novelraw Chapter 97: An Unconventional Approach
Chapter 97: An Unconventional Approach
When Sirius Black woke in his hospital bed at the Hospital Wing, he found a platinum-haired boy standing by the window.
He stood with his hands behind his back, facing the scenery outside the window. His back was thin, and he looked somewhat preoccupied.
"Draco Malfoy," Sirius said, unsurprised. "What a rare guest!"
"I believe you've already heard," the boy said, turning around, his face looking somewhat pale.
"Are you referring to Peter Pettigrew's death? Or Quirrell's escape?" Sirius said, leaning against the pillows on the hospital bed, his lazy tone suggesting they were discussing what to have for dinner.
"You don't seem afraid at all," Draco said, a hint of surprise in his voice.
"Afraid?" Sirius laughed loudly, saying arrogantly, "Does fear solve anything?"
"No. But you have to take it seriously at least," Draco said coldly. "Behind Quirrell's head is the Dark Lord's soul—this is no laughing matter."
Sirius lazily raised his eyebrows, refraining from any more vigorous movements. He was wrapped in bandages, making movement somewhat difficult.
"More than that, I'm curious how you know this," he said, looking at the boy with a probing gaze. "After all—I thought only Harry and the others knew these things."
"I have my own channels," Draco said briefly, clenching his jaw.
"Oh, right, you seem to be getting quite close to Hermione Granger," Sirius said, as if remembering something, glancing up at him with a half-smile.
"None of your business," Draco replied coldly.
"Of course, it's none of my business. But I'm curious whether Narcissa and Lucius will scold you for being an unfilial son when they find out you're spending time with a Muggle-born witch," Sirius said, his lips twitching slightly. "Just thinking about it makes the scene quite delightful."
"I thought I was here to discuss serious matters with you," Draco said, his lips twitching.
"All right, all right," Sirius said, smoothing his dark hair and speaking casually. "My answer is we've achieved a partial victory. We've eliminated Peter Pettigrew, that Death Eater, and Voldemort has lost a filthy follower. Isn't that a good thing?"
"Don't say that name!" Draco said instinctively.
"As for Quirrell and Voldemort's escape..." Sirius continued, undeterred, insisting on calling Voldemort by his name with an arrogant "what can you do to me?" attitude. "I must say, I don't have any good solutions either. But I think their bodies must be extremely weak. Quirrell already needed to drink unicorn blood to survive, and he's been Petrified for two whole years. It's a miracle he hasn't immediately disintegrated. He won't last much longer."
Draco was initially extremely resistant to hearing him call Voldemort by his name; however, thanks to Sirius's analysis, his attention was quickly diverted, and he entered a state of deep thought.
"Yes, I agree—Quirrell is doomed. But that doesn't mean the Dark Lord is doomed," Draco said, frowning. "After Quirrell dies, the Dark Lord can bewitch another wizard to possess and continue playing his old tricks..."
"I'm afraid his situation isn't as optimistic as you think," Sirius said casually. "Voldemort may not die, at least not before all the Horcruxes are destroyed, but at this stage, he certainly doesn't have that much magic to squander."
"What do you mean?" Draco asked, puzzled.
He temporarily abandoned his practice of correcting Sirius for calling Voldemort by his name.
At this moment, Sirius's perspective on "the squandering of magic" was even more interesting to him.
"For Merlin's sake, I thought you had a clear understanding of this matter. Is your brain covered in Flobberworms?" Sirius said, glancing at him and gesturing with his arms outstretched mid-air with exasperation. "That wand! The wand!"
This completely baffled Draco.
"Neville Longbottom's wand! Why didn't he take it with him and instead left it behind?" Sirius said, grinning, a gloating expression on his handsome, thin face.
Draco stared at him with wide eyes.
"Because he can't control that wand! That wand is just a tree branch to him. His magic is so weak now that he can't even control an ordinary wand!" he announced triumphantly.
Draco's spirits lifted. He'd never imagined a problem could be approached in such an unconventional way—Sirius Black was truly a genius.
But upon closer examination, it made perfect sense.
When he'd woken, he'd had nothing with him. His only life-saving wand was discarded and left untouched. He didn't even kill Neville Longbottom, who'd come running at him; he merely knocked him unconscious before hastily and silently slipping away.
Given the Dark Lord's cruel nature, the fact that he didn't use the Killing Curse suggested extreme weakness.
After a long pause, Draco finally found his voice.
He asked, with little hope, "Will he stay like this forever?"
"Of course not!" Sirius said, sipping his hot tea and grinning maliciously. "He will do anything to find a way to recover as soon as possible! What we need to do is find that method in advance, destroy it, or wait for it to happen."
Sirius, this dangerous and arrogant man—Draco discovered his charm at this moment.
He was sharp, intelligent, insightful, and came from a very distinguished family.
If he hadn't gone to Azkaban when he was twenty-two, how successful and ambitious would he be now?
"He's bound to achieve great things," Draco thought.
"Very feasible," Draco said, leaning against the windowsill, lost in thought for a moment. "However, is there any way to restore him?"
"This will require some serious investigation. I suspect it involves some profound Dark Magic, which you probably won't find in the Hogwarts library," Sirius said, stroking his slightly stubbled cheek, deep in thought.
After a while, he made up his mind. "I'll go talk to Dumbledore. I want to do my part. I need to tell him I know about the Horcruxes. Of course, I won't betray your little secret—I promise. Our cooperation will remain confidential."
"Whatever," Draco said, glancing at him and speaking slowly. "There's one more thing: who exactly are Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs?"
Sirius suddenly broke into a smile.
"You've got this all worked out, haven't you? That's right—it's a nickname I used when I was younger, along with James and Remus. I'm Padfoot, Remus is Moony, and Prongs is James, who is Harry's father."
He didn't mention Wormtail, but Draco guessed who Wormtail was.
"Are you all Animagi? Did you come to be with Lupin during the full moon?" Draco couldn't help asking.
"That's right. Any other questions?"
"Why does Professor Snape hate the Shrieking Shack so much?" Draco continued asking.
"Oh, this is my fault," Sirius said, scratching his nose, though he didn't seem very apologetic. "You know, Lupin hides in the Shrieking Shack during the full moon. I was a prankster back then, rather reckless, and I wanted to play a joke on him, trick him into coming and scare him or something, and I almost got him killed. James stopped it at the last minute..."
"It's more than just being reckless; someone could die if you're not careful," Draco said, his face quickly darkening.
How could he even think of luring a student to the Shrieking Shack to face a werewolf!
No wonder Professor Snape seemed to have a severe allergy to the Shrieking Shack and would get angry at anyone who mentioned it.
No wonder Professor Snape was so afraid of the werewolf Lupin transformed into, and his fighting ability was so diminished!
In his previous life, his fighting strength wasn't that low when he'd faced Greyback!
Draco wouldn't believe he didn't have some psychological trauma.
Draco knew all too well how long and persistent the pain of those old wounds inflicted during student days could last.
It was perfectly reasonable that Professor Snape would be afraid, apprehensive, and less capable in combat.
Draco even wondered why Professor Snape hadn't poisoned Sirius yet.
Sirius Black—arrogant to the point of disregarding the life and death of others—like Draco Malfoy in his previous life—was a heartless troublemaker.
"So I'm very grateful to James," the carefree troublemaker said after a pause, with deep emotion. "He always helps me out when I need it."
This was the first time Draco had seen Sirius with such an expression.
He'd been apathetic, weary, and down on his luck; he'd also been lazy, arrogant, and unruly.
But Draco was surprised to see him display such rare tenderness.
Sirius and Harry's father, James, must be very good friends, he thought to himself as he hurried toward the hippogriff paddock.
Hermione was already waiting there.
She looked radiant and full of energy as she stood under a large oak tree, holding several dead ferrets and feeding them to the hippogriffs.
The large beasts were all different colors: dark gray, shiny chestnut, and even pinkish roan feathers. She didn't seem afraid of them at all—she always had a knack for "getting close to marginalized species," Draco thought with a smile.
Buckbeak was tied up alone to one side.
"That night, it fought bravely, engaging in a fierce battle with the werewolf, and was thus the most seriously injured. I had to separate it from its companions and give it special treatment every day," Hagrid said to Draco, handing him a string of dead ferrets. "Your task is to feed it."
Draco took the string of dead ferrets, carrying it carefully without saying a word.
"Listen, Malfoy, Hermione told me you protected her from the werewolf. You're a good lad," Hagrid said softly, looking uneasily at the pampered young Malfoy who seemed so out of place in the Forbidden Forest. "But don't make Hermione cry again. She's a kind and good girl, and she's always been so generous and selfless in helping me. No one should bully her."
Draco glanced at him in surprise—Hagrid's face beneath his unkempt beard looked rather serious.
"I know how the Malfoys view Muggle-born witches and wizards, and I know what kind of man your father is," Hagrid said to Draco with a stern face. "But Hermione insists you're a good wizard, and I'm willing to believe her. However, if you dare deceive her, hurt her, or do anything excessive to her... I will deduct considerable points from Slytherin and will also tell Professor Dumbledore."
Draco was quite certain that Hagrid—for some reason—was abusing his privilege as Care of Magical Creatures teacher to threaten him.
However, he couldn't help nodding slightly at Hagrid.
Nodding didn't mean Draco approved of this haphazard teacher; what he approved of was "protecting Hermione from harm."
On this matter, they strangely reached some kind of consensus.
Hagrid seemed quite pleased. Then he called out to the girl who was feeding nearby, "Hermione, I still have to go look after the Bowtruckles. I'm leaving Fang here to protect you!"
Hermione waved to Hagrid from afar. Hagrid glanced warily at Draco, then strode away.
Draco gave a disdainful smile to the menacing Fang.
Fang? Who could it stop? It was just a coward with a fierce appearance.
He turned around, intending to feed the hippogriff named Buckbeak.
He slowly walked forward and gazed at the animal that had hurt him in his past life—this time, it was the animal that had saved him.
"We really are destined to meet," he said lazily to it; it tilted its head and looked at him curiously.
Today, Draco decided to express his respect for it, because it deserved it.
He'd already memorized the process perfectly—he just hadn't had the chance to try it:
Maintain eye contact, first bow to the hippogriff—this shows you are well-meaning—and then wait for it to return the bow.
He bowed perfectly, raised his head gracefully, looked directly into its orange eyes, and waited for its reaction.
Buckbeak seemed to be in good spirits.
It also gracefully bowed to him—now they were friends.
"This is a kind of reconciliation with my past life," Draco thought to himself with a slight smile, tossing a dead ferret before Buckbeak.
"Well done, Draco," Hermione said approvingly. She was standing beside him at some point. "I told you ages ago that bowing to Buckbeak isn't that hard."
Yes, it was all thanks to Hermione's daily encouragement. Lately, she'd been by his side almost every day, nagging him for at least half an hour to try "bowing to Buckbeak."
"Where's Harry? Why is he skipping detention?" Draco said, feeling rather embarrassed by Hermione's gaze. He pretended to be focused as he picked up a dead ferret that was still bleeding, then quickly threw it away with disgust.
"Oh, he... he went to see Professor Lupin. We heard Professor Lupin is resigning," Hermione said sadly. "He felt very sorry for what happened that night and felt he wasn't suitable to continue teaching at the school."
Draco remained silent. He secretly supported Lupin's resignation.
No matter how kind Lupin was, his ferocity as a werewolf was something no one dared approach.
Not everyone was lucky enough to have someone precisely howl for them a split second before they were attacked by a werewolf.
"Oh, right, Draco, I haven't thanked you yet—" Hermione said, patting the ferret fur off her hands and turning to sit on the large rock.
Her face suddenly flushed slightly. She remembered they'd once held hands by this very rock.
The boy was looking at her with a puzzled expression. His gray eyes were incredibly focused, as if they possessed some kind of magic that could drain her reason.
Hermione paused for a few seconds, then, regaining her composure, hurriedly added, "I mean, you rushed out to protect me that night... I'm so grateful to you. Not everyone can be as selfless and brave as you. But there's something I'm curious about—how did you get there in time?"
"This... it might just be a coincidence," Draco said. He was extremely guilty, and he tried his best not to look at the silver glint that flashed between her fingers.
"Can I take that as you specifically came to find me that day?" Hermione said, raising her bright eyes and staring defiantly into his eyes.
Her heart would still race when she looked into his eyes.
But she had to keep a close eye on his eyes so as not to miss any fleeting changes in his expression.
"Indeed—I was rather worried about you," he said, turning around and continuing to toss the dead ferrets, finding that no matter where he threw them, Buckbeak could snatch them up with pinpoint accuracy. This job was surprisingly easy.
"How did you know I wasn't in the castle, but in the Forbidden Forest?" Hermione said, leaning on the rock and swinging her legs comfortably, though her words were sharp. "You promised me on the Astronomy Tower that you'd be honest with me."
Draco sighed helplessly and turned to look at her.
He remembered her whispering to him under the Astronomy Tower's starlight, "Draco, I want to do this with you. I hope I'm the first person you want to confide in when you encounter difficulties. We're not just study partners, but also partners fighting side by side, right? I hope I can help you and protect you, not just be behind you and be protected by you."
He recalled how deeply moved he'd been by those words, and nodded in agreement that he'd try to be as honest with her as possible in future, and at least answer her questions properly.
Now she'd asked him directly—neither "concealing" nor "escaping" were options.
Draco suddenly realized he had nowhere to retreat.
"I can tell you. But can you promise me first that you won't be angry after you find out?" He sighed, threw away the last ferret, and finally walked to the rock and sat beside her.
She looked at him suspiciously and sized him up for a while.
He forced himself to remain calm as he looked back at her, suppressing his inner turmoil.
Finally, Hermione nodded to him. "I promise you."
"Let me think about how to say it," Draco said softly, taking a deep breath.
To calm himself, he calmly took out a handkerchief and wiped his hands clean; then he took her hand, took out another handkerchief, and wiped her hands again.
He was stalling. But he couldn't stall forever.
Hermione paid no attention to his hand-wiping gesture. She was busy observing him with her large, round eyes, hoping he could give her a reasonable explanation.
Draco could no longer delay once everything was done.
"Tell me," she said, staring at him. "What method did you use?"
"Do you know about Tracking Charms?" Draco whispered.
"Oh, I've read some books that mentioned them—" She suddenly stopped speaking, shocked by a certain possibility.
"I have to admit one thing—I put a Tracking Charm on your ring. That's why I was able to find you so quickly that day. I was just worried about you at first, you know, Peter Pettigrew, Dementors, and werewolves and such..." He lowered his head, examining the toes of his shoes.
Hermione remained silent.
"I'm ashamed and don't want to make any excuses for myself. I just want to say I've never used it before until I found you were gone..." he said nervously, feeling like Crookshanks who'd torn Hermione's parchment—sneaky and guilty.
The surroundings were completely silent. This made him even more afraid to look at her.
"Anyway, this isn't something a gentleman should do," he said. His ears turned red, and he continued, forcing himself to speak: "If you want to be angry with me, blame me, or even punch me again, that's perfectly acceptable."
If Draco had looked up at Hermione, he might have seen her face turning red.
Hermione was furious when she first heard about the "Tracking Charm."
Who would like being monitored like this without their knowledge? She wore it every single day!
Draco Malfoy! He was probably the most controlling boy in all of Hogwarts, and he also lacked a proper sense of boundaries.
Oh, he'd done a terrible job! For control freak Hermione Granger, being watched like this by someone else was like having needles stuck in her vital spot.
However, when she heard him express his concerns, Hermione suddenly felt rather pleased.
Did he care about her that much? To this extent? She suddenly felt pleased, although she knew her emotions were rather unhealthy and probably not very normal.
He probably wasn't beyond redemption. Hermione thoughtfully observed his ashamed appearance; after all, he'd honestly admitted his mistake, and his attitude was relatively good.
And in doing so, he'd inadvertently saved her. He'd thrown himself before the terrifying werewolf to save her.
Besides, he looked so adorable with his ears all red! How could she possibly be angry with him!
Draco stared at the tips of his shoes for ages, so long that he couldn't help wanting to look up and peek at her before he heard Hermione's reply.
"I—I do not like being watched. I am quite surprised by this," she said slowly, her voice rather shy. "However, I can probably understand your concern for me, because I was just as worried about you before I found you at the Astronomy Tower that day. If I'd had a Tracking Charm or something similar, I might have wanted to try it too. And I'm glad you're willing to admit your mistake."
Her voice didn't sound so angry. Draco couldn't help glancing back at her, noticing a smile in her eyes: "We can cancel this spell and cast a new one, the kind that allows us to signal each other—how about that? That way we can contact each other."
Draco's heart, which had been pounding with anxiety, finally settled.
He suddenly realized his previous guilt seemed quite ridiculous compared to his current ease.
For a moment, he didn't feel like a reborn person with a withered mentality.
He felt like a nervous and naive child again.
He should have been honest ages ago. She wasn't actually furious.
She was extremely tolerant of him, even excessively so. Yes, she might hold grudges, but she was also very easily moved to pity.
"We could make a spell that makes each other glow to guide us, or even a spell that can transmit sound, you know, like the Muggle telephone you used during summer holiday," Hermione said with great interest, admiring the ring between her fingers. "However, the only problem is, I don't know if such a spell actually exists."
"Oh, about that," he said, looking at her with gentle gray eyes and smiling slowly at her, "we'll find a solution."
After feeding Buckbeak a few more times, exam week was fast approaching.
Draco Malfoy strolled leisurely into the Arithmancy classroom, which was still empty.
Recently, students who were busy revising often rushed to the classroom at the last minute.
Perhaps only he and Hermione would still be proactive and punctual in arriving at the classroom early to prepare.
He glanced at the empty desks, a rare mischievous smile appearing on his lips. He turned around and sat in her usual seat.
He placed his pocket watch on the table before him, counting the hands on the dial, quietly waiting for that moment to happen.
Thud! The brown-haired girl appeared from nowhere, suddenly landing in his arms and on his lap.
She seemed confused and startled by the situation, and instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck.
Then she turned around and said incredulously, "Draco!"
"Mm," he said, smiling and wrapping his arms around her, showing no intention of letting go.
"What are you doing? Did I sit in the wrong seat?" Hermione said, extremely surprised, her lips slightly parted in confusion.
"No, I sat in the wrong seat," Draco said, raising his eyelids slightly and hugging her contentedly.
She smelled lovely.
"We never sit in the wrong seats, Draco! It's always been you on the left and me on the right, for a whole year now—" Hermione said, frowning.
"I did it deliberately," he said casually.
"Why?" she asked, her eyes wide.
A smug glint flashed in Draco's gray eyes: "Of course, it's just to surprise you, Hermione."
"What do you mean?" Hermione said, snapping out of her daze. "You mean you went through all that trouble to sit to my left in every class for a year, just to surprise me on the last day of term?"
"Yes... I've wanted to do this for a whole year, just to see the look of surprise on your face right now," he said, suppressing a laugh and hugging her tightly, as if she were a treasure he'd lost and found again. "...It was totally worth it."
He watched as Hermione's cheeks began to flush.
"Draco Malfoy! You're so ridiculous!" she said sharply.
"Yes," he said solemnly, suppressing a laugh.
"Wait!" Hermione said, managing to regain some of her senses amidst her pounding heart. "When did you find out about the Time-Turner?"
"It was—quite early," Draco said, quietly playing with a strand of her hair.
"You're so ridiculous!" Hermione said, both embarrassed and annoyed, slapping his hand away. "Are you particularly smug about pretending to know nothing all this time? Watching me carefully guard my secret?"
"I didn't want to add to your psychological burden," he said, his expression innocent. "You looked very tired back then, not getting enough sleep every day, carrying a thick stack of books... Whenever I wanted to bring up this topic and talk to you, you were like a frightened rabbit... or a cat that was about to scratch someone with its claws out at any moment... I could only choose to watch silently."
And now, whether it was a rabbit or a cat, she was in his arms with nowhere to escape, Draco thought happily. Her bright eyes sparkled as she looked at him, reflecting the warmth of the afternoon sun.
The noise outside the classroom gradually grew louder.
Draco knew that perhaps soon, professors and students would walk into this classroom and see what position they were in.
"Draco, let me go," she whispered, nervously glancing at the doorway.
"No," he said, holding her tightly, stubbornly. "Unless you tell me what that kiss was all about?"
He was extremely concerned about this matter, but no matter how many times he'd asked her, she'd kept a straight face and refused to answer.
She'd avoided the topic. He'd had no other choice but to resort to this drastic measure.
There were only a few days left before the holiday. He couldn't let this misunderstanding drag on for the entire break.
"It's really nothing," she said hastily, not wanting to recall the kiss that had left her feeling bitter.
"All right, then you can just sit here like this," he said casually, pulling her closer.
Hermione was going mad.
This position was rather suggestive! She was completely enveloped in his embrace, sitting on his lap!
His face was so close to hers, his mesmerizing gray eyes fixed on her, and he effortlessly coaxed her into discussing that heart-pounding kiss.
That dreadful boy—he went too far!
It was his lack of tact that always caused her to misunderstand!
"You're always like this—you always make people..." she muttered softly, unable to continue.
"What?" He leaned closer to her, trying to hear more clearly.
"Please," Hermione said in a trembling voice, feeling her heart race again. His closeness made her feel even more awkward; she felt like a bewildered insect caught in a Venus flytrap, unsure whether to flee or stay.
She stopped complaining and only gently pushed at his lapel, hoping he'd release this intoxicatingly tender grip. "I—"
"Tell me. At least let me know what I've done. I don't want things to remain unclear and cause any misunderstandings," he said, looking at her seriously, his brows slightly furrowed, his tone resolute.
"All right," she said. She was captivated by his somewhat melancholy face and said involuntarily, "That morning—the morning you didn't go to lessons all day—I ran into you in the corridor. You came out of the Headmaster's office... and then... and then... you kissed my forehead."
She looked away, her voice growing softer.
"Oh," he said. His gaze shifted from surprise to understanding, and his ears gradually turned red. "I... it seems there really was something like that. I... I thought I was dreaming... I stayed up all night and was rather out of it... I thought it wasn't real... How could you possibly be in a place like that at that time..."
I see.
Hermione suddenly understood.
Harry had mentioned they'd destroyed some Dark Magic artifact in the Headmaster's office that day; in the Astronomy Tower, he'd further confessed to her it was one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.
That thing had taken up too much of his energy; he hadn't forgotten deliberately, nor was he teasing her.
He'd just been too tired.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have forgotten something so important. I... I thought I was dreaming... I... I'm truly sorry," Draco said, stammering, his ears turning red across his face as he held his forehead.
Merlin, this was really bad.
He definitely deserved to be punched; he deserved it.
How could he not distinguish between reality and illusion in such a situation?
How could he habitually assume all his kisses with her were just dreams or fantasies?
"All right, I'm done talking," she said softly. Hearing some noise at the door, her face gradually became flustered. "Let me go. I've decided not to be angry with you anymore."
He involuntarily released her, startled to realize he'd indeed kissed her forehead.
She blushed and jumped off his lap, hurriedly sitting in his usual seat, pretending to be interested in a lark preening its feathers outside the window.
Students walked into the classroom in twos and threes, looking tired, complaining about the heavy workload.
Amidst the cacophony of background noise, Hermione regained some composure and decided to change the subject in a casual tone: "Draco, I've decided to return the Time-Turner."
"Really?" he said, blushing slightly, his eyes fixed on her intently.
"You're right—there's no such thing as perfection in this world. I used to be a perfectionist, wanting to do everything perfectly, but now I'm willing to admit my imperfections, to admit I'm just a mortal with limited energy. I've made a choice. I've decided to focus my limited time on the more important things," Hermione said, gazing at him, a happy smile playing on her lips.
Draco—he was doing something amazing, and she was willing to do it with him.
"Relax, take it slow," he said, thinking she was still thinking about her lessons, so he gently comforted her. "Take it one step at a time, and one day you'll finish the path you want to walk."
"You too," she said. She sat in the now noisy classroom, looking at him intently.
His expression turned slightly somber. He knew she meant something—eliminating the Dark Lord and his Horcruxes couldn't be rushed, nor could it be accomplished overnight.
He knew she was right.
Moreover, he no longer needed to bear all this unbearable suffering alone as before.
He had friends, allies, and her.
Exam day arrived quickly, and the content was exactly as before. It constantly reminded Draco that the gears of fate continued turning along their predetermined tracks.
Professor McGonagall, as he remembered, made them transform a teapot into a tortoise; Professor Flitwick, as usual, tested them with the Cheering Charm; Professor Snape, with a stern face, made them brew a Confusing Concoction, and Draco noticed his attitude toward Harry was still very harsh; Professor Binns asked them to write an essay on medieval witch burnings; and then the students had to sit in the greenhouse under the scorching sun to take Professor Sprout's Herbology exam, and Draco felt like he was about to be dried into a preserved herb.
Of course, some exam content differed from Draco's memory. The Care of Magical Creatures exam wasn't about caring for Flobberworms, but rather about taking a small branch from a Bowtruckle's tree—which required students to offer woodlice or fairy eggs to the Bowtruckle.
Only a few minor issues occurred:
Hermione screamed as she ran from the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam room, where her Boggart—Professor McGonagall—came out to tell her she'd failed all her subjects. Draco innocently said, "I already told her that."
Seamus Finnigan blew up a cauldron during his Potions exam, sending shards flying into the cauldrons of surrounding students and triggering a chain reaction that left Professor Snape's face as black as the cauldron bottom.
During the Divination exam, Ernie Macmillan completely ignored his middle name when interpreting his own name, calculating a set of completely wrong personality, psychological, and social numbers. When Professor Vector pointed out the problem, he said in despair, "Oh no... I always thought it was these numbers... Merlin..."
During the Transfiguration exam, Neville Longbottom couldn't find his wand again—of course, this time it seemed to be a genuine accident. Draco heard Professor McGonagall sigh outside the exam hall: "Mr. Longbottom..."
Apart from that, everything went relatively smoothly.
On Hogsmeade's last weekend, Draco and Hermione didn't join the crowds on the main street. They chose to enjoy some quiet time under the large oak tree by the Black Lake.
"Be careful!" the brown-haired girl said, looking up at the oak tree with concern—the platinum-haired boy was crouching on a thick branch, trying to place a turquoise-like bird egg into a nest partially hidden among the leaves.
"Don't worry, it'll be over soon," he called loudly, his voice tinged with laughter.
When he jumped down from the tree, dusted himself off, and smiled happily at the girl, she said in a sweet voice, "Draco, thank goodness you were here, otherwise this bird egg would have been in trouble."
"You're not wrong about that," he said, raising an eyebrow smugly. "But I'm sure you'd work something out even without me. With your brilliant mind, wouldn't you?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and gave him a knowing look, as if she had a sure alternative.
With a mysterious smile on her lips, she returned to the meadow sheltered by the oak trees.
Then, just like in the garden of the spa sanatorium during the last holiday, he lay on his back on the lush green grass reading a newspaper, while she swung her legs and lay beside him reading a book.
They'd sometimes whisper a few words, and sometimes they'd stop talking altogether, closing their eyes to listen to the rustling of the oak leaves in the breeze.
Time seemed to have rewound to the distant yesterday, and also seemed to have extended to the long tomorrow.
"Oh, by the way, Peter Pettigrew was able to escape Azkaban simply because he turned into a rat?" Hermione said, turning a page and speaking casually. "I don't believe he was the only Animagus in Azkaban. I haven't seen anyone else escape."
"The most important thing is to keep your mind clear. Dementors can't distinguish between Animagi and animals; they think Animagi aren't human. They only attack humans," Draco said. "That's why Sirius Black, who can also become an Animagus, was able to stay conscious."
"I see. It must be very difficult to master Animagus transformation?" Hermione asked.
"It's extremely difficult," Draco said. "My father hasn't mastered it yet—it's been a year."
Hermione sighed.
"It's all right," Draco said, smiling and reassuring her. "Haven't you mastered your Patronus Charm quite well already?"
"That's right," she said, looking at his face with concern. "But yours hasn't materialized yet, has it? Draco, think of something happy and try again, all right?"
Draco took out his wand, held his breath, and searched through the few happy memories he could recall.
A wisp of silvery-white mist swayed from his wand's tip, then vanished without a trace.
"Not happy enough," he said softly, holding up the newspaper again to hide the shadows on his face. "Still not enough."
Just as Hermione was wondering why Draco wasn't happy enough, her luggage had already been neatly packed again. The Hogwarts Express, puffing out clouds of smoke, sped off toward the long-awaited summer holiday.
They sat side by side in a compartment on the train, trying out the birthday gift Hermione had given him: a Muggle Walkman and headphones.
"I remember you liked this sort of thing, so I asked Mum to get me the latest model," she said hesitantly. "You can listen to all kinds of songs by just changing the cassette tape inside, but do you know where to buy them?"
"Don't underestimate a Malfoy's ability to explore," Draco said, leaning back in his seat with her head against his as they listened to music, the forests, winding rivers, and dark green hills rushing past the compartment window.
Harry and Ron were noisily playing some kind of Exploding Snap on the opposite seats. Unaware of their surroundings, Draco and Hermione were engrossed in a song called "Bressanone," moved by its serene, ethereal, and gently unfolding atmosphere, their hearts filled with the sadness of parting.
Through the train window, Hermione could see the billowing steam rising from the roof being left behind by the speeding train. The scenery outside the window gradually changed as the sun set, from barren fields to neat farmland, then to fields full of cattle and sheep.
London was almost here.
"Promise me you'll write me more letters, all right?" Draco said, looking down at her before getting off the train.
Hermione's cheeks flushed.
He'd started looking at her with that focused gaze again, unlike before when he'd avoid it.
"Whenever I have time," she said to this "ordinary friend from the neighboring House," half-jokingly. "You know, I'm very busy."
Draco watched her departing figure with a wry smile, feeling a sense of déjà vu about those words.
Wasn't that what he'd said to her at the end of first year?
A typical Hermione Granger—a vengeful girl.
He stepped off the train and walked proudly toward his parents on the steamy, dusty platform, just as he remembered doing.
To some of the girls on the platform, he was undoubtedly the kind of dazzling young man in the crowd, whether it was his hair color, appearance, or his inherent charisma. They were secretly observing him.
Draco admitted that in his past life he'd felt smug about it, thinking he was the center of the world; but now his mind was completely unmoved. He was past that age of ignorant arrogance.
He'd realized they weren't looking at him as a person, but rather at his surname and his physical appearance.
They weren't like her. Few people would be as willing as she was to look into the nature of his soul.
Lucius and Narcissa were already waiting on the platform.
They were just as dazzling as him—young and proud, elegant and noble.
Draco hoped they could stay like this forever. He hoped he could protect that brilliance.
And her too.
She'd already gone far away with Harry and the others.
Silently following behind his parents, Draco turned to look at the blurry figure, a strange emotion surging within him.
He suddenly recalled the brief exchange he'd had with Professor Lupin after finishing the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam.
"Mr. Malfoy, your Boggart is quite surprising. I must say, I never expected it to be Miss Granger."
That was Hermione Granger, dead, with "Mudblood" carved on her arm and tears in her eyes.
This was Draco's Boggart—his most secret fear and deepest worry at this moment.
"I didn't know you had a penchant for prying into other people's secrets," Draco said, giving him a cold look, trying to hide his surprise and uncertainty.
"You know, while I can't control my thoughts when I'm a werewolf, I can remember everything that happened afterwards. That night, after I transformed back, I realized one thing: you and she have a very close relationship," Lupin said gently.
Draco didn't speak.
His cold mask cracked at Lupin's words, revealing an air of unease. He watched as Lupin's lips moved, calmly exposing his thoughts.
That was the truth Draco wanted to escape, and the thoughts and unspeakable feelings he tried to seal away.
The perceptive Remus Lupin, with his penetrating gaze, looked directly at Draco Malfoy and said in a firm and unequivocal tone:
"You love her. You love her so much that you'd even be willing to die for her."