novelraw Chapter 90: Tracking Charm
Chapter 90: Tracking Charm
If we turn our attention back to the moment Draco was punched, we might understand how he managed to find Hermione through the darkness of night.
"Don't tell anyone." Draco threatened Goyle and Crabbe, his face grim as he watched three small figures moving hurriedly across the grassy slope. The two of them were stunned by the dramatic scene and quickly nodded to Draco.
Hermione's punch came too suddenly.
Draco was caught off guard and completely bewildered.
For the past three years, his relationship with Hermione Granger had been completely devoid of violence, and he'd never imagined he'd be struck again.
Including his previous life, this was the second time he'd heard her say these words—"bastard," "disgusting little cockroach"—he covered his nose, and a sour sensation instantly rushed from the tip of his nose to the back of his head and into his heart.
He gave a helpless, bitter smile, a smile that looked worse than crying.
Fate! Given another chance, he was still cursed with the exact same words.
*Is he really that terrible?* Draco was utterly frustrated.
"Draco, your nose is bleeding—" Goyle stammered. In his haste, he swallowed the toffee in his mouth whole, choking and coughing.
A warm trickle gradually seeped out from between his fingers.
For someone like Malfoy who was conscious of his image, getting a nosebleed was certainly undignified.
"We'll go with you to the lavatory—" Crabbe blinked, puzzled, and offered a feasible suggestion.
"No! I'll go myself, you two leave." Draco said wearily. "Go to training. Three hundred Bludger drills today, three hundred each."
"But—" Goyle said worriedly.
"Training now, immediately!" Draco snapped, rushing toward the nearest boys' lavatory, leaving behind the words, "Don't follow me!"
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a glance, staring blankly at his retreating figure.
The boys' lavatory was empty. Only Draco Malfoy frantically turning on the tap. The cold water stanched the bleeding, and his blood-stained robes were tossed aside. He leaned on the sink, staring at the boy in the white shirt in the mirror amidst the rushing water, trying to understand what the person in the mirror was thinking.
Merlin, what exactly had he done?
Had he kissed her? When?
He'd kissed her? Was that why she'd been avoiding him lately?
Draco pursed his lips, looking at his furrowed brows, and fiercely dug into his memories.
Could it be that he'd inadvertently mistaken memories from this life for those of his past life and locked them away using Occlumency?
Trembling, he opened the sealed memory compartments in his mind, searching for every possibility, hoping to find something. However, apart from making his face grow paler and paler, he found nothing.
It was so disheartening. Whether it was the blank memory he had now, or experiencing Hermione's fist again.
She'd punched him before, because of Buckbeak. In this life, he'd kept his distance from that Hippogriff, yet he still couldn't escape this brutal punch.
Hermione Granger, as always, had an incredibly strong right hook when she got angry.
The pain was so intense, both physical and psychological, that Draco smiled bitterly at himself in the mirror, his mind in turmoil.
She was clearly furious. Such anger was rare to witness.
Her angry words sent an unusual signal.
"After what you did to me, you actually said you treated me like a sister?" Her tearful accusations flashed through his mind again, her eyes red and swollen.
*Merlin, what heinous thing did I do to her, and when did I kiss her?* Questions that only Hermione herself could answer.
Merlin's beard, he had absolutely no clue!
However, her next sentence was that she didn't want to be his sister.
What did it mean—was it the meaning he suspected?
He stared at the broken, melancholy boy in the mirror, unsure of what to do.
*Admit it, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger is definitely not just a sister to you.*
At first, he could still fool himself.
In first and second year, he hadn't harbored any improper thoughts—she was a lively, adorable, and somewhat arrogant little girl who needed to be coaxed, cared for, and given considerable brotherly concern and affection.
But as she grew up and matured, she became not only cute, but even more endearing.
She revealed to him a side of Hermione Granger he'd never had the chance to know in his previous life.
She took care of him. She spread butter on his toast and handed it to him naturally. She casually straightened his tie, as if winding a watch. She administered his medicine, wiped his mouth, and even embraced him, gently patting him to sleep. She drove away the desolation the Dementors brought him. She cast Drying Charms, Scouring Charms, and Warming Charms on him from below the stands, making those bleak training days less unbearable and even filling him with anticipation.
She stood up for him. She clashed with the Hufflepuffs in the library, defending his dignity as Slytherin's Seeker. She argued with her dormmate over a prophetic curse—she didn't even believe in Divination, yet she wouldn't allow anyone to say he was doomed. In the Quidditch stands, she was the first to cast the Patronus Charm, trying to protect him from attack.
She helped him. She secretly took him, now invisible, to the Forbidden Forest. She translated the difficult notes of Herpo the Foul for him. She analyzed all the students in the school, trying to discover who had opened the Chamber of Secrets.
She even trusted him. She kept many secrets for him, despite her deep suspicions. The secrets of the Forbidden Forest, the secrets of the Bludger, the secrets of the basilisk—any secret.
She gave him warmth and comfort. She extended a friendly hand to him on the Hogwarts Express. Flying with her made him feel alive. She embraced him warmly by the stands, rekindling his fighting spirit for Quidditch. Noticing he hadn't eaten dinner, she secretly brought his favorite food to the Astronomy Tower to settle his stomach. She stroked his hair in his sleep, allowing him to spend the most wonderful afternoon in the library.
She added sweetness to his bitter life. She would save a piece of birthday cake for him. She created a fun afternoon for him with a Muggle skateboard. She tried to lighten his mood with Muggle music. She capriciously swapped his iced Americano for her own iced latte. She forced him to eat chocolate. She dragged him around Muggle streets, refusing to let him sulk indoors, forbidding him to rub his temples and give himself a headache over books.
She was a natural puzzle solver. He relied on memories from his past life, and even then, he struggled to piece things together. But she seemed to effortlessly connect the details. Who else could have imagined that the basilisk traveled through Hogwarts via the plumbing? Who else could have deduced that Remus Lupin might be a werewolf?
She was a master of applying knowledge to new situations. She studied every spell meticulously and with great care. She always earned praise from Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall. Even spells he cast unintentionally, she could quickly learn and even perform better than him.
She was undoubtedly an exceptional student. Who else could brew such an advanced potion as Polyjuice Potion in their second year? Who else would proactively study so many subjects and achieve such outstanding marks?
She always said he was her favorite study partner, but wasn't she his favorite too? Who wouldn't be captivated by such an intelligent, diligent, and skilled witch? He enjoyed the seamless collaboration with her in potion-making. A single glance, a single word, and they knew what the other meant. No further explanation was needed. That unspoken understanding always brought a knowing smile to their faces.
She always tried to understand him, to uncover his secrets. She said he was brave, though he never considered himself courageous. She dragged him to learn Patronus Charms, letting him experience the joy of being respected by students from other Houses. She said he was kind, even though he hadn't exposed Lupin out of consideration for not meddling. She even said he was gentle, as if she could find some other emotion in his indifferent eyes.
She said she liked his smile. She said his smile was very handsome.
Hermione Granger always seemed to be trying to find something that shouldn't exist in Draco Malfoy's dark soul—some glimmer of humanity. What was most terrifying was that she always seemed able to find dubious evidence to justify her thinking.
She understood him. No one could understand him except her.
Merlin, he loved her. He loved everything she did for him.
He admired her intelligence, her pride, and her ambition. He loved the way she smugly answered all the questions—she deserved it. With a mind like hers, why shouldn't she hold her head high and accept applause?
He even liked her naive idealism. He liked her anger, her tenacity, her indomitable spirit. He liked her unrealistic thinking. He liked her delusion of breaking down all injustice. He liked the unattainable utopia she imagined. He even liked the tears she shed for the weak, and the fighting spirit she displayed after wiping them away. She seemed to have no idea how to spell "give up," and even when she was occasionally dejected, it never lasted long.
Draco Malfoy simply wanted to protect Hermione Granger, to keep her from breaking and getting hurt.
But he drew closer and closer to her, becoming more and more hopelessly infatuated.
Her face increasingly overlapped with the blurry image of Hermione Granger in his memory. It even became clearer.
Those complex emotions from his past life, locked deep within his mind and yet to be sorted out, gradually sprouted and flourished in his heart like seeds scattered across fertile ground, nourished by her in this life.
She was special to him.
In his past life, he'd secretly hidden his last remaining conscience, compassion, and broken heart in that exquisitely crafted treasure box labeled "Hermione Granger."
He'd deliberately hidden the treasure box beneath a pile of rubble in his mind, where it gathered dust and became grimy.
He thought that this way, no one would be able to find it.
He never dared open it. In his past life, whenever he found that box in his mind, he would bind it even tighter with the chains of Occlumency, so that when facing Hermione Granger, he could remain as cold, ruthless, and sarcastic as ever, as if he didn't care for her at all.
Ironically, his secret feelings for Hermione were known only to Bellatrix—the madwoman—his Occlumency instructor—in his past life.
His self-taught Occlumency had been a joke. That summer he became a Death Eater, she came to tutor him with a malicious smile. It didn't take her long to find the strangely shaped box, and she opened it with a sinister grin, casually rummaging through it.
He didn't know how many secrets she'd witnessed in that moment.
In short, that was enough—enough for her to know that her nephew was a disobedient child.
"Draco, this won't do," she'd whispered to him, her eyes filled with cruelty. "The Dark Lord will be displeased."
Draco was terrified. He absolutely refused to be seen through a second time. He gritted his teeth, enduring Bellatrix's mental baptism and torment, and quickly honed his skills into those of a highly accomplished Occlumens.
Bellatrix never had the chance to open the box a second time; even a master Occlumens like Snape couldn't read his mind.
That's why, when Bellatrix captured Harry and the others, she so ruthlessly chose to torture Hermione.
Perhaps this deranged woman wanted to see his reaction, to see if he was still secretly harboring "toxic emotions" in his heart.
Poor Hermione.
She would never know that the horrific torment she suffered was all because of that bastard Draco Malfoy's rebellious thoughts.
Although Bellatrix could no longer see through him, she always harbored suspicions about him, feeling that he would one day betray her and join Potter's side.
The Death Eaters said she was paranoid—the Malfoys were practically the Dark Lord's loyal servants—but her skeptical gaze toward him never wavered.
Draco didn't have time to do anything, nor did he show any goodwill toward Potter. In fact, he harbored considerable anger toward the Potter trio.
But she keenly grasped the signs.
How dangerous that sign was! Anyone who'd ever loved someone would instantly understand how terrifying that sign was.
Bellatrix may have loved before, even when she was mentally unstable. So much so that she saw right through him, long before he could even comprehend his own feelings.
That sinful day. In the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, she seized Hermione and tormented her, just to see if he would still show any emotion toward her.
She wanted to nip any danger in the bud.
Since his Occlumency was impenetrable, the only way to verify his thoughts was to torture her in front of him, to make the girl he once kept in his heart scream shrilly, and see if he was moved.
If his expression changed even slightly, the Malfoys would be labeled traitors; if he showed the slightest frown, or begged her to spare the poor girl, this madwoman might take advantage and kill her on the spot without hesitation.
He was helpless. The only way to save her life was for him to watch Bellatrix torture her with a cold expression, pretending not to care. Perhaps then Bellatrix would be satisfied and spare her life, locking her in the dungeons beneath the drawing room once she lost interest.
By then, as long as she didn't die, there might be a way to save her.
He couldn't immediately save her. The disparity in strength was too great. He was never a skilled duellist, and he had no confidence in defeating both Bellatrix and the werewolf Greyback simultaneously.
He also had his parents to worry about. By then, Lucius had lost his wand, and his mother, Narcissa, was bewildered and uneasy about the Death Eaters who freely roamed the Manor.
Though they maintained a facade of dignity, appearing proud and aloof to outsiders, their inner state was precarious. They had to remain utterly loyal, even when their interests were utterly violated. More than their dignity, they feared someone reporting them to the Dark Lord and bringing trouble upon themselves.
He couldn't just take her away and drag his parents into an even deeper abyss.
So he dragged his own soul into the abyss, along with the innocent Hermione Granger.
Her eyes had looked at him with such devastation that they'd almost torn his heart apart.
Yet he still had to maintain a blank expression, showing no emotional fluctuation whatsoever.
He had to pretend she was a mortal enemy, rubbish beneath his feet, rather than the unattainable beauty he longed for.
Then, predictably, he ruined everything.
He thought he had nothing left to lose.
But that day, he lost everything.
Wand, faith, and her.
He finally understood what "loss" meant.
To lose forever and completely.
*I lost her.*
Thinking of this, a sharp, subtle pain suddenly welled up in his heart.
"I am a bastard, aren't I?" he said, looking up at himself in the mirror.
He'd hurt her.
Hurt her deeply.
He was the one who'd hurt her all along; it had nothing to do with anyone else.
He'd hurt her, though it wasn't his intention.
Merlin's beard, the person he least wanted to hurt in this world was her.
Draco closed his eyes, loosened the silver-green tie around his neck, and felt like he couldn't breathe.
That experience was a nightmare for him.
He used Occlumency to tightly lock away those unbearable past events, forcing himself to forget them and focus on the problems he faced in this life.
Hermione—she seemed to fancy him.
She fancied him.
Was it possible? Was it possible that she might fall for him?
This faint possibility, like a butterfly, fluttered in his heart.
It started as a faint flutter of wings in his chest, and now it was a raging hurricane.
Yes, this whole thing got out of control from the very beginning.
Like a beautiful dream he dared not touch, she "met" him again that day.
She extended her hand to him on the Express and he took it without hesitation.
She introduced herself to him and asked him to call her "Hermione."
There was no more Granger, no more Mudblood; no more mockery, misunderstanding, indifference, or acerbity.
Everything was brand new.
A brand new Hermione, unharmed by anyone.
Hermione looked at him curiously with her bright eyes.
Day by day, he found it increasingly difficult to refuse her.
How could he refuse when she was so unguarded, the way he'd always longed for?
He hadn't originally expected that much.
He knew full well that he was guilty of grave sins.
He never dared to hope for anything.
He initially told himself to just watch from a distance, keep a safe distance, and lend a hand if necessary.
*Don't let her get hurt again, don't let her become the person in your nightmares.* Later, he reminded himself of this.
Most of the harm she'd suffered stemmed from him.
For Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy was "harm" itself.
Sometimes he thought that perhaps keeping his distance from her was the best way to protect her.
She didn't fancy him at all. In her past life, she never fancied him either.
Why bother getting close to her and hurting her again?
*Stop overthinking. It's just a fleeting thought from a past life.* He kept reminding himself of this.
*I just wanted to help her. I just wanted to make her feel better. I just couldn't bear to see her crying.*
There was no other meaning behind it. He reached out to her again and again, warning himself silently.
He kept running away. He avoided thinking about it.
Draco Malfoy was a coward. He couldn't accept disappointment.
That's why he'd said that. He'd used the definition of "younger sister" to defuse the awkwardness.
Just when she incredulously opened a tiny crack in her tightly closed heart to him, he'd said those words, hurting her once again.
She must be furious.
She'd thrown the ring away. Draco sighed, a pang of sorrow gripping his heart.
"Draco Malfoy, the worst man in the world," he said to the boy in the mirror, expressionless.
"You make me despise you," he said to himself.
What should he do?
*I need to find her first and apologize. I need to make sure she calms down.*
She was probably still angry.
Would she still want to see him? Would she still want to talk to him? He wondered anxiously as he walked out of the lavatory.
As dusk settled, Draco still couldn't find Hermione. Not in the library, not by the Black Lake, not in the common room—if the Fat Lady hadn't lied to him.
He slowly walked out of the long corridor and returned to the large boulder where he'd witnessed being struck. He crouched down, holding his wand and constantly casting "Lumos," unusually unfazed by the dirt, touching something on the ground.
Surprisingly, Draco couldn't find the ring, which frustrated him.
In desperation, he used the Tracking Charm for the first time—since she'd thrown away the ring, it wouldn't hurt to use it, he thought.
But something remarkable happened: the light emitted by the tracking spell wasn't in the vicinity, but instead pointed directly toward the Forbidden Forest.
This was unbelievable. Had Hermione come back and retrieved the ring? But that meant she was in the Forbidden Forest right now.
How could that be? Hermione should know perfectly well that she shouldn't be in the Forbidden Forest on a full moon like this. He'd reminded her.
If it wasn't her, then who took the ring? And why were they in the Forbidden Forest?
Draco gazed worriedly at the shadowy woods in the distance for a moment, then glanced at the dark clouds in the night sky.
He did want to use the Marauder's Map to pinpoint Hermione's exact location, but it had been borrowed by the Weasley twins and was probably sitting in the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes workshop in Hogsmeade.
It was too late. Draco stared intently at the moon, which was slowly emerging from the clouds, his heart filled with unease as he was illuminated by the crescent of its full light.
Although he trusted Professor Snape's potion-making skills and believed Lupin wouldn't cause any trouble tonight, if Hermione were in the Forbidden Forest, even the slightest unexpected situation could be fatal.
Werewolves.
*This reckless, willful girl!* His face paled, but he made up his mind, gripped his wand tightly, and ran toward the pitch-black meadow guided by the Tracking Charm.
As he passed Hagrid's pumpkin patch, the Tracking Charm seemed to be losing its effectiveness, and the direction was becoming increasingly erratic. Draco sighed and looked around.
In the gradually brightening moonlight, he saw Hermione's ginger cat trotting arrogantly from the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a dead rat dangling from its mouth.
"Crookshanks," he asked sadly, "have you seen Hermione?"
Crookshanks raised his bright yellow eyes and glanced at him, then wagged his tail happily.
"Come here." He opened his arms to Crookshanks.
The cat was unusually well-behaved today. It spat out the headless mouse from its mouth and jumped into his lap.
"I wish your mistress could be as reasonable as you." Draco stroked its thick, rough fur sullenly, plucking a willow leaf from its head. "Can you lead me to her, since you're so clever?"
Crookshanks seemed to understand him. It broke free from his embrace and gracefully leaped to the ground. With a flick of its tail, it nimbly led the way ahead of him.
Draco, desperate and with nothing to lose, followed it for a while, when suddenly he heard a mournful wolf howl.
Werewolf!
The full moon emerged completely from the clouds.
Draco's face turned ashen. He quickened his pace, just as Crookshanks quickened his.
He prayed silently: *Merlin, please help me find Hermione quickly. Merlin, please don't let her encounter werewolves.*
However, he saw it.
Under the full moon, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a ferocious werewolf was approaching the pale-faced young witch.
Hermione. She was all alone. She stood forlornly before the werewolf, her hand holding the wand trembling.
In an instant, his heart and lungs twisted together, and he couldn't breathe.
*Where are Harry and Ron?*
*Why bring her to a place like the Forbidden Forest during a full moon?*
*Why did you abandon her and leave her to face all of this alone?*
*Why is she always surrounded by danger?*
Draco was furious.
She'd been gone for mere moments when the werewolf came for her!
They couldn't protect her at all!
How many times had her safety been carelessly ignored?
How could he be so naive as to think that she'd be safer with them than with him?
How could he be so naive as to think that no one else could hurt her except him?
Perhaps all that forbearance and avoidance over the years was just foolishness!
He shouldn't have let her go! Draco stormed toward her without hesitation.
The werewolf was baring its teeth, which gleamed with a chilling light.
He rushed over and firmly shielded the frail, frightened, trembling young witch behind him.
"Hermione Granger, I've finally found you," he said frantically, his voice trembling.
The werewolf's eyes emitted a sinister glint.
He wasn't sure if it was Lupin. Its eyes held no trace of humanity, only savagery and brutality. The werewolf was enormous, even more ferocious, robust, and cruel than it had appeared from a distance.
He pointed his wand at it, quickly thinking of what spell to cast, when he heard Hermione's voice tremble behind him, "No, Draco, it's no use, the wand is useless against it... Professor Snape has already been defeated by it..."
This news shocked and terrified Draco.
Everything seemed to be in chaos.
*Is Professor Snape still alive?*
Such a powerful wizard could kill Albus Dumbledore, yet he couldn't defeat a werewolf.
Draco lost half his confidence, but still tried to use "Incarcerous" on the werewolf, which enraged it—it knocked his wand away with a claw.
"Draco!" Hermione screamed behind him, clinging tightly to him.
He was now unarmed and could only smile bitterly in despair—werewolves, with their thick hides and resilient flesh, were truly the bane of wizards!
Perhaps this very moment was the final destination he was heading toward after his rebirth.
He was unwilling to accept it, but he was helpless.
*There are so many things I didn't have time to do, so many words I didn't have time to say, so many regrets I didn't have time to make amends for...*
The werewolf closed in again, cruelly raising its sharp claws in a preparatory stance to attack.
"Draco—" she called after him, clutching his robes in a fearful tone.
In that split second, Draco had no other choice.
*That's enough. Let's leave it at that. These three years felt stolen anyway.*
Draco turned around, hugged his little witch tightly, turned his back to the werewolf, and wore a resolute expression.
This was the only absurd and rudimentary protective measure he could take with his life.
"I'm sorry, please forgive me," he said in a trembling voice in her ear, his eyes tightly shut with immense fear.
Muggles say that in the moment before death, all sensory experiences are amplified.
Perhaps it's true.
He could feel her body trembling as well, and her arms tightly wrapped around his waist.
He could feel the frantic beating of her heart in her chest, just as she could feel his.
Her cold face pressed against his, and warm tears silently streamed down their cheeks.
"Draco…" she called his name in a heartbroken, desperate tone, the pain in her voice almost tearing his heart apart.
*His Hermione. His sweet little witch.*
She still smelled of his favorite green apple.
In his past life, he'd foolishly lost her.
In this life, just as he was slowly finding her again, just as she was about to give him a chance—
*But they were going to die here.*
*To die holding her like this, it's truly unbearable.*
The distant howls of wolves echoed—the tearing and pain Draco had imagined didn't materialize.
At the last moment, the werewolf seemed to be attracted by the wolf howl and suddenly turned around and ran away.
They were safe.
In an incredible way.
But they still refused to release each other.
Overwhelmed by fear and the joy of surviving catastrophe, they collapsed to the ground, clinging tightly and trembling like two desperate drowning people grasping at a lifeline.
"It's all right, Hermione, it's gone," he said, finding his voice hoarse.
"Draco," she buried her head in his shoulder, her teeth chattering, her voice trembling with tears, "it was so frightening…"
Her tears quickly soaked a small patch of his shoulder.
"It's all right, it's all right, you're safe now." He gently patted her thin, trembling, rapidly rising and falling back, his fingers shaking so badly they wouldn't obey him.
She must have been terrified.
Hermione—she was holding him so tightly. She clung to him, as if trying to embed herself in his arms.
The air in his lungs was being squeezed out, and his ribs were about to be broken by her grip.
But he didn't care.
She was still alive and holding him close, and that was enough.
*Merlin, how many times in a person's life can one escape death, and how many times can luck erase mistakes and allow one to start over?*
Since she'd nestled into his arms instead of someone else's.
Since the warmth of an embrace could ward off the chill of death.
Why was Draco Malfoy still hesitating?
For the first time in his life, he embraced Hermione Granger with unwavering resolve, clarity, and closeness.
He hugged the girl back.
He trembled as he held her tightly, who was also trembling, and never wanted to let go.