Chapter 1597 - Ch: 11-19

Chapter 11: Draco: Don't Move, I'll Teach You

Snape ordered everyone to continue.

"Anyone who wants to join Longbottom, I wouldn't mind sending you to the Hospital Wing together."

The students all fell silent, burying their heads in processing their ingredients, not daring to make the slightest sound.

Hermione's heartbeat still hadn't calmed down.

The explosion just now and that solid embrace kept replaying in her mind.

Her hands were still trembling, half from lingering fear, half from embarrassment.

She picked up the slimy Slug, intending to slice it into even, thin pieces.

But her trembling hands simply wouldn't obey; the silver knife cut unevenly into the Slug, making a terrible mess.

"Pathetic."

A low voice dropped down from above her head.

Hermione froze; a slender, strong hand reached over, directly covering the back of her hand.

That hand was dry and warm, gripping hers, stopping her torment of the poor Slug.

It was Draco.

Hermione's body instantly tensed up.

His palm was a full size larger than hers, completely enveloping her hand.

The warmth from his palm penetrated through skin and flesh, making her heart contract with a burning sensation.

"Relax your wrist, keep the knife steady."

Draco's brows were furrowed, clearly extremely dissatisfied with her skill level.

The next second, he rose directly from his seat, standing behind Hermione without warning.

Shadow enveloped her; Hermione felt herself completely covered by a tall figure.

Draco's chest pressed firmly against her back.

He bent down, holding her hand, adjusting the angle of the knife.

This posture... Hermione's brain buzzed and came to a complete halt.

It was a back-hug with a strong sense of possession.

She was completely, firmly encircled in Draco's arms.

She could clearly feel Draco's breath, warm against her neck and behind her ear.

That familiar cologne scent aggressively invaded her nostrils, enveloping her.

Hermione's body was rigidly tense, unable to move, even forgetting to breathe.

"The angle is wrong, Granger."

Draco's voice was right by her ear, extremely low, with a magnetic whisper.

He whispered intently, as if he were truly just teaching.

Completely ignoring the posture between them that could set any girl on fire.

"When slicing a Slug, start from the head, cut diagonally, one smooth stroke all the way down, so the bodily fluids won't splatter everywhere."

As he spoke, the vibration from his chest transmitted clearly through her back.

Warm breath swept over her earlobe, stirring up a fine, leg-weakening tingle.

Hermione felt her ears, neck, and half her body were about to catch fire.

She desperately tried to shift her attention back to the Slug, to listen to his instruction.

But all her senses were occupied by the powerful, aggressive man behind her.

His breath, his heartbeat, the warmth of his body, the hot air from his speech by her ear... all of it made her flustered.

"Watch closely."

Draco didn't give her a chance to overthink.

He held her hand, his arm exerting force, guiding the knife down cleanly and decisively.

A slice of Slug, thin as a cicada's wing, was precisely cut off.

"Apply even pressure, move quickly."

He made a few more cuts, each one impeccable.

Hermione stared blankly at the neat results on the cutting board, her mind in turmoil.

Not only did he understand, but his practical skills were absurdly strong.

Harry, in the back row, looked up and saw Draco hugging Hermione from behind, teaching her how to slice something hand-in-hand.

That image stabbed painfully in his eyes.

An indescribable irritation churned in his heart. He felt that something very important to him was being blatantly taken away by someone else.

Ron was even angrier, his face turning green; the stirring rod in his hand scraped against the cauldron with a grating noise.

He opened his mouth, wanting to yell that Malfoy was "harassing" Hermione.

But the words stuck in his throat as soon as he met Snape's icy warning gaze from the front of the classroom, and he swallowed them back down.

He could only curse Draco Malfoy over and over in his heart.

On the other side, Pansy Parkinson glared fiercely at Hermione's back, her eyes practically spitting fire.

The Caterpillar in her hand had already been crushed into pulp, green juice smeared all over her hands.

Draco ignored the surrounding gazes completely.

After finishing the instruction, he very naturally released her hand, stepped back, and returned to his seat.

As if that tense embrace just now was truly just a simple academic guidance.

"Put it in," he ordered flatly.

The warmth in her embrace suddenly withdrew, and Hermione's heart actually felt a void.

She shook her head, trying to dispel those chaotic thoughts.

Blushing, she carefully scooped the sliced Slug pieces into the cauldron.

The ingredients entered the pot.

The potion in the cauldron before the two of them began to change.

The deep green faded, turning into a pink with a pearlescent sheen.

A pleasant fragrance, accompanied by pink smoke, rose from the cauldron.

The color was perfect.

The smoke was perfect.

This was a textbook-perfect Boil-Cure Potion.

Just then, a black figure stopped at their table.

Severus Snape.

He had patrolled over; those critical eyes fixed unwaveringly on the potion in the cauldron.

After a long while, his thin face actually showed an almost satisfied expression.

Snape stopped at Draco's table; the air in the entire Dungeons froze.

Everyone held their breath, stealing glances out of the corners of their eyes.

Snape didn't speak.

He extended his wand, the tip dipping into the silver cauldron, stirring gently.

The pink potion rippled in circles, the herbal fragrance growing stronger.

The rising pink smoke maintained a stable form, without a single stray wisp.

"Excellent."

After a long while, Snape squeezed out two words from his throat. His voice was hoarse, yet hiding a hint of approval.

He looked up at Draco; that thin face actually showed a kind of gratification.

"This is the most perfect first-year work I've seen in nearly five years."

Snape's voice wasn't loud, but it clearly carried throughout the classroom.

He straightened up, turned to the whole class, and announced in his characteristic drawl:

"Slytherin, ten points!"

From the Slytherin table, there came a wave of suppressed excitement.

Snape paused, his gaze locked on Draco, adding:

"Because Mr. Malfoy has demonstrated exceptional talent in Potions, far beyond his years."

From start to finish, he didn't even glance at Hermione.

Hermione's shoulders slumped.

She bit her lower lip hard, not letting the grievance in her eyes fall.

She was long accustomed to Snape's bias against Gryffindor, and knew that as Harry Potter's friend, she shouldn't expect any kindness from him.

But it still hurt like needles in her heart.

She had put effort into this potion too.

She had calculated the timing, processed the fangs... now, all the credit went to the boy beside her.

Just as Hermione was drowning in grievance, a cool voice sounded.

"Professor."

It was Draco.

He actually spoke up.

All eyes focused on him.

Draco stood up, slightly inclining his head, his posture elegant.

"This credit doesn't belong entirely to me."

Snape raised an eyebrow, his eyes filled with puzzlement.

Draco turned slightly, his gaze falling on Hermione, his tone flat.

"Miss Granger demonstrated astonishing precision when handling the Horned Slug."

"Without her perfect slicing, the potion wouldn't have achieved its current quality."

Chapter 12: Corridor Conflict, Ron's Divine Assist

Severus Snape's expression froze.

He stared at his godson, his eyes full of scrutiny.

A Malfoy, a pure-blood Slytherin, speaking up for a Gryffindor girl who was Muggle-born?

This was more absurd than Neville Longbottom brewing a perfect Potion.

The Dungeons were dead silent.

Hermione suddenly looked up at Draco.

His profile was sharp and cold, and his grey-blue eyes shone brightly in the dim light.

He... was speaking up for me?

Admitting my contribution, right in front of Snape?

A rush of warmth surged through her chest, dispersing all the accumulated grievances. Her eyes stung, and tears nearly spilled out.

She looked at Draco in front of her, and her mind went blank with a sudden buzz.

Snape was silent for a few seconds.

He gave Draco a deep look, then glanced at the red-eyed Gryffindor girl beside him.

In the end, he did not refute it.

For the sake of his godson, he let out a cold snort through his nose, considering it tacit agreement.

Then, he turned, his black robes cutting an arc, and strode toward the back of the classroom.

He stopped in front of Harry and Ron's desk.

The damage caused by comparison was now fully evident.

Snape glanced at their cauldron, which was bubbling grey and emitting a burnt smell, and his brow furrowed into a tight knot.

"Potter." He drew out the word, full of malice, "It seems fame cannot help you put Porcupine Quills into a cauldron."

"You can't even keep an eye on your teammate."

"Tell me, was it stupidity or laziness that made you brew this cement-like rubbish?"

Harry's face flushed crimson, unable to utter a single word.

"Useless." Snape concluded.

Too lazy to look any further, he waved his wand.

"Scourgify!"

The cauldron instantly became spotless.

"Potter, zero points for this Potion Class."

"Professor! This isn't Harry's fault!" Ron couldn't help but argue.

"Weasley, contradicting a Professor. Another point deducted from Gryffindor." Snape announced coldly.

"Ding-a-ling—"

The dismissal bell rang.

"Class dismissed." Snape waved his hand dismissively, annoyed at having to look at them for another second.

Harry and Ron, as if granted a great pardon, grabbed their bags and were the first to rush out of the Dungeons.

Draco unhurriedly packed up his exquisite tools.

Hermione hesitated, picked up a clean rag, and proactively helped him wipe the moisture off the desk.

"Thank you, Draco." She lowered her head, her voice barely a whisper.

"I was merely stating a fact." Draco's tone was flat.

He put away the last tool and closed his Dragonhide Bag.

Just as he turned to leave, his hand hanging below the desk suddenly hooked her finger with his fingertips, giving it a light squeeze.

The warm touch, carrying a hint of electricity, flashed past.

Hermione trembled all over and quickly pulled her hand back. Her cheeks and the back of her ears instantly flushed crimson.

[System Prompt: Mission "Potion Class Partner" completed with excess performance.]

[Judgment: "Act of Grace" behavior is effective, target's psychological barrier is dissolved.]

[Reward Issued: Points +500, Term 'Potions TalentLV2'.]

[Target: Hermione Granger, Bond Level +20, Current Status: Infatuated (70/100).]

...Hermione walked out of the cold Dungeons, clutching a stack of thick books.

The warm touch that had brushed her palm under the table—her heart rate still hadn't stabilized.

She took a breath, trying to shake Draco Malfoy's slightly mischievous face out of her mind.

But the harder she tried to forget, the clearer it became.

Just as she reached the corner, two figures abruptly blocked her path.

Harry and Ron.

They were waiting specifically for her.

Harry's expression was complicated; he wanted to say something but didn't.

Ron Weasley, however, was furious, clearly intending to confront her.

"Hermione Granger!"

Ron's voice was loud and aggressive, his face flushed red and speckled.

"What in the blazes were you doing just now!" he demanded loudly, his spittle nearly landing on Hermione's books.

"Why would you partner with that Malfoy jerk? His dad is a Death Eater! He's just a Death Eater in training!"

Hermione was startled by his shouting and took a step back, nearly dropping the books she was holding.

She frowned and explained, "It was the group assignment, Ron."

"Besides, if it hadn't been for him just now, I might have been disfigured by Neville's Potion."

She thought stating the facts would calm Ron down.

She was wrong.

"Saved you?"

Ron laughed, the sound sharp and grating.

"I bet you enjoyed being'saved' by him! You looked pretty happy when he was holding you!"

The words were malicious and cruel.

"Ron!" Even Harry couldn't stand it and spoke up to stop him.

Ron was already overheated, attacking Hermione with reckless words.

"Have you forgotten whose friend you are?"

"You're actually defending that Slytherin jerk! You traitor!"

"Traitor!"

The two words were like poisoned blades, piercing Hermione's heart.

Her blood ran cold.

Her best friend used such a word to describe her.

Just because she was partnered with Draco Malfoy? Just because he saved her?

Enormous grievance and disappointment overwhelmed her.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

"I didn't..." Her voice was choked with tears and helplessness.

The sound of the argument attracted students passing by in the corridor.

They stopped and started pointing at them.

"Look, Potter and his two friends."

"Arguing again? That Weasley has a loud mouth."

"It seems to be about Malfoy from Slytherin..."

Hermione felt like a monkey being watched in a crowd.

Those stares and whispers made her feel shame and isolation.

She couldn't take it anymore.

She didn't want to argue anymore, and she didn't want to be watched.

Hermione pushed Ron, who was blocking her way, clutched her books, and ran away.

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Hermione!" Harry called from behind.

She couldn't hear anything, only wanting to escape this suffocating place.

Her vision blurred by tears, she ran blindly.

Around the corner, she slammed into a hard chest.

With a "bang," the books scattered across the floor.

"Watch out."

A familiar voice sounded above her head.

Hermione lifted her tear-stained face and saw Draco Malfoy.

He had appeared here without her knowing, one hand gripping her shoulder to steady her.

Pansy, Goyle, and Crabbe followed behind him.

Draco looked down at the girl sobbing uncontrollably in his arms, his grey-blue eyes showing understanding.

"What is it, Granger? Bullied by the Gryffindor Troll?" His tone held his usual mockery.

"Hermione!"

Ron's furious roar followed.

When he saw Hermione slam into Malfoy's arms again, his sanity completely burned away, and he charged forward like a bull.

"Malfoy! Let her go!"

Draco didn't even lift an eyelid.

He performed only one action.

With a forceful pull of his arm, he dragged Hermionedirectly behind him, completely shielding her from Ron's view with his body.

A stance of absolute protection.

Only then did he raise his eyes, staring coldly at Ron, who had rushed up to them.

The aura around him was one of innate arrogance and oppression.

"Weasley."

His voice was as hard and cold as the stones in the Dungeons.

"I thought your weasley family was merely poor, but I didn't realize you lacked the basic courtesy not to scream at girls."

"It seems The Burrow can't afford a House-elf, nor can it afford a tutor."

The words were precise, venomous, and cut deep.

The surrounding students burst into laughter.

Ron's face went from flushed red to liver-colored, and then from liver-colored to pale white.

He was suffocated by Draco's presence and the pointing fingers around him.

He opened his mouth like a fish out of water, unable to utter a single rebuttal.

Because what Draco said was the truth.

He had indeed screamed at Hermione just now.

Draco stopped looking at the useless boy.

He turned around, looking at the girl behind him who was still silently crying.

Without speaking, he reached out and grasped her wrist.

"Let's go."

Then, holding her hand, he walked toward the other end of the corridor under everyone's gaze.

Goyle and Crabbe acted like two guardian statues, automatically clearing a path for him.

Pansy shot a venomous glare at Hermione's retreating back and hurried to catch up.

Hermione stumbled along, being pulled by him.

Her mind was blank; she could only instinctively clutch the sleeve of Draco's expensive robe.

She didn't look back.

Not even once.

Chapter 13: Draco: Only I Understand Your Loneliness

Draco took her by the wrist, led her through several quiet corridors, and stopped under a seldom-visited Sunstone Archway.

The afternoon sun slanted in, casting the shadow of the window lattice on the floor.

He let go of her hand.

Hermione was still caught in the earlier embarrassment, her head bowed, shoulders shaking as she cried.

Draco didn't rush her.

He pulled a neatly folded handkerchief from an inner pocket of his robes.

It was white, with a silver-threaded, cursive 'M' embroidered in one corner.

The Malfoy Family crest.

He held the handkerchief out to Hermione.

"Dry your eyes," he said softly. "You won't look like the clever Miss Granger if you cry your face all blotchy."

Hermione hesitated, then took it.

The fabric was soft, carrying a clean, cool scent—better than any handkerchief she'd ever used.

She wiped her tears haphazardly, her suppressed sobs turning into intermittent sniffles.

"He... how could he say that about me..."

Hermione cried as she spoke, her words jumbled.

"I didn't... I didn't mean to betray anyone... He called me a traitor..."

"Ron... he's just being unreasonable..."

Draco stood beside her, listening quietly.

He didn't interrupt or comment, only when her crying subsided a little,

did he produce another tissue from his pocket and hand it over, with a patience unlike him.

When Hermione's emotions finally calmed somewhat, her sniffles turned into quiet sobs.

Only then did Draco speak.

"Granger, do you know what your biggest problem is?"

Hermione lifted her tear-reddened eyes, looking at him in confusion.

Draco's gaze was calm and deep.

"Your problem is that you're too outstanding."

Hermione froze.

"And being outstanding is, in itself, a sin."

Draco began his performance.

"You pursue knowledge, crave excellence. Your mind and vision have long left those around you far behind."

"You're an eagle meant to soar the skies, yet you keep looking back, trying to accommodate a flock of chickens that only know how to scratch the dirt."

His words were harsh, but they pierced Hermione's heart like needles.

"Why is Weasley angry? He's not angry that you're getting close to Slytherin; he's jealous."

Each of Draco's words precisely cut through the reality Hermione was unwilling to face.

"He's jealous of your intelligence, jealous that you and I can brew perfect Potions in Potion Class while he can only produce a cauldron of waste."

"He's jealous that you've received indirect recognition from Professor Snape, while he only gets points deducted and humiliation."

"This jealousy born of incompetence makes him unable to acknowledge the gap between you."

"So he can only slap the label of 'traitor' on you, trying in the stupidest way to drag you back into his mediocre mire."

Hermione's heart clenched painfully.

She knew every word Draco said was true.

She had painstakingly helped Ron and Harry with their studies, reminded them to hand in assignments.

But what about them? One was impatient, the other only thought about Quidditch and pranks.

In their eyes, her efforts were meddling,'showing off.'

"You consider them friends, but you're simply not from the same world."

Draco's voice held a touch of pity, then shifted to attack Gryffindor's values.

"Gryffindor's so-called 'bravery' is, frankly, just recklessness."

"They're used to solving problems with shouts and fists, not brains."

"While we Slytherins pursue power and revere the elite."

"We understand that only the strong can set the rules, and only excellence earns respect."

He paused, beginning to bridge the distance between himself and Hermione.

"You think you're the only one misunderstood?"

He tugged at the corner of his mouth, as if mocking himself.

"Just because my last name is Malfoy, everyone assumes I'm arrogant and malicious."

"None of them see how much I've sacrificed for my family's honor, the pressure and prejudice I carry."

"In this foolish place that only cares about house and bloodline, people like us are destined to be lonely."

"We..."

That word made Hermione's heart pound heavily.

She suddenly felt as if she had found the only person in the world who could understand her.

A kindred spirit.

This sudden sense of belonging shook her entire belief system intensely.

Had she... truly chosen the wrong house?

Her dislike for Ron Weasley peaked at that moment.

Draco accurately caught the change in her expression, knowing the timing was right.

He stepped forward, leaned down slightly, and reached out to gently brush aside the damp bangs stuck to her forehead.

His fingertips were cool, brushing against her warm skin, sending a slight shiver through her.

"So, Granger, stop shedding tears for people who aren't worth it."

His voice was low, carrying a mesmerizing charm.

"Remember, from today on, at Hogwarts, the House of Malfoy will have your back."

"No one can bully you without reason like Weasley did."

It was a promise.

A promise from the heir of Hogwarts' oldest pure-blood family.

Hermione was completely stunned.

She looked into Draco's eyes, so close, and saw a seriousness she had never seen before.

A great sense of security enveloped her, and her heart settled instantly.

All her grievances, anger, and loneliness seemed smoothed away by his words.

Her favorability toward him skyrocketed at that moment.

[System Notification: Target Hermione Granger, conquest progress has reached a critical node!]

[Bond Level +15, Current Status: Dependent (85/100)!]

[Target's psychological defenses have been largely breached. Unlocked subsequent key side quest: "A World for Two in the Library."]

The corner of Draco's mouth lifted in a satisfied curve.

He withdrew his hand, stepped back, and resumed that aristocratic sense of distance.

"Well, it's almost dinner time. Next time, you can come to the Library to review Potions with me."

"It's quiet there, no idiots shouting."

He extended an invitation.

"...Okay."

Hermione nodded almost instinctively.

Draco turned and left, leaving her only with his straight-backed figure.

Hermione stood where she was, watching him disappear down the corridor... toward the Hogwarts Great Hall.

The starry sky under the enchanted ceiling was as usual, but Hermione Granger felt that the light couldn't reach her heart.

As soon as she entered the Great Hall, her gaze fixed on the Gryffindor table.

Harry and Ron were there, at their usual spots.

Ron was animatedly telling Seamus Finnigan something.

Catching sight of Hermione out of the corner of his eye, he let out a loud, heavy snort.

He jerked his head sharply to the other side, deliberately raising his voice.

Harry looked awkward, glancing between Hermione and Ron, his lips moving as if he wanted to stand up.

Ron grabbed his arm, hissing something in a low voice.

Harry froze, only able to cast a distant look filled with guilt and helplessness.

Hermione's steps halted abruptly.

Draco's cool, assured voice from the afternoon echoed in her ears.

"Don't waste your emotions on people who aren't worth it."

She took a breath, turned, and walked straight to the farthest end of the long table.

It was a nearly neglected corner. She sat down alone.

At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was using silver cutlery to methodically slice the roast beef on his plate.

He watched Hermione sit down, the knife making a faint but clear sound against the porcelain.

Success.

The crack of division had appeared.

He picked up the silver goblet of pumpkin juice before him, raising it slightly.

From dozens of meters away, he toasted toward that lonely corner.

Hermione was poking at the mashed potatoes on her plate with a fork, unable to ignore that familiar gaze.

She looked up, meeting Draco's eyes directly.

He was right.

A warmth dispersed the coldness in Hermione's heart. She was no longer alone.

She gave an almost imperceptible nod in Draco's direction, a faint smile touching her lips.

This secret interaction was seen clearly by Pansy Parkinson.

"Draco," she said, almost pressing against his arm, her voice tinged with unmasked sourness. "Why are you being so nice to that Granger? You even argued with Weasley over her this afternoon."

Draco set down his goblet, leisurely wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"What does Potter care about most? Friendship. I want him to see how fragile his prized friendship is."

"Turning his 'miss know-it-all' into my Potions Assistant."

"Giving him a hard blow. Don't you think that's more fun than any prank?"

This explanation was filled with Slytherin logic, flawless.

The jealousy on Pansy's face instantly turned to admiration, her voice excited.

"That's so like you, Draco! That's a brilliant idea!"

Not far away, Daphne Greengrass held her goblet, her ice-blue eyes shimmering.

Just then, Neville Longbottom, his head still bandaged, carefully approached Hermione with his dinner plate.

"Hermione... I'm sorry, about this afternoon..." He hung his head guiltily.

"It's not your fault, Neville," Hermione gave him a gentle smile. "Is your injury feeling better?"

This scene sparked murmurs among the surrounding Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students.

"Has the Gryffindor golden trio really fallen apart?"

"That Weasley has a terrible temper. Hermione's always been so good to him."

"Exactly. If it weren't for Malfoy this afternoon, Hermionewould have been disfigured."

"He didn't even thank her, just fought with his friend. So classless."

The tide of public opinion was quietly shifting.

Draco listened to the murmurs, a cold smile curling his lips.

He turned his head and gave an order to Gregory Goyle, who was busy stuffing his face beside him.

"Go, find a few people. 'Casually' spread the word about Weasley being jealous of top students and unreasonably bullying his friend."

He paused, then added,

"Pay special attention to those do-gooders in Hufflepuff."

"Mmph," Goyle grunted through a mouthful of food, immediately getting up to obey.

[System Notification: Successfully guided public opinion, sowed discord among the main characters. Target Ron Weasley's reputation damaged.]

Draco wiped his mouth with the napkin again, this time with an obvious air of satisfaction.

Hermione took small bites of her pumpkin pie, her mind clearer than ever before.

She wanted to become stronger.

Not to prove anything to anyone.

But so that Ron Weasley's ridiculous slanders wouldn't even qualify as jokes in the face of absolute excellence.

She wanted Draco Malfoy to know that choosing her was the most correct investment he had ever made.

At that moment, the sound of flapping wings came from above the Great Hall.

Owls flew in carrying letters and packages.

A folded piece of parchment, an announcement, spiraled down and landed precisely on the polished surface of Draco's dinner plate.

Chapter 14: Flying Class Notice, Potter's Nightmare Arrives

Draco extended two fingers and elegantly plucked the parchment from the notice board.

He unfolded it and saw the clear, emerald green script.

Hogwarts First-Year Flying Class Schedule

Time: Thursday Afternoon

Location: Lawn outside the Castle

Participating Houses: Gryffindor and Slytherin

Gryffindor and Slytherin again.

Draco's lips curled up uncontrollably.

Flying Class.

This was truly... a pillow offered just as he was about to doze off.

In the original story, Harry Potter, savior, made a grand display in this very class.

He was exceptionally chosen as Seeker by Professor McGonagall, beginning his heroic journey.

And he himself was that foolish and arrogant stepping stone.

The news spread like wildfire through the Great Hall.

At the Gryffindor and Slytherin long tables, there was a buzzing explosion, and the air was filled with crackling sparks.

Students from both houses, from a distance, had already begun to exchange greetings to each other's families with their eyes.

"Excellent! Finally, we can fly!"

"We must show those insidious Slytherins what we're capable of!"

Draco heard the shouts from the Gryffindor side and sneered.

He deliberately raised his voice and boasted to Pansy and Blaise Zabini beside him.

"Flying Class? Too simple for me."

His tone was exaggerated, yet with a hint of laziness.

"Last summer, I was riding my nimbus 2001 over Wiltshire."

"And I even dodged a Muggle... what was it called, oh, a helicopter."

He said slowly, pretending to recall.

"That thing was noisy and clumsy, almost hit me. A lazy roll, easily dodged."

The surrounding Slytherins immediately offered appropriate exclamations of awe.

"Wow, Draco, you're amazing!"

"nimbus 2001! That's the latest model!"

At the Gryffindor long table, Ron's face was red with anger, and he yelled at Harry and Seamus.

"What's that! My brother Charlie even let me ride his Cleansweep Seven!"

He spluttered, "That broom was a bit old, but I almost hit a glider! Much cooler than his helicopter!"

Harry listened, only able to force out an awkward but polite smile.

He was full of anticipation for flying.

But the thought of taking a class with that Malfoy fellow made him nervous and wary.

Hermione sat in the corner of the long table, listening to the commotion, her face gradually turning pale.

She could recite all the theories in her books by heart.

But the thought of her feet leaving the ground, relying entirely on her body's instincts to maintain balance, made her palms sweat and her heart pound.

She was afraid she would be the only idiot who couldn't even summon a broom.

She was afraid of falling from the sky and breaking bones.

She was even more afraid of embarrassing herself in front of everyone, especially... Draco.

Hermione clutched the knife and fork in her hand, her knuckles white.

She couldn't help but let her gaze drift uncontrollably towards the Slytherin long table.

She just needed a little, even a glance of encouragement.

Draco, who was surrounded by others, suddenly turned his head amidst the laughter, his gaze precisely locking onto her.

He winked at her.

Then, his thin lips parted slightly.

"You have me."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and the temperature of her cheeks rose uncontrollably.

She frantically lowered her head, pretending to look at the pumpkin pasties on her plate, but those two words echoed repeatedly in her mind.

With him there, what... did she have to fear?

Neville, sitting next to Harry, truly couldn't eat anymore.

Flying Class was a public execution for him.

His grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, strictly forbade him from touching any flying tools.

Fearing he would follow in his parents' footsteps, he had never even touched a toy broom.

Draco took in everyone's expressions, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table.

System Prompt: Detected key plot point "First Flying Class".

Main Quest issued: Ruler of the Skies.

The system's voice disappeared, and the smile on Draco's lips deepened.

Dinner ended.

Draco didn't go to the Common Room, returning to his dormitory alone.

He opened his huge trunk and pulled out a thick, ancient book from the very bottom; its cover was made of rough, tough dragon hide.

Winkett's Compendium of Curious Quidditch Techniques.

A unique copy not found in the Hogwarts Library, a secret manual on ancient Quidditch flying techniques, Lucius Malfoy's private collection.

Draco held the book and walked to the window.

Moonlight poured down like mercury, spilling onto the Quidditch Pitch in the distance, outlining the three giant golden hoops.

He drew his hawthorn wand, twirling it deftly between his fingers, the tip glinting dangerously in the moonlight.

"Potter, your savior aura... it's time to expire."

...Wednesday afternoon, the sun was just right.

Only one day remained until that inevitably eventful Flying Class.

In the Hogwarts Library, Hermione Granger sat alone, tucked away in the deepest corner of the Quidditchhistory section.

A thick book titled "Quidditch Through the Ages" lay open before her, but her mind couldn't focus on a single word.

Her mind was filled with all sorts of terrible scenarios of her falling off the broom.

The more she thought, the more her palms sweated.

Just as she was about to be suffocated by her own fear, a figure silently appeared opposite her.

Draco Malfoy.

He hadn't brought his two cronies today; he was alone, holding two cups of Hot Cocoa, the sweet aroma wafting over.

"Granger, planning to fly with theoretical knowledge?"

He placed a cup of Hot Cocoa by Hermione's hand and naturally sat down opposite her.

Madam Pince, the librarian, glanced at them over her glasses, saying nothing.

Mr. Malfoy always "donated" a considerable amount of Galleons to the Library's acquisition fund whenever he visited.

"I..."

Hermione jumped, her cheeks flushed.

She picked up the warm cup, and the sweet scent of chocolate loosened her tense nerves a bit.

Looking at the calm and elegant boy opposite her, she finally couldn't help but confess in a mosquito-like voice:

"I'm afraid... I've never flown before, and I'm scared I'll fall and make a fool of myself."

She was prepared to be ridiculed.

After all, a Witch who couldn't fly was indeed quite embarrassing.

Draco didn't laugh.

In his grey-blue eyes, there was no trace of mockery, only calm.

"Fear is only because you don't understand it."

He took a sip of Hot Cocoa and began to explain in simple terms.

"The broom is an extension of your body; don't command it, feel it."

"Forget all that rubbish theory in books, remember three points: center of gravity, breathing, intention."

"Lean forward to accelerate, lean back to decelerate. Keep your breathing steady; if you get nervous, your body stiffens, and the broom goes with it."

"Most importantly, intention. You have to believe it will listen to you, just like you believe your hand can pick up a pen."

His explanation was simple, direct, and far more useful than the lengthy dissertations in books.

With that, Draco simply stood up and pulled an old dusting broom from a nearby shelf.

"See, don't use dead strength in your wrist."

He demonstrated how to hold the broom.

"You try." He motioned to Hermione.

Hermione hesitated for a moment, then stood up and held the broom as he had.

Her wrist was stiff.

"Relax."

Draco walked to her side, reached out, and held her wrist to adjust the angle.

His fingertips were cool; the moment they touched the skin on the inside of her wrist, Hermione felt a faint current run through her.

His hand didn't move away immediately.

Hermione's breath hitched.

The scent of his cologne was clearer now; he stood right behind and to her side, a very imposing position.

"Yes, just like that. Your wrist needs to be agile; use it to convey your thoughts."

Draco's voice was right by her ear, deep and magnetic.

Hermione didn't hear a single word of the teaching content he said afterward.

All her senses were filled with the warmth on her wrist and the voice in her ear.

Under his patient, hands-on correction, Hermione's anxious heart actually settled back into her chest.

The quiet of the Library amplified the indescribable ambiguity between the two.

Hermione secretly glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

Draco Malfoy, at this moment, made her heart race uncontrollably.

They didn't notice that through a gap in the bookshelves not far away, a pair of eyes stared fixedly at them, full of jealousy and fury.

Ron Weasley.

He had originally come to borrow a textbook from Harrybut stumbled upon this "intimate" scene.

Malfoy's hand was still on Hermione's wrist!

They were so close!

Ron trembled with anger, his fists clenched, wishing he could rush out right now.

But he didn't dare; Madam Pince would skin him alive.

Finally, he could only stomp his foot in frustration and turn to leave.

Draco had already glimpsed the red-haired boy out of the corner of his eye.

Not only did he not withdraw his hand, but he also leaned closer to Hermione, extending his other hand to turn a page of the book she wasn't even reading.

From Ron's perspective, this action looked exactly like Draco affectionately caressing Hermione's face.

Perfect visual misdirection.

Only after confirming Ron's back had completely disappeared did Draco withdraw his hand, ending the "lesson."

He looked at Hermione's eyes, which still held a hint of confusion and shyness, and gave her an extremely confident smile.

"Trust me, Granger."

"You are much stronger than you think you are."

"If you can handle the most complex spells, you can handle a broken stick."

"Tomorrow's Flying Class, trust yourself, trust what I taught you, and you will fly."

His words were like a powerful charm.

System Prompt: Deep contact and psychological conditioning completed with target Hermione Granger.

Bonding increased by 10, current status: Trust (95/100).

Reward: 200 points.

Draco glanced at the panel, now having a clear idea.

Just one final push.

Tomorrow's Flying Class would be the perfect stage.

Draco looked at Hermione beside him, a gentle smile returning to his lips.

"Tomorrow's class will be very interesting, Miss Granger."

Chapter 15: Damn Broken Wood! The Giant Baby KO'd by a Broomstick

Early Thursday morning, the light was just beginning to break.

In the Gryffindor Common Room, the first-years were discussing the upcoming Flying Class, the air thick with a mix of excitement and nerves.

"My brother said the first time you fly, you always end up landing on your butt."

"I'm afraid the broom won't listen to me..."

Hermione Granger was curled up alone in an old armchair by the window.

The Broom Care Guide was spread out before her, but her eyes weren't on the book.

Her mind was filled with images of the Library from last night.

Draco Malfoy.

The sensation of his cool fingertips gripping her wrist.

And that word he whispered in her ear: "Relax."

Hermione's face flushed, and she instinctively used the book to hide her face.

Her heart was pounding fiercely.

She reached her right hand into her pocket and gripped a cold, hard little object.

A Silver Button engraved with the Malfoy family crest.

Draco had pressed it into her palm last night.

"A Balance Charm," he had said nonchalantly at the time. "Holding it will help you sense the air currents better."

Hermione knew it was just a button from his robes.

But now, it was her anchor.

Holding it, that secret bit of favoritism felt as if it were right in the palm of her hand.

"Hey, Hermione!"

A boisterous voice interrupted her thoughts.

Ron Weasley rushed down from the boys' dormitory, his face wearing an expression of exaggerated excitement.

He immediately spotted Hermione in the corner and the book in her hand.

"Still reading?" Ron's tone was full of mockery.

"I'm telling you, bookworm, you can't learn to fly just by memorizing theory."

Hermione frowned and closed the book, not bothering to pay him any mind.

Ron, however, didn't take the hint and leaned in close, his spit nearly spraying onto her robes.

"I'm telling you, my brother Charlie was a legendary Gryffindor Seeker! I've been practicing on his Cleansweep Seven since I was a kid!"

He began to gesticulate wildly, mimicking the motions of riding a broomstick.

"Once, I almost crashed into a Muggle glider! Now that was a thrill!"

While bragging, he glanced sideways at Hermione, his words pointed.

"Some people probably won't even be able to make their broom hover, right?"

"I bet you'll be the first one to fall off your broom!"

In the past, Hermione would have turned red and used flying theory to refute him.

Today, she didn't.

She just listened quietly, her hand tightening around the button in her pocket.

She didn't even look at Ron.

Her gaze drifted past his shoulder toward the Hogwarts Panorama Tapestry on the wall.

She wondered what the Slytherin Dungeons looked like right now.

What was he... doing?

This disregard frustrated Ron more than any rebuttal could.

He felt like he had punched a cloud of cotton.

At this moment, the Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years were standing in two distinct rows.

Madam Hooch, a Witch with short gray hair and yellow eyes, stood before them.

She blew the silver whistle around her neck.

"Tweet—!"

The sharp whistle pierced the silence.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Madam Hooch's voice was crisp and businesslike. "Welcome to your first Flying Class."

"What are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Hurry up!"

The students moved immediately.

Twenty old brooms were lined up in two rows on the grass.

Madam Hooch's gaze swept over every nervous face.

"Stick your right hand out over your broom," she commanded, "and say, 'Up!'"

The first-years immediately reached out their hands toward the brooms at their feet, shouting the word in various tones.

"Up!"

"Come on, up!"

"Get up!"

The scene was momentarily chaotic, like a bunch of fools giving orders to sticks of wood.

Most brooms just quivered on the grass or rolled over reluctantly.

In the Slytherin line, Draco Malfoy's posture was distinct.

He stood lazily, his platinum-blond hair fluttering slightly in the wind.

While the students around him were shouting themselves hoarse, he was looking down at the tips of his spotless Dragon-hide shoes.

It wasn't until Madam Hooch's gaze swept over him that he slowly extended his right hand.

His wrist pressed down slightly, his long fingers held together.

He only moved his lips.

"Up."

The moment the word left his mouth.

"Whoosh!"

The old Cleansweep Seven seemed to come to life, leaping up from the grass.

It traced a perfect arc through the air, slapping into Draco's palm with precision and obedience.

"Wow!"

The Slytherin girls nearby erupted into uncontrollable squeals.

Pansy Parkinson's face was full of adoration, stars practically shining in her eyes.

"Draco, you're amazing!"

Draco paid no heed to these compliments.

He looked down, carelessly brushing the twigs at the end of the broom with his fingertips, treating it as if he had done something of no consequence.

On the other side, in the Gryffindor line.

Harry Potter also felt a strange connection.

He stared at the broom, with only one thought in his mind: Up.

"Up!"

His voice wasn't loud, but it was firm.

The broom rose at his command, landing steadily in his hand.

Success on the first try!

Harry felt a surge of joy and instinctively looked over at the Slytherin side, wanting to see Malfoy's reaction.

He was disappointed.

Draco Malfoy wasn't looking at him at all.

That platinum-haired fellow was looking down, boredly fiddling with his broom.

Harry's success wasn't worth a single bit of his attention.

This total disregard made Harry feel more stifled than any mockery would have.

"Get up! You damn piece of wood!"

A frustrated roar drew everyone's attention.

Ron Weasley.

His face had turned the color of a pig's liver as he shouted at the broom that hadn't budged an inch at his feet.

"UP—!"

He used all his strength to roar out the last syllable.

This time, the broom reacted.

It was no longer motionless; instead, like an incensed venomous snake, it snapped up from the ground.

But it didn't fly toward Ron's hand.

Instead, at a sharp angle, it slammed hard and accurately into the bridge of Ron's nose.

"Thwack!"

A dull thud.

"Ow!"

Ron let out a miserable cry, clutching his nose as he crouched down, tears streaming out.

"Hahahahaha!"

The whole field erupted in laughter; even some Gryffindors couldn't help but laugh out loud.

The Slytherins were laughing even harder, with Goyleand Crabbe laughing like a pair of crowing roosters.

Madam Hooch frowned but didn't stop them.

"Poor control, Mr. Weasley. The broom can sense your emotions; if you're angry at it, it will naturally be angry at you."

Ron clutched his bleeding nose, crouching on the ground, wishing he could find a hole to crawl into.

Amidst the noisy laughter, one person wasn't laughing.

Hermione Granger.

Her palms were covered in cold sweat.

She watched as others succeeded one by one; even Neville's broom had rolled on the ground a few times, looking like it might fly up at any moment.

Only hers seemed as if it were nailed to the grass.

"Up," she said softly.

The broom didn't react.

"Up!" she increased her volume.

The broom only shivered.

Gazes around her began to gather, intentionally or not.

She could feel Ron's schadenfreude-filled gaze pricking her back like a needle.

"See, I told you she couldn't do it."

Faint whispers crawled over her skin like ants. Shame and anxiety gripped her throat.

Why? Why wasn't it working? She had clearly memorized the theory perfectly!

Just as she was about to give up, Draco's voice flashed through her mind.

"Forget that bullshit theory in the books."

"Center of gravity, breathing, intent."

"You have to believe it will listen to you, just as you believe your hand can pick up a pen."

Hermione snapped her eyes shut.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to ignore everything around her.

She recalled the sensation of Draco holding her wrist in the Library last night, adjusting her posture.

"Don't use brute force with your wrist... relax... use it to convey your thoughts..."

Her gaze pierced through the crowd, looking straight at that platinum-blond figure.

Draco was leaning against his broom, watching her with leisure.

His eyes seemed to say: You can do it.

Hermione's heart settled.

She extended her hand again, her wrist relaxed, palm down.

In her mind, using all her intent, she issued that command.

—Up.

The next second.

"Whoosh!"

The broom that had been like dead wood suddenly leaped up from the grass.

It landed steadily in Hermione's palm.

The whispers around her stopped abruptly.

Everyone looked at her in surprise.

Ron clutched his nose, his eyes wide as saucers.

"How... how is that possible? She must have just been lucky!" he muttered, his voice full of jealousy.

Hermione ignored everyone.

She gripped the broom tightly, a sense of joy and accomplishment she had never felt before surging in her heart.

She had succeeded!

Not by the books, not by rote memorization.

It was because of him.

She looked up, looking at Draco again.

This time, her eyes held more than just gratitude.

Within them was a mixture of something she hadn't even noticed herself—something called admiration.

This wasn't luck.

This was the result of Draco Malfoy's "secret training."

His teaching was more effective than any spell.

Draco met her sparkling gaze, the corner of his lips curling into an almost imperceptible, slight arc.

Everything was under control.

Madam Hooch nodded with satisfaction.

"Very good, Miss Granger. It seems you've found the feeling."

She clapped her hands, drawing everyone's attention back.

"Alright, since most of you have your brooms, let's move on to the next step."

"Mount your brooms, hold on tight. When I blow the whistle, kick off hard from the ground and fly up."

"Keep your body straight, hover for a few feet, then lean forward and slowly return to the ground."

"Listen for my whistle—three, two..."

Madam Hooch's countdown hadn't finished.

An accident occurred.

Neville Longbottom in the line was deathly pale from extreme nervousness.

His movements as he mounted the broom were as stiff as a puppet's.

Upon hearing Madam Hooch say "kick off hard from the ground," his mind went blank, and his body reacted before the command was finished.

He didn't wait for the whistle at all; out of pure fear, his feet kicked off hard from the grass!

"Whoosh—!"

Neville's broom shot straight into the sky like a champagne cork being popped, taking him with it.

Chapter 16: The Remembrall Incident, I am not a bystander

"Ah—help!"

With a scream, Neville Longbottom's broom went out of control, shooting straight into the air like a sharp arrow.

"Come back! Mr. Longbottom!" Madam Hooch shouted anxiously from below.

But the broom carried him twenty feet high and suddenly jerked.

Neville couldn't hold on.

He slipped from the air and hit the grass with a heavy thud.

The students let out a collective gasp.

"No one move!"

Madam Hooch barked a warning and hurried to Neville's side to check on him.

"Broken wrist." Her expression was grim as she helped the sobbing Neville up. "I have to take him to the Hospital Wing."

Before leaving, her yellow eyes swept sternly over everyone.

"No one's feet are to leave the ground before I return."

"If I find anyone flying on a broom, I will immediately expel them from Hogwarts!"

Having said that, she hurried away with the limping Neville.

A dead silence fell over the lawn.

Everyone was frightened by the accident and the teacher's warning, staying obediently in place.

Just then, a reflection on the grass caught Draco's eye.

It was that glass ball.

The Remembrall that had fallen out of Neville's pocket.

The corner of Draco's lip curled up almost imperceptibly.

Here it comes.

Ignoring everyone, including Harry Potter who was glaring at him, he stepped forward.

He didn't bend over; instead, he gracefully knelt on one knee and pinched the glass ball from the grass with two fingers.

This movement carried an innate nobility that made the surrounding noise seem vulgar.

Draco stood up, nonchalantly twirling the Remembrall at his fingertips as if examining a worthless trinket.

He didn't look at anyone, speaking in a low voice that was not loud but clearly reached everyone's ears.

"The Longbottoms' things... the craftsmanship is decent."

He held it up to the sunlight to look at the swirling white mist inside.

"I remember that when the Remembrall turns red, it's to remind you that you've forgotten something."

He paused, his gaze falling on the sphere, a hint of pure curiosity in his tone.

"The whole thing is white... does that mean there's nothing in his head, so there's nothing to forget?"

There wasn't a single swear word in those remarks, yet they were more vicious than pointing at someone's nose and cursing.

A few irrepressible snickers broke out among the Slytherins, who then quickly covered their mouths, though their shoulders continued to shake.

"Malfoy!"

Harry's voice was low and heavy, filled with anger. His face was flushed red, and his fists were clenched tight at his sides.

"Give it back to Neville."

Draco finally deigned to move his gaze from the Remembrall, slowly turning toward Harry.

That look was like he was watching a barking pet.

"Potter, you always love giving orders." Draco's tone held a condescending playfulness.

"Who do you think you are?"

Harry took a step forward, nearly lunging.

"Want it?"

Draco shook the glass ball in his hand, light flashing across its surface.

He smiled; it was a faint smile, but extremely punchable.

"Sure."

"Come and get it yourself."

As soon as he finished speaking, Draco had already mounted his broom.

With a light kick off the grass, he rose straight up, hovering steadily ten feet off the ground.

A gust of wind blew, lifting the hem of his dark green house robes and casting a faint shadow over his arrogant face.

The students on the ground erupted in a flurry of exclamations.

Madam Hooch had barely left, and he dared to fly!

This was an open provocation! Did he want to be expelled?!

"Malfoy! You're crazy! Come down!"

Hermione's face turned pale; she looked up and shouted at the sky, her voice tinged with a sob.

Harry, on the other hand, was completely set off.

Malfoy had not only bullied Neville, but was now humiliating everyone in this way!

"Harry, don't! It's a trap! You'll get into big trouble!" Hermione turned and grabbed Harry's arm tightly.

But Harry's reason had been burned away by fury.

"Let go!"

He threw off Hermione's hand, grabbed his Nimbus 2000, and swung himself onto it.

"Whoosh!"

With almost no run-up, Harry shot straight toward Dracoin the air like a cannonball.

An aerial chase that shouldn't have happened was now boldly unfolding amidst everyone's screams and shouts.

Hermione stomped her feet in anxiety, her face as white as paper.

Ron, however, was flushed with excitement, waving his fists to cheer Harry on.

"Go on, Harry! Get him! Show him what Gryffindor is made of!"

The Slytherin onlookers let out gloating boos and whistles.

They pointed at the two in the sky, waiting to see saviormake a fool of himself.

In the air, Draco watched the aggressively charging Harrywith composure.

That angry face, full of self-righteousness, was so clear and so ridiculous in his eyes.

Draco watched Harry charging straight at him, the faint smile on his lips deepening.

Hooked.

What an easy-to-read savior.

Just as Harry was about to reach him, a prompt sounded in his mind.

[System Notification: Direct confrontation with core plot character Harry Potter detected.]

["Rivalry Confrontation" mode activated.]

[In this mode, successfully suppressing or defeating the opponent will grant extra generous rewards.]

The sky became a dueling ground for two First-yearstudents.

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter faced each other in the air, the atmosphere tense.

Draco's posture was completely mismatched with the ragged broom beneath him.

He was practically half-lying on the broom, one hand resting on the front, the other nonchalantly tossing the Remembrall.

Harry was much more tense.

He leaned forward, gripping the broom handle tightly, every muscle in his body taut.

His eyes were locked onto the glass ball in Draco's hand.

On the ground, all the students looked up, not even blinking.

This sudden aerial duel was more exciting than any class.

"My god, look at Malfoy..." Parvati Patil whispered to Lavender Brown beside her.

"The way he rides a broom is just too cool..."

"Yeah, it is." Lavender's cheeks flushed.

Even some of the Gryffindor girls looked at Dracodifferently.

Before, they thought he was arrogant and annoying, but now, that innate aristocratic air was magnified infinitely against the backdrop of the sky.

Powerful, elegant, and with a hint of dangerous nonchalance.

This feeling was a total knockout for girls in the first flush of youth.

"Ready, Potter?"

Draco's voice drifted down from the air, laced with obvious mockery.

He tossed the Remembrall high up; in the sunlight, the glass ball reflected a dazzling light.

As the sphere fell, he flipped his wrist and caught it deftly.

He looked at Harry and silently mouthed three words.

Come. Chase. Me.

The next second, Draco suddenly pushed down on his broom, his body and the broom almost parallel to the ground.

"Whoosh—!"

He turned into a silver-green bolt of lightning, charging straight toward the nearby Hogwarts Castle towers!

"Harry, be careful!" Hermione screamed from the ground.

Harry let out a roar and urged his broom to follow closely.

He did indeed have an amazing talent for flying; the old broom stayed right on Draco's tail.

A thrilling chase in the clouds officially began.

Draco was in front, Harry behind, as they zipped through the magnificent Castle complex.

Harry was intent on getting the Remembrall back, and his flight path was simple and crude—a straight line.

Draco, however, turned this chase into a brilliant personal flight show.

He didn't bother competing with Harry in straight-line speed at all, instead using the Castle's complex terrain to perform a series of high-difficulty maneuvers.

Tilting his broom, he narrowly brushed past the stone walls between two towers, the resulting vortex even blowing off a few pieces of moss.

Flying near the tip of the Astronomy Tower, he suddenly pulled back on the handle, and the broom completed a clean Barrel roll around the spire, drawing a round of screams from below.

He even dove toward the Greenhouse, making a right-angle turn almost touching the glass dome; the airflow from the end of his broom made the entire glass structure hum.

Exclamations rose and fell from the ground.

"He's crazy! He's going to crash!"

"So strong... is this really a First-year student?"

"Textbook-level flying!"

Blaise Zabini crossed his arms, watching Draco in the air with nothing but admiration in his eyes.

This was the true Slytherin style.

Even in battle, one must maintain elegance and absolute control.

Hermione's heart tightened.

Her inner self was in a fierce conflict.

Reason told her to cheer for Harry; Harry was her friend and represented justice.

But her eyes couldn't look away from that silver-green figure.

She would subconsciously worry about Draco getting hurt, worry about him missing a turn and crashing into a spire.

Even though she knew that, from the look of things, Harrywas the one being completely suppressed.

This contradiction made her feel a surge of panic.

Ron was jumping up and down on the ground in frustration; he didn't understand the technicalities of flying and only felt that Harry couldn't catch up.

"Hurry, Harry! Catch him! Don't let him get away!"

The chase in the air reached a fever pitch.

Draco led Harry halfway around the Castle, finally stopping outside Professor McGonagall's office window.

That tall arched window was wide open.

Draco came to a sudden halt, hovering in the air.

Harry also braked hard, stopping not far from him, staring at him warily.

Draco looked at Harry, a meaningful smile appearing on his face.

He raised the Remembrall, making a gesture as if he were going to throw it toward the distant Forbidden Forest.

Harry's pupils contracted.

He couldn't let him throw Neville's thing into the Forbidden Forest!

He instinctively focused all his attention on Draco's arm, which was about to throw, mistakenly assuming the other's next move was a high-altitude toss.

He prepared to sprint at full speed the moment Dracomade his move to intercept the Remembrall.

To do this, he left his entire back completely defenseless to Draco.

The curve of Draco's lips widened.

Hooked.

Chapter 17: The Lansky Feint, Adding Insult to Injury

Draco's arm, which had just made a throwing feint, suddenly pulled back.

The center of gravity of his entire body plummeted, the broom's head pointing straight at the ground!

"Whoosh—!"

Draco, along with his broom, fell straight down toward the Lawn below.

The speed was so fast that it left a silver-green afterimage in the air.

"Ah!"

The girls on the ground let out short screams; Parvati and Lavender instinctively covered their eyes, not daring to look.

At this height and speed, a fall would be fatal.

Harry hadn't expected Draco to do this at all.

His first reaction—Draco missed! The Remembrall was going to fall!

Only one thought was in his head: get ahead of him and grab the Remembrall!

Without thinking, Harry also lowered his broom and dove down at top speed.

Two figures, one after another, chased each other as they hurtled toward the earth.

The wind shrieked in his ears.

The ground zoomed in frantically in his vision.

Fifty feet.

Thirty feet.

Ten feet!

Just as they were less than two feet from the Lawn and a tragedy seemed imminent,

Draco moved.

His diving body leaned back in an unusual posture, and the front of the broom was pulled up forcefully.

Body and broom, just moments before hitting the ground, miraculously leveled out.

"Vroom—"

The tail of the broom grazed the tips of the grass, kicking up a long trail of flying grass clippings.

A perfect "Lansky Feint" was completed by an eleven-year-old freshman in front of everyone.

The entire field was dead silent.

Harry, who followed closely behind, wasn't so lucky.

He had high talent, but his reaction and control were far from Draco's level.

By the time he realized something was wrong and tried to pull up his broom, it was too late.

To avoid crashing head-on into the ground, Harry used all his strength to pull up desperately.

"Creeeak—"

The broom beneath him let out a piercing groan, nearly snapping.

The broom's tail plowed a deep furrow in the turf, and the massive momentum nearly threw him off.

Harry wobbled several times in the air before barely stabilizing; his face was pale, and his back was drenched in cold sweat.

Looking at Draco again, he was already hovering a meter off the ground, posing elegantly.

His robes didn't have a single wrinkle, and his platinum-blonde hair was perfectly in place.

That crystal-clear Remembrall was resting steadily in his palm.

The winner had been decided.

This couldn't even be called a match; it was a total mockery.

In the long Slytherin line, after a brief silence, a mountain-shaking cheer erupted.

"Draco! Draco! Draco!"

Goyle and Crabbe's faces were flushed red as they whistled loudly, as if they were the ones who had performed the miracle.

Pansy Parkinson was even more excited, her cheeks crimson, her eyes filled with fanaticism as she looked at Draco.

Draco was deaf to the cheers behind him.

He controlled his broom and slowly descended in front of the shaken Harry.

He looked down at Harry, whose body was still trembling slightly.

His eyes held a kind of pity that saw through everything.

Then, he performed a gesture that Harry would never forget.

Draco reached out and casually tossed the Remembrallinto Harry's arms.

The movement was as light as throwing away a piece of trash.

Harry caught it instinctively.

The Remembrall felt so hot in his hand that it stung his palm.

Draco's cool voice rang out.

"Potter, your flying talent is decent."

"Unfortunately, you only use brute force, like a headless fly."

"Remember, the sky is to be conquered with brains, not your Gryffindor-style recklessness."

He paused and made his final judgment in an extremely contemptuous tone.

"I never bully the weak."

"This thing is a reward for you."

After speaking, Draco didn't look at Harry again and turned his broom.

Amidst the cheers of Slytherin, he flew back to the line gracefully.

Harry Potter froze in place, clutching the Remembralltightly.

His face turned from red to white.

The cheers of Slytherin, the whispers of Gryffindor, and the admiring looks the girls gave Draco... everything turned into invisible slaps, hitting him in the face one by one.

He got Neville's thing back.

But he lost everything.

Just then, a stern voice cut through all the noise.

"What on earth is going on here?!"

Professor McGonagall stood at the edge of the crowd, her expression more severe than ever.

She had just finished watching everything from her office window.

The students automatically cleared a path.

Professor McGonagall strode forward, her stern gaze sweeping back and forth between Harry and Draco.

Harry's heart sank.

It's over.

Openly defying orders and chasing each other recklessly in the sky—he would be expelled.

He gripped his broom, his palms sweaty, unable to say a word.

How to explain? Say it was to help Neville get his Remembrall back?

But the ball was in his own arms, and Draco looked like an innocent victim to anyone watching.

Compared to Harry's tension, Draco was composed.

When Professor McGonagall's gaze swept over, he even gave her an impeccable, elegant bow.

"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall," his voice was calm and polite.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Professor McGonagall's voice was very tense.

"You'd better give me an explanation! Who allowed you to fly?!"

A perfectly timed look of confusion appeared on Draco's face.

"Professor, I'm very sorry if our behavior troubled you."

"I was just... helping a classmate."

"Helping a classmate?" Professor McGonagall's brow furrowed.

"Yes, Professor," Draco's tone was terrifyingly sincere.

"Student Potter is very passionate about flying; he wanted to practice catching balls at high altitudes."

"I saw Student Longbottom accidentally drop this Remembrall and thought it could serve as a perfect practice prop."

"So, I conducted a small instructional drill with him."

These words made Harry's blood boil, and his whole body began to shake.

"You're lying! It was clearly—"

But Draco turned to look at him first, a look of concern on his face.

"Student Potter, look, hasn't the ball returned to your hands perfectly intact?"

He pointed to the Remembrall in Harry's arms.

"Besides, after that practice, your control over diving and sudden stops has become much more proficient, hasn't it?"

Harry opened his mouth but couldn't utter a single word.

He couldn't defend himself.

Because what Draco said was actually all true.

The ball was back, and he had indeed been forced to complete an extreme dive.

He now looked like a fool who mistook someone's "good intentions" for malice.

The surrounding students began to whisper.

"So they were practicing..."

"I was wondering why Malfoy would steal something."

"So that high-difficulty move just now was Malfoy giving Potter a demonstration?"

"Heavens, that's too powerful!"

Public opinion had completely shifted toward Draco.

Professor McGonagall looked deeply at Draco; she didn't believe a word.

Would the heir of the Malfoy Family be so kind as to help a Potter?

But she couldn't find any reason to refute it.

More importantly... her mind was filled with the images from just now.

Harry Potter's talent, that innate flying instinct, was just like his father James.

And Draco Malfoy... that Lansky Feint!

That wasn't something an eleven-year-old child could do!

A once-in-a-century Quidditch genius!

Expel them?

No, that would be the greatest loss for Hogwarts, for Gryffindor, and for Slytherin.

The desire for talent eventually overwhelmed the impulse to maintain discipline.

She made a decision.

"Harry Potter!" she called out sharply.

Harry's body stiffened.

"Follow me!"

Professor McGonagall turned and walked toward the Castle.

In everyone's eyes, this was a signal that he was being taken away for individual punishment.

A flash of schadenfreude crossed Ron's face.

Although he was worried about Harry, he also felt Harrydeserved it for showing off.

Hermione looked at Harry's back with worry, her hands tightly clenched together.

Draco watched Harry's departing back, the corners of his lips curling up silently.

Everything was going according to plan.

The Quidditch career of savior had begun.

And the key to starting this career was handed over by Draco Malfoy himself.

Was there anything more interesting than this?

Soon, Madam Hooch returned with Neville, whose wound had been treated.

Seeing one person missing and Professor McGonagallgone, she asked in confusion what had happened.

Draco just shrugged, indicating he didn't know.

The other students talked all at once and couldn't give a clear explanation.

Madam Hooch had no choice but to announce the early end of the class.

"Class dismissed!"

The students dispersed as if they had been granted a grand pardon.

Pansy Parkinson was the first to rush up, holding a fragrant Silk Handkerchief, about to wipe Draco's face.

"Draco, you were amazing just now! You scared me to death, are you sweating?"

Draco sidestepped inconspicuously to avoid her.

"I'm fine."

He said flatly, but his gaze went over Pansy's shoulder, looking into the distance.

There, Hermione Granger was holding her broom alone, her figure looking somewhat disappointed and lonely.

Chapter 18: Ace Constitution, Pansy and Hermione's Shura Field

As Madam Hooch announced the end of class, a crisp electronic voice rang out in Draco's mind.

[Ding!]

[Main Quest: "Ruler of the Sky" completed.]

[Quest Evaluation: Perfect.]

[Judgment: Crushed the plot's core character, Harry Potter, with overwhelming technical superiority and successfully shifted public opinion.]

[Issuing rewards...]

[Obtained special constitution trait — 'Ace Seeker Constitution LV1'!]

[Obtained 1000 points!]

A warm current surged through his limbs, and Draco felt his body become light enough to float.

He clenched his fists, feeling this brand-new power.

"Draco! What was that move you just did? It was so cool! You were just like a diving falcon!"

Pansy Parkinson's voice was sharp and cloying as she hung herself directly onto Draco's arm.

Her well-developed chest pressed tightly against his arm through two layers of fabric, conveying a warm sensation.

[Bond energy slightly increased...]

Draco's gaze passed over Pansy's head and landed precisely on Hermione Granger, who was not far away.

She stood there alone, clutching her broomstick, looking a bit at a loss.

Pansy seemed to notice his gaze and deliberately puffed out her chest, casting a provocative look toward Gryffindor.

Hermione's shoulders slumped.

She wanted to go forward and say thank you; after all, he was the one who taught her how to make the broomstick take off.

She also wanted to ask him if that move just now was dangerous.

But seeing Pansy intimately linking arms with Draco, and seeing their bodies almost pressed together...

It was as if her feet had taken root; she couldn't move a single step.

Pure-blood, noble, childhood friends.

They were the ones who belonged to the same world.

What was she? A Muggle-born "miss know-it-all."

Hermione's heart felt as if it were being squeezed by an invisible hand, making her feel suffocated and anxious.

Draco caught the dimming expression on her face.

He didn't push Pansy away, letting her hang onto him.

A proper sense of distance is the best catalyst for sparking possessiveness.

In the gap when Pansy turned her head to show off, Draco's eyes met Hermione's again.

He winked his right eye at her very quickly.

A secret signal that belonged only to the two of them.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

She stood frozen, the sour emotion from a moment ago scattered to the winds by this sudden action.

He... knows I'm looking at him?

Heat surged into her cheeks with a "boom," making the tips of her ears burn.

Draco didn't look at her again, letting Pansy, like a gaudy butterfly, lead him toward the Castle surrounded by a crowd of Slytherins.

He was calculating in his mind how to turn tonight's "Midnight Duel" into a private "Night Adventure" for him and Hermione.

"Stop looking, he's not interested in you."

A sour voice spoke up beside Hermione.

Ron Weasley walked over with a disgruntled look, clutching his still-reddened nose.

He had long noticed Hermione staring at Malfoy, and that look made his heart feel heavy.

"He has Pansy Parkinson—pure-blood, a perfect match."

Ron's tone was sharp and malicious.

"You're just a Muggle-born, why are you getting involved?"

"He helped you today just to make a fool out of Harry, and you actually took it seriously?"

"What do you think you are?"

These words were like a poisonous thorn, stabbing deep into the most sensitive part of Hermione's heart.

Her face instantly turned pale.

Her lips trembled, but she couldn't say a single word.

Perhaps Ron was right.

Draco Malfoy, such a high-and-mighty pure-blood noble, how could he really... The throbbing brought by that wink just now quickly cooled down.

Her disgust for Ron reached its peak at this moment.

Hermione hugged her broomstick tightly and turned to leave, not wanting to say another word to him.

At the fork in the path leading to the different house Common Rooms, Hermione and Draco's group were about to part ways.

Draco suddenly pushed away Pansy, who was still clinging to him.

"I have something to do."

He walked in another direction, passing right by Hermione.

They brushed past each other.

His footsteps didn't pause, and he didn't even turn his head.

Only his lips moved almost imperceptibly, leaving a few words in her ear in a voice like a breath of air.

"Tonight, the usual place."

Hermione's feet suddenly froze in place.

Her whole body stiffened, and her mind went blank.

He was talking about... the appointment on that note! The Trophy Room!

So, the wink from before and the invitation now weren't just perfunctory!

It was a secret agreement belonging only to the two of them!

Ron's malicious words were shattered by this promise.

A massive wave of ecstasy exploded from her chest, sweeping through her entire body.

Hermione clenched her fists, her heart beating so fast it felt like it would jump out of her throat.

She didn't look back, but that platinum-blond silhouette was already firmly etched into her mind... In the Great Hall that evening, the atmosphere was completely ignited.

Harry Potter, a first-year student, had been exceptionally selected for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, becoming the youngest Seeker in a century.

As soon as the news came out, the Gryffindor table exploded.

Fred and George hoisted Harry up from either side, holding him high above their heads and shouting at the top of their lungs.

"We've got a Seeker!"

"We've got a Seeker!"

Ron was so excited his cheeks were flushed, and he gestured wildly as he bragged to everyone around him.

"You should have seen it! Harry flew amazingly! Professor McGonagall said she'd never seen such talent!"

He completely forgot who had been beaten to a pulp that afternoon, piling all the credit onto Harry.

Harry was surrounded by the crowd, a shy and stiff smile on his face.

He should have been happy.

But Draco Malfoy's airy "It's a gift to you" from the afternoon made this honor feel like a discarded handout from someone else.

Over at the Slytherin table, there was a chorus of suppressed boos.

"On what grounds?!"

"Just because he's Harry Potter?"

"First-years aren't allowed brooms! This is blatant favoritism!"

"Are the Professors blind? Draco clearly won this afternoon!"

Pansy Parkinson was so angry her face turned pale; she stabbed the steak on her plate viciously with her knife and fork, as if the meat were Harry.

Only Draco remained composed.

He slowly swirled the Pumpkin Juice in his goblet; the outside clamor had nothing to do with him.

He was waiting for the perfect moment.

When the Gryffindor cheers reached their peak, Draco set down his cup.

He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin and stood up.

All the Slytherin students looked at him in shock.

He picked up his goblet, crossed the aisle between the long tables, and walked straight toward that noisy patch of red.

What is he doing?

Settling scores with Potter?

The entire Great Hall fell into an eerie silence.

Everyone's eyes were fixed on that platinum-blond figure walking toward Gryffindor.

Draco ignored the Weasley twins standing in front of Harry, his gaze falling directly on Harry's face.

Just when everyone thought he was going to start mocking, the corner of Draco's mouth curled into a gentle arc.

He raised his goblet.

"Congratulations, Potter."

His voice was clear and bright, echoing through the silent Great Hall.

"Gryffindor's youngest Seeker in a century. Quite impressive."

Harry was stunned.

All of Gryffindor was stunned.

Malfoy is congratulating Harry?

The smile on Draco's face didn't fade, but the words he spoke held a chill that only Harry could understand.

"I hope that on the pitch, you'll have the same good luck you had today."

He paused, his voice dropping, carrying a hint of malicious gentleness.

"Don't go crying to your mother."

With that, he raised his glass to Harry from a distance and tilted his head back to finish the Pumpkin Juice.

Then, he turned and, under the dead-silent gaze of the entire hall, walked back to the Slytherin table with composed steps.

Chapter 19: Academic Discussion Turned into Midnight Adventure!

This move left everyone stunned.

A few seconds later, the atmosphere in the Great Hallunderwent a subtle shift.

"My god, Malfoy... such poise," a Ravenclaw girl whispered.

"Congratulating his opponent even after losing; I suppose that's what a true aristocrat is like?" her companion chimed in.

"Then look at the Gryffindors; they were all so aggressive just now, it makes them look really petty."

The composure of the strong, the posture of a victor.

With just one simple gesture, Draco had snatched away all the spotlight that should have belonged to Harry, casting himself as a magnanimous winner.

Harry stood there, feeling as if something was lodged in his throat, unable to swallow or spit it out, feeling incredibly uncomfortable.

At the Staff Table.

Snape watched it all with cold eyes.

He looked at his godson, whose behavior was impeccable, then glanced at Potter, who was surrounded by the crowd but looked utterly stifled.

A soft snort escaped his nose.

Ungrateful fool.

Looking at Draco again, even in the face of an unfair ruling, he still maintained the dignity expected of the Malfoy Family heir.

The look Snape gave Draco was one of unmasked favoritism and admiration.

Hermione sat in the corner, taking it all in.

Watching Draco's retreating back, her heart began to race.

She didn't believe Draco's congratulations were sincere.

He did it for the sake of Slytherin's reputation, to maintain the dignity of the strong.

This forbearance and strength filled her with a strange sense of heartache and an even stronger... fascination.

Her affection for Draco quietly climbed once more.

The banquet was drawing to a close.

Before Draco rose to leave, his gaze inadvertently swept over the corner of the Gryffindor long table.

His gaze met Hermione's in mid-air.

Hermione's heart suddenly tightened.

She saw Draco's gaze linger on her face for a second before slowly moving down to rest on her hand resting on the table.

Then, he raised his left hand and lightly tapped his index finger on the expensive emerald-encrusted watch on his wrist.

A silent gesture to confirm the time.

Hermione understood instantly.

He was reminding her of their appointment tonight.

Her cheeks suddenly flushed hot.

He really remembered.

Having made the gesture, Draco led the Slytherin crowd out of the Great Hall in a grand procession without looking back.

Hermione felt her heart thumping like a drum.

The rhythm seemed to resonate with another person's heartbeat... As the night deepened.

In the Slytherin Common Room, the green light of the fireplace danced upon the tapestries.

Draco sat by the window, staring into the bottomless waters of the Black Lake.

He was reviewing his plans.

The midnight duel.

Harry and Ron would go, and according to the original timeline, he would run to inform Filch.

As a result, those four would accidentally stumble into the Third-Floor Forbidden Corridor and encounter that Cerberus.

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched.

He wouldn't be an informant.

He would enter the game himself.

This so-called "duel" was, from the start, a hunting ground prepared for Hermione Granger.

Fear makes the heart race out of control; in such moments, people only rely on the strongest person.

Fluffy the Cerberus was a perfect prop.

And he would be the only hand reaching out to Hermionein the darkness.

A stream of cold data flashed through his mind.

[Target: Hermione Granger, Trust 95/100.]

[Event "Forbidden Zone Adventure" triggered. By showing a protective stance, there is a 90% probability that the bond level will break through the bottleneck, upgrading "Trust" to "Adoration".]

[Unlocked "Adoration," opening deep interaction permissions.]

Adoration.

Draco wanted Hermione Granger to belong to him completely, inside and out.

"Draco, what are you thinking about?"

Goyle and Crabbe approached, their mountain-like bulks nearly blocking the firelight, clutching half-finished Potion Class homework in their hands.

"The Transfiguration Class essay..."

"Get out."

Draco didn't even look up; his voice was very soft.

The two lackeys' necks suddenly retracted; they didn't dare make another sound and shuffled back to the corner.

Draco needed silence.

He raised his left hand, and the emerald watch-style Storage Bracelet flashed faintly as several items fell into his palm.

A small vial of deep purple potion for night vision, lasting half an hour.

A small bag of gray powder to mask scent, used for dealing with beasts with sensitive noses.

And a roll of extremely fine silver thread, Warning Spider Silk; if anyone touched it, he would know immediately.

Gadgets from the system; they were perfect for tonight.

Just as he finished putting the items away, there was a light knock on the dormitory door.

"Draco? Are you asleep?"

Pansy Parkinson's voice.

Draco frowned and rose to open the door.

Outside, Pansy was wearing a black silk nightgown.

The corridor wind was cold, making the thin fabric cling restlessly to her body.

She looked at Draco with bright eyes, leaning forward slightly as if trying to squeeze through the gap in the door.

"I'm a bit scared being alone and wanted to talk with you."

Draco reached out a hand and pressed it against the doorframe, blocking the entrance.

His movements were steady, without any extra implication.

"I have family affairs tonight and need to meditate."

This reason was one that children of pure-blood families could not refuse, let alone question.

The expectation on Pansy's face froze, and that bit of light quickly dimmed.

In their view, "family affairs" and "meditation" were sacred and not to be disturbed.

"Then... alright. Get some rest early."

She bit her lower lip and walked away, looking back with every few steps.

Draco closed the door, his gaze calm.

Pansy was a useful pawn, but not right now.

Any person who hindered his hunt for Hermione was a stumbling block.

The hour hand of the wall clock slowly slid toward eleven.

Curfew time had arrived.

Draco donned a large black cloak, pulling the hood low as he slipped out of the Slytherin Common Room... At the same time.

In the Gryffindor Tower, the girls' dormitory.

Hermione Granger had also changed into her outdoor clothes.

She held a piece of parchment in her hand, its corners repeatedly rubbed by her fingertips.

On it was Draco's incredibly beautiful cursive handwriting.

"Tonight at eleven-thirty, Trophy Room, for an academic discussion regarding those few spells. — D.M"