novelraw Chapter 92: Restart Time
Chapter 92: Restart Time
A Time-Turner—that was hardly the kind of travel tool Draco Malfoy preferred.
This method of traveling was profoundly uncomfortable. First, you felt yourself flying backward at tremendous speed. Then, various blurry cloud-like shapes flashed before your eyes; simultaneously, it felt as though tiny hammers were pounding in your ears, and you couldn't hear your own voice—shouting, talking, gasping for breath—you couldn't hear anything. Finally, you tried to endure all of this while doubting whether you could make it to the moment your feet touched the ground.
Then, suddenly, Draco found himself standing in the same spot in the hospital wing.
Everything was as it had been before.
However, the surrounding light had become much brighter than previously; Ron, who'd been staring in disbelief while supporting his injured leg, had also disappeared from the hospital bed before him.
"Seven-thirty? Where were we at seven-thirty?" Hermione asked Harry anxiously as soon as they'd stopped. She tucked the Time-Turner away.
"Hagrid's hut, I suppose—" Harry said, still bewildered by the strange turn of events.
"Come on, hurry!" Hermione said urgently, and took the lead running. The two doubtful boys exchanged a glance, and without time to speak, could only follow Hermione as they raced down the deserted corridor.
"Hermione," Harry said breathlessly, "don't you have anything to explain?"
So Hermione explained as she ran. "When last term started, Professor McGonagall gave me a Time-Turner. I can go back in time. That's why I can attend several classes simultaneously—"
"So we've gone back in time?" Harry suddenly realized.
"Yes!" Hermione said succinctly, panting slightly as she peered out through the corridor window.
Outside was that enormous boulder. Draco followed her, tilting his head to look, and just then witnessed another Hermione punching another version of himself; the others gasped in surprise.
"Oh, I must say, that was a genuinely powerful punch," Draco said softly, never expecting to witness himself being struck as a bystander. "My nose still aches a bit."
Hermione suddenly flushed.
Half shy and half annoyed, she raised her chin, refusing to meet his gaze, and said haughtily, "Thank you for the compliment."
This scene brought back some unpleasant memories.
Hermione suddenly realized she was still angry about this, though she didn't know at whom she should be angry.
How had she forgotten all of that and become so close to Draco again?
She shouldn't act as if nothing had happened and try to coexist peacefully with him.
They'd clearly gone through such an embarrassing scene. Her heart had clearly been torn to shreds by him. Her dignity had clearly been trampled beneath his feet. How could she forget all of that in the blink of an eye?
Actually, the other her had just punched him—how could she act as if it had never happened?
Hermione was certain she needed a haughty expression to protect her self-esteem.
She needed to adopt a tougher stance. She couldn't be overly gentle with Draco immediately, or she'd lose all her dignity.
Hermione glanced furtively at the boy beside her who was attempting to smile at her, then kept reminding herself to maintain a straight face.
However, Hermione wanted to retrieve the ring she'd angrily discarded.
Even though he didn't fancy her and she was deeply hurt by it, she still wanted to reclaim it.
A moment later, the three hiding beneath the wall watched Draco hurriedly run down the corridor, clutching his bleeding nose, and say to Crabbe and Goyle in a disheveled yet fierce manner, "Don't follow me!"
This time, it was Draco's turn to feel his face burning. He gave Hermione an awkward smile but didn't receive her usual response. She looked extremely serious, her eyes flickering, and he couldn't discern what she was thinking.
When the corridor returned to silence, Hermione suddenly stood, ran straight to the boulder, and crouched down to retrieve something. In the fading sunlight, Draco recognized it as a silver ring.
Merlin's beard! Draco suddenly understood everything—why he couldn't find the ring then, and why the Locator Spell had pointed to the Forbidden Forest.
Because when the first Hermione came to collect the ring, it had already been retrieved by the second Hermione and taken to the vicinity of the Forbidden Forest in the future of the present timeline. This bizarre logic made him dizzy; he seemed to be walking into some kind of temporal paradox.
"Now, where should we go?" Hermione carefully slipped the silver ring onto her finger, her face remaining calm and composed, as if it were insignificant.
She still didn't look at Draco but instead kept her head down, staring blankly at the ring.
"Let's go back the way we came. See if we can catch Peter Pettigrew," Draco said after a moment's thought to the top of her brown hair.
Since the ring would point toward the Forbidden Forest in the future, they should follow it and head to the Forest's vicinity.
"I agree," Harry finally spoke up between them. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of hope and hatred as he resolved to seize the opportunity to catch the rat and avenge his parents and godfather.
So they ran down the sloping lawn to Hagrid's hut and crouched behind a pile of enormous, nearly ripe pumpkins. Through the open window of Hagrid's hut, Draco saw the three of them sitting in chairs drinking tea, while Hermione kept rubbing her eyes, as if she were sobbing.
"You—you cried then?" Draco suddenly turned to look at Hermione.
"She cried for ages—" Harry couldn't help but say to Draco, in a reproachful tone. "And we comforted her for ages."
"I'm sorry," Draco pursed his lips, staring at Hermione's face for a moment, regret etched on his features.
"Oh, nothing. Just—being silly." Hermione still didn't meet his gaze, instead focusing intently on watching Hagrid's hut from behind the enormous pumpkin.
She didn't want to appear weak and helpless. Even if he treated her like a sister, it wasn't catastrophic. The last thing she needed was this pointless apology, Hermione thought angrily.
The most important thing now was catching Peter Pettigrew, rather than wasting time on this hopeless unrequited affection.
Hermione could sense the boy beside her was somewhat uneasy.
He seemed to want her attention.
However, she no longer wanted to give it to him.
If noticing him would bring her endless pain, why should she still pay attention to him?
*Why should I pay attention to this innocent-looking, charming, and irresistibly approachable boy?* Hermione cried out in her heart, her face tense, as if trying to see the answer to this question through that open window.
Before long, Hermione's ginger cat appeared.
It swept past Hagrid's hut and came running lightly over. Its fur was ruffled, and a few willow leaves clung to it. It was regarding Hagrid's hut with an incomprehensible, unfathomable gaze.
"Crookshanks!" Hermione called nervously. She beckoned to it softly, but it didn't respond as usual, twitching its nose as if pretending not to hear its owner's call.
It remained motionless, like a cat statue guarding a pharaoh's tomb, staring intently at the hut.
Just then, they saw Hagrid stand, lift the kettle of boiling water from the stove, and prepare to add more tea for the others in the room.
"Peter Pettigrew!" Harry exclaimed, snapping out of his daze. "He's in the teapot! Let me go get him!"
"No." Draco grabbed him just as he tried to rush out, even pulling him down slightly. "I don't think you can appear before yourself. The other you will panic, and might even pull out your wand and attack yourself—"
"He's right," Hermione said quickly, a look of alarm on her face. "Interfering with time is dangerous; we can't just rush in recklessly."
"Then at least—" Harry stared at the window resentfully, gritting his teeth. "I have to warn us."
He grabbed a pebble from near the pumpkin and hurled it through Hagrid's window, shattering the teapot on the table. Tea leaves scattered across the table, and the rat Peter Pettigrew had transformed into slid out.
They heard Ron scream. A moment later, a small, dark shape darted out of the cabin's back door—it was Peter Pettigrew in rat form.
Then Harry, Ron, and Hermione from the other timeline filed out, closely following the shadowy figure as they ran into the distance.
Then the front door was hastily opened, and Hagrid, exclaiming "Buckbeak's escaped!", hurried toward the castle.
"Let's go," Draco said to Harry and Hermione. They set off.
In the deep twilight, hidden by the shadows of the trees, they stealthily followed the trio ahead.
By now, Crookshanks had grown tired of the statue act. It obediently followed behind them, running along with great enthusiasm, its paws twitching.
As dusk fell, dark, ink-like clouds heavily stained the sky. They lay hidden behind a thicket at the Forbidden Forest's edge, peering at the movement near the Whomping Willow—the large black dog had already darted into a tree hollow with lightning speed.
"That's Sirius!" Harry's face finally softened, no longer filled with anger. He said with a hint of excitement, "I never imagined he was an Animagus…"
Draco's eyes flickered slightly upon hearing this. He'd long known Sirius Black might be an Animagus. This was an indisputable fact after his mother, Narcissa, learned from Sirius that Animagi could resist Dementors.
The only thing Draco couldn't determine was his animal form—today had finally solved the last piece of the puzzle.
"No! Harry, watch out!" At that moment, the other Hermione beneath the Whomping Willow was shouting in panic. Just then, Crookshanks appeared beside that Hermione.
The three turned around in surprise, only to find no one behind them.
No one noticed when the cat following them had quietly run toward its other owner.
"Crookshanks has duplicated," Hermione whispered, crouching behind the bushes and gazing at her cat.
Draco was lying beside her. He watched quietly as Harry and his friends disappeared into the tree hollow, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
"Is this the path to the Shrieking Shack?" he asked Hermione, turning to her.
"Yes," Hermione said softly, her expression focused. "Peter Pettigrew has been hiding there recently."
"That explains it," Draco said. "The lights in the Shrieking Shack."
"Mm." Hermione stared at the tree hollow and nodded in agreement without thinking.
"Sirius Black and Professor Lupin mentioned the same thing," she added quietly.
Draco remembered the tunnel that had appeared on the Marauder's Map. The Weasley twins had never recommended he use it; they'd said "probably nobody's ever used it," and they didn't know how to bypass the Whomping Willow.
How had Sirius Black and Lupin discovered such a secret method?
Had they used this Marauder's Map when they were young?
"I'm curious—how did they know how to get into the Shrieking Shack?" he murmured.
"They said, besides Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, who else could get in here?" Hermione temporarily forgot her awkwardness with Draco when the topic turned to business.
She habitually met Draco's gaze, her eyes filled with thought. "Are these their nicknames for each other?"
This was the first time Draco had received eye contact from her since the restart. It brought a slight joy to his heart, lessening the unease and disappointment that had gripped him.
His brain was therefore exceptionally active.
He realized the names Hermione mentioned belonged to the creators of the Marauder's Map.
This was no coincidence. They had a strong connection to the Marauder's Map, and might even be—its very creators.
Interesting. Draco smiled and looked into her eyes, feeling pleased.
At this moment, Hermione regained her senses and looked away.
She hurriedly turned her head and began asking Harry, "What exactly happened after you went to find Sirius? You mentioned before that Dementors attacked you?"
"Yes, they nearly kissed him!" Harry became agitated at the mention. "Those filthy Dementors! They seemed to have mistaken Sirius for an Azkaban prisoner—after all, he's been there so long!"
"If that's the case, why are you all unharmed?" Draco interjected. "Did you conjure a Patronus?"
"It wasn't me," Harry said, confusion on his face. "I think it was my dad and my mum."
"What? That's impossible!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise.
"It's true. Sirius was the first to faint, then Ron. I tried to produce a Patronus, but I was already very weak…" Harry recalled the situation with difficulty. "Then, in a daze, I saw a stag and a doe running from different directions… They ran in front of us and drove away all the Dementors in the sky…"
He saw that Draco and Hermione wore the same confused expressions, as if he were talking in his sleep.
He didn't like their expressions.
"Do you remember? Professor Lupin—" Harry continued, then shuddered, remembering Lupin's werewolf form. "He said my mum and dad's Patronuses were a stag and a doe."
"Harry, you're probably hallucinating," Hermione looked at him with a mixture of shock and pity. "Your mum and dad are—are—dead."
"I know," Harry said, "but there's someone on the other side of the lake, and I think—that's my dad."
"Do you think you saw his ghost?" Hermione asked hesitantly. "But ghosts can't cast spells."
"I don't know… no… he looked very real," Harry said stubbornly.
"Perhaps—you created it yourself," Hermione said cautiously. "You were casting a spell at the time, weren't you?"
Draco nodded in agreement with her, appearing rather compliant.
"I couldn't conjure a Patronus then! I could barely hold my wand—how could I conjure one?" Harry said angrily. "I can prove it to you, really! In a little while, you'll see for yourselves! And then you'll see my mum and dad!"
"All right. But Harry, you must remember—we can't be seen, including by ourselves. We can't interfere with what has already happened," Hermione said seriously. "Our first priority is catching Peter Pettigrew so he can no longer harm people, and to prove Sirius's innocence."
"Yes." Harry took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the direction of the Whomping Willow.
The willow tree was now completely still, with two shimmering points of light on it—those were Crookshanks's eyes, perched on a branch.
"Once he transforms into a rat and runs into the grass, away from the crowd, I'll Petrify him with my wand," Harry thought for a moment, then decided. "Without them noticing. Quietly."
"I agree. It's a sound plan," Hermione sighed, glancing at her watch and then observing the clouds overhead. "However, it'll be a long wait. I think it'll probably be another hour…"
Harry nodded heavily, sat down on a patch of grass, and stared blankly in the direction of the Whomping Willow.
The air was silent, devoid of voices.
Only the leaves overhead rustled softly in the cool night breeze. The moon moved through the drifting clouds.
Hermione returned to her silence.
She looked up wistfully at the ever-changing moonlight, then chose a strategic spot—deliberately far from Draco—that was easy to keep watch on the Whomping Willow, and sat down as still as stone.
She stared at the entrance to the willow's hollow, like a wary rabbit afraid of being approached.
Draco was the only one who didn't watch the Whomping Willow.
He'd been keeping his eyes on Hermione.
Her actions left him feeling empty and lost.
Hermione, his little witch, seemed to have enclosed herself in some kind of armor back in the Hogwarts corridor.
She'd become aloof, arrogant, and impenetrable.
It seemed all the care she'd once shown him was like discarded potion residue. It seemed the sadness and tears weren't things that had just happened today, but rather things from the distant past, or even just Draco's illusions.
Her demeanor filled him with sudden, inexplicable panic.
Yes, he hadn't expected her to fancy him.
He'd naively thought he could accept the option of "keeping his distance from her."
As long as she was all right and didn't get hurt, that was all that mattered.
No one was allowed to hurt her, including himself.
As long as she was all right, nothing else mattered.
He would simply silently protect her, protect the one who'd been so hurt in the past—that had been his original plan since his rebirth.
But the moment he'd faced the werewolf, the instant he'd faced death, he'd regretted it.
They had embraced tightly.
He'd held her tightly, and she'd held him tightly in return.
They'd been so close their heartbeats mingled, making it impossible to distinguish whose heartbeat it was; so close their cheeks were pressed together, making it impossible to tell whose tears were flowing.
He was unwilling to accept it. Who could accept it?
She'd nestled in his arms, as if she belonged there.
Who could willingly let her go like this?
She was sweet, she smiled, she was passionate, and she blushed when she looked at him.
Draco was extremely unwilling to accept this.
On the brink of life and death, she'd ignited the last hope in his heart.
Flames soared into the sky, making the withered wood in his heart crackle and pop.
The sound was so loud it made the silence deafening; so loud he couldn't accept her current icy demeanor.
She couldn't push him away, she couldn't ignore him, and she couldn't stay far away from him.
She used to nuzzle his cheek so intimately, whispering sweet words in his ear.
He liked how she treated him. He even wanted more.
He wanted to try holding her in his arms.
Watching Hermione's desolate figure, Draco knew he had to do something before she could completely push him away.
He walked over hesitantly, then spoke tentatively. "Hermione, about that matter—the one that made you angry—I want to explain it to you. Actually, I… I have strong feelings for you, and I like you very much—"
"Yes, a sisterly affection," Hermione interrupted him, letting out a weary sigh.
*No, that's not how it is,* Draco cried out in his heart.
He gazed at her stubborn profile, a thousand words stuck in his throat, unsure where to begin.
"I feel this is unfair to you. You're still too young, and I don't want my one-sided feelings to affect your judgment…" He exhaled softly, faint bitterness floating on his lips.
Besides him, she had many choices and endless possibilities.
Maybe Harry, maybe Ron, maybe Krum, or maybe none of them, but someone even better.
Any one of them would be more likely to bring her happiness than he could.
Who was Draco Malfoy?
He was a quagmire, filled with dirty memories.
He wasn't innocent, wasn't bright—he was utterly terrible.
He was selfish, unscrupulous, and cowardly.
He was a complete Slytherin, a coward, and would never become a brave Gryffindor.
For her, he was never a good choice, Draco thought bitterly.
"To me, that sounds like a feeble excuse. Draco Malfoy, you're far too arrogant! I have my own thoughts and my own judgment. Besides, I'm nearly a year older than you, and you have no right to think I'm younger than anyone else," Hermione looked directly at the Whomping Willow, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
Draco sighed softly.
Age was genuinely difficult to explain.
He might look like a thirteen-year-old, but he was twenty years old at heart.
"In short, I don't accept such a ridiculous reason," Hermione glanced at him, then quickly looked away as if burned by his hair color.
She secretly pinched her palm, maintaining an arrogant expression. "Ginny has fancied Harry since first year, and nobody thought she was joking."
Caught off guard, Harry, who'd been eavesdropping nearby, flushed deeply.
He silently moved away, trying to distance himself from these two people who could breathe fire or ice at any moment.
He even looked around, wishing he could disappear into the ground and escape this suffocating conversation.
"Perhaps you're right," Draco finally said after a long silence.
In the dim moonlight, he looked at Hermione's stubborn expression and tried to gain her understanding with a gentler tone. "I… perhaps I was presumptuous. If I hurt you, I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it. I already got my revenge on the spot. We're even," she said indifferently.
"So, that kiss—perhaps you can give me a hint?" Draco asked cautiously.
This remained a mystery to him.
"There's no need to discuss it anymore. I don't want to talk about it anymore." She stopped looking at him and stared intently at the tree hollow, seemingly no longer caring about him.
Hermione was still interested in Draco, of course.
He'd risked his life to save her, and the shock of that act still made her heart flutter.
She still loved him.
Desperately, hopelessly, and even more intensely.
But she would never again show that affection without dignity.
She would never again be obsessed with his pure, untainted grey eyes, lest she fall back into a miserable, shameful situation.
Yes, she couldn't control her heart for now; but at least she could control her actions, starting by not looking at him. Hermione was silently admonishing herself.
The feeling of being coldly ignored by the girl was like a handful of ice cubes falling in pieces onto Draco's burgeoning inner desires, instantly twisting his heart into a miserable mess.
He looked at her anxiously, unsure what else to say to win back her heart—the heart he'd hurt.
*Merlin, how could I have hurt her again?* He was filled with remorse.
He couldn't take his eyes off her. Even when she wasn't looking at him anymore, he wanted to keep looking at her.
She had her back to him, her brown hair swaying in the breeze. Like flickering flames, it tormented and burned his eyes. Thick smoke of regret billowed into the sky, searing his internal organs.
*Merlin, I am a cluster of pale ashes, about to be scattered by this chilling night wind.*
But his eyes were incredibly stubborn, fixed on her, willing to be tormented like this.