novelraw Chapter 98: Draco's Past Life Story (4-7) - Indifference, Loneliness, Anger, Shaking
Chapter 98: Draco's Past Life Story (4-7) - Indifference, Loneliness, Anger, Shaking
Chapter Ninety-Eight: Draco's Past Life Story (4-7) - Indifference, Loneliness, Anger, Shaking
Past Life Story Part 4: The Indifferent Granger Time: Third Year, Care of Magical Creatures Location: Forbidden Forest; Hospital Wing
After entering third year, Draco Malfoy always felt that he was strange.
He was growing rapidly, and he always felt hungry.
Occasionally, a mixture of weakness and anger would surge within him, often triggered by Hermione Granger.
Her harsh words last year had filled him with anger, and he'd only recently come to terms with it.
But this anger seemed to have become a habit. Whenever he thought of her, he'd become indignant.
Hermione Granger!
The girl he'd called "Mudblood" for a whole year. The girl who'd gradually become cold and hostile toward him.
He could sense the change in her.
When he went to provoke Potter, she'd no longer look up from the top of the page to examine him. She wouldn't even bother to lift her eyelids at him again.
This disregard for him initially annoyed him, and even brought him a sense of relief for a period of time.
But now, it made him somewhat angry.
Several times, he'd tried to say something to her, but was deterred by her haughty and indifferent demeanor and couldn't bring himself to speak.
Whether in the classroom, the library, or the corridor, whenever he occasionally encountered her, she always had an arrogant and indifferent demeanor.
Sometimes, he'd deliberately shove or push past her in a fit of anger, trying to get her attention, even if she complained that he was "rude."
But she didn't. She'd just frown, keep her distance from him, and pretend he wasn't there.
She never spoke to him again—as he'd hoped.
Ironically, when his dream came true, he felt somewhat lost.
Draco Malfoy would never admit that he might have made a mistake, nor would he admit that his words might have been harsh enough to hurt a girl's fragile self-esteem.
She doesn't look injured at all.
A wounded person should cry, like Longbottom whimpering. Or, like the other girls he could easily make cry, sob and run away covering their faces.
And her? She always walked past him with her head held high, completely looking down on him.
She was the only witch in the entire year who dared to look down on him.
Even the Slytherins noticed her disdainful attitude toward him.
"Draco, are you just going to let her be so arrogant and disrespectful to you?" One day, Pansy seemed to have had enough and said to him, "You have to shut her up and show her your sharpness. You have to let everyone know the price of disrespecting you. If you can't even control a Mudblood, they'll think you're weak."
They—referring to the Slytherin students.
"I don't want to talk to her." Draco adopted a detached stance, inwardly thinking that Pansy was being a bit nosy. Feeling a little uneasy, he added unnecessarily, "It's completely unnecessary."
"Draco, you're not afraid to talk to her, are you?" Pansy looked at him suspiciously and asked bluntly, "Please, are you afraid of her?"
"Of course not! I can talk to her anytime! Whenever I want!" Draco was embarrassed and angry that his secret had been exposed.
In fact, he lacked experience in taking the initiative to speak with Granger.
He'd never spoken to her first. He believed this would lead him down a path of weakness.
To prove that he wasn't "afraid to talk to Granger," he followed Granger, Potter, and Weasley like a ghost during Care of Magical Creatures, listening intently to what they were saying and hoping to get a word in edgewise and achieve the feat of "initiating a conversation with Granger."
"They're really funny," the brown-haired witch said to Potter and the others, her back to him as she placed the Monster Book of Monsters on the big rock.
"This is really funny." Draco finally chimed in, using a sarcastic tone—like any git in the world trying to get a girl's attention—and finally got Granger's attention.
She turned her head, her bright, cat-like eyes staring at him without any attempt to hide them, an unexpected expression flashing across her face.
"This is hilarious, this place is about to be destroyed." Draco stared into her eyes, a slight thrill stirring within him, and habitually scoffed, "If my father knew Dumbledore had sent this oaf to teach us..."
This time, she refused to look at him again, instead looking away to the book on the stone.
What's so interesting about that book that bites people? Draco listened to Crabbe and Goyle's coordinated laughter, looking at her profile with arrogance, thinking she was the witch in the world who couldn't distinguish between what was important and what was secondary.
"Shut up, Malfoy." Potter stepped forward, blocking Granger and confronting him.
Oh, Saint Potter!
He always assumed Draco Malfoy's provocations were directed at him. Potter was far too arrogant!
He didn't need to show Potter any mercy. Draco simply pretended to be a Dementor to scare him, hoping Potter would quickly move away and stop blocking his view. He didn't care whether Potter, who'd rejected his friendship, turned pale with fright.
Through the gap past Potter, he only saw Granger startled by his words for a moment, even nervously turning back to check the bushes like a silly cat.
Then she probably realized—he was just trying to scare them.
She strode up, pulled Potter away amidst the Slytherins' laughter, and gave him a disdainful look.
Disdain? When did it become her turn to disdain him? It was as if she saw right through him. His heart skipped a beat.
Then he noticed that her furrowed eyebrows were a dark colour and quite beautiful in shape.
A frown? At least it wasn't a cold expression.
Granger could still have some feelings for him! Draco ignored his own skipped heartbeat and was only concerned with being pleased with Granger's newly changed feelings toward him.
During the next Care of Magical Creatures lesson, Draco suddenly became somewhat excited.
He seemed to have found the key to stirring Granger's emotions, and he made a lot of noise in class, constantly showing off and making things difficult for Hagrid, that oaf, just hoping to see her frown at him again.
Tragically, his elation turned to sorrow. Perhaps due to his excessive pride, he overlooked the danger around him. The Hippogriff, disliking him, attacked. Amidst the gasps of the crowd, he collapsed to the ground.
Ironically, his first sensation wasn't pain, but sight. He noticed she'd finally frowned again, and through his inverted vision, he saw her face turn deathly pale in an instant.
Then the pain in his body arrived, albeit late.
The wound burned, deep and painful. Draco, pampered and spoiled by his parents, had never suffered like this. When blood soaked his sleeve, he finally panicked and lay on the ground yelling.
In this terrifying and profound pain, he heard her footsteps, the frantic rustling of her feet on the grass.
She approached like the wind, bringing with her the vibrant scent of green apples. He heard her crisply give Hagrid her orders, as if she were the Hogwarts professor, taking control of the situation: "You have to get him to the hospital wing!"
As Hagrid carried him away, he caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye. She rushed over to help open the door. He saw the worry on her face, and their eyes met briefly.
It was at this point that he began to experience auditory hallucinations.
He seemed to hear her silently asking, "Are you all right, Malfoy?" In an instant, he was back on the cramped staircase of Flourish and Blotts, back to that painful afternoon filled with the smell of dusty books, back to the brief moment when she'd cowered in his arms in panic.
His memory after that was hazy. Madam Pomfrey applied medicine to him, bandaged him, and told him, "Everything will be all right."
How can it get better? This kind of pain will probably never get better.
His pride had been trampled by that ugly beast, and he felt weak and pathetic. He'd embarrassed himself in front of so many students, and even worse, he'd lost face in front of her.
But she didn't laugh at him. Her worried gaze kept lingering in his mind, making him feel weaker than ever before.
For the first time, he felt insignificant, not arrogant. His actions, words, and emotions today were not in a state that his father approved of.
He felt fear. Before absolute power, he was nothing.
He couldn't help but whimper, feeling an unbearable pain in his heart. Many of his Slytherin classmates came to see him, offering him dubious concern and casually watching his predicament.
The crowd was dense, but she was nowhere to be seen.
Of course she wouldn't come. She was a Gryffindor, a friend of his arch-nemesis Potter.
To her, he probably meant nothing.
She'd probably look down on him, as if she knew exactly what was wrong with him.
However, she suddenly appeared when all the students went to lessons.
Like a chipmunk peeking out, her tiny head peeked at him through the crack in the door of the hospital wing.
"A rare guest indeed." The moment he saw her, he stopped whining and felt his face getting hot. He cleared his throat and said in a drawn-out tone, "What are you doing here? You got scratched too? I thought that beast only hunted pure-blood wizards."
"It's not called a beast, it's called a Hippogriff," she said, stepping out from behind the door, her face flushed.
"Whatever it's called, since it's messed with me, it has to bear the consequences." Draco struggled to sit up in bed, glaring at her bright eyes, feeling both annoyed and frustrated, and said firmly, "I'm not someone you can mess with."
"Malfoy, you deserved it! I saw it all clearly. Who told you to be rude to it first?" Granger moved closer and closer to him, seemingly emboldened by his injury and bedridden state. "I can testify to this, and the students will all testify!"
"Go ahead and tell the board of governors, and the people at the Ministry of Magic—" Draco said coldly.
He was hurt by her attitude. He'd thought she was there to show concern for him, or at least offer some comfort like classmates would. He never expected her to come here to swagger and bully him.
So, her reminding Hagrid to take him to the hospital wing and all the fuss she'd made probably wasn't for his sake.
She didn't care whether he lived or died. She probably just wanted that rude oaf to keep his teaching job.
"Let's see if they listen to you or my father." He put on an indifferent expression, but felt his wounds throbbing again.
She frowned, glanced at him, then at his right arm. It was as if she noticed he was in pain.
How could that be? Was his acting really that bad? He'd never cry out in pain in front of her.
"I heard you've been complaining of pain," she said slowly, her suspicious gaze sweeping over his face. "I always thought you were badly injured. I was even a little worried... well, never mind. But I've found that you're quite energetic, able to argue with me, and haven't shown any signs of pain. Malfoy, you're not faking it, are you?"
Draco's eyes widened. Had she discovered it? Had she realized he was just putting on a brave face?
"You're not faking your injuries to frame Hagrid, are you?" she said, a look of utter disgust for him on her face.
Draco was absolutely furious with her thought process.
He'd thought she saw through his weakness, but he never expected her to label him like this.
The budding joy in his heart withered before it could even take root. A wave of weariness and anger surged up again. He smiled at her, a sinister smile. "Yes, that's right! Since you expect it, I'll grant your wish."
"I didn't expect anything! Can't you at least act like a human being and do something decent?" She looked at him with a hopeless gaze, as if he were some pathetic Flobberworm.
Why should he be treated like this by her when he was so weak and vulnerable?
"Madam Pomfrey, please let her out," Draco suddenly shouted at the door. He resolved never again to harbor any pathetic expectations of Granger, hoping she'd suddenly have a mental breakdown and show him any concern.
In fact, he didn't need her concern at all. She'd only be indifferent. Yes, he thought bitterly, that was it.
He coldly told her, "I don't need you. I don't need you to visit me. I don't need to hear you criticize or humiliate me. Get out! You mean nothing to me."
Her expression turned cold. Her coldness made him uneasy.
He remained as still as an ice sculpture, ignoring her indifference, determined to see who could be more indifferent.
She didn't say a word, didn't look at him again, and strode out.
He remained silent, abandoning himself back to his hospital bed, and closed his eyes in frustration, filled with a strange sense of self-loathing.
Past Life Story Part 5: The Lonely Granger Time: Third Year, after Buckbeak was complained about, Hermione had a falling out with Harry and Ron over the Firebolt and Scabbers Locations: Oak tree by the Black Lake; the library; the Forbidden Forest; oak trees by the Forbidden Forest
Draco found that he was still angry about Granger's indifferent attitude.
Although this cold attitude was mostly of his own making, he still felt he hadn't done anything wrong. No one visiting a patient should bring that kind of suspicious attitude to the ward—she really knew how to ignite a fire in his heart.
When he woke from his hospital bed in the hospital wing, he cursed her for how awful her mouth was, while thinking about how to deal with this ungrateful witch.
Her cold face was like a piece of fine porcelain—he always wanted to shatter it.
He spoke loudly at the Slytherin table, trying to show off his wounds, but she remained indifferent. He howled like a wolf to engage her in conversation during Defence Against the Dark Arts, but she remained indifferent. Finally, he used his trump card—making things difficult for that damned Hippogriff—aha! It struck her right where it hurt.
Merlin's beard, she'd finally come to find him.
Look, she's standing under that big oak tree by the Black Lake, hands on her hips, looking up at him fiercely, her eyes squinting in the sunlight: "Malfoy, you bastard! You can't do this to it, it's innocent!"
"I thought you'd thank me, after all, I didn't make things difficult for Hagrid." He jumped down from the oak tree, startling her and making her take two steps back. He gave her a smug smile, feeling somewhat pleased with himself. "As for that ugly beast, it deserved it."
He'd already gone to great lengths, pleading with his father Lucius to spare Hagrid—she should thank him. Otherwise, Dumbledore's words might not have carried much weight.
After all, the people at the Ministry of Magic had long disliked Hogwarts. They wanted to teach the school a lesson and were just looking for a target.
He'd been more than kind to Granger. Even when she came to spoil the mood, doubt him, and slander him while he was seriously injured, he still showed her leniency.
He felt like he was about to become a philanthropist.
As for that Hippogriff—such a dangerous creature should be humanely destroyed.
They must make an example of it to deter others, otherwise anyone could claim an "accident" or "mistake" to try and stab a Malfoy in the back. This was absolutely unacceptable.
Anyone who intended to harm Malfoy, whether actively or passively, and anyone who dared to openly or privately damage Malfoy's interests, should open their eyes wide and see what consequences they'd face, shouldn't they?
This was what his father Lucius told him. It must be true, Draco thought arrogantly.
"I don't see any remorse in you at all." She gave him that perplexing look again.
Her eyelashes were thick and bushy, fluttering like brown butterflies. Like a butterfly that had once quietly flitted over an oak tree, making him feel the lush foliage one moment and the desolate plain the next.
She said in a strangely hurt tone, "I still can't believe... why were you so cruel? It was a life... I thought you could at least have some compassion, like in Flourish—"
"This matter has reached the Ministry of Magic, you Mudblood!" Draco interrupted her abruptly, afraid that she was about to tear off some terrible veil, afraid that she'd lash out at him like that beast, exposing his vulnerability.
He took a breath and used his toughest tone to provoke her, "My father will not drop the case. It's already doomed by hurting me. Just save your energy and accept reality!"
She was frowning.
The way she looked at him, it seemed she was grieving for that damned beast.
Had she misplaced her compassion? At that time, he was the one whose life was hanging by a thread, he was the one who was seriously injured—did she show him even the slightest bit of sympathy?
A cruel witch. A sharp-tongued witch. A witch who could never distinguish between what's important and what's not.
"Malfoy, don't call me that! Is your brain filled with Flobberworms? Do you know what you look like? You're like a spoiled child who never thinks about whether your behaviour will hurt others." The sharp-tongued witch seemed a little disappointed, and kept saying some inexplicable things.
Hurt? He's the one who'd been hurt, wasn't he? Draco thought indignantly. She'd been hurting him all along, that's right! From the very beginning! He'd felt something was off about her the moment he saw her—everything about her was an eyesore to him.
He avoided her, and she hurt him. He didn't avoid her, and she still hurt him. Even if she did nothing, he felt like he was about to be hurt by her at any moment!
This witch, whom Draco regarded as a monstrous threat, was completely unaware of just how destructive she truly was.
She continued to glare at him, her eyes defiant, and declared arrogantly, "It's just a hearing! I don't believe the Ministry of Magic is stupid enough to be manipulated by your family. There'll be someone willing to listen to our defence! I will prepare ample evidence for this poor animal's defence! Just you wait, Malfoy!"
She's quite naive. Naive to the point of being foolish, foolish to the point of being ridiculous.
She actually thought the Ministry of Magic would be impartial? Draco, watching her furious outburst, suddenly felt his anger subside and even felt better.
Why was he the only one secretly angry?
As the direct cause of his anger, she should feel his anger and the torment he suffered.
She'd inevitably suffer the harsh reality.
Draco smiled calmly, his grey eyes fixed on her overly bright, angry gaze. He took a green apple from his pocket, took a slow, deliberate bite, and chewed it while looking at her, saying sternly, "I'll be watching."
Granger was clearly very interested in the Hippogriff.
Draco could always see her frantically searching for information in the library. She'd always be carrying a stack of books taller than herself, wobbling along the long corridors, making it impossible for him to concentrate on his studies.
Although she made no sound and walked quietly, he still felt that her presence made the library atmosphere unusually noisy.
It's probably because of that messy hair, that's for sure! Every day he wanted to tell that clump of hair, "Shut up!"
He always felt that the hair was staring at him, or mocking his incompetence or weakness. The hair made him feel uneasy, but he wouldn't admit he felt any unease.
He'd never admit that he was somewhat concerned about one thing: he suddenly realized that she was alone.
She did it all by herself. She went to look up those silly books about Hippogriffs all by herself. He'd thought that at least Potter and Weasley would help her out.
But no, they didn't care about that stupid beast. Only she stubbornly did some time-wasting, useless work. She did it alone, aimlessly, without reason, and without asking for anything in return.
This was truly novel—Draco had never seen anyone like this before.
What was she after? Any Malfoy who acted based on self-interest wouldn't understand her behaviour, just as Draco couldn't control his attention to this matter.
After all, this matter concerned him. It was only natural that he'd be concerned, right?
Also, what was wrong with those two brainless idiots? Why hadn't they sat with her in so long?
She was always alone.
Perhaps she'd finally grown tired of their stupidity, Draco thought maliciously.
After Christmas, he discovered more details. During Care of Magical Creatures, those two Gryffindor idiots didn't say a word to her.
Oh, so it seemed Potter and Weasley had figured it out: talking to a little Mudblood was beneath them? He laughed mockingly, thinking that those Gryffindors who clamoured for "equal treatment of all births" were nothing special after all.
He stood in the cold January wind, coldly watching her. Watching how she was alone, how she went alone to the remote corners of the Forbidden Forest to find firewood, or how she put leaves into the campfire all by herself.
Her profile looked somewhat sad as she faced a Fire Crab hopping and leaping in the flames.
Sadness? What did a little Mudblood know about sadness? This was even more absurd than "indifference."
Look at her clumsy way of looking for firewood! She'd almost become a piece of firewood that no one cared about.
Crabbe and Goyle had wandered off somewhere. Draco, seeing no one around, couldn't resist secretly following her and discovered that she was struggling to drag a long, dry branch from the bushes, preparing to walk toward the campfire.
As luck would have it, the other end of the dead branch got tangled with a bush and got stuck. She seemed completely oblivious, still desperately dragging herself forward—as if venting her anger—about to fall into the muddy puddle beside her and land on her bottom.
Draco had expected her to fall in. But inexplicably, he caught her back with both hands and called her a "clumsy fool."
She was startled, turned around and saw it was him. Her expression immediately changed from panic to shock. "Malfoy? What are you doing?"
"Do you want to roll around in the mud, you little Mudblood?" He quickly withdrew his hand, mocking her lazily. "I didn't know you'd developed a new hobby."
"Don't call me that! And stay away from me!" She hopped aside warily, keeping her distance from him, as confused as a lost rabbit.
"How rude of you—you can't even say 'thank you,'" he said coldly, a slight displeasure rising within him.
Why did she always look so wary?
He'd overcome his psychological barriers and taken the initiative to talk to her—what more could she want from him?
He really didn't understand her. He didn't understand himself either. It was so cold—his brain must have been frozen.
"I didn't ask you for help. I never asked you for help. I think you're just here to insult me—you're always like this!" Her raised face flushed slightly, and she glanced at him disdainfully from the corner of her eye. "The Buckbeak thing isn't over yet! I won't give up!"
"Who is Buckbeak?" he asked arrogantly.
"Malfoy, you—" Her face flushed red as she said angrily, "You almost killed it, and you can't even remember its name?"
"Oh, you mean that ugly beast? How long ago was that? Potter and Weasley don't even care anymore, but you're still foolishly thinking you can save it." Draco said nonchalantly, offering a rare bit of good advice. "Don't waste your time. Don't you have anything else to think about? I think Gryffindor will soon be unable to tolerate you."
Why should she worry about that stupid thing? That unpopular, dangerous species? Why didn't she worry about whether she was popular or not? She had no friends, and spent her days buried in books, hurrying through the corridors like a frightened bird.
Poor Granger, barely able to take care of herself, yet still having to worry about others.
Some people used to think she was clever! Now she looked like a fool. Draco thought to himself.
"My God, you're hopeless. You don't care about its life at all." She put on a disappointed look, as if she was looking down on him again. "I have nothing to say to you."
"As if someone wanted to talk to you!" Draco was stung by her tone.
A gust of cold wind brought him to his senses—he shouldn't have spoken to her. So he turned and walked away, leaving with the words, "You're all alone, you Mudblood! Nobody wants to talk to you!"
"Shut up, Malfoy!" She seemed to be stung by his words and shouted angrily at his back.
"You're really angry, Granger." He walked back, waving his arms, a hint of smugness in his expression, though he didn't know what he was so happy about—it certainly wasn't because he'd spoken to her earlier that day.
As for the matter of "her being isolated," Draco quickly figured out the reason.
This was outrageous! That show-off Potter had actually received a Firebolt as an anonymous Christmas gift.
Apparently, Granger had informed Professor McGonagall, who was overly concerned for the students' safety, and the Firebolt had been confiscated. He overheard Oliver Wood, the captain of Gryffindor, loudly complaining about it in front of the entire table.
That's why those two idiots, Potter and Weasley, ignored her.
Well done, Granger. It would be even better if the Firebolt could be confiscated a little longer, until the match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.
Honestly, that Firebolt was pretty good. But if someone were to cast a curse on it, recreating the state of that out-of-control broom from first year, and embarrass Potter, that would be even better. Draco smirked, his eyes fixed on the witch engrossed in her studies.
It was amazing that someone could even think of this for Potter, whose head was like a Troll's! Potter was truly lucky! However, a brain was a good thing, but unfortunately, Potter didn't have one. All Potter knew was bullying little witches and taking his anger out on them.
Pushing through the crowd, Draco suddenly felt an urge. He wanted to pick a fight with Scarface Potter and, incidentally, catch a glimpse of her. But she remained indifferent, engrossed in her thick book.
A typical Hermione Granger—allergic to glamorous things, preferring only the pathetic.
Granger, your self-righteous, indiscriminate concern, your cleverness that not everyone can recognize, is completely misplaced, don't you know that? Draco thought sullenly—all you do is take it out on me.
He provoked Potter, but she still didn't look up. Rolling his eyes, Draco went back to the Slytherin table. Just then, he heard Marcus Flint mutter to himself, "Gotta figure out a way to stop Potter from being so cocky, yeah?"
Draco narrowed his eyes, staring at her as he said to Marcus, "That's right. Captain, do you have any ideas?"
Clearly, Marcus's method wasn't very clever. After the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, Draco lost fifty points for impersonating a Dementor.
The Slytherins inevitably grew a little colder toward Draco and his three companions. It wasn't that they disapproved of Draco's pranks—they simply disapproved of their mindless methods, which not only failed to scare Potter but also gave him leverage against them.
Therefore, Draco didn't want to face anyone.
He was filled with self-loathing, reflecting on the methods they'd used, feeling that he might have gone mad, and that the methods were indeed rather clumsy. How could he have agreed to do it in the first place?
Draco had to take Granger's approach and deliberately isolate himself. He hid himself in the large oak tree at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He climbed very high, completely concealing himself within the dense foliage. Unless someone specifically looked through the gaps in the tree, he'd never be discovered.
He closed his eyes, leaned against the tree trunk, felt the gentle breeze, and imagined himself bathed in the morning sunlight of Wiltshire, not the somewhat harsh afternoon sun of Hogwarts. Just as he was about to become drowsy from the sun and drift into the lazy afternoon atmosphere, the witch's soft call broke his reverie.
Who's bothering me like this? He was a little annoyed and peered down through the gaps in the tree to see what culprit was disturbing his peace and quiet—and spotted the messy brown hair.
Of course it's her. Who else could it be? Who else could disrupt his sense of order?
It's always her! Hermione Granger all alone!
He gritted his teeth in annoyance, wondering if he should just make a sarcastic remark and drive her away. But when he turned his head, he suddenly noticed a pair of bright yellow eyes staring silently at him beside the tree trunk. He was startled and almost fell from the tree.
It was an incredibly ugly cat. Ginger-coloured. Its face looked like it had been flattened.
It was gazing at him.
Draco couldn't imagine who'd have such unique taste to raise such a creature.
With its head covered in grass and willow leaves, and its fur tangled and messy, it didn't look like a well-behaved cat at all.
He shushed it, intending to shoo the ugly cat away, but a gentle breeze carried the witch's voice calling: "Crookshanks, Crookshanks?"
The cat glanced down at her, then guiltily buried itself deeper into the oak leaves.
In an instant, Draco realized: this was Granger's ugly cat.
How true to her image! The witch who caused him the most trouble at Hogwarts owned a cat he disliked the most!
At this moment, she seemed to be crying, sobbing as she continued searching for the ugly cat with its piercing eyes: "Crookshanks, where are you? Did you eat Scabbers or not?"
"Scabbers? What's that?" Draco found the name familiar. Was it Weasley's stupid rat? The one that bit Goyle on the train?
"You ate that rat? Goyle might thank you." He smiled, looking back at the cat, and whispered, "Well done."
How festive! No wonder that usually spineless Weasley dared to ignore her. It seemed Hermione Granger had a special talent for provoking everyone, Draco thought gleefully.
Then he heard the witch cry even louder. She seemed determined to stay under the tree, and finally sat down against the trunk to sob. Draco frowned, watching her bury her head in her knees, her shoulders heaving.
Draco knew this was the best opportunity to express his contempt for her.
If he were to make a single laugh at her now, her arrogance would be completely shattered. She'd never be able to act haughtily in front of him again.
Just one sentence.
He needed to think carefully about which sentence would be more impactful, one that would leave her with unforgettable memories and cause her permanent trauma.
He thought and thought, for a long time amidst her sobbing, but his mind kept wandering to the barren moors outside Wiltshire. Then he couldn't think any further.
He attributed it to his poor condition today, making him unsuitable for fighting.
Perhaps jumping down from the tree and mocking her as a "Mudblood" would have been enough. But he felt it lacked originality.
Perhaps he shouldn't speak to her—that would lower his status, he told himself. It wasn't because she was crying, and he was a little flustered by it.
Finally, Draco couldn't bear to listen to her crying any longer. He felt a little dizzy from the sound—or perhaps from being in the sun.
He scratched his head, turned his face, and glared fiercely at the ugly cat. "Go down and find her right now! You've made her cry!" He pointed his wand at it and threatened in a low voice, "If you don't go down, I'm going to cast a spell!"
The cat seemed offended, glared at him, raised its bushy tail, and carefully walked down the tree trunk.
Yes, let's get rid of her quickly and give Draco Malfoy some peace and quiet. Let him clear his head for a good afternoon.
He watched as the witch was startled by the ugly cat named Crookshanks.
He'd thought she'd be angry with the cat, but she wasn't. Instead, she laughed through her tears.
She wasn't indifferent to it at all. It was as if it hadn't done anything seriously wrong. As if it hadn't caused her to be ostracized by her friends.
She simply complained to the cat in a gentle tone he'd never heard before.
She tilted her head and coaxed the lucky ugly cat, patiently and meticulously removing all the grass and debris from its head and body, making it lovable again.
Finally, she stood up, her slender arms wrapped around the somewhat grumpy cat, and slowly walked away toward the castle.
Draco finally got the quiet atmosphere he'd been longing for.
However, at this moment, the wind, oblivious to his mood, rustled the leaves, and his inner peace seemed to be blown away by the wind as well.
His gaze was fixed on the shrinking figure, and a sudden surge of irritation welled up inside him.
Past Life Story Six: The Angry Granger Time: Third Year, before and after Buckbeak's execution Location: Professor Trelawney's Divination Classroom; outside the castle gates
Professor Trelawney was probably the type of teacher Draco could least understand.
She was always eccentric, dressed in brightly coloured robes, like an old fraud. Draco always had to fabricate loads of accidents and deaths in his assignments in order to get her to give him a satisfactory "Outstanding."
She was incredibly boring. She even spent an entire lesson teaching those infatuated girls how to predict who their other half would be by looking at the tea leaves in their cups and the crystal ball.
"Watch out for redheads," she said to a Gryffindor witch. The witch immediately shifted her seat, moving a little further away from Weasley. Weasley looked very distressed.
Draco grinned smugly from the side. He wholeheartedly agreed that "staying away from the Weasleys" was a good thing.
However, such predictions were far too subjective. It was best to treat it as a joke and let it pass. If taken seriously, Hogwarts would be plagued by countless accidents and injuries every year—the school would have gone out of business ages ago.
When the lesson ended, Draco was a little slow to pack up because of his injured arm. His henchmen Crabbe and Goyle didn't even come to lessons—Draco guessed they must have forgotten about it again.
When he lazily strolled to the front of the classroom to return the teacup and crystal ball, the classroom was empty except for him and Professor Trelawney.
As luck would have it, Professor Trelawney turned her head and glanced at her crystal ball.
Suddenly, in a strange, unusual tone, she rolled her eyes and spoke to him in a sharp, piercing voice:
"Your destined one will punch you in the face. You'll lose her until you meet her again."
"Nonsense! What kind of rubbish is this?" Draco looked at her as if she were a madwoman.
"What did you say?" Draco asked doubtfully, swallowing hard, wanting to confirm if he was hallucinating.
"Oh, child, what's wrong?" Professor Trelawney suddenly regained her composure and asked him with a confused look in her eyes.
Draco glanced at her, said nothing more, shook his head, and left the stuffy, strangely scented room without a word.
I must have been hallucinating. Or perhaps Professor Trelawney was trying to appear mysterious and intimidating. Maybe she'd caught him making fun of her in class, so she pulled this stunt.
He must have been bewildered by the eerie atmosphere of the room, for a moment he even thought that what Professor Trelawney said might be true.
How could it be true? The boys all thought she was a charlatan, just trying to fool those gossipy witches.
He really didn't know why Dumbledore would hire someone like that as a professor.
How could his "destined one" be a violent maniac who liked to punch people?
Wanted to punch him? Draco grinned maliciously. He wanted to see who dared to do that.
Which witch in all of Hogwarts would dare to hit him? In other words, which witch in the entire wizarding world would dare to hit him?
The only ones who'd dare to beat him up were short-sighted fools like Potter and Weasley, who did whatever they wanted just because they were favoured by Dumbledore.
They weren't the "destined one" type that Draco believed in.
And what did it mean that "you will lose her until you meet her again"? It was simply absurd.
He was extremely dismissive of it and quickly forgot about it.
A third-year boy rarely thought about things like "destiny." He'd rather provoke the annoying Potter and Weasley than engage in such distant, vague, and boring thoughts.
They were utterly infuriating—how dare they throw mud at him in Hogsmeade! It was an absolute disgrace!
No one dared to treat him like that, no one!
Potter and Weasley must pay the price.
Draco used his old trick. He provoked them with the Hippogriff story, to see if the two fools would cry. A while ago, they seemed to finally realize they should be looking things up in the library, and Granger wasn't the only one putting in the hard work anymore.
But clearly, their efforts came too late—the stupid beast's execution was practically a foregone conclusion.
To his surprise, just as he was feeling smug after successfully provoking Potter and Weasley for the one thousand and first time, the most unexpected thing happened.
Hermione Granger, the witch he hadn't bothered with for ages, suddenly appeared out of nowhere, rushed before him, and punched him.
"Draco Malfoy, you bastard! How dare you? You disgusting little cockroach!" she said angrily, even drawing her wand.
Everyone was stunned. Potter, Weasley, Crabbe, Goyle—they were all stunned.
Even Draco himself was stunned.
She actually punched him!
Did she punch him?
Draco's eyes widened, and he took a step back.
The terrible prophecy that had long been hidden in his heart suddenly awakened in his mind.
In an instant, it struck him like lightning, pinning him firmly to the spot.
Draco suddenly turned into a fragile piece of glass, about to be shattered by the witch's fist.
He suddenly felt incredibly weak. He was completely panicked.
"Let's go," he muttered to Crabbe and Goyle, and quickly left the scene.
Before leaving, he glanced at her in shock, at the witch who'd dared to punch him, a witch with bright, furious eyes.
He felt he might be under a curse or something.
"Don't tell anyone," Draco said to Crabbe and Goyle as he ran, covering his nose. They nodded, seemingly still in shock.
"Stop following me, get out!" he said fiercely to the two dumbfounded followers who were blinking their eyes, and stormed into a boys' bathroom by himself.
Merlin, she'd punched him until he bled.
That wretched Granger! And what's worse, how could it be her?
For a moment, Draco's mind went blank as he looked at himself in the mirror.
He'd thought he'd long since forgotten Professor Trelawney's unreliable prediction.
However, at this moment, her words struck him like thunderbolts with unparalleled clarity:
"Your destined one will punch you. You will lose her until you meet her again."
Granger. That bookworm, that know-it-all, that Mudblood, the witch he avoided like the plague, the witch who always made him furious, enraged, and filled with dread—how could she possibly be his "destined one"?
Ridiculous. Despicable. Terrible.
Absolutely not. He shouldn't have taken that fortune teller's words seriously. Professor Trelawney was always a bit eccentric, wasn't she?
That's right, Professor Trelawney was absolutely unreliable! She'd even once said that she "saw an ominous death in Potter"! Potter was still alive and well, wasn't he?
She was just a charlatan who spouted nonsense!
That's right! Draco finally mustered his courage, pushed open the door to the boys' bathroom, and planned to go back to his dormitory to calm down.
In an instant, he broke down again—that horrible little Mudblood was standing outside the door.
She glanced at him. He was quite certain her gaze had fallen on his robes and shirt, stained with blood from his nosebleed.
There was a hint of uneasiness and guilt in her eyes, but more of anger and contempt. "I don't regret hitting you. You deserve it, Malfoy. You devil—your father asked them to sentence Buckbeak to death."
"Whatever." Looking into her eyes, he suddenly felt a sense of fear.
He really hoped she wouldn't hit him again. He didn't want to argue with her anymore either.
He—he was somewhat lost, even exhausted.
It was one thing to disbelieve that foolish prophecy. It was quite another to see her standing alive before him.
"Granger, you know nothing," he said wearily, suddenly unable to look her in the eye. "Leave me alone, please."
She was never his "destined one." There was nothing between them. Trelawney was talking complete nonsense.
He hesitated for a moment, and instead of shoving her aside as before, he carefully avoided her. He didn't even dare to touch the hem of her robes.
He walked past her and strode toward the passageway to the dungeons, thinking to himself:
What did it mean to say "you will lose her until you meet her again"? That was utter nonsense!
Losing her? What kind of talk was that? It was like "she's his"!
Just thinking about the concept sent a terrible spasm through Draco's stomach.
He—he had no desire to have anything to do with that annoying little Mudblood!
Lose her? Fine, then so be it. Even though he'd never had her in the first place.
He didn't want her either. Draco gritted his teeth, thinking, "Who wants a little Mudblood?"
In short, he and she had no connection whatsoever! No connection now! No connection in the future! Draco fiercely tried to convince himself, unsure whether he should breathe a sigh of relief or feel even more confused.
Furthermore, what did "meeting her again" even mean? This prophecy made no logical sense at all.
He met her every single day!
Once you started thinking about Hermione Granger, she became such an eyesore—on the Great Hall table, in every classroom, in the corner of the library, in the Quidditch stands, under the trees by the Black Lake, in the Herbology greenhouse... she was everywhere! This ridiculous prophecy was utterly illogical!
Draco lived in fear for several days. Amidst the panic of his constant chance encounters with her, he gradually realized that he was still fine. He'd neither been bewitched by Granger nor felt any sense of loss.
He was still himself, the same arrogant, haughty, and unruly wizard.
Very well! Draco was absolutely certain that Professor Trelawney was lying.
He'd simply encountered a terrible coincidence that briefly threw him into a panic!
Now, he had to put this unreliable prophecy out of his mind and continue to enjoy his glorious life as the young master of the Malfoy family.
But did this seemingly nonsensical prophecy really have no effect on Draco's mind at all?
He knew something was wrong with him.
That was the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match. In such an important match, he almost got the Snitch. He used every dirty trick in the book to sabotage Potter.
He almost got it.
But at the last moment, he was distracted—he saw her eyes fixed on him from the stands.
He knew she probably wasn't looking at him. She was most likely looking at Potter beside him. Her eyes were only on Potter and Weasley.
Tragically, even though he knew she wasn't looking at him, he suddenly couldn't look away.
In that crucial moment of distraction, Potter knocked his arm away and grabbed the Golden Snitch.
Gryffindor won.
The match was over. Marcus Flint roared angrily, and the Slytherins booed.
The sounds, sometimes near, sometimes far, seemed unimportant to him.
This was utterly irrational—how could he possibly think that his beloved Quidditch wasn't important? He roared inwardly, yet couldn't look away.
He didn't look at anyone, not even the Golden Snitch. He was still looking into her eyes—eyes that shone with joy.
A light that was both despairing and bright, a light that brought joy.
Past Life Story Part Seven: The Shaking Granger Time: Third Year, Buckbeak and Sirius escaped, after exam week Location: Oak tree by the Black Lake
Draco Malfoy cautiously peered down through the gap in the tree.
This was supposed to be a Hogsmeade weekend, a day when all the students would go out in droves. He never expected that there'd be someone like him who'd choose to stay at Hogwarts to enjoy the scenery.
Under the oak tree was Potter. He was chatting under the tree, while Draco sat alone in the tree, completely isolated and helpless.
In such situations, he chose to remain silent.
A Slytherin who was good at assessing situations wouldn't act rashly when they were at a disadvantage.
Thanks to Merlin, Potter left quickly. A little while later, Weasley left too.
But Granger, whom he was quite wary of, refused to leave.
She seemed to pick something up from the thick grass and let out a soft sigh.
Gentle?
These weren't the words to describe her. A witch who would hit someone was by no means gentle.
She stood up, as if she were holding something in her hands.
Draco peered through the gaps in the tree for a while, and it seemed to be bird eggs—mint green with a captivating blue hue.
He could bet his hair that it was a robin's egg. Not just because of its distinctive colour, but also because, not far before him, perched on a branch, was a round nest with two or three eggs of the same colour inside.
He'd seen something similar before, when he was eleven years old, before he came to Hogwarts.
He'd once seen a bird in a large oak tree that looked like a small, round ball with a red bib on its chest. Several eggs were hidden under its body.
Later, those bird eggs must have been crushed when the trees collapsed, right? He thought expressionlessly, then closed his eyes.
It was all a waste of time. Draco roused himself, a mocking smile playing on his lips.
In the face of absolute power, a tiny life was sometimes insignificant.
How fragile they were! A natural disaster, a man-made catastrophe, or even a strong wind could blow a desolate hole out of a warm nest, blow the egg away, and rewrite its fate.
Survival of the fittest, elimination of the unfit—it had always been that way. Draco thought indifferently.
So, Granger, holding that pitiful egg abandoned by the world in her hands, with an expression of cherishing it on her face—what exactly did she want to do?
What should she do with it? What should she do with this bird egg that had carelessly fallen from the high oak branch and its nest onto the grass?
Although it was lucky not to break, it was beyond saving, wasn't it?
Losing parental love, lacking a warm shield, and standing alone in the world.
It was so fragile and so insignificant—it was bound to break sooner or later.
But Granger, who always wasted time on useless things, didn't seem to want to give up.
The way she stubbornly pursed her lips and looked up at the treetops aroused Draco's curiosity.
To be honest, she didn't seem like the athletic type who could climb trees. Athletic ability and balance were probably her few weaknesses. Her broomstick was also quite unruly.
Draco scrutinized her furrowed brow, watching with interest as she bit her lower lip.
At that moment, she took out her wand and cast the Levitation Charm on the bird egg in her palm.
The egg was slowly rising.
Oh, she really was a witch. And a clever one at that.
Levitation Charm—how could he not have thought of that? It was a lesson they'd learned in first year. Draco peeked at her focused face from the shade of the tree, somewhat surprised.
It couldn't be entirely blamed on Draco for not thinking of it—this was a task that simply couldn't be accomplished using the Levitation Charm alone.
Bird eggs had weight, and manipulating a bird egg to float wasn't as light and simple as manipulating a feather. Moreover, its shell was very brittle, and any slight bump when passing through the dense, thick, and hard oak branches would break the bird egg.
Most importantly, this wasn't a task that could be attempted multiple times. Once it broke, it broke.
The chances of success were slim—failure was inevitable.
Any rational wizard would choose to abandon such a doomed attempt.
Granger, however, clearly lacked rationality and was unwilling to admit defeat easily.
She stubbornly waved her wand, her eyes wide open, as determined as a small oak tree. Her face was rapidly flushing red, and fine beads of sweat appeared on her forehead from nervousness.
But she didn't give up. She continued to wave her wand, carefully manipulating the egg little by little, weaving it through the branches. She strained her neck, her mouth slightly open in her anxiety, as if trying to use her vine wand to thread a needle through the giant oak tree and embroider a flower.
Draco stared at her in astonishment, completely captivated. For the first time, he felt a genuine sense of admiration for her. Her manipulation of objects was exquisite, so captivating that it was impossible to look away. He even held his breath, afraid of startling the bird egg.
He asked himself if he could do that. He had to admit that the annoying witch was quite skillful.
She was even about to succeed—the bird egg was about to reach the finish line of victory.
The only problem was that Granger, standing below the tree, couldn't see the nest. She hovered the egg above the nest, but hesitated to drop it—she didn't know if there were other eggs inside, or if she might break them during the descent.
She thought for a moment and seemed to decide to let the egg slide down the edge of the nest. It was actually a brilliant idea, and Draco immediately understood her intention. Sliding down the edge would undoubtedly reduce the impact of the egg directly contacting other eggs.
Draco marvelled to himself, wondering how her mind could be so sharp.
He couldn't help but smile as he continued to gaze at the bird egg that was about to return home, when he suddenly discovered a flaw in Granger's plan.
Clever Granger was about to fail, he thought regretfully. She'd chosen the wrong edge. There was a hole at the very bottom of that edge, Draco suspected, and that was where the egg had initially slipped.
Due to the angle of view, Granger couldn't see the hole.
The bird egg was slowly falling, and Draco hadn't intended to interfere. But he seemed to be under a temporary curse, involuntarily leaning forward and catching the egg that had slipped from the hole—while there was still time.
It was like catching a blue-green thief. Effortless.
Of course he could catch it! He was a Seeker—who could be more agile than him? At that moment, Draco couldn't hide his pride and smiled slightly at the bird egg.
Granger was startled. She let out a small shriek, then raised her voice, "Malfoy, what are you doing?"
"What do you think I'm doing?" He leaned over the tree trunk, gently placed the bird egg in a safe spot in the nest, raised an eyebrow at her, and gave her a somewhat wicked smile. "To scare you, Granger, of course."
She stood there dumbfounded under the tree, like a cat struck by lightning.
The boy carefully climbed down a short distance from the tree trunk, and from a slightly lower position, jumped directly before the witch, patting the dust off his hands.
"What? You're stunned by me? The whole of Hogwarts should see how stupid you are." He looked at the witch who was too slow to react, still unable to hide the smile on his face.
For some reason, saving this ordinary bird egg gave him a strange feeling.
It seemed that a sense of loss had been filled, and a sense of anger had been relieved.
It seemed that some emotion from long ago, traversing the torrent of time, suddenly struck his heart.
It was a truly wondrous feeling. Draco found it difficult to describe in words at that moment.
All he knew was that this emotion was affecting him, and he didn't want to be angry with Granger today.
He couldn't even keep a straight face at her anymore.
The Quidditch defeat, the fatigue of exam week, and the anger over the disappearance of the beast had all vanished at this moment.
It's so strange. Very strange. He smiled to himself, thinking this.
The witch held her wand, staring blankly at him, her eyes blinking rapidly. Her other hand was digging into her palm. Like a cat caught in a dilemma, she gazed at him intently, unsure whether to attack or remain calm.
"I know you've secretly tampered with that Hippogriff." He scrutinized her bewildered expression and drawled, "Don't let me catch you doing anything wrong, or my father will bring it back."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy." Her face turned pale. Her hands clenched.
"You know," he said, looking at her with a calm smile.
He had her figured out once again. Yes, if that beast didn't hide well, it would be caught soon. Don't be too smug, Granger, with a bit of shrewdness.
She glanced at him hesitantly, then suddenly looked up at the bird's nest. As if she'd figured something out, she looked at him again, appearing quite surprised.
She cleared her throat, looked him straight in the eye, and said, "I'm glad Buckbeak isn't dead. But that doesn't mean I did anything about it. I still despise your and your father's vile and despicable behaviour. I don't think punching you was wrong. However, thank you for today."
Her concluding remarks left him somewhat bewildered.
What was going on here? Wasn't he threatening her? Wasn't she making threats at him?
"I didn't know you had any manners, Granger—" He sensed she was up to no good, trying to provoke his vulnerability. He said cautiously, somewhat stiffly, "Even though I didn't do anything."
"Malfoy. Whether you admit it or not, you saved the egg." She suddenly put on an annoying, smug look, like a Niffler who'd found a Galleon in a mud pit.
In Draco's slightly widened pale eyes, he noticed that her slightly red lips were gently upturned, and her brown eyes, the colour of the oak tree trunk—though Draco would never admit it—exuded a steadfast and enduring beauty.
As if she could see right through him, she said to him gently yet cruelly, "You still have some compassion, even if it's just a teaspoonful. After all, you're not completely hopeless."
He fell silent. He felt that she was insulting him with those words, even though he hadn't yet found conclusive evidence of it.
"Granger, do you believe in fate?" He felt a lump in his throat. So he looked into her eyes and inexplicably asked this question. A silly question.
"What?" She seemed not to have heard him clearly, or perhaps she was shocked by his question.
"What, can't a Malfoy care about this kind of thing?" Draco thought irritably.
"Destiny!" He repeated the word patiently, a rare occurrence for him, and then expanded on it, "It's about prophecy, divination, crystal balls, and things like that."
"No, I don't believe it. I believe that destiny should be in our own hands," she said firmly. "I've never believed Professor Trelawney's nonsense. She's an old fraud."
Very well. She didn't believe in fate. He didn't believe in fate either. He pursed his lips.
So, he could finally let go of that prophecy completely and utterly. Frankly, Professor Trelawney was a joke.
"That's right. I don't believe it either." He glanced at her lazily. "She's a complete old fraud."
"I never expected that we could actually reach a consensus on a certain point." She looked back at him in surprise.
"There's no such thing as 'we,'" he said fiercely, turning his face away, a slight smile involuntarily creeping onto his lips.
She didn't see the corner of his mouth. She didn't even look at him anymore. Her eyes returned to the bird's nest in the oak tree, and her tone turned cold again, "I know you don't like me, and I don't like you either. But at least try to be a decent human being from now on. Like today."
After uttering those harsh words, she turned and left.
A gentle breeze stirred, and the oak leaves above his head rustled softly. He stared blankly at her retreating figure, watching her disheveled hair sway in the wind.
It swayed and swayed, as if it would never stop.