkling enigmatically behind the book. "I couldn't buy it this time. Er, I'll definitely bring it back for you next time, all right?"
"All right," Ginny said disappointedly. She glanced at Hermione, noticing something was off about her. "Something's wrong with you! What are you thinking about? Why are you so distracted?"
"I'm reading," Hermione said.
"Nonsense—you're holding the book upside down!" Ginny pressed the book down further, revealing Hermione's bright red face. Ginny looked her over and asked worriedly, "Are you all right?"
"It's nothing," she mumbled.
"Is that potion sold out?" Ginny asked.
"No, there are many more," she whispered.
"Did you smell it? Does it smell nice?" Ginny scrutinized her, feeling Hermione's expression was familiar.
"It smells lovely," Hermione said nervously, picking up the book again to cover her face.
Ginny stared at the upside-down book, then finally remembered. Whenever she thought of Harry, she saw that same complex, shy, and panicked expression on her own face in the mirror.
Oh! Hermione! Could she have smelled something special—the scent of her crush? Ginny's eyes gleamed.
"Can you smell him?" she asked Hermione on a whim.
"Yes..." The girl was staring absently at a chart in the book, trying to shift her attention to academics rather than thinking about the boy who loved biting into green apples.
However, she wondered why the chart looked upside down.
"Who?" Ginny asked softly.
"Dr—" Hermione suddenly stopped. Her rationality had sounded an alarm.
Ginny—that cunning little girl—she was trying to trick her into revealing information!
"I can't smell anything!" Hermione said, standing up and dropping the book on the floor with a clatter.
"Hey, don't run away! Finish what you're saying!" Ginny perked up immediately. She tilted her head back, asking expectantly, "Dr—what?"
"I'm leaving! I'm going back to my dormitory to shower!" Hermione hurriedly bent down to pick up her books, then leaped up and ran away like a rabbit.
In her state of unease, she felt the common room was extremely dangerous. It seemed as if anyone could easily see through her thoughts, the panic she was experiencing, and her feelings for him.
So she ran straight upstairs, opened the dormitory door, and blew herself back to her bed like a gust of wind.
On the next bed, Lavender and Parvati, who were using tarot cards to predict their romantic fortunes, glanced back at her in surprise—the wind created by the girl running had blown one of the tarot cards off the bed onto the floor.
"Watch out, Hermione!" Lavender said gruffly.
"Sorry!" Hermione was so busy jumping behind the bed curtains that she hid herself completely like a Puffskein.
She was doomed! Just thinking about him made her incredibly shy! She'd become someone else entirely!
Calm down, Hermione, calm down! She took deep breaths on her pillow, trying to encourage herself.
Lavender glanced at her silent curtains, somewhat puzzled. She shook her head and said, "Parvati, could you please pick this up?"
"All right," Parvati said, reaching out and picking it up, exclaiming enthusiastically, "Oh, it's the Knight of Cups!"
"What does that mean?" Lavender asked with interest.
Hermione lay blankly on the four-poster bed, listening to Parvati rustling through her book, quietly reading the explanation: "The Knight of Cups upright... represents a gentle and considerate partner, representing wholehearted devotion and unwavering love, and also signifying the beginning of a closer relationship between the two. Reversed, it indicates the two are currently making a choice, perhaps to take their relationship to the next level or to remain where they are... remaining where they are is more obvious... both are waiting for the other to take initiative or continue acting, with a strong hint of passivity."
"Ugh! These unreliable fortune-telling methods! It's all nonsense," Hermione thought disdainfully.
But what were they now? Her thoughts raced, and she felt somewhat lost and disoriented.
After calming down, she remembered more details.
She remembered many times he'd seemed to want to say something but hesitated. Many times he'd abruptly released her hand. That time in the Great Hall, when she'd woken, the space beside her was empty. He'd left decisively, without a word, without any hesitation.
They'd never discussed whether their intertwined fingers in class were too intimate, just as they'd never talked about whether their embracing in each other's arms that night in the Hospital Wing was too absurd. They both seemed to subconsciously avoid these topics.
He always emphasized he was a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor. He almost obsessively reminded her of this, as if he wanted to distance himself from the word "Gryffindor." So was she, this Gryffindor, placed on the other side of the boundary he'd drawn?
Yes, he always seemed to maintain a certain subtle distance from her.
Sometimes, when he got close enough to her, he'd reveal a bitter and resentful expression, then quickly retract his antennae like a startled snail. It was as if one of them carried poison.
Perhaps they should stay at this distance—if that was what he wanted.
Neither advancing nor retreating, just right.
If she didn't go any further, she wouldn't face the risk of losing it. Hermione thought bitterly.
"So was that card upright or reversed?" Lavender asked in a low voice with great interest.
"That's the problem," Parvati said, giving her a strange look and murmuring to her. "It's stuck in the gap between the bed and the bedside table. It's leaning. It's—between upright and reversed."
"Oh, it's just a useless card!" Lavender said, pouting, greatly disappointed. "I thought it would be some guidance from Merlin—let's try again."
So they shuffled the deck again, rummaging through the troublesome tarot cards once more, trying to glimpse fate's unpredictable nature.
The two-week Easter holiday had arrived.
In Draco's words, "This holiday is worse than none," because all students were rushing to finish their assignments, and everyone looked listless and sleep-deprived.
Especially Hermione. The sense of collapse emanating from her could be felt by him even across the entire corridor.
Merlin, she always looked like she was about to cry—it made his heart clench.
"Are you all right?" One day, Draco couldn't help stopping her in the corridor, his gaze sweeping over a book in her hands—*Numerology and Grammatica*.
"I'm all right," Hermione said, lowering her lashes, concealing the overwhelming affection she felt for him in her eyes.
"I haven't done anything wrong, have I? I have a feeling you're avoiding me," Draco said, looking at her suspiciously.
Why didn't she look up at him? He was rather annoyed.
"Of course not," she said, finally looking up at him hurriedly, her expression flustered and her face slightly red. "I have too much homework—I can't keep up... You know, I chose so many courses."
Hermione was completely lying. She did have considerable homework, but not so much that she "couldn't even talk to anyone."
She was indeed avoiding him. Not just because Ginny had been watching her lately, trying to find any Dr.-named boys she was talking to; she herself didn't know how to face Draco, and she was panicking.
They sat facing each other at the dining table in the Great Hall. She'd always steal glances at him from the corner of her eye, then quickly look away when he noticed. She felt her behavior was completely abnormal, irrational, and illogical. This brought her to the brink of collapse.
She found she could no longer interact with him as naturally as before.
She was always afraid she'd say something foolish. How would he react?
She was more afraid their relationship would crack. What if he only saw her as a friend? How would she react then?
She wanted to see him every moment, yet she dared not see him.
Clearly, keeping her distance from him was pointless. She'd suppressed her inner turmoil and deliberately avoided paying attention to him.
Some time later, when she inadvertently saw his angular, indifferent face or his platinum hair again across the aisle, even just a glance from him would excite her greatly.
And that damned "heart palpitation syndrome" was already showing side effects. If she looked directly into his quiet, pale gray eyes, her mind would definitely go blank.
Let alone speaking to him! She couldn't say much to him. A few more words and she'd be out of breath. She could feel her face burning, growing redder and redder, and if it burned any hotter, he'd notice!
"Sorry, Draco, I have to go!" Hermione struggled to regain what little reason she had left. Before he could make her lose her mind, she practically jumped up and hurriedly fled from the innocent boy who was making her heart flutter.
She seemed to be under considerable stress. Draco stood there blankly, uneasy, disturbed by her attitude.
Harry had told him she'd finally decided to drop Divination—but that didn't seem to relieve much of her stress.
Draco often saw her leaving early and returning late.
In the morning, he'd just sat down at the Slytherin table when he saw her suddenly stand and flee from the Gryffindor table.
She was absently rushing to finish her homework in the library, seemingly oblivious to everything else. She didn't even seem interested in going to their study corner, despite his repeated invitations. She always kept her eyes down, refusing to look at him, and dismissively replied, "Perhaps next time."
Besides finishing her homework, did Hermione Granger have any other hobbies? Even just to catch her breath! Draco thought dejectedly.
This situation didn't improve until the first Saturday after Easter—the day Slytherin faced Hufflepuff.
Riding on his broomstick, Draco scanned the densely packed stands and easily spotted her.
Who could ignore her bright brown hair and her bright brown eyes?
At that moment, he was finally certain her gaze was following him closely—not the fleeting, aloof look she'd been giving him recently.
Watching Quidditch matches was probably her only form of entertainment lately, right? Draco smiled slightly on his Nimbus 2001 and continued searching for his Golden Snitch.
Undoubtedly, this was a tough battle.
Hufflepuff's captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory, was a seasoned opponent. Whenever he saw the Snitch's fleeting golden glint, he could keep up with Draco for ages until the elusive little thing disappeared again amidst the audience's regretful sighs.
Hufflepuff's Chaser Zacharias Smith constantly tried tripping up Draco. As Draco circled in the air searching for the Golden Snitch, Smith always tried sneakily Blagging Draco's broomstick, as revenge for the Cobbing at the Great Hall entrance.
(Blagging: grabbing an opponent's broom tail to slow them down or hinder their progress. This is a foul applicable to all players.)
(Cobbing: misuse of the elbow to strike an opponent. A foul applicable to all players.)
"Oh dear, Madam Hooch was so focused on the Hufflepuff goal that she didn't see what Zacharias was doing. She got distracted by the other Hufflepuffs," Harry said, holding up his Omnioculars. "I'm quite certain it was a foul. He grabbed Draco's broom tail and he was getting in his way."
"How could he do this?" Hermione said, looking at the platinum-haired boy with worry and rage. She threw down the Omnioculars, covered her mouth with her hands, and screamed at the top of her lungs, "Zacharias Smith! You despicable scoundrel!"
Draco heard her angry shouts from the nearby stands. She was watching him and was angry for him.
He liked when she was angry for him.
Hermione Granger's anger was Draco Malfoy's best stimulant on the pitch.
"Is that all you've got?" Draco said, turning his head and smiling contemptuously at Zacharias behind him. He gripped his broomstick's handle with one hand and continued flying swiftly in a certain direction, while his other hand grabbed the Quaffle from Zacharias's hand, trying to snatch it away.
Zacharias panicked. He hadn't expected his opponent to snatch the Quaffle from his hand.
"Let go, Malfoy!" He tugged at Draco's broom tail while trying to pull his own Quaffle back, the two locked in a stalemate on the high-speed broomstick.
Draco bent over, and in the split second before he was about to rush into the iron hoop before him, he released the hand that was trying to snatch the Quaffle.
"Miles, get out of the way!" he yelled at his own Keeper. At the same time, he lowered his broom handle, made a ninety-degree turn, and charged straight down to the ground.
Zacharias, busy releasing Draco's broom tail to avoid being pulled to the ground, didn't notice the metal hoop before him.
He couldn't afford to bother the agile Seeker anymore. He barely caught his Quaffle and flew straight into the hoop, where Madam Hooch, who was flying over, saw him and immediately awarded a clear penalty.
"Well done!" Miles said, laughing and slapping the broom handle before the goalpost. "Draco, you're a bloody genius!"
Zacharias's face turned pale.
"Zacharias, what are you doing?" Diggory yelled at him as he flew down from the sky. "Haversacking—such a basic mistake? What were you thinking?"
(Haversacking: holding the Quaffle in hand while passing through the hoop—the Quaffle must be thrown—this foul only applies to Chasers.)
The stands were filled with screams and exclamations.
"He's very strong," Harry said excitedly beside Hermione, watching Draco fly back into the sky. "That maneuver is very difficult—suddenly turning ninety degrees and diving."
"That's right. He seems to be using the Wronski Feint tactic. And instantly, he turned a disadvantage into an advantage and taught Zacharias a lesson..." Ron said admiringly from Harry's side.
Ginny Weasley sat in the stands beside Hermione, listening absently to her brother's praise of the Slytherin Seeker. Her eyes were fixed on Hermione's profile, and every cell in her brain was focused on one thing.
What exactly was Dr.?
In the past few days, she'd been counting on her fingers, like reciting a menu, asking Hermione about every possible boy's name in Gryffindor—from first year to seventh year, without missing a single one.
"Draven?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Drew?"
She shook her head again.
"Dreyfuss?"
She continued shaking her head.
"Drog?"
She still shook her head.
"Dryden?"
She still shook her head.
Each time, Hermione gave the same response: a quick shake of her head, as if certain Ginny wouldn't guess. She was as cautious and vigilant as a cat hiding its tail.
"It can't be Dragot, can it?" Ginny asked suspiciously on the way to the Quidditch pitch today.
"What is that?" Hermione asked alertly, her voice tinged with nervousness.
"Oh, a Dragot is a kind of currency in the American wizarding world," Ginny said lazily. "Perhaps you'll like the smell of money."
"Of course not!" Hermione relaxed and denied it outright.
"Merlin, who is he anyway? Which boy in our House do you actually fancy?" Ginny sighed. "I've given up. Just tell me, all right?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said, naturally using the boy's usual innocent tone. He loved talking like that when he was just giving people a perfunctory answer.
"This isn't fair!" Ginny whispered to her as they walked onto the stands. "I've already told you what's on my mind. I demand an equal and fair friendship. You have to tell me what's on your mind too."
"Don't be silly, Ginny. Your secret is too obvious; almost everyone knows," Hermione said warily. "It wasn't a secret to begin with..."
Ginny was furious. She sulked for ages in the stands, her face contorted with displeasure. Hermione, who'd always been friendly to her, seemed to be holding back, and she was also starting to doubt herself because she couldn't work it out—had her insight become weaker?
At this moment, Ginny, still puzzled, emerged from the memories of her recent setbacks and continued staring intently at Hermione—who was now focused on the pitch, her usual dejected expression replaced by excitement and anticipation.
Look, she's acting strange again, Ginny thought. There must be someone around here that's affecting her.
"Malfoy, you treacherous git—" Amid Zacharias's furious curses, Draco smiled maliciously at him and made a gesture that made him even angrier.
Zacharias wanted to say more, but he didn't get a chance to argue with Draco. His captain, Cedric Diggory, was flying over and belatedly yelled at Smith, "What were you doing, Zacharias? Were you trying to Blag him? That's a foul!"
"No! The Golden Snitch!" Zacharias roared, his face pale, staring at Cedric's back.
Cedric whirled around and saw a platinum-gold shadow flash past his broom's tail, whipping up a gust of wind that filled him with despair.
The match was over.
Draco had obtained the Golden Snitch.
Of course I have to get it! She'd come to see him, hadn't she? How could he waste Hermione Granger's precious time? Draco thought smugly, giving Marcus a high-five as he flew toward him.
Marcus was in tears, waving his arms excitedly like a child, shouting, "We're up by over three hundred points against Gryffindor! Draco, over three hundred points! Draco, my best Seeker!"
Draco understood what he meant. After this battle, unless there was a stroke of luck, this year's Quidditch Cup would likely belong to Slytherin.
"Well done, Draco," Hermione said, putting down her Omnioculars and, amidst the cheers rising from the distant stands and the uneasy sighs emanating from the stands around her, said in a barely audible tone of joy.
The sound was so soft that only the person beside her could hear it.
For example, Harry on her left, and Ginny on her right, who was staring intently at her.
Ginny Weasley's insight, like a sleeping lion suddenly awakened at this moment, left her speechless.
Of course, of course! That made sense! No Gryffindor boy with "Dr" in his name was Hermione's type!
Perhaps what Hermione had smelled was never a Gryffindor from the beginning!
Instead, it was a damned Slytherin she'd never even considered!
Hermione Granger's study partner!
"Dr—Draco?" she asked Hermione urgently, her eyes wide open—wider than when she'd seen Harry show up at her house one morning.
She tugged at Hermione's sleeve and stammered, "Draco Malfoy? You, you smelled him?"
Next, Ginny was horrified to see that the girl who'd always confidently shaken her head at her, the calmest and most composed female student in all of Gryffindor, had eyes even wider than hers, and her face quickly turned red.
Her face flushed red, like a cat whose tail had been caught, and she blinked guiltily without shaking her head.
She did not shake her head.
Merlin's beard! In full view of everyone, Ginny performed a perfect "stool tumble" from her seat in the stands.
After the match, Draco, terrified, broke free from the insane Marcus Flint who was about to kiss him, and dragged his broomstick as he hurried after Hermione, who was rushing toward the castle.
He flashed before her, blocking her path, looking for praise. "How was it? Rather good, wasn't it?"
"Very, very good. They all say you're incredibly skilled," she said, looking up at him, a bright smile spreading across her face, her eyes sparkling.
That's more like it. Draco smiled smugly at her, about to say something more—
Suddenly, her expression turned serious, her cheeks flushed, as if she were nervously remembering an unfinished assignment with a deadline fast approaching. Like the cat named Crookshanks, she panicked and ran away, shouting, "I... I have to go!"
She was studying far too hard.
Was that Time-Turner driving her slightly mad? Draco's worried gaze followed her departing figure, his steps faltering. She really should drop a couple more electives, shouldn't she?
"Malfoy!" A sudden voice came from behind, interrupting Draco's thoughts.
He was displeased and turned around warily, only to find it was Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff captain. His face darkened, and he asked impatiently, "What?"
"Congratulations on getting the Golden Snitch. I must explain—I was unaware of Zacharias's actions beforehand. I never thought of, nor did I tell him, to use such methods—" Cedric said hastily, but Draco waved him off.
"No need to explain," Draco said indifferently, glancing at the handsome Hufflepuff, famous for his looks at Hogwarts, ignoring the anxiety and apology on his face. A sense of annoyance arose inexplicably in his heart, and his voice was as cold as ice. "Stop your hypocrisy and false kindness—I don't care."
He didn't look at Diggory's expression again and strode away with an air of indifference.
He didn't know how to face Cedric Diggory. In his previous life, Draco had always been indifferent to him and had never interacted with him.
Cedric Diggory was always polite, gentle, refined, and friendly to everyone. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, had always been arrogant, bullied his classmates, and looked down on everyone.
They weren't the same kind of people at all.
Draco could never forget that scene. The body of the seventeen-year-old boy appeared on the Triwizard Tournament grounds, Professor Snape's black robes draped over him—the only time Draco remembered Professor Snape removing his robes.
It was then that he'd roughly understood what death meant.
It was confusion, panic, and emptiness. It was a warm body turning into a cold shell, the heart-wrenching sobs of friends, and the agonizing grief of loved ones.
It was a collective lament echoing across the entire school.
In his previous life, Draco had mocked others' panic, but he'd also been deeply shaken.
In this life, whenever he saw Cedric Diggory, he was reminded of his hollow, gray eyes. This left him unsure how to treat him, just as he was unsure how to treat the others who'd truly died before his eyes.
Seeing them always made him feel a sting to his eyes, heart, and soul.
Don't even think about it, Draco Malfoy—you can't save everyone.
Stay far away from them, and keep your distance with respect!
Stop overthinking, as if you don't have enough to consider right now! He told himself, walking alone through the vast crowd, occasionally forcing a smile at a few students who greeted him.
Then time flew by.
The classes seemed to be getting more intense, and Hermione seemed to be getting busier.
Although Draco no longer needed to practice Quidditch, he had to take time from his schedule to tutor the slow-witted Crabbe and Goyle in lessons they couldn't understand, and confiscate all the sweets they'd hidden in their pockets to prevent them from getting any fatter.
He even dragged Crabbe and Goyle to the Quidditch pitch with a blank expression, ordering them to spend time each day on broomsticks instead of sitting at the Slytherin table forever or drooling in the library.
"Why, Draco, why are you doing this to us?" Crabbe wailed. "We've already drawn the star chart correctly!"
"Vincent Crabbe," Draco said seriously. "I remember when you were in second year, you wanted to join the House team and be a Seeker. At the start of third year, I even saw you and Goyle practicing Quaffles on the evening pitch. And now, all you think about is how to eat another bag of Fizzing Whizzbees! What has made you lose your fighting spirit?"
"She—they said I'm not cut out for it," Crabbe said, blinking his small eyes and sadly lowering his head. "I don't have the talent to be a Seeker, nor the ability to be a Chaser."
"No. Nobody is born knowing how to play Quidditch. No matter how talented someone is, they still need consistent practice to play well," Draco said. "Besides, you haven't worked out your niche. Vincent, have you ever considered you might be better suited to be a Beater?"
Crabbe looked up, puzzled, at Draco.
Draco Malfoy, who often relentlessly forced him to do his homework and confiscated his beloved sweets, and who was usually cold and aloof, was now smiling slightly, with an unexpected hint of encouragement in his eyes: "Have you ever thought that with your sturdy physique, you might be better suited to wielding a bat and dealing with a Bludger?"
Draco Malfoy, somehow, seemed different from the boy in his childhood memories—the one who never looked him in the eye, only belittled him, and treated him like a dog, Crabbe thought in surprise.
"And you, Gregory Goyle! I remember you sneaking around to watch the House team practice, more than once. Can you honestly say you didn't have any thoughts about it?" Draco said, eyeing the equally surprised boy beside Crabbe.
"But—" Goyle's blank expression faded, replaced by sadness. "No one will believe us, no one will respect us—they'll all laugh at us."
"Respect is earned!" Draco glared at him with exasperation. "Slytherins only respect the strong—don't you know that? Have some ambition! Look how popular those Quidditch players are in the House! If you don't want people to laugh at you, you have to show some skill! You have to bring honor to the House to earn people's respect!"
"But we—" Goyle said uneasily, looking down at his soft, thick belly.
"No buts. A bunch of Chasers and Beaters on the House team are graduating soon, and the team needs fresh blood. This is an opportunity. You've probably noticed Blaise has been practicing Quaffles in secret this year. He wants to participate in the upcoming trials and compete for a Chaser position. You can't keep drifting along like this. You have to seize this opportunity," Draco said, slamming a pair of bats into their laps, one for each, and said firmly, "If you want to wear Slytherin Quidditch robes and earn the Slytherins' respect, you need to practice hard."
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with apprehension and shock.
"Right now, immediately. Get the brooms! I'll make sure you do," Draco said, striking a menacing pose, threatening them. "Don't even think about slacking off."
So, with Hermione Granger busy with her studies and rarely seen, and amidst Crabbe and Goyle's occasional groans echoing across the training grounds, Draco Malfoy finally found something to distract himself.
"Draco, aren't you rather idle?" Blaise asked him one day, half-believing, as he walked by with a Quaffle in his hand. "Do you really believe they can do it?"
"The point isn't whether I believe it, but whether they themselves believe it, isn't it?" Draco yelled at Crabbe, who'd bravely grabbed the Bludger like a sack of flour. "Good! Now try hitting it with your hand!"
Crabbe turned around and grinned at him—the next second he was jolted by the ball—and nearly fell off his broomstick.
"Merlin's pants, oh, this is a disaster! I think it's just a passing phase. They'll probably give up in a couple of days," Pansy said to Draco with a frown, then left with the smug Blaise, leaving behind a pessimistic remark. "I'll wager you my most beloved set of porcelain teacups that they won't be Beaters. You're just daydreaming and wasting your time!"
However, Crabbe and Goyle didn't give up. They showed up at the training grounds despite the ridicule and sarcasm, rain or shine.
They persevered until the day Gryffindor and Hufflepuff would have their match.
The match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff was exceptionally intense, lasting until the afternoon. Ultimately, Gryffindor defeated Hufflepuff, achieving a score equal to Slytherin's total.
Not a point more, not a point less.
Reality was always more dramatic than fiction.
"So how will Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall determine who gets the Cup?" Blaise asked Draco, his lips twitching. "Share the same office all day? Is the first thing they do every morning hand over the Cup?"
Draco shrugged, neither confirming nor denying.
He wasn't feeling well today. From his angle, he couldn't see much of the Gryffindor seating. There were too many people, completely blocking his view of her.
After the match, Draco, who'd spent the entire day in the stands, devoured a whole steak at the Great Hall table, his stomach growling with hunger. Then, as usual, he called over-fed Crabbe and Goyle to wander around and digest their food.
It was an ordinary evening, the sun about to set. As they strolled near the grassy slope, they saw Neville Longbottom walking toward them, asking pitifully, "Have you seen my wand? It disappeared at noon today."
"No," Draco said, giving him a disdainful look and couldn't help complaining. "Why don't you consider drilling a hole in your wand, putting a string through it, and hanging it around your neck?" Crabbe and Goyle chuckled to themselves.
"My grandmother won't agree—that's my father's wand," Longbottom said, oblivious to Draco's sarcasm, and walked away dejectedly.
He hadn't gone far when Crabbe and Goyle were already laughing uncontrollably, clutching their stomachs.
"That idiot..."
"He loses his wand every single day..."
Draco, however, thought these two were the last people who should laugh at Neville for being stupid. After all, who checked, tutored, and corrected their assignments?
"Stop laughing—look at your bellies!" Draco glanced at them dismissively. "You've been training for so long and you're still so fat. Shouldn't you two eat some diet food?"
Crabbe and Goyle stopped laughing and quietly hid the freshly unwrapped toffee in their palms.
Seemingly to avoid Draco noticing the dessert, Crabbe cleverly changed the subject.
"Draco, I've wanted to ask you this for a while. I've always felt your attitude toward Granger from Gryffindor is rather unusual," Crabbe said. His face had lost some of its fat recently, and his brain seemed to have sharpened as well. He'd even learned to ask questions and raise doubts. "Some people say the rings on your hands are a pair of matching rings."
"Was it Pansy, that gossipy witch, who said that?" Draco rolled his eyes. "You believe everything she says, don't you?"
Crabbe nodded blankly.
"And we saw you two at Honeydukes—embracing each other," Goyle said, putting a toffee under his tongue, intending to chew it when Draco wasn't looking.
"That—it was an accident! There were just too many people!" Draco's voice trailed off. His face flushed slightly.
How many people had actually seen it at the time?
"But Pansy says only boyfriends and girlfriends embrace each other. Only boyfriends and girlfriends take care of each other," Crabbe said, still struggling with this. "Isn't she—"
"No, she's not my girlfriend. How old is she?" Draco interrupted him, hurriedly saying, "I—I think of her as my little sister."
He was actually correct; mentally, he was already twenty.
But she was only fourteen years old—an age when she knew nothing.
This wasn't the best age difference for romance. His soul was already old; she was too young.
Moreover, he had many concerns. He restrained himself and avoided conflict. He wanted to protect her and didn't want to hurt her.
Maintaining a safe distance from her while keeping respectful distance was perhaps the best way to protect her.
His life was already tainted with too much darkness and secrets.
He still needed to focus all his attention on dealing with the Dark Lord.
Most importantly, she wouldn't like him.
She had plenty of people who could fancy her.
She'd been so distant from him lately, hardly ever talking to him anymore, hadn't she?
Why bother? Why add unnecessary trouble?
Draco gazed at the way the afterglow shone on the grass and felt a touch of sadness in the scene.
"Let's go back," he sighed, stopping the topic, ceasing his rambling thoughts, and intending to return to the castle of reality.
As they turned around the stone behind them, preparing to head toward the corridor, Draco spotted Harry behind it. He was looking at them with surprise, holding a Firebolt, seemingly just returning from the pitch.
There were two other people behind him—Ron and Hermione.
Hermione's face had turned deathly pale.
She rushed over and pointed her wand at his nose: "Draco Malfoy, you git!"
Draco hadn't seen her in what seemed like ages.
Lately, she'd been incredibly elusive; she was nowhere to be seen. How could she suddenly appear out of nowhere like this?
Of course, what he'd never seen before was her so angry in this life.
In this entire life, she'd never been so aggressive toward him.
"Hermione—are you pointing your wand at me?" Draco said, looking at her in surprise and speaking in a hurt tone.
"Don't be like this, Hermione. It's not that serious, is it?" Ron said anxiously, trying to calm the furious Hermione down.
If the vengeful Medusa had a physical form, Ron would wager she'd look exactly like Hermione.
"You don't understand!" Hermione yelled at Ron, turning back to glare at Draco, her eyes blazing with a mixture of seawater and fire. "You disgusting little cockroach! After what you did to me, you say you consider me your sister?"
"What's happening?" "I don't know either." Draco heard Crabbe and Goyle whispering behind him, their voices filled with excitement.
"What is it?" In fact, Draco was also rather confused, so he couldn't help asking.
He'd long felt her recent attitude toward him was somewhat inexplicable and strange.
Alienation, avoidance, hiding.
There must be some misunderstanding between them, correct?
"You—you kissed me!" Hermione tried to hold back as she went through the memories that made her heart flutter, but finally couldn't help it. Her face turned red, and she said the most outrageous thing.
Gasps rose and fell around them—the sounds coming from Harry, Ron, Crabbe, and Goyle.
Before today, the four of them had never been so united in their opinions.
But today, they resonated in unison.
"When did this happen?" Draco was somewhat dumbfounded.
How come he didn't remember this at all?
"You kissed me, and then you just forgot about it?" Hermione's face flushed even redder, and her expression became even more indignant.
That kiss on the forehead—was he planning to deny it? That git!
Did he feel nothing at all from the touching, hand-holding, and embracing they'd had recently?
He'd even held her in his arms and slept on a Hospital Wing bed overnight. Was he toying with her?
"I don't really remember it. And I don't think this is the right place to discuss this sort of thing," Draco said, frowning slightly.
Shouldn't they find a quiet, secluded place to discuss this?
Being surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, discussing topics that involved a girl's privacy, was extremely undignified.
Hermione glared at him fiercely, the tip of her wand slowly drooping.
This scene was so similar to his previous life! Draco thought.
However, her reasons for wanting to attack him had completely changed.
Kiss her? Had he done that? If he had, how could he not remember?
Kiss.
Draco looked at her slightly parted lips in anger, and an inappropriate thought flashed through his mind. He swallowed hard, and a smile involuntarily crept onto his lips.
However, that smile caused Hermione, who was trying to calm down, to lose her temper again.
That smile! He must be mocking her!
So she suddenly stretched out her fist and, in a fit of rage, punched him hard in the nose.
Oh, that fist of destiny struck him hard on the nose. It was like knocking him unconscious, or like beating him awake.
"You shouldn't have teased me!" she yelled at him, tears welling in her eyes.
She contemptuously ripped the silver ring off her finger, threw it at his face, turned and strode away from him, running toward Hagrid's hut down the hillside.
Harry and Ron cast a shocked yet sympathetic glance at Draco, who was covering his nose, then jogged off to catch up with Hermione in the grayish-purple twilight.
"Don't tell anyone," Draco threatened Goyle and Crabbe, his face grim as he watched the three hurriedly moving black dots. They were clearly stunned by the exciting scene and hurriedly nodded to Draco.
Hermione Granger's pride had never been so thoroughly destroyed.
Those hidden thoughts, those feelings that had fermented for ages and were finally confirmed by her, were ruthlessly thrown to the ground by that damned Draco Malfoy and crushed before everyone.
As soon as she entered Hagrid's hut, she let out a loud sob, which startled the large Hagrid.
"What's wrong?" He scratched his head, hurriedly brought her a chair, and told her to sit down.
Harry and Ron quietly explained to Hagrid what had just happened.
"Draco Malfoy," he said sternly, shaking his large, unkempt head in disapproval. "There are so many good Gryffindor boys you could fancy, and you choose to fancy a Slytherin!" he said seriously.
Hermione trembled and cried even louder.
"Malfoy—his whole family are Dark wizards, very evil, extremely evil. When You-Know-Who was in power, they were his most loyal followers," Hagrid said, swallowing hard and placing a freshly brewed cup of hot tea before Hermione. "There's no good outcome from associating with him."
"He's not like that!" Hermione said, tears welling in her eyes, then hiccupped. "He's not—"
"He made you cry like this, and you're still defending him?" Hagrid gave Hermione a look of exasperation. "That Malfoy brat is such a coward, and he has terrible taste! He can't even ride Buckbeak, such a beautiful and fun little darling!"
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, still not daring to remind Hagrid of his unrealistic understanding of the dangers of some magical creatures. They'd never fully agreed with Hagrid's views on what he considered "interesting creatures."
"All right, all right, I'll wager he'll regret missing out on such a clever and outstanding girl like you someday. After all, they haven't even invented the spells that Hermione can't perform yet!" Hagrid said proudly.
Hermione finally stopped crying. She blushed deeply after being showered with praise by Hagrid.
She sniffed and took a large gulp of hot tea. Her friends' company made her feel much better, although her heart still ached.
She still thought about that boy. The boy who'd broken her heart.
Hagrid stood up, lifted the kettle of boiling water from the stove, and wanted to add more tea for them.
"Oh, by the way, Hermione, is that big ginger cat yours?" Hagrid said, looking out the window from the stove toward the fields. "It's been circling around outside my hut all day. I reckon it's hungry..."
Suddenly, a pebble knocked over Hagrid's tea canister, shattering it and scattering tea leaves all over the table. A bald-spotted rat squeaked and slid out of the tea canister.
Ron glanced at it, and his expression suddenly changed.
"Wait, why does this rat look rather familiar? Doesn't it look like Scabbers?" He grabbed the struggling rat and held it up to the light to examine it.
It looked terrifying—thin and bald, with much of its fur missing, and it writhed wildly in Ron's hands. Through the last rays of the setting sun, which hadn't completely disappeared, they could see the rat's missing toe.
"Peter Pettigrew!" Harry suddenly jumped up, knocking over the teacup on the table.
"It's him!"
Suddenly, the restless rat bit Ron hard. Ron screamed and instinctively threw the rat to the ground.
Then they watched as the rat quickly rolled on the ground and squeezed out through the back door that Hagrid had opened a crack.
"No!" Harry shouted. "Catch him!"
He didn't care about anything else. He grabbed his wand and ran after the rat.
"Hagrid, go and tell Dumbledore!" Hermione finally forgot about her bad mood. She turned to Hagrid, who was standing there in a daze, and shouted, then followed Harry into the twilight fields with Ron.
[Goyle's Diary (Part 1)]
Weather on 1 May 1994: Sunny
I only ate ten packets of Fizzing Whizzbees today before losing my appetite; Vincent couldn't beat me this time—his tenth packet was confiscated by Draco.
Speaking of which, when did Draco discover I was secretly watching the House team's training?
Instead of laughing at me like the others, he let Vincent and me practice Quidditch?
Weather on 2 May 1994: Sunny
That said, is what Draco said yesterday—"Respect is earned"—true?
Someone as capable as him must be correct, right?
I swung the bat fifty times and I was exhausted.
Weather on 3 May 1994: Cloudy
Can I—Gregory Goyle—really do it?
Will I ever be able to wear the team robes of my House team?
I asked Draco this question, and Draco looked me up and down, then frowned at my stomach.
He suddenly ordered me to go for a run.
After finishing the run, I was made to hit the Bludger fifty times while it was still moving.
Damn it! I shouldn't have asked that question.
Weather on 4 May 1994: Cloudy turning to light rain
I really shouldn't have asked that question yesterday!
Draco has decided that Vincent and I will have to run ten laps around the training pitch every day from now on!
We're not allowed to eat Fizzing Whizzbees anymore!
After running, you still have to hit the Bludger fifty times!
Weather on 5 May 1994: Forgot.
We ran ten laps this morning and hit the Bludger fifty times!
Just as we were getting ready to take a break, Draco came to check our Transfiguration homework!
Wait a minute—did Professor McGonagall assign homework?—When did that happen?
I was rushing to finish my homework until midnight.
Weather on 6 May 1994: Sunny
Submitted my assignment on time and celebrated with Vincent by eating and drinking in the Great Hall, only to be caught by Draco.
Draco thought we ate too much, so he made us run fifteen laps and hit a Bludger one hundred times.
Unlucky!
Weather on 7 May 1994: Rain
It's the weekend, and Vincent and I both want to take a day off.
We need to talk to Draco.
We followed him to the men's toilets, hoping to talk about it when there were fewer people around.
However, as soon as we opened the door, we found Draco had used his wand to knock out a Gryffindor older student who'd spoken rudely to him the day before, then shoved his head into the toilet.
Hearing us come in, he looked up and glared at us. "What's wrong? Want to try?"
His expression was terrifying!
Never mind.
Neither of us dared go in. We closed the door, stood guard outside, and waited patiently for him to come out.
Then, under his gloomy gaze, we obediently ran fifteen laps and hit the Bludger one hundred times.
Ate a piece of toffee hidden under my pillow to calm my nerves.
Weather on 8 May 1994: Cloudy turning partly cloudy
Today, Parkinson laughed at Vincent as he passed by the training pitch.
Vincent was so devastated he ate two fewer bowls of rice.
Draco replied, "Oh, you should have eaten less."
Continue running fifteen laps and hitting the Bludger one hundred times.
Vincent regretted it when he reached the tenth lap.
He said with a bitter face, "I shouldn't have eaten those two bowls less."
Sigh!
I secretly handed him a piece of toffee I'd been hoarding, so he could suck on it to relieve his boredom.
Weather on 9 May 1994: Cloudy turning sunny
Vincent threw a tantrum.
He clung to the sofa in the common room, refusing to go to the training pitch.
Zabini, who was passing by, mocked us, saying we were "hopeless cases."
"So what if I'm covered in mud! Even if you turn me into a slug, I don't want to get up!" Vincent said dejectedly. "I'm exhausted and hungry—my arms and legs don't even feel like mine anymore!"
Draco waved his wand expressionlessly, sending three Slytherin students flying as they tried to touch him.
As the students' friends pried them off the wall, Draco, toying with his wand, turned to Vincent and asked, "What did you just say—say it again?"
Vincent didn't say anything more.
He stood up shakily and followed us to the training pitch.
So Draco sat in the stands bathed in the setting sun, playing with his wand, while the two of us huffed and puffed as we ran laps below.
Vincent ran fifteen laps while crying and hit the Bludger a hundred times.
I didn't cry—my tears turned into sweat—I was too tired to cry anymore.
Weather on 10 May 1994: Sunny
I reckon Vincent was so obedient yesterday because he was afraid of being slammed against the wall by Draco.
But he still couldn't escape his fate today.
Around noon, he probably planned to jump out from around the corner to scare me, but little did he know Draco was walking faster than me.
Trying to scare Draco Malfoy? He'd be asking for trouble.
Yes, Vincent was stuck to the wall—it took me ages to pry him off.
Draco looked at us with a half-smile and said, "I shouldn't have underestimated you. Turns out you have extra energy to mess with others!"
He made us run twenty laps around the training pitch and hit the Bludger two hundred times!
For the first time in my life, I felt Vincent was even stupider than me.
I'm exhausted.
Weather on 11 May 1994: Whatever.
As usual, run twenty laps around the training pitch and hit the Bludger two hundred times!
As usual, we were mocked and ridiculed by passing Slytherins, and gloated over by passing Gryffindors!
But we can't stop, because Draco said if we don't finish the exercise, he'll throw us into the Dementors' camp!
Is he serious?
Weather on 12 May 1994: Rain
Zabini and Draco are such good friends, yet he was still knocked away by Draco today!
Shocking the entire school!
Indiscriminate attack!
Parkinson was heartbroken, but she didn't dare avenge her boyfriend, so she could only jump up and down in the stands and curse!
Draco seemed to say something to her, and she suddenly fell silent.
Later, Parkinson left with a livid face.
Run twenty laps around the training pitch and hit the Bludger 199 times!
Hehe, I took a break while they were arguing!
Weather on 13 May 1994: Cloudy
Run twenty laps around the training pitch and hit the Bludger 201 times!
Yes, Draco noticed I was slacking off—he told me to make up for it myself today.
"This is the last time," he said, sitting on the sofa in the common room, flipping through a thick book whose title I couldn't read, and said to me with a cold laugh.
I think he'd have been better off not smiling!
Fortunately, he didn't have time to deal with us today.
He knocked Daphne Greengrass away in the Slytherin common room today when she tried to ambush him, and was surrounded and strongly condemned by a group of Slytherin girls.
I don't know how he dealt with those unreasonable girls.
Regardless, when we finished training and walked into the common room, drenched in sweat, he was already leisurely playing wizard's chess with Theodore Nott.
The girls around him no longer dared gang up on him, or even look at him; they seemed to avoid him at all costs.
Weather on 14 May 1994: Ordinary
Run twenty laps around the training pitch and hit the Bludger two hundred times.
Tomorrow is the match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.
Finally—the Quidditch pitch we usually use for training is occupied by a match—Vincent and I can have a legitimate day off!
Looking forward to tomorrow.
Weather on 15 May 1994: Fairly good
We'd already planned it out; we needed to find an opportunity today to discuss the number of times we need to hit the Bludger with Draco—two hundred hits per person is too many!
However, as soon as we went downstairs in the morning, we heard him berate Millicent Bulstrode, who was always mean-spirited, and tell her to stop calling Granger a "Mudblood."
He seems to be in a bad mood; this isn't a good opportunity for conversation.
As we walked toward the Quidditch pitch, we tried going up to talk to him, but he was busy exchanging harsh words with Zacharias Smith, making the Hufflepuff's face turn as red as a plump tomato.
While watching the match, Draco seemed temporarily deaf. No matter how we called to him, he wouldn't respond.
He kept looking at the Gryffindor stands.
The Quaffle is in the sky! What is he looking at?
I found it strange, so I asked Vincent, who was beside me. Vincent mysteriously said he was probably watching Granger.
Oh, Draco's study partner.
A Gryffindor—the sound of Bulstrode's cries still echoes in my ears—I dare not speak carelessly.
The training pitch still needed to be cleaned after the match.
We're likely to escape unscathed today, without having to run twenty laps around the training pitch or hit the Bludger two hundred times!
Draco didn't seem to remember "we still need to train" today.
After swiftly reprimanding a Gryffindor who was about to throw Dungbombs at him—and stuffing the Dungbomb into the bloke's mouth—he said he'd take us for a walk around the castle to digest our food.
Neither Vincent nor I dared refuse him. We tied the Gryffindor to the tree and followed him.
Then everything happened so suddenly.
We hadn't even finished processing the fact that "Draco kissed Granger" when we watched helplessly as Draco stood there obediently, letting Granger punch him without daring to retaliate.
Didn't dare fight back!
This is the first time in my life I've ever seen Draco Malfoy act so cowardly!
Where did the ruthless young master who had the entire Slytherin House under his thumb go?
Vincent and I exchanged a glance, both wanting to ask him again what was happening.
Unexpectedly, he glared at us fiercely and ordered us to hit three hundred Bludgers.
Three hundred—three hundred each—who is worse off than us?
Granger did well punching him.
Today we hit three hundred Bludgers; since Draco didn't ask us to, we didn't run laps, hehe!
Weather on 16 May 1994: Sunny
Complete twenty laps and hit the Bludger three hundred times.
Draco must have been busy with something today; he didn't even come to supervise us.
But I still finished it; so did Vincent.
For the first time, we completed the day's training entirely on our own initiative, even though we were exhausted.
Dinner tasted especially delicious tonight.