HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 99: The Boy's Accidental Trouble

On a sunny morning in mid-July, the towns of southern France were filled with the subtle romantic scents of jasmine and lavender.

In the small hilltop town of Èze, nestled between Monaco and Nice, most tourists were still fast asleep. But early that morning, a leisurely figure appeared on the winding cobblestone streets.

She was a fourteen or fifteen-year-old girl wearing a black baseball cap, her slender figure subtly outlined by a fitted white knit shirt and black jeans. A black strap for a digital camera hung around her neck, and she was adjusting the camera's settings, photographing a lily of the valley flower glistening with morning dew by the roadside.

On both sides towered antique medieval-style stone buildings that completely blocked the distant view; only at the end of the winding, narrow road ahead could one vaguely glimpse the azure sky and sea.

A moment later, she looked up and gazed with interest at the road's vanishing perspective. As she backed away, searching for the perfect angle, she was unaware of the tiered steps behind her.

An unexpected accident occurred. She lost her footing on the uneven stone path, and her body involuntarily leaned backward, but an arm caught her just in time, saving her from tumbling down the steps.

Only the black baseball cap that had slipped off suffered damage; Hermione, on the other hand, was held perfectly securely in someone's arms. Thick brown hair flowed down that arm, with a few strands brushing against the face of its owner.

"Are you planning to break your neck like a Muggle tourist?" The platinum-blond boy frowned, the strands of hair tickling his face. He looked down at the pale-faced girl—she had her eyes tightly shut in fear, like a limp cat, one hand instinctively clutching the lapel of his grey silk shirt.

*It feels like yesterday repeating itself,* he thought vaguely.

A faint, familiar, refreshing scent enveloped her. Hermione opened her eyes, surprise flashing in her brown pupils. A hint of excitement lingered in her voice. "Draco! What are you doing here?"

"That's exactly what I wanted to ask you." Draco helped her stand steady, then retrieved the rather familiar-looking hat from the ground and dusted it off.

Seeing she was unharmed, the boy felt somewhat smug. He chuckled mischievously and deliberately placed the hat upside down on her head, provoking her slight displeasure. Hermione pouted, gave him a deliberately fierce look, and tried to adjust her hat, but he caught her hand.

"It looks rather good," he said casually. "Just wear it like that."

"I have my doubts," Hermione said stubbornly. Her face flushed slightly, but she didn't adjust the hat again.

The boy, as radiant as the sun, continued holding her hand, leading her toward the slightly gentler cobblestone path ahead. He said, "I don't think it's wise for you to travel alone on such a steep path."

"Oh, come on, Draco, don't treat me like a child! I was just too focused on taking pictures." The girl quickly pulled her hand back, complaining half-jokingly.

She tried to maintain some distance between them.

"Then I suggest you have someone accompany you when you photograph." Draco scoffed, watching Hermione's hands beginning to itch for her camera again, feeling somewhat annoyed. "Is this thing really that entertaining? A Muggle camera! The people in the photos don't even move."

"Most of the photos I take are of scenery. They don't move in any camera, not even a wizarding camera." Hermione held up her camera to show him.

Draco glanced at the camera briefly before gesturing for her to watch the road.

They were walking through another labyrinthine, deep alleyway. Green grass, flowers, and vines hung from doors and windows, and the increasing number of pedestrians gave this ancient town a vibrant, lively atmosphere.

Hermione was silent for a moment, then took a few more photos. Looking around at the rough stone walls, wooden doors and windows, and vines everywhere, she murmured, "I can't believe the architectural style here is so different, even though it's only a twenty-minute drive from Nice."

"You know, this small town built on a cliff has a history of 2,500 years, dating back to the Middle Ages," Draco said with great interest. "And the town's name is also quite interesting—"

"—It comes from the Egyptian goddess Isis," Hermione replied.

*How reassuring to speak with someone so well-read and knowledgeable,* Draco thought, giving her an appreciative look. "Yes, it's a name given by the ancient Phoenicians, meaning 'woman on a throne.' Did you notice the map at the entrance to Èze?"

"You mean the symbol of Èze in the bottom right corner of the map? A phoenix perched on a bone, symbolizing death and rebirth, correct?" Hermione said, her eyes shining.

"Yes. I've always felt the town's symbolism is similar to some wizarding concepts, and its name derives from Egypt, where ancient magic was prevalent. I suspect there are wizards somewhere in this small town." Draco subtly observed the increasing number of pedestrians passing by.

Hermione nodded in agreement.

"So, why are you here?" Draco turned to look at her.

*It's been over a month since I last saw her, and she seems to have grown a few inches taller. Her face is also much rosier and healthier than before. She's clearly been getting plenty of sunshine lately.*

"A family trip. We originally planned to come to France last year, and then we met you in Bath… and as you know, I ended up spending half the holiday learning potions from Professor Slughorn." Hermione asked with a curious look. "And you? Do wizards holiday like Muggles?"

She looked up at him, slight doubt in her heart. *Back in first year, we were about the same height; now my head barely reaches his eyebrows.*

*What did he eat at home during this holiday? Some kind of growth potion? How has he grown like a willow sapling, shooting upward so quickly?*

"Of course wizards have the right to enjoy holidays too, don't they?" Draco said casually.

Then he looked around. "Where are Mr. and Mrs. Granger? Didn't they come with you?"

"Oh, they had too much fun in Nice yesterday and seem to have caught a bit of a chill. They let me wander around nearby by myself today—they need to rest." Hermione shrugged.

"Seems we're both alone today." Draco smiled faintly. "Since we've run into each other—is there anywhere you'd like to go? If you don't mind, I can keep you company."

"Of course," Hermione said, her eyes sparkling. "Draco, you may not know some of the famous people in the Muggle world—I really want to see the Nietzsche Path."

"Whoever will one day make a name for himself will first remain silent for a long time—" Draco tilted his head slightly to look at her, and surprise welled up in her eyes.

"—He who will ignite the lightning will long wander like a cloud." The two looked at each other and smiled as they recited the second half of the sentence together.

This quote comes from Nietzsche's *Thus Spoke Zarathustra*.

Draco increasingly discovered they shared many reading interests.

*Why didn't I realize this sooner in my past life?* This thought flashed through his mind—*it's truly regrettable.*

"Draco, you genuinely surprise me. I didn't know you read Muggle philosophy books." Hermione finally switched off the camera lens and focused on walking with Draco.

"I've dabbled in various subjects," Draco shrugged.

*There are often inseparable connections between philosophy and magic. For example, the numerological divination method in Arithmancy is related to Pythagoras's theories, and there's no harm in learning such things; in the Malfoy Manor library, there's an entire shelf devoted to philosophical texts.*

So, under the increasingly scorching sun, they walked up the famous "Nietzsche Path" all the way to the high cliffs of the town. From there, they could not only overlook the entire town but also enjoy a panoramic view of the azure Mediterranean Sea.

Hermione took many more photographs.

"Are you taking these photos out of personal interest?" Draco asked, puzzled.

"Not entirely. I'm planning to show them to my parents," she said. "I imagine they'll be disappointed they can't see these views. We're leaving tomorrow."

"I see." He stood patiently to the side, hands in his pockets, subtly surveying his surroundings. Only after she finished photographing did he ask, "Are you hungry?"

"A little."

"Together?" Draco nodded toward a restaurant by the roadside bearing a Château Èze sign. Hermione smiled at him, which he took as agreement.

The restaurant waiter stood listlessly at the entrance, staring blankly at the street.

This was the last bit of leisure time he had before the busy lunch service began. He thought he could remain idle for at least another half hour, but unexpectedly, a platinum-blond boy and a brown-haired girl walked to the restaurant door, abruptly ending his break.

They were definitely not locals. Their impeccable British accents revealed their origins—an island across the English Channel. The waiter, initially impatient, was swayed by the generous tip the boy casually produced; he quickly adopted a respectful attitude and led the two guests to a penthouse table with a view of the distant mountains and sea.

The boy was very attentive to the girl. He waved away the waiter who was about to seat her, and personally pulled out the chair to her right. The moment she sat down, he gently pushed the chair forward, his movements practiced and natural, as if he'd received some kind of high-class service training in Paris.

Immediately afterwards, the boy sat gracefully in the chair opposite the girl, his posture relaxed. From the boy's elegant demeanor, the discerning waiter judged his family must be wealthy and powerful.

He dared not underestimate them any longer. He courteously served them two glasses of sparkling water and placed two menus neatly before them, while standing at a respectful distance, awaiting their instructions.

Hermione wasn't particular about what they ate; her interest lay in the view of the distant mountains. Amidst the clicking of camera shutters, Draco summoned the waiter and promptly ordered the day's recommended dishes for her.

"Can I see the photos you took?" While waiting for the food, he eventually became interested in the Muggle camera she kept fiddling with on the table.

"Of course," Hermione said happily, beckoning him over.

So Draco slowly walked up behind her and looked down. The camera screen wasn't large, and the sunlight was rather bright, so he had to lean over, his hands on either side of the back of her chair, to see properly.

"Help me turn the pages—I'm not very familiar with these Muggle contraptions," he said lazily in her ear, watching her operate the camera and turn the pages at his direction.

The foreground featured plants, ancient stone wall patterns, medieval buildings, and the distant sky and sea... even some photographs she'd taken earlier that didn't belong to Èze, mostly artworks in galleries and museums.

"It's clear you have your own unique ideas about composition and photographic style," he said, with a hint of appreciation in his tone.

"Really? Mum said the same thing, but I thought she was just encouraging me." She turned to look at him with a smile and found his face very close to hers, close enough to see his light eyelashes.

Only then did she realize his posture was somewhat ambiguous—as if he was invisibly surrounding her.

He didn't touch her, but this almost imperceptible closeness was more torturous than actual physical contact.

Her back suddenly stiffened.

"You have a good aesthetic eye. I didn't know you were so interested in ancient architecture and art." Those grey eyes moved from the camera screen to her face and met her gaze.

A hint of panic flickered in the girl's brown eyes. She felt her heart skip a beat, followed by a rush of blood surging from her ventricle.

Hermione had thought that after the summer break and mental preparation, she'd be able to manage a little better; but now it seemed all her efforts were in vain.

*How annoying.* She hurriedly started talking, trying to drown out her racing heart with a flurry of words. "Oh, if I weren't a witch, I might have chosen to be a historian or study ancient art—I've always been very interested in old things."

"Then I think you might like Malfoy Manor." Draco's eyes lit up, and he tilted his head to look into her eyes, a faint smile playing on his lips. "There are centuries-old antiques and paintings in the Malfoy family's collection there. Sometimes I think it's rather wasteful that no one appreciates them."

For a moment, Hermione's brain seemed to be drawn into that light grey vortex.

"Really? Are they all magical items?" she asked nervously, looking away and clutching her camera tightly.

"Some are magical items, but most are simply ordinary artworks and antiques—they're just old," Draco said with a smile, finding her rosy complexion quite attractive.

"Oh, I see." She said softly, blinking nervously, suddenly recalling the scene of him catching her on the steps not long ago.

*Too close. Being near him always makes me incredibly flustered. This is bad.*

Just then, a Muggle couple from the neighboring table approached and asked Hermione to take a photograph of them together.

She felt as though she'd been granted a pardon, using it as an excuse to escape his unsettling presence. Only after taking numerous photos of the Muggle couple did her heart rate finally return to normal.

However, the grateful female tourist seemed intent on adding to Hermione's poor heart's distress. She enthusiastically said, "Let me take some pictures for you too! Couples traveling together would regret it if they didn't take many photos."

"We are not—" Hermione was about to correct the tourist's misconception when Draco said, "Oh, then thank you for your help."

Hermione was dumbfounded. Draco didn't refute the Muggle female tourist's words; in fact, he smiled kindly at her and even suggested she choose an angle without backlighting for the best results!

Her expression was so surprised that the female tourist had to remind her, "Relax, smile!"

Even after the photos were taken, Hermione remained dazed and didn't even realize "he'd placed his hand on her shoulder for the photo."

Draco took the camera, politely thanked the woman, and then noticed Hermione's strange expression.

"What's wrong?" he asked in a good mood.

"Uh—" Of course, she couldn't express the strange feeling in her heart.

*At this moment, I see him as just an ordinary friend from school! Or rather, an unremarkable comrade who fought alongside me against Voldemort! Nothing special!*

*Stop thinking about that Muggle female tourist's mistaken beliefs! Think about something else!* She told herself.

"Oh, I've noticed ever since I saw you—I always felt you weren't the kind of young wizard from a pure-blood family who's completely cut off from the Muggle world. Think of the Weasley family; they have a favorable impression of the Muggle world, but they're completely disconnected from Muggle society. Mr. Weasley doesn't even know what a rubber duck is," Hermione said, tilting her head to look him over.

He sat calmly before her, letting her examine him.

A courteous waiter was serving drinks and food. Hermione paused momentarily, waiting for the waiter to leave before continuing. "And you—you don't seem unfamiliar with the Muggle world, nor have you shown any surprise at being here. You're quite at ease here. I just learned your family has Muggle artifacts. I even think you understand the Muggle world better than the Weasleys; your family has a closer connection to it."

"Very observant." Draco raised his glass, giving Hermione a nod across the distance.

Hermione smiled slightly in response. She didn't release her doubts and waited for him to explain further.

"If you ever get the chance to wander around Malfoy Manor, you'll find traces of some Muggle items. Malfoy Manor has electric lights and a driveway. Although most of the time we think Muggle things are rather absurd, there are still some items that are barely usable—and the Malfoys wouldn't mind using them." Draco savored the texture of the steak and smiled contentedly.

"Do you know how arrogant that sounds?" Hermione said, displeased.

"I thought I was being very sincere," Draco raised an eyebrow. "Do you think it's easy to get someone from a pure-blood wizarding family to admit to another wizard that their family uses Muggle items?"

Hermione shook her head dismissively at him, but inwardly she was somewhat shocked.

The Malfoy family Draco spoke of seemed rather different from the Malfoy family she'd heard about who "hated everything Muggle."

"Actually, this short trip is a combination of holiday and investment business. The Malfoy family is planning to acquire a local perfume factory, and my parents went to negotiate." Seeing she seemed somewhat agitated, Draco didn't pursue the sensitive topic and changed the subject.

Besides investment, a major reason for acquiring the perfume factory was to please Narcissa.

*Narcissa loves things like perfume—Lucius is encouraging her to further develop this hobby.*

*Furthermore, the town of Èze is quiet and livable, unlike the hustle and bustle of Paris, making it a perfect place for Narcissa, weary of worldly affairs, to stay for a few days and escape the noise. Since Grandfather's death, Lucius has often taken Mother out for walks to clear her mind, even bringing her along when discussing business.*

Not long ago, Draco had overheard his mother complaining to his father as he passed by the manor's sitting room. "Can't you just conduct the business yourself? Like before."

"No," Lucius said bluntly. "You don't have any other plans lately, do you? I've noticed you haven't hosted any tea parties or book clubs in a long time, nor have you attended any salon gatherings. You've only bought a wardrobe full of new clothes this season; you haven't even examined the new limited-edition sports cars Muggles have released; Mrs. Zabini asked me about you not long ago, wondering why you missed last month's magical antiques auction. That's not like you at all."

"I want to stay home and have some peace and quiet," Narcissa said, her voice tinged with weariness. "It's all right, I'm genuinely fine now. Everyone is born, ages, falls ill, and dies. Father didn't suffer much before he passed… You don't need to worry about me."

"Yes, I'm not worried about you. But I happen to have come across this investment project and need your advice, Cissy," Lucius said smoothly, his words carrying a hint of vulnerability that surprised Draco. "You'll have to keep watch for me; those Muggles are always cunning. Perfume is your specialty, isn't it? You'll have to help your husband devise strategies…"

*Lucius, who's usually so arrogant and adamant, actually needs others to help him devise strategies.*

*Furthermore, he just happened to come across this project? Father, what exactly was in that urgent letter you wrote to the Muggle investment manager earlier?*

Draco smiled slightly at the memory. He suspected his father was probably asking that poor Muggle manager to quickly find some high-quality perfume factories that needed investment or acquisition.

"That perfume factory is entirely Muggle-owned and has absolutely nothing to do with the wizarding world," he continued to Hermione.

Hermione, who'd been picking olives out of her side dish with her fork, looked up in surprise when she heard him say this. "You're involved in investments in the Muggle world?"

Draco shrugged, saying meaningfully, "I've said it before—Muggles do have some things the Malfoy family can use. Although my father claims to advocate pure-blood ideology, the Malfoy family's businesses have never been limited to the wizarding world, and their vision is the same. Of course, we don't fully understand the Muggle world, but we do have basic knowledge of certain social rules and investment projects in the Muggle world."

He glanced discreetly at the rejected olives, smiled slightly, and said, "Of course, please keep these matters confidential as always. I suspect the Ministry of Magic wouldn't appreciate hearing such rumors."

Hermione fiddled with the side dishes on her plate and nodded thoughtfully at him.

As evening approached, they'd finished exploring the botanical garden at the mountain's summit, having seen enough cacti and shrubs under the scorching sun, and slowly walked down the stone path.

Just as the summer heat was beginning to subside, people who'd been hiding in their air-conditioned hotels decided to venture out. A bustling crowd of tourists lingered outside small shops, buying all sorts of quirky trinkets.

"What are all those things?" Draco asked, frowning.

"Those are Muggle fridge magnets, the kind you stick on refrigerators." Hermione picked one up and showed it to him. "The front has a picture, and the back has a magnet. It sticks to metal things, like this—"

The tiny fridge magnet snapped close to the metal plate on display.

"It's very peculiar—" Draco commented. "I have absolutely no idea what it's for."

"It's a souvenir! Every time you pass by the refrigerator, you can see the places you've been through these little fridge magnets. Isn't that interesting? Imagine how satisfying it would be to have an entire fridge door covered with so many fridge magnets, like a badge wall proving you've traveled the world," Hermione said enthusiastically. "My mum loves collecting these. But her taste is a bit quirky; she's more fond of those with uniquely shaped fridge magnets."

"But what is a refrigerator?" Draco asked, feeling somewhat foolish.

"Oh, those are special cabinets for storing food. The temperature inside is very low. Refrigerating food there is like casting a Preservation Charm on it," Hermione explained, organizing her thoughts. "However, refrigerators have a limited preservation time; they can't keep food fresh forever."

After speaking, her gaze lingered on the various fridge magnets. Unfortunately, she didn't find any particularly uniquely designed options.

Draco was completely baffled. However, his pride wouldn't allow him to show weakness or admit he only had superficial understanding of "Muggle refrigerators."

He didn't like the feeling of "not understanding her world."

With a sense of unease, he walked beside her and said dismissively, "I don't think there's anything here that meets your standards."

"At least I can try," Hermione continued walking, her eyes lingering on shop entrances along the roadside. "I just want to buy something, even just as a souvenir."

That peculiar little shop suddenly appeared in their sight at that moment.

Its appearance was much older than the neighboring shops, making it seem out of place. A rusty iron sign hung on the mottled door, reading "Boutique de souvenirs" (French for souvenir shop); below the words was an image of a phoenix perched on a bone—the very symbol of the town of Èze.

What struck them as odd was that while the shops on both sides bustled with activity, not a single tourist stopped before it. It was eerily quiet, as if those people couldn't even see the shop.

Hermione immediately realized what it meant. She tugged at his sleeve. "Draco, isn't this a shop only wizards can see? Like the Leaky Cauldron?"

"I think so." Draco observed for a moment, then cautiously nodded.

"Should we take a look?" Hermione asked him. She looked both curious and wary, like a cat standing before a cardboard box, not knowing what might be inside but intending to investigate.

This expression made Draco smile.

"It's a souvenir shop. It shouldn't hurt to look." At her urging, Draco examined the shop's sign and name, becoming somewhat curious about this mysterious establishment.

*Perhaps it'll be like Borgin and Burkes, selling only Dark Arts items. I wonder how French Dark Arts items differ from those in England?* Draco pondered with interest.

"Let's take a look." He made up his mind and walked straight ahead. Hermione followed closely behind, watching as he suddenly pushed open the shop door amidst the soft tinkling of wind chimes.

This shop immediately killed half of Draco's interest.

It wasn't some Dark Arts shop, but an ordinary establishment selling magical souvenirs. All sorts of raw crystals, pendulums, spell books, tarot cards, and magical oils could be found here.

Bottles and jars were stacked on a long table, and in the corner were several large shelves displaying magical herbs. The place was rather cluttered, and most of it looked chaotic, somewhat like the Divination classroom—Draco immediately lost the other half of his interest.

The walls were shades of green, which didn't remind Draco of the calm, steady Slytherin green, but rather of a hot, humid tropical jungle; the colors of various decorations were too bright, giving it a strong Romani feel.

Behind the dark counter stood a listless old witch. Her face was painted very white, which did nothing to diminish her wrinkles; her lips were blood red, and she was muttering something under her breath. She absentmindedly and slowly wiped a rusty singing bowl, and when she heard someone enter, she didn't even lift her eyelids, saying only, "Bienvenue" (French for "welcome").

The tone suggested she didn't want to be disturbed by customers.

Draco was affronted by this attitude. He never liked being treated so casually by strangers. He didn't show anger on his face, nor did he storm off as usual—all because Hermione was still looking around the shop with great interest.

She seemed unconcerned about the witch's attitude, looked around, and walked first to the pile of spell books.

*Typical Hermione Granger shopping behavior—I knew this would happen—she always looks at books first.* Draco shook his head helplessly, watching her retreating figure.

"Look!" She suddenly turned and pointed to a thick, dusty book on a corner shelf for Draco to see, the cover of which featured the phoenix and bone symbol. "That symbol!"

Draco smiled at her, put his hands in his pockets, leaned casually against a pillar, and lazily hummed in agreement.

"What does the picture on the cover mean?" Hermione asked the witch, holding up the book.

The witch behind the counter finally gave them a second glance. Seeing that Hermione was interested in the book rather than just browsing, she became much more enthusiastic.

"Oh, this is the symbol of Èze, the origin of local magic." She grinned at them, speaking in broken English. "The earliest wizards can be traced back 2,500 years. They migrated from Egypt and settled here… They brought their own magical culture and magical worship, the most famous being resurrection magic."

"But that's impossible!" Hermione exclaimed in shock. "How could someone come back to life, even a wizard…"

"Of course, of course, most people think it's merely a legend. But it's all written in that book! If you're interested, you can buy it and study it yourself," the witch tempted Hermione, a sly smile on her face.

At this moment, she finally emerged from behind the counter, her long dress swaying, and the large bracelets on her wrists jingling as she moved.

Draco gave the rambling witch an impatient look.

Then he suddenly took two steps, blocking Hermione and the witch, and said unhurriedly, "Hermione, let's go—there's nothing worth seeing."

Hermione didn't move. She flipped through a few pages of the yellowed old book and decided to buy it anyway.

The witch was overjoyed. She took the book from Hermione past Draco, returned to the counter, deftly grabbed a piece of parchment, wrapped the book, tied it with thin hemp rope, and handed it to Hermione.

She said in a solicitous manner, "You won't be disappointed—this is the last one in our store."

Draco beat Hermione to it and tossed a few Galleons to the witch. Then, to Hermione's puzzled look, he roughly pulled her out of the shop and back into the bustling crowd of tourists.

The streets were bathed in the glow of the setting sun, and some shops had already lit their lamps.

Hermione was somewhat annoyed. She stopped and shook off his hand, saying sternly, "Draco, what are you doing? Why are you in such a hurry? Besides, I can buy it myself!"

"Oh, come on, you little fool!" Draco said, frowning. "Don't tell me you didn't notice."

"Notice what?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"That witch has no feet beneath her skirt! She's a ghost!" Draco said, his face pale. "Don't expect all ghosts in the world to be as friendly as the Hogwarts ghosts."

"Oh, I didn't notice—" Hermione exclaimed in surprise. When she looked back at the shop, it had vanished, leaving only a wall behind.

It was indeed strange. She stood there, stunned, and whispered, "I should have noticed... I was too focused on that book."

Draco looked at the wall, a hint of doubt flashing through his mind.

Like England, France also has wizards. They have their own independent Ministry of Magic, wizarding communities, and wizarding commercial centers. Just as London has Diagon Alley, Paris has its own shopping streets for wizards to frequent.

Occasionally, there are magical shops like this that open in small towns. But they're usually clustered together, appearing in groups like Hogsmeade. It's unusual for a magical shop to stand alone in a small town like this, appearing and then suddenly disappearing.

"She probably doesn't mean any harm—she's probably just a ghost who sells trinkets." He looked at Hermione's uneasy expression and couldn't bear to say anything more. He just cast a worried look at the book. "Anyway, you have to be careful with that book. Don't let it be like that diary, where there was some bizarre curse hidden in it."

"Then I'll open it and examine it." She hurriedly broke the brown paper seal and carefully examined it with Draco, turning it over repeatedly.

Aside from being rather old, this book was no different from any other.

Draco frowned and handed the book back to her with suspicion.

"Don't read it rashly. When you can cast spells, first use *Aparecium* and *Specialis Revelio* to test it and see if there are any hidden spells or curses," he instructed her.

"All right, all right, I'll be careful." Hermione put away her book, being careful not to touch his hand, and smiled at him apologetically. "I misunderstood you. I was cross with you just now. I'm sorry."

Draco shook his head at her, indicating he didn't mind, but his brows furrowed again.

After meeting Hermione this time, he felt she was less familiar with him and more polite, and even gave him a subtle sense of distance.

She always seemed to avoid eye contact with him. She always seemed to evade his approach.

"I think I should look at the fridge magnets again..." she said softly, putting away her book, and headed back toward the stalls.

Draco watched her with suspicion as she walked ahead. She observed everything around her with a lively expression, occasionally letting out a soft sigh at the Muggle curiosities beside her. Her carefree eyes reflected the bustling world, but not him.

*What—she lost interest in me so quickly?*

*After just a summer holiday?*

*Did she close that door again?*

In this small town filled with the fragrance of flowers, the sounds of people, and flickering lights, Draco Malfoy encounters Hermione Granger, and also encounters the troubles appropriate for a fourteen-year-old boy.

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Extra Chapter 7: A Heart-to-Heart Talk (The Granger Family's Perspective)

That was the day Mrs. Granger collected her beloved daughter from King's Cross Station.

On the drive home, she eagerly turned around from the passenger seat, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Hurry up, tell me everything that happened at Hogwarts! What fun, thrilling, exciting things happened? My little Peanut, you should write to me more often, and don't always just report the good news and hide the bad—"

"Yes, we're very curious about everything happening to you at school." Mr. Granger glanced quickly at his daughter in the rearview mirror as he drove, a smile on his face.

"It's been a fairly uneventful year," Hermione said, stroking Crookshanks's fur. She paused momentarily, then said lightly, "Aside from Crookshanks killing a rat and our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor being a werewolf… nothing particularly special happened."

Hermione had never liked telling her parents about dangerous matters.

The Grangers were exceptionally open-minded parents, but that didn't mean they didn't worry about their daughter.

"A werewolf? Is he dangerous... that werewolf?" Sure enough, Mr. Granger immediately got to the point.

Even Crookshanks could hear the tension in his tone and looked up at him uneasily.

"It's all right—he's already resigned," Hermione said listlessly, patting Crookshanks's head.

"Oh, Peanut, I sense something's troubling you." Mrs. Granger looked her over. "Are you having some difficulty?"

"Is someone bullying you?" This was Mr. Granger's voice, which suddenly rose.

"I'm not particularly worried about anyone bullying her. I remember a little gentleman taking good care of her," Mrs. Granger said with a smile. "I just saw him—he was wearing a white shirt, and his posture was so straight, my goodness! He kept staring at you when you got off the train…"

"Oh, Mum, please stop talking about it," she said, annoyed.

"I think he might fancy you…" Mrs. Granger gave her daughter a sly look.

"Mum, you're wrong. He said he sees me as a little sister," Hermione said flatly, trying to make her voice sound less dejected.

An awkward silence followed.

"Oh, I see." Mrs. Granger and Mr. Granger exchanged a quick glance.

The car stopped at a red light. Mr. Granger took advantage of the spare moment to quickly glance back at his daughter—she was unconsciously picking at her fingers.

*My daughter only does this when experiencing extreme anxiety.*

"Don't think about it so much—let's get something good to eat! How about some lobster? And then, let's visit the mummies at the British Museum? I remember you were interested in Egypt—" Mr. Granger quickly changed the subject.

"Really? A mummy? I've been wanting to see one for ages!" Hermione finally smiled, which relieved the couple in the front seats.

However, when night fell and everything was quiet, Hermione fell into a slump again.

She stared blankly at the ceiling, not noticing when Mrs. Granger had slipped into her room. It wasn't until her mother's sudden smiling face and bright eyes appeared before her that she realized what was happening.

"Mum!" She was so startled she nearly jumped out of bed.

"Don't panic, it's me! Tonight is Mother and Daughter Heart-to-Heart Night." Mrs. Granger placed the candlestick on the bedside table, slipped into Hermione's blankets, and gently embraced her. "My little Peanut, is there anything you can't tell your mother? Tell me about that boy... what really happened?"

"Mum, I don't want to talk about him." In her mother's arms, Hermione finally felt secure. She hesitated momentarily, then muttered, "I'm so embarrassed—I completely misunderstood… I feel so ashamed…"

"I won't laugh at you! Have you forgotten how many embarrassing stories I've told you about myself?" Mrs. Granger said cheerfully, her brown eyes, exactly like Hermione's, sparkling with gentle light.

"There are many, but my situation is more serious than those…" Hermione whispered.

"Really? The coldest year ever, your father and I went to New York. We stayed up late at night and ran out of our hotel to kiss the Statue of Liberty. We almost froze our tongues!" she said playfully. "Could anything be more embarrassing than that?"

Her daughter said seriously, "It's even more embarrassing than this."

"So, you booked the wrong flights for your wedding anniversary, spent a whole week in transit, and ended up spending half a month surviving in the South American wilderness with your dad—" she asked skeptically. "Is it even more embarrassing than that?"

Hermione pondered for a long time before finally saying, "I want it to be that embarrassing again."

"To settle a bet with your father, I jumped barefoot into the Thames, got pneumonia, was bedridden for a month, and used up all the tissues in the surrounding shops," Mrs. Granger said resentfully. "Was that embarrassing enough? All my friends laughed at me."

"All right," Hermione said after some deliberation.

So she began talking: how one day she felt inexplicable feelings for Draco, even thinking she'd caught a cold or fallen ill, and how several potions didn't help; how Draco treated her, the forehead kiss he'd forgotten, all the touches, care, and tenderness; and how she'd punched Draco when he said he treated her like a sister…

"She's such a wonderful daughter!" Mrs. Granger said proudly, her eyes shining, as she stroked her daughter's hair, just as Hermione would stroke Crookshanks's fur.

"But just hours after I punched him, he stood in front of the werewolf to save me… How can I still be angry with him? I don't know what to do…" Hermione said sullenly.

Mrs. Granger asked in surprise, "He did that? Wait—didn't you say that werewolf wasn't dangerous?"

"It was an accident. Professor Lupin forgot to take his Wolfsbane Potion that day. Mum, don't worry—none of us were hurt. Later, I saved Draco… It involves some advanced magic, which is difficult to explain to you. Anyway, we were all saved." Hermione buried her head in the soft goose-down pillow in frustration. "What am I going to do? I don't know how to interact with him anymore."

"Oh, my little Peanut! Boys are all fools, no matter how precocious they seem or how polite they are—they're still fools!" Mrs. Granger shook her head and smiled knowingly.

A muffled sigh came from the pillow.

"From your description, I think he also has feelings for you. This doesn't seem like how he treats his sister. He even kissed your forehead, and you think it's a dream, don't you?" Mrs. Granger's lips curved into a slight smile.

"So what? He obviously didn't take it to heart, did he?" Hermione said dismissively. "It was just a greeting from an ordinary friend."

"Of course not! Under what circumstances would someone think kissing a girl is a dream? If it were you, would your first reaction be to think it's a dream? Unless... he's dreamed of kissing you before... he habitually assumes this is a dream too..." Mrs. Granger chuckled.

"Mum! That's rather far-fetched!" Hermione's head popped out from under the pillow, staring intently at her, as if considering the possibility.

"Well, I suppose I was overthinking it!" Mrs. Granger waved her hand dismissively. "Boys this age are mostly late bloomers when it comes to emotions. I don't think he's fully aware of his own feelings. He's a year younger than you, isn't he? You have to give him some time to mature. Perhaps one day he'll suddenly realize it…"

"Perhaps," Hermione said listlessly.

Mrs. Granger stroked her hair reassuringly, trying a different approach to encourage her. "Hermione, don't focus solely on him. You need to see what other boys are like! How do you know you only fancy his type?"

Hermione pouted and said unhappily, "Mum! What are you saying? I didn't keep my eyes on him the whole time!"

—*But he always seemed to stare at me.* She felt somewhat embarrassed about this and swallowed the words back.

"Then spend time with Ron and Harry. Aren't they your friends? Aren't you on good terms with them?" Mrs. Granger said with a smile.

"Of course I'll spend time with them! They are my friends, that's true, but it's not that kind of romantic relationship between us," Hermione retorted, embarrassed and annoyed.

"How about meeting a boy from another house? Make some more friends?" Mrs. Granger continued pondering. "Aren't there other houses? Ravenclaw, and what else, Hufflepuff? Did I pronounce that correctly?"

"You pronounced it correctly. But why should I interact with other boys? I don't want to make any more friends!" Hermione said irritably.

"I know you fancy him. But you need to learn to interact with other boys, not just the one you fancy. In the future, in your life, whether at work or in your personal life, you'll always encounter men, and their way of thinking isn't entirely the same as women's. These are things you need to learn and understand. Meeting different boys and making different friends doesn't conflict with fancying a particular boy." Mrs. Granger explained her thoughts in detail.

"All right, I can try making a few more friends," Hermione said reluctantly, "but just friends."

Mrs. Granger looked at her daughter, who was still somewhat naive—the lively, innocent little girl had unknowingly grown into a budding young woman—and a slight smile appeared on her lips. "You never know," she said. "Perhaps soon an even more outstanding boy will fall in love with you..."

*Will the boy named Draco realize his own feelings then, and even become jealous?*

She was so curious.