Chapter 131: Overnight in the Great Hall! Hermione, Come Into My Sleeping Bag to Keep Warm Tonight!
Seeing Harry's dejected look, the smile at the corner of Draco's mouth deepened.
He let go of Daphne, walked slowly to Harry, and leaned down.
"Potter, you're pathetic."
"Like a discarded dog, only able to watch others go out and have fun."
Harry's body began to tremble, and his fists were clenched tight.
"It seems your godfather, Sirius Black, doesn't care much about you either."
Draco's voice carried a malicious induction.
"He'd rather hide outside than risk signing a paper for you."
"Or..."
Draco paused, looking at the fire burning in Harry's eyes, and continued with satisfaction:
"...he's busy planning how to sneak into Hogwarts to fulfill his master's last wish."
"To... kill you?"
These words accurately crushed Harry's final line of psychological defense.
He remembered his mother's screams before her death on the train, and he remembered what Draco had told him about Black betraying his parents.
Loneliness, resentment, and the fear of death instantly swallowed him.
Harry shook with rage, his lips trembling, but he couldn't say a single word.
He could only watch as Draco straightened up, took Daphne's arm again, and walked out of the Castle gates surrounded by a crowd of Slytherins.
Harry stood alone in the empty Entrance Hall, feeling abandoned by the whole world.
He wandered aimlessly until he was discovered by Professor Lupin, who also hadn't gone to Hogsmeade, and was called to his office.
"Have a cup of tea, Harry," Lupin said gently. "Don't take Malfoy's words to heart."
Harry took the hot tea, but the temperature of the drink couldn't dispel the chill in his heart.
Meanwhile, on the streets of Hogsmeade, Draco was holding Daphne, proceeding with his next step.
The Three Broomsticks was overcrowded, and Draco had no interest in such a noisy environment.
He led Daphne across the main street to a small shop called Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.
The shop was decorated somewhat cloyingly; it was a place for couples to date.
Draco was clearly a regular, leading Daphne directly to a booth at the very back, separated by heavy curtains.
"It's quiet here," Draco said, pulling out a chair for her.
Two cups of spiced butterbeer were soon served, and the air was filled with the aroma of cream.
"Draco, why did you... say those things to Potter today?" Daphne sipped her beer, her ice-blue eyes filled with confusion.
In her view, given Draco's status, there was no need to bother with an orphan.
"Because I like seeing him suffer," Draco's answer was blunt and honest.
He reached out and held Daphne's slightly cool hand on the table.
"Besides, Daphne, you must understand that being kind to your enemies is being cruel to yourself."
"Harry Potter is not a mascot; he is the sword in Dumbledore's hand, a symbol of the old order. And I am going to establish a new order."
Daphne's body stiffened slightly.
Draco's hand was very warm, the heat traveling from his fingertips into her heart.
"New order?" she repeated softly.
"Exactly."
Draco leaned forward, his grey-blue eyes shining startlingly bright in the dim light.
"A new order for the wizarding world, dominated by us—the truly noble pure-blood families with vision."
"blood traitors like the Weasleys will be purged. The half-blood savior like Potter will also return to his original place."
"And the Greengrass Family," Draco's thumb rubbed against the smooth back of Daphne's hand.
"Will occupy a core position in my new order, second only to the Malfoys. Our marriage alliance will be the beginning of a great era."
Daphne was stunned by these words.
She had thought Draco's ambition was, at most, to surpass his father.
She never imagined that this thirteen-year-old boy was planning to subvert the entire wizarding world!
His natural nobility, mixed with unmasked ambition, formed an attraction that made her dizzy.
"I..." Her throat was dry, and she couldn't speak.
Draco looked at her flushing cheeks and her lips stained with creamy foam, knowing the time had come.
He stopped talking, stood up directly, leaned over, and gently tilted her chin up with his other hand.
Under Daphne's shocked yet expectant gaze, he kissed her forcefully.
Daphne's eyes widened instantly, and her mind went blank.
She could only feel the softness and warmth of his lips and the sweet fragrance of the butterbeer.
The kiss quickly turned from tentative to extremely aggressive.
Daphne's body went soft, all her reserve and pride shattered at this moment, and she could only respond to him clumsily.
After a long time, the two separated.
Daphne leaned in Draco's arms, panting heavily, her cheeks so red they looked ready to drip blood, her ice-blue eyes misty with moisture.
She knew she had been captured by this man... That evening, when Draco and Daphne returned to the Castle, they found the atmosphere was not right.
The entrance to the Gryffindor common room was crowded with people, and the students' faces were full of panic.
The portrait of the fat lady was gone, and the canvas had been slashed several times by something sharp.
"It's Sirius Black!" Filch came running, screaming. "He's broken into the Castle!"
The alarm sounded immediately.
Dumbledore soon appeared and ordered all students to spend the night in the Great Hall.
In the Great Hall, the floor was covered with hundreds of purple sleeping bags.
As a prefect, Draco unceremoniously marked out a comfortable area for himself, Pansy, and Daphne at the edge of the Slytherin section.
Then, his gaze shifted, and he saw Hermione laying out her sleeping bag with Harry and Ron.
He gave her a wink.
Hermione understood and found an excuse to lay her sleeping bag next to Draco's, with only a narrow gap between them.
Late at night, the candles were extinguished, and the Great Hall fell into darkness.
Draco could clearly hear Hermione's slightly hurried breathing beside him.
He smiled silently and quietly reached out across the gap, sliding his hand into Hermione's warm sleeping bag.
Hermione's body stiffened abruptly, and she let out a muffled gasp.
Draco's hand accurately grasped her soft little hand, and in the darkness, he tickled her palm with his fingers.
"Don't be afraid," he whispered in her ear. "I'm here."
Just as he was preparing to make his next move, the conversation between Snape and Dumbledore drifted over from not far away.
"...The entire Castle has been searched, and there is no sign of Black."
"I don't understand. Why would he break into Gryffindor Tower?"
"Principal, I think the answer is obvious. He is looking for Harry Potter."
In the darkness, a cold smile appeared on Draco's face.
He leaned closer to Hermione's ear and said in an even softer, yet crueler tone:
"Did you hear that, Hermione? Soon, Gryffindor will be playing against Hufflepuff."
"Tell me, in the middle of a storm, if our savior 'accidentally encounters' a Dementor again, what interesting things do you think will happen?"
Chapter 132: Harry's Broom is Shattered, He Can Only Ride the School's Junk From Now On!
On the day of the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditchmatch, the weather was not cooperating.
The sky was so gloomy it looked like it might collapse, with wild winds driving raindrops against the Castlewindows.
In the Slytherin changing room, the team members were listening to the sound of the wind and rain outside with schadenfreude.
"Boss, luckily you used the excuse of an arm injury to postpone the match," Montague the chaser said, "how can anyone fly in this hellish weather?"
Draco sat on a bench while Pansy massaged his shoulders.
His so-called "injury" had long since healed, but he was happy to use it as an excuse to avoid this farce.
No, he was going to the scene to witness Harry Potter's tragic moment with his own eyes.
At the Quidditch Pitch, in the Slytherin stands.
Draco sat leisurely under a large, charmed black umbrella.
Daphne and Pansy served him hot cocoa and snacks, as if they were having afternoon tea.
The match began.
Players from both teams struggled to maintain their balance in the storm, their red and yellow figures appearing as mere blurred patches of color against the grey sky.
Harry Potter squinted in the storm, rain sliding down his glasses, blurring his vision.
Draco took a sip of hot cocoa, a cold sneer playing on his lips.
He activated Spiritual Sight.
In his vision, the violent air currents above the pitch were clearly visible.
He also "saw" the uninvited guests hidden within the dark clouds.
Over a dozen Dementors, drawn by the intense emotions of thousands of spectators, had broken into the pitch.
"The show is about to begin," Draco said softly.
Sure enough, Harry spotted the Golden Snitch and urged his Nimbus 2000 upward.
Hufflepuff's Seeker, Cedric Diggory, followed close behind.
Just as Harry was about to touch the Snitch.
A group of Dementors dived down and pounced on him!
"No... don't kill him... kill me instead..."
His mother's dying screams exploded in his mind!
All of Harry's strength and happiness were drained away; his vision went black, and his hands limply released the broom.
He fell straight down from dozens of feet in the air like a stone!
"Harry!" terrified screams erupted from the Gryffindorstands.
Dumbledore acted just in time, catching Harry with a Slowing Charm.
But his beloved Nimbus 2000 spun out of control.
The broom was swept by the gale toward the notorious Whomping Willow at the edge of the pitch.
Draco watched this scene, his eyes flickering.
He calmly raised his hand, giving a nearly imperceptible flick of his finger.
A powerful crosswind appeared out of thin air, precisely nudging the Nimbus 2000!
Bang! Crack—!
Under the horrified gaze of the entire crowd, the Nimbus 2000 was whipped and torn apart by the branches of the furious Whomping Willow!
Finally, it turned into a pathetic pile of splinters scattered on the muddy ground.
The match was halted, and Gryffindor lost... In the Hospital Wing, Harry woke up from his coma.
Ron and Hermione stayed by his bedside, their faces full of worry.
"We lost," Ron said dejectedly.
"That's not important," Hermione consoled him, "what matters is that you're okay."
"Where's my Nimbus 2000?" Harry asked urgently.
Ron's expression looked worse than if he were crying as he pulled a pile of wooden splinters wrapped in a cloak from under the bed.
Looking at those broken twigs, Harry felt his heart break as well.
Just then, the ward door was pushed open.
Draco Malfoy walked in swaggeringly, followed by Goyleand Crabbe.
"Oh, I heard savior fell off his broom?"
Draco's face wore an exaggerated look of sympathy, but the mirth in his eyes couldn't be hidden.
He walked to the bedside and picked up the largest fragment, weighing it in his hand.
"Tsk, tsk, what a shame." He shook his head hypocritically. "Such a fine broom, turned into a pile of firewood."
"Malfoy! Get out!" Ron roared.
Draco ignored him and let go of his hand, letting the fragment drop to the floor with a "clack."
Then, he took something from Crabbe's hand.
A brand-new broomstick, entirely black with sleek lines, exuding a sense of power.
nimbus 2001!
Draco caressed the smooth broom handle with two fingers, his movements full of affection and ostentation.
He leaned down, looking at the despondent Harry and the pile of fragments on the floor, the smirk on his face deepening.
"What a pity, Potter."
"It seems you'll only be able to ride those 'shooting stars' from the storage room that can't even sweep a floor clean from now on."
"Or, maybe you could beg Weasley to lend you that 'Cleansweep' of his that's about to fall apart?"
These words stung both Harry and Ron at the same time.
Ron's face turned the color of a pig's liver with rage, and he was about to rush forward with his fists raised, but Hermione held him back firmly.
As for Harry, he stared blankly at the broken wood on the ground, then at the shiny nimbus 2001 in Draco's hand.
He couldn't say a word.
Draco admired Harry's bloodless face and then let go.
The fragment of the Nimbus 2000 that carried Harry's flying dreams fell to the floor with a "clack," the sound sharp and piercing.
"What a pity, Potter."
Draco's voice was thick with amusement as he turned around, the hem of his black dragonhide coat cutting an elegant arc in the air.
Crabbe and Goyle let out crude snickers, following behind him like two moving mountains.
"Malfoy!"
Ron's roar came from behind, filled with helpless fury.
Draco didn't even bother to look back, simply raising his hand dismissively as if shooing away a bothersome fly.
Madam Pomfrey happened to walk in at that moment carrying a potion, and seeing the wooden splinters on the floor and Harry's hollow eyes, she gave a heavy sigh.
"Oh, you poor child."
She shook her head and announced that Harry must stay in the hospital for observation overnight.
Harry said nothing, only staring fixedly toward the ward door, his green eyes burning with a malice and hatred he had never felt before.
Unfortunately, for the victor, this hatred was nothing more than a pleasant embellishment.
Draco walked back to the Slytherin Dungeon in high spirits, while Crabbe and Goyle were still excitedly discussing Harry's expression.
"Boss, did you see that? Potter's face looked like he'd swallowed a slug!"
"And Weasley, his face turned purple, just like an eggplant!"
Draco did not speak, simply enjoying the afterglow of victory.
As they passed a corner in the corridor decorated with tapestries, a thin, small figure hurried from the other end and almost bumped into him.
It was Ginny Weasley.
She had clearly heard the news and was rushing to the Hospital Wing.
When she looked up and saw Draco, and the brand-new nimbus 2001 in Goyle's hand behind him, her footsteps came to a sudden halt, her eyes instantly filling with fear and tension.
Draco stopped and looked down at this youngest daughter of the weasley family.
She was wearing faded old robes, her face dotted with a few freckles; because she had run too fast, her breathing was a bit hurried, and her chest was heaving slightly.
"The little Weasley girl."
Draco's voice was soft, yet it carried an irresistible pressure.
Ginny instinctively took half a step back, pressing herself tightly against the cold stone wall.
Draco's gaze moved slowly from her nervous face to the nimbus 2001 in Goyle's hand, then back to her, speaking unhurriedly.
"Even if your brother sold that junk car of yours, I'm afraid he couldn't afford a single twig of this broom, could he?"
Chapter 133: Poor Savior! Your Broom is Only Fit for Firewood!
Ginny's face turned pale instantly, her lips trembling, yet she couldn't utter a single word in rebuttal.
It was the truth—the poverty that the weasley familyleast wanted to be mentioned.
Draco admired her distress, taking a step forward until the shadow of his body completely enveloped her.
He lowered his voice, speaking the cruelest words in a tone that sounded like a lover's whisper.
"Speaking of which, I seem to remember you... really like writing in a diary, don't you?"
The word "diary" was like a key, instantly unlocking the darkest room in Ginny's mind.
Draco didn't even need to use magic intentionally; his mental strength, enhanced by Legilimency, easily captured the violent fluctuations of her emotions.
He could "see" those images.
A handsome black-haired youth smiling at her from within the ink.
A voice whispering in her ear, tempting her to open the Chamber of Secrets.
Cold Parseltongue, a giant Basilisk, and the image of Harry lying in a pool of blood... "No..."
Ginny let out a moan of pain, her body sliding down the wall until she sat on the floor, hands clutching her head, trembling uncontrollably.
"Don't say it... please..."
"Oh? Don't say which part?"
Draco squatted down, his grey-blue eyes devoid of pity, containing only pure amusement.
"Is it not to say that Tom Riddle is handsome, or not to say that he made you go and kill all the mudbloods in the school?"
"You... how could you..."
Ginny looked up in terror, staring at Draco's handsome face so close to her own, feeling as if she were looking at a devil.
"How could I know?"
Draco gave a light chuckle and reached out, gently tilting her chin up with his fingertip.
"Because I know everything, poor little Weasley."
He stood up, looking down at Ginny curled on the floor as if he were looking at an insect crushed underfoot.
"Go back and tell your savior brother that there are some people, and some things, he will never be able to compare to."
After saying that, he ignored the girl who was on the verge of a mental breakdown and walked away with Crabbe and Goyle.
Back in the Slytherin Common Room, the eerie green light from the bottom of the lake illuminated the excited faces of every pure-blood descendant.
Draco's return was met with a hero's welcome.
"Boss, great job!"
"I knew that Potter fellow would run into trouble sooner or later!"
Pansy was the first to greet him, affectionately taking his arm, her face showing undisguised admiration and infatuation.
Daphne also walked over with a smile, handing him a hot drink.
Draco stood in the center of the common room, looking around at the expectant faces, and raised his hand high.
"Quiet!"
The entire common room instantly fell silent.
"To celebrate Gryffindor's crushing defeat!"
Draco's voice echoed through the common room.
"And to celebrate our great savior finally contributing a pile of fine firewood to the Hogwarts fireplaces!"
"I announce that tonight, we are throwing a party!"
"Oooooh—!"
The Slytherin students erupted into deafening cheers.
The party atmosphere was quickly ignited.
Draco leaned against the fireplace, holding the latest issue of The Daily Prophet, reading aloud the report on the Quidditch match.
"...Under the intrusion of the Dementors, Mr. Harry Potterwas clearly unable to control his fear and fell from his broom..."
He read it with an exaggerated, sympathetic tone on purpose, drawing a burst of laughter from the surroundings.
"Listen to that, our savior, a coward consumed by fear!"
Draco put down the newspaper and scanned the crowd.
"Starting tomorrow, I hope everyone will give Mr. Potterenough 'concern' when you see him."
A malicious smile appeared on his face.
"For example, remind him not to faint from fright at his own shadow."
The Slytherins understood perfectly and let out even more unrestrained laughter.
Meanwhile, in the Hospital Wing.
Hermione was sitting by Harry's bed, trying to comfort him with rational analysis.
"Harry, the Dementors affect you more than others; it's recorded in books, possibly related to your past experiences. You don't need to blame yourself too much, we can find a way to solve it."
But Harry couldn't listen at all.
His head was full of Draco's hateful face and the pile of broom fragments on the ground.
"Stop talking."
He coldly interrupted Hermione, rolled over with his back to her, and buried himself in the blankets.
Hermione's outstretched hand froze in mid-air; she wanted to hold his hand, but he coldly avoided her.
A wave of grievance welled up in her heart.
Halfway through the party, Draco made an excuse and returned to his dormitory alone.
He took out the exquisite two-way mirror from his storage cabinet.
"Hermione Granger."
He whispered the name.
The surface of the mirror rippled like water, and soon Hermione's face appeared, looking tired and aggrieved, with the white walls of the Hospital Wing in the background.
"Draco?"
Seeing the person in the mirror, Hermione was somewhat surprised.
"It seems you are comforting your 'friend'."
Draco's tone was flat, yet it carried an unquestionable coldness.
"I..."
"I don't want to hear explanations," Draco interrupted her. "I need a detailed report on savior's current psychological state right now."
He looked at Hermione's hesitant expression in the mirror, the curve of his lips becoming dangerous.
"Immediately, right now, come to the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor."
"Don't forget, Miss Granger, comforting my enemy comes with a price."
"This is your punishment for tonight."
Hermione bit her lip in the mirror, her expression shifting repeatedly.
She looked back at the figure on the hospital bed with his back to her, the friend who had once fought alongside her.
Finally, she took a deep breath and made a choice.
"Ron, I... I'm going to the Library to check some references."
She told a lie to Ron, who was guarding nearby, picked up her bag, and hurriedly left the ward.
When Hermione pushed open that familiar door on the eighth floor with a nervous heart, she was stunned.
The expected study did not appear.
The room was empty, except for a luxurious black velvet sofa placed right in the center.
On the clothes rack next to the sofa hung an outfit.
A set of... Slytherin-colored Maid Outfit with lace trim.
Draco Malfoy was sitting languidly on the sofa, his long fingers playing with his hawthorn wand.
He looked up, his grey-blue eyes flashing with a playful and dangerous light in the dim illumination.
"You're late, my... little maid."
Chapter 134 Hermione's Choice! The Punishment of the Maid Outfit!
Hermione's heart skipped a beat.
She looked at that humiliating Maid Outfit, then at Dracoon the sofa with an inscrutable expression, and her cheeks instantly flushed crimson.
"Draco, what do you mean by this?"
Her voice carried a hint of a tremble.
"Report the situation."
Draco didn't answer her question, only tapped the armrest of the sofa lightly with his wand, his tone brook no argument.
Hermione took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down, and began to report on Harry's condition in the infirmary.
"...He's in very low spirits, refuses to talk to anyone, and has shut himself away. Ron yelled at me because... because of the Firebolt."
As she reached the end, a hint of grievance entered her voice.
"I saw you holding his hand."
Draco spoke suddenly, interrupting her statement.
Hermione's body stiffened.
"I just wanted to comfort him, that was between friends..."
"Friends?"
Draco let out a sneer, stood up, and walked slowly toward Hermione.
As he approached, an invisible pressure enveloped her.
Bang!
The door behind her was slammed shut by an invisible current of air, making a loud noise that caused Hermione's shoulders to shrink back violently.
Draco activated his [Child of Wind] talent, turning this room into an isolated Chamber of Secrets.
"Granger, don't you understand yet?"
He walked up to Hermione, his height—a head taller than her—bringing a strong sense of oppression.
"Harry Potter's weakness is the root of his failure. Dementors are just a trigger; they only attack those whose hearts are filled with fear and pain."
"And you," Draco reached out, his fingertips lightly brushing Hermione's cheek, "your comfort, your sympathy, is like watering a dying plant with poison."
"You will only make him more dependent on others' pity, weaker, and more vulnerable!"
Hermione was stunned by this twisted logic.
She wanted to retort, but found herself unable to speak.
Harry indeed appeared very weak, and her comfort... seemed to have truly had no effect.
"No... it's not like that..." she defended in vain.
"Is it?" A cruel arc curved at the corner of Draco's mouth. "Then why did he lose the match? Why can't he even protect his own happiness?"
"Why would he rather believe a stupid redhead than your rational judgment?"
"Because in his heart, your reason, your talent, are worth absolutely nothing!"
"Your existence is only to serve as a foil for him, savior!"
Every word was like a sharp knife, precisely stabbing Hermione where it hurt most.
She had always taken pride in her intelligence, yet she repeatedly hit a wall with Harry and Ron.
Her rationality was always belittled and ignored in the face of their so-called "friendship."
"Now, do you still want to go comfort him?"
Draco's voice was seductive.
"Or rather, are you willing to use a more effective way to 'help' him?"
Hermione looked up in confusion, her amber eyes shimmering with tears.
"What... way?"
Draco smiled.
He didn't answer, but instead waved his wand.
A silent spell flashed, and Hermione felt her hands bound behind her back by an invisible force.
"Draco, what are you doing!" she struggled in panic.
"This is the first step of punishment."
With a light flick of his wand, the Maid Outfit hanging on the rack flew over automatically, floating in front of Hermione.
"Put it on."
His command was concise and cold.
"No! I absolutely won't!" Hermione's face turned bright red, her sense of shame making her resist violently.
"Is that so?" Draco's eyes became dangerous. "For every second you resist, I will think of a new way to 'greet' our poor savior."
"For instance, letting the whole school know he was so scared by the Dementors that he wet his pants?"
"Or, at breakfast tomorrow, adding a bit of Baruffio's Brain Elixir to his Pumpkin Juice? Making him perform a striptease in public?"
"You!" Hermione trembled with rage; she knew Draco was absolutely capable of doing what he said.
"Choose, Granger."
Draco's voice was full of malicious delight.
"Will you endure a small humiliation here alone, or let your 'friend', in front of all the teachers and students, suffer even greater embarrassment?"
Hermione's struggling gradually stopped.
She looked into Draco's emotionless eyes, a deep sense of powerlessness welling up in her heart.
In the midst of shame and a twisted sense of obedience toward Draco born of fear, she finally chose to compromise.
When Hermione changed into the well-tailored Maid Outfit bearing the silver and green Slytherin crest, she felt as if her soul had been hollowed out.
Under the short skirt, her long, straight legs were exposed to the air, making her feel restless.
Draco leaned back on the sofa with satisfaction, admiring his masterpiece.
The usually proud and confident miss know-it-all was now lowering her head, her hands nervously pinching the edges of her apron like a startled fawn.
"Come here." he commanded.
Hermione shuffled over reluctantly.
"Pour the tea."
A tea set had appeared on the table at some point.
Blushing, Hermione clumsily picked up the teapot and poured a cup of black tea for him. Because of her nervousness, her hand trembled slightly, and some tea splashed out.
"So clumsy." Draco commented unceremoniously. "It seems you need more practice."
He picked up the teacup, took a sip, and then set it down.
"Come here, massage my shoulders."
Hermione's body froze.
"What, unwilling?" Draco's voice turned cold.
Hermione gritted her teeth, walked behind him, placed her hands on his broad shoulders, and began to knead them awkwardly.
His shoulders were very firm; even through the expensive fabric, she could feel the power contained beneath.
"Gryffindor's recklessness only brings failure."
Draco closed his eyes, enjoying her service, while his mouth conducted a new round of brainwashing.
"But we Slytherins know how to assess the situation and use the rules, so we are always the victors."
"Just like today, Harry lost his most precious broom, and I, without doing anything, have driven him into a corner."
His hand covered Hermione's hand on his shoulder.
Hermione's hands were very small and soft.
His palms were large and warm, easily enveloping her small hand completely.
"You see, power and wisdom, if used in the wrong place, become stupidity."
Draco's fingers lightly stroked the back of her hand, bringing waves of strange tremors.
"And you, Hermione, you possess the smartest mind in Hogwarts, yet you waste it on two idiots."
"Don't you think it's a pity?"
Hermione's breathing became rapid.
Draco's logic was like an exquisite trap, making her fall into it step by step.
His words, his touch, were all dismantling her psychological defenses.
She had to admit that Harry and Ron indeed lacked the ability to face adversity, while Draco... the strength, calmness, and control he displayed were giving her a morbid sense of security that made her want to depend on him.
"I..."
She wanted to say something but found her throat dry.
Draco turned around, took her hand, and pulled her into his embrace.
Hermione let out a cry of surprise and fell onto his lap.
"Look at me."
He commanded.
Hermione was forced to look up, meeting his grey-blue eyes.
"Admit it, Harry Potter has disappointed you."
Hermione's lips trembled, and finally, under the pressure of Draco's all-seeing gaze, she nodded with difficulty.
The moment she nodded, a system notification sounded in Draco's mind.
[Ding! Detected that core female protagonist Hermione Granger has developed deep disappointment toward her rival Harry Potter; her Protagonist Luck is shifting!]
[Congratulations to the Host for successfully plundering a portion of luck and obtaining a new skill: Elementary Emotion Control!]
[Elementary Emotion Control: You can more keenly perceive the emotional fluctuations of others and, through language and behavior, amplify or induce them to a limited extent.]
A wonderful feeling welled up in his heart.
Draco could clearly "feel" that Hermione's emotions in his arms were like a tangled ball of string, filled with shame, confusion, grievance, and a tiny bit of... dependence on him, the perpetrator.
The smile at the corner of his mouth deepened.
This new skill was practically tailor-made for him.
He lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss onto Hermione's smooth forehead.
"That's a smart girl."
This kiss caused Hermione's body to go completely limp.
She leaned in Draco's arms, giving up all resistance.
A long time later, Hermione adjusted her disheveled Maid Outfit, preparing to leave.
Her cheeks were still flushed, but her eyes held a hint more determination than when she arrived.
"Wait."
Draco called out to her.
He walked up to her and straightened her somewhat messy collar.
"After you go back, do one thing for me."
His voice was very soft, carrying an irresistible magic.
"Starting tomorrow, in Defense Against the Dark Artsclass, record all of Professor Lupin's 'abnormal' behavior in detail."
"Abnormal behavior?" Hermione was puzzled.
"Yes." A cruel smile flashed in Draco's eyes. "For example, when his face turns pale, when he takes leave for no apparent reason, or when he looks particularly weak."
He leaned close to Hermione's ear and whispered:
"Our Professor Lupin is not just a pauper in tattered robes."
"He hides a very, very dangerous secret."
"And you, my clever Miss Granger, will be the first to uncover this secret."
Chapter 135: Lupin's Secret! Feeling Unwell for a Few Days Every Month?
Harry Potter was discharged from the hospital wing.
But he would have preferred to still be lying in his hospital bed.
Because reality was more torturous than physical pain.
As soon as he returned to the Common Room, he felt that omnipresent low pressure.
And when he stepped out of Gryffindor Tower, all of Hogwarts became a stage filled with malice.
Whenever he passed through the corridors, there would always be Slytherin students screaming exaggeratedly in front of him, before their legs went weak and they feigned fainting on the floor.
Immediately after, unrestrained laughter would erupt all around.
'Oh, look, it's a Dementor!'
'No, it's Potter, who's even more terrifying than a Dementor!'
'Stay away from him, I feel like my happiness is being sucked away!'
Harry's face turned ashen, his hands clenched tightly under his robes, his nails digging deep into his palms.
He wanted to rush forward and hex them, but he couldn't.
Because Draco Malfoy would always appear at just the right moment, flanked by Pansy and Daphne, using that elegant yet punchable posture to restrain his subordinates.
'Alright, everyone, stop making fun of our poor savior,' Malfoy would say, though his face bore an undisguised smirk.
Malfoy would say this, but his face was hung with an undisguised smile.
'He's just... a bit more sentimental than most.'
This hypocritical defense made Harry feel more humiliated than direct mockery.
He felt like a clown stripped naked, performing in front of the entire school's teachers and students.
And the mastermind behind all this was enjoying everyone's adulation.
What hurt him the most was Hermione.
She no longer sat with him and Ron.
She was always clutching her books, keeping to herself, or staying with the Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater.
Sometimes, Harry would see her and Malfoy standing together in the corridor, talking.
Malfoy would help her pick up a book she'd dropped or use a handkerchief to wipe a smudge of ink from her face.
That natural intimacy made Harry's heart ache as if it were being gnawed on by something.
This torment reached its peak during the Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
Today, Professor Lupin looked to be in terrible condition.
His face was paler than parchment, his eyes were deeply sunken, and his robes hung loosely on him, as if a gust of wind could knock him over at any moment.
His voice during the lecture was also weak and listless.
Sitting below, Harry's heart was filled with worry and guilt; he felt Professor Lupin had become this exhausted because he was teaching him the Patronus Charm.
However, some people didn't think so.
'Professor.'
A clear and elegant voice came from the back of the classroom.
Draco Malfoy raised his hand.
Lupin tiredly lifted his eyelids. 'Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?'
'Of course, Professor.'
Draco stood up, everyone's eyes fixed on him.
'I've been reading a book about dangerous magical creatures recently, and it mentioned werewolves. I'm a bit confused and would like to ask you about it.'
The moment the word 'Werewolf' was uttered, Lupin's body visibly stiffened.
'Please, go ahead,' his voice was somewhat hoarse.
'The book says that the key difference between a Werewolf and a true wolf lies in certain morphological characteristics.'
Draco spoke at a moderate pace, as if conducting an academic discussion.
'I was wondering, can these differences be seen even when it hasn't transformed?'
He paused, his gaze shooting straight at Lupin on the podium, a faint, almost imperceptible smile on his lips.
'Also, the book emphasizes that werewolves completely lose their sanity during a full moon, becoming extremely dangerous and uncontrollable. Is this true, Professor?'
The classroom fell into a dead silence.
Everyone sensed that something was wrong with the atmosphere.
Draco's questions were less of an inquiry and more of an accusation.
Professor Lupin's face had turned as bad as it could possibly be.
His knuckles turned white as he gripped his wand, his lips trembling for a few moments before he could barely force out a sound.
'Ye... yes, Mr. Malfoy. What you said... is basically correct.'
In his eyes, there was a mixture of terror and despair that Harry had never seen before.
Sitting in the front row, Hermione's quill stopped moving.
She looked up, seeing the deathly pale Lupin, then glanced back at the composed Draco in the rear.
What Draco had whispered in her ear before echoed clearly.
——'Our Professor Lupin is hiding a very, very dangerous secret.'
She suddenly lowered her head and flipped through her notebook.
Recorded there: September, Professor Lupin took one day of sick leave. October, one day of sick leave. This month... is today.
Every time, his complexion was as poor as it was now.
A terrifying thought gradually took shape in Hermione's mind.
Just then, the classroom door was thrown open.
Severus Snape glided in like a giant black bat.
'It seems our Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor is "unwell" again.'
Snape said in his characteristic, drawn-out drawl, making no effort to hide the sarcasm in his tone.
'Dumbledore has asked me to take over this class. Professor Lupin, you may return to your office to rest.'
Lupin, looking as if he'd been granted a reprieve, almost fled the classroom.
Snape stood on the podium, his cold gaze sweeping across the room.
'Turn your books to page 394.'
The students scrambled to flip through their books.
'Professor,' Hermione raised her hand, 'we haven't reached that part yet, we're currently learning...'
'Shut up, Miss Granger,' Snape interrupted coldly. 'Do you really think Professor Lupin's teaching progress is worth referencing?'
He turned to the blackboard and tapped it with his wand.
'Today, we will learn how to identify and deal with werewolves.'
The Gryffindor students let out a chorus of muffled gasps.
Snape ignored them completely and began a lengthy discourse on the characteristics of werewolves and various ways to kill them, his words filled with loathing.
Throughout the lecture, he didn't forget to seize every opportunity to trouble Harry.
'Potter! If a Werewolf pounced on you, what would you do? Fall from the sky in a fright, like last time?'
'Ten points from Gryffindor! Because Mr. Potter's stupid expression is exactly like that of his arrogant and ignorant father!'
Harry was berated mercilessly but couldn't say a single word.
By the end of the lesson, Gryffindor had lost a total of fifty points.
The bell rang, and the students rushed out of the classroom as if a weight had been lifted.
Draco, however, intentionally stayed behind.
He walked up to Snape, who was preparing to leave.
'Professor.'
Snape stopped, his hollow black eyes staring intently at Draco.
'Is there something?'
'Just a small addition to what you were just discussing.'
Draco smiled, his voice kept very low.
'I recently saw some ideas for improving the "Wolfsbane Potion" in the Malfoy Family's book collection.'
Snape's pupils constricted sharply.
The Wolfsbane Potion was an extremely complex and precious Potion that allowed werewolves to maintain their human reason after transforming. In the entire wizarding world, only a handful of people could brew it, and Snape was one of them.
'Some ancient texts mention that if Moonstone powder and crushed Silverweed are added during the brewing process, it might... significantly reduce the consumer's pain without affecting the Potion's efficacy.'
Draco's voice was full of temptation.
Snape fell silent.
He knew how high Draco's Potion talent was; this thirteen-year-old boy's understanding of Potions had even surpassed that of many adult Wizards.
The idea he proposed sounded absurd, yet it vaguely conformed to certain profound principles of Potion-making.
'What are you trying to say, Malfoy?' Snape's voice was hoarse.
'I don't mean anything, Professor.' The smile on Draco's face was impeccable. 'I just think that since we're "helping" certain people in difficulty, we might as well help them thoroughly.'
'After all, watching others suffer isn't exactly a pleasant thing, is it?'
Snape stared at him for a full thirty seconds, as if trying to find some flaw in his expression.
But Draco's expression was perfectly composed.
'Come to my office tonight.'
In the end, Snape coldly dropped those words and turned to leave.
That night, in Snape's dark office.
Draco stood before a cauldron, skillfully handling various Potion materials.
His movements were fluid and precise, like a machine.
Snape stood to the side, watching Draco's operation; his gaze shifted from initial scrutiny to ill-concealed astonishment.
The improvement method Draco proposed was actually feasible!
His adjustments to the Potion ratios and control over the heat were both masterful.
Snape even felt that he saw another Lily Evans in this boy... no, it was a talent more terrifying than Lily's.
'Last step, we need to add Dittany soaked in syrup. Professor, could I trouble you to fetch it from the storeroom? I remember your Dittany is of the best vintage,' Draco said without looking up.
Snape hesitated, but his desire for the perfect Potionultimately made him nod and turn toward the storeroom deep inside the office.
Now!
The moment Snape turned, Draco's finger twitched imperceptibly.
A small pinch of pale purple powder, finer than dust, slipped silently from his fingertip and mixed into the cauldron of blue smoke-emitting Potion.
It was the root powder of 'Manic Violet'.
An extremely rare herb, non-toxic itself, but when mixed with Wolfsbane Potion, it produced a curious effect.
It would blend perfectly into the Potion and couldn't be detected by any conventional means.
It wouldn't affect the Potion's core function of suppressing the wolfish nature.
But it would act like a catalyst, transforming the suppressed bestiality into a more hidden emotional instability.
It would make the consumer—at specific moments, such as smelling blood or receiving strong stimulation—become more irritable, impulsive, and even... more aggressive.
When Snape returned with the Dittany, Draco had already finished all the steps.
The Potion in the cauldron was a clearer blue than ever before.
Snape looked at this perfect Potion, then at the boy with the humble smile before him, and for the first time, a chill rose in his heart.
He didn't know that from this moment on, Lupin's transformation'switch' was quietly held in the hands of this thirteen-year-old Slytherin.
Chapter 136: Expecto Patronum? I Don't Need to Learn Such Low-Level magic!
The days of being mocked by the whole school made every day feel like a year for Harry Potter.
He desperately needed a way to prove himself and wash away the shame.
The Patronus Charm became his only lifeline.
He found Professor Lupin, who seemed to have recovered slightly, and pleaded with him to teach him the spell.
"As long as I can summon a Patronus, I'll never be afraid of Dementors again!" Harry said urgently.
Looking into those eyes filled with hope, Lupin eventually softened.
He promised Harry that on Thursday night, he would give him private lessons.
The location for the lessons was chosen to be an abandoned History of Magic classroom.
Draco found out about this news almost immediately.
He didn't need to eavesdrop.
The portraits in the Castle had long since become his loyal eyes and ears.
And Hermione, during an "academic exchange," had inadvertently revealed Harry's "secret training" to him.
"He seems to be looking forward to it, Draco," Hermionesaid at the time, her voice carrying a hint of imperceptible worry. "I'm afraid he... will be disappointed again."
"Oh, he will be," Draco replied with a smile, stroking her hair. "And I will go to witness it myself."
Thursday night, in the abandoned History of Magic classroom.
Professor Lupin released a Boggart from a chest.
"Are you ready, Harry? Concentrate, think of your happiest memory!"
Harry gripped his wand nervously, his mind racing.
A happy memory?
The first time he got a broomstick? The first time he won a Quidditch match?
No, those joys were all overshadowed now.
The Boggart rolled on the floor, sensing the fear in Harry's heart, and quickly transformed into a cloaked, rattling Dementor.
An icy chill instantly enveloped the entire classroom.
Harry felt his strength being drained away, and his mother's screams before her death rang in his ears again.
"Expecto Patronum!"
He shouted with all his might.
From the tip of his wand, only a wisp of silver light, thinner than smoke, sputtered out.
That wisp of light couldn't even hold out for a second before the Dementor before it dissipated.
Harry's vision went dark, his legs gave way, and he fell backward.
Lupin caught him in time and stuffed a piece of chocolate into his mouth.
"It's alright, Harry. It's normal to fail the first time," Lupincomforted him.
Harry sat on the floor, gasping for breath, his face etched with frustration.
Just then.
"Clap, clap, clap."
A series of clear claps came from the shadows in the corner of the classroom.
Harry and Lupin whipped their heads around.
Draco Malfoy stepped out gracefully from behind a row of worn-out desks.
He wore impeccable black robes, and his face bore that mocking smile that Harry hated most.
"What a... disastrous performance, Potter."
Draco folded his arms, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in feigned wonder.
"I thought savior would bring us some surprise. As it turns out, you can't even produce a decent wisp of smoke."
"Malfoy! What are you doing here!"
Lupin stood up immediately, warily shielding Harrybehind him, his wand pointed at Draco.
"I was just passing by, Professor."
Draco shrugged innocently.
"I happened to hear some noise in here and came in to take a look. I didn't expect to enjoy such a good show."
His gaze swept past Lupin and landed on the despondent Harry on the floor.
"It seems that in your entire life, you really can't find a single truly happy memory with enough weight, Potter."
"What a tragedy."
These words were like salt rubbed into Harry's bleeding wounds.
Harry trembled with rage but was powerless to retort.
Because what Draco said was the truth.
"Enough, Mr. Malfoy!" Lupin's voice grew stern. "You are not welcome here. Please leave!"
"Don't be in such a hurry to kick me out, Professor."
The smile on Draco's face remained unchanged as he slowly drew his hawthorn wand.
"Since Potter can't do it, why don't I show him how a 'truly happy' person does it."
Ignoring Lupin's warning look, he pointed his wand nonchalantly at the Boggart still lingering on the floor.
He didn't recite the incantation.
He didn't even move his lips.
He simply channeled the massive magic power within him, far exceeding his peers, mixed it with his newly mastered [Emotion Control] ability, and poured a powerful will into the tip of his wand.
Buzz—!
A dazzling silver light erupted from the tip of his wand!
It wasn't smoke, nor was it a wisp of light.
It was a solid, heavy shield that seemed to be made of pure light!
This silver light shield, though it hadn't taken the form of any animal yet, contained power that caused the temperature of the entire classroom to rise.
The icy chill was instantly dispelled.
The light shield charged forward with an unmatched presence!
Bang!
The Dementor-transformed Boggart couldn't even put up a decent resistance before being slammed away by the light shield, letting out a shriek in mid-air as it retreated back into the worn-out chest.
Peace was restored to the classroom.
Harry stared at the scene before him, dumbfounded, his mind a complete blank.
Non-verbal casting?
A light shield with no Patronus form, yet more powerful than any Patronus?
This... how is this possible?
He had worked so hard and couldn't even produce a wisp of smoke.
Yet Draco had just nonchalantly waved his wand and... an emotion called "jealousy," mixed with a deep sense of frustration, almost swallowed Harry's sanity.
Draco put away his wand as if he had only done something insignificant.
He walked up to Harry, leaned down, and said in a voice only the two of them could hear:
"Do you see, Potter?"
"This is the gap."
"Your so-called Patronus Charm, in my view, is nothing more than a toy for the weak to protect themselves."
"And I don't need it."
With that, he straightened up, gave one last look at the equally shocked Professor Lupin, and turned to leave the classroom with flair.
Walking out of the classroom, Draco's face didn't show any smugness from his recent display of skill.
The Patronus Charm?
To him, it was indeed just a spell that added a bit of flair.
The outburst just now was more to test the new skill [Emotion Control], and to completely crush Harry's self-confidence.
Judging by the results, it was highly effective.
He rubbed his chin, a calculating light gleaming in his gray-blue eyes.
Compared to this flashy defensive magic, he now had a target he was more interested in.
A tool that would allow him to play with all of Hogwartsin the palm of his hand.
His gaze turned toward the third floor of the Castle, in the direction of the one-eyed witch statue.
the marauders map.
It's time for those two idiots from the weasley family to deliver a grand gift to him.
Chapter 137: The marauders map! The Weasley Twins' Gift is Intercepted!
Another Hogsmeade weekend had arrived.
The Castle's entrance hall was once again packed with excited students.
Harry Potter remained the poor outcast.
The Dursleys would never sign his permission slip, meaning he could only watch longingly as Ron and Hermione (both having permission, despite their ongoing cold war) merged into the crowd.
He stood in a corner, feeling like a fool.
Just then, two identical red-haired heads leaned in beside him.
"Harry, don't look so down," Fred said mysteriously.
"We've got a big present for you," George added, wearing that triumphant grin of a successful prankster.
Without waiting for a response, they pulled Harry into a secluded corner of a deserted corridor.
This one led to the statue of the one-eyed Witch on the third floor.
"Look at this."
Fred pulled out a piece of parchment from his robes that looked very old and completely blank.
Harry looked at them, puzzled.
"This isn't ordinary parchment," George whispered. "It's the cornerstone of our glorious enterprise."
They were just about to reveal the secret of this parchment to Harry.
Little did they know, in the shadows not far behind them, a nearly completely transparent figure was silently watching them.
Draco had long known this scene would happen.
Using his knowledge of the plot, he had set up an ambush here in advance.
A high-level Disillusionment Charm allowed him to blend seamlessly with his surroundings, not even disturbing the flow of air.
He was like a patient hunter, waiting for his prey to walk into the trap.
"All you have to do is point your wand at it and say, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good'..." Fred was about to demonstrate.
Suddenly!
"Meee-OWWWW—!"
A shrill, piercing cat's yowl shattered the corridor's quiet.
The sound was exactly like that of the caretaker Filch's cat, Madam Norris—specifically the kind of screech she'd make if her tail got flattened.
Immediately afterwards, the heavy, hurried sound of footsteps came from the other end of the corridor, growing louder and closer.
"It's Filch!"
Fred and George's faces instantly drained of color.
They were regulars in Filch's office and knew that footstep and cat-call all too well.
In their panic, Fred clumsily shoved the piece of parchment into Harry's arms.
"Run! This is for you! Remember the password! Hide it!"
George gave Harry a shove.
The three of them scattered like startled rabbits, fleeing in different directions.
Staggered by the push, Harry fumbled with the parchment in his arms. His hand slipped, and the old piece of paper fluttered out, sliding right under the foot of an ancient suit of armor by the corridor wall.
"Damn it!"
Harry cursed inwardly, but the sound of "Filch's" footsteps behind him was getting closer. Not daring to stay, he could only follow the twins and run off without looking back.
The corridor fell silent once more.
The piercing cat's yowl and the heavy footsteps had vanished as if they had never existed.
Draco's figure slowly materialized out of thin air.
A smug smile played on his lips as he leisurely walked over to the suit of armor, bent down, and picked up the parchment from underneath it.
A bit of Ventriloquism to mimic Madam Norris's cry, plus using his Child of Wind talent to create the echoing sound of footsteps—more than enough to deal with the Weasley fools.
He drew his wand and lightly tapped the tip against the parchment.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,"
he whispered the incantation.
A magical scene unfolded.
Ink lines, as if alive, rapidly spread across the parchment.
"Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, purveyors of aids to magical mischief-makers, are proud to present — the marauders map!"
The words in fancy script appeared, followed by a detailed map of the entire Hogwarts Castle, complete with the names and locations of every person inside, clearly displayed before his eyes.
Draco's gaze swept over the moving ink dots on the map.
Dumbledore was pacing in his office.
Snape was patrolling the dungeons.
And Harry Potter and the Weasley twins—three small ink dots—were panicking and scurrying about on different floors.
"What a fine thing,"
Draco smiled with satisfaction.
But he had no intention of keeping this map for himself.
A map that could be easily taken away had limited value.
But a map that allowed him to secretly monitor his enemies was priceless.
What he needed to do was play a long game to catch a big fish.
Draco focused his mind and communicated with the System in his thoughts.
"System, use the Alchemy Replication ability to copy this marauders map."
"Ding! Detected high-level alchemical item — the marauders map. Replication requires significant mana consumption and the Host's core spiritual imprint. Confirm?"
"Confirm."
A surge of immense mana was drawn from Draco's body, causing a slight wave of dizziness.
Simultaneously, he felt his mental energy establish a peculiar connection with the parchment in his hand.
The parchment in his hand began to grow slightly warm.
A few seconds later, a piece of parchment—identical to the original in material, creases, and even that faint, musty old smell—appeared in his other hand.
He lightly tapped the copy with his wand.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The same ink lines, the same map, the same moving dots appeared on the copy.
Success.
Draco carefully stored the fully functional copy inside an inner pocket of his robes.
Then, he glanced at the map. The small ink dot representing "Harry Potter" was hesitantly starting to move back in this direction.
He chuckled softly and casually tossed the original marauders map back to its spot by the foot of the armor.
Having done all this, he cast the Disillusionment Charmagain and left without a sound.
He needed Harry to believe he had secretly obtained a monumental secret, completely undetected.
He needed Harry to use this map to sneak out of the Castle to Hogsmeade.
That way, he could prepare more, and even more spectacular, "surprises" for Harry.
A short while later, footsteps sounded in the corridor again.
Harry Potter peeked his head around the corner and crept back.
He nervously looked around, confirming Filch was truly gone, and let out a sigh of relief.
He ran to the suit of armor, crouched down, and was overjoyed to find the piece of parchment still there!
He snatched up the parchment, his heart pounding with excitement.
So lucky!
He stuffed the parchment into his robes, feeling as if he owned the whole world.
He looked at the map, at the secret passage leading to the cellar of Honeydukes sweetshop in Hogsmeade.
But savior, his every move, all his secrets—from this moment on, were under the surveillance of the person he hated most.
Chapter 138: Secret Passage Date! Doing Bad Things in Honeydukes' Basement!
In the Slytherin Common Room, the fireplace crackled.
Draco leaned lazily on the most comfortable sofa, with a replica of the marauders map spread out before him.
His finger tapped lightly on a moving ink dot on the map.
It was clearly labeled: "Harry Potter."
That little ink dot was currently cautiously passing through the statue of the One-Eyed Witch on the third floor, entering that winding secret passage.
"He's taken the bait."
The curve of Draco's lips slowly widened.
He stood up and straightened his expensive dragon-hide coat.
"Daphne."
He turned to the blonde beauty who was chatting with Pansy.
"Would you like to accompany me to Hogsmeade again? I don't think our last date was quite finished."
Daphne's cheeks flushed slightly, and she nodded elegantly.
Honeydukes Sweetshop was as crowded as ever.
The air was filled with the sweet, cloying aroma of various candies.
Draco had zero interest in those colorful sweets; he went straight to the chubby shopkeeper, Ambrosius Flume.
He didn't waste words, simply placing a heavy coin pouch on the counter.
The pleasant clinking of Galleons made the shopkeeper's eyes instantly light up.
"Mr. Flume," Draco said with a smile, "it's too noisy out here. I'd like to find a quiet place to spend some time with my girlfriend."
His gaze flicked toward the trapdoor leading to the basement.
"Your basement looks nice. I assume there's no problem borrowing it for half an hour?"
The shopkeeper weighed the coin pouch, his smile as bright as a blooming sunflower.
"Of course, no problem at all, Mr. Malfoy! Forget half an hour, it's your private lounge for the whole day if you like!"
He eagerly pulled open the trapdoor for Draco.
The basement was filled with various crates; the light was dim, but it was clean enough.
Draco led Daphne down, and the trapdoor closed behind them, cutting off all the noise from outside.
"Draco, what are we doing here?"
Daphne was a bit puzzled; this didn't exactly seem like a good spot for a date.
"Shh."
Draco placed his index finger to his lips in a silencing gesture.
He pulled Daphne behind a row of crates filled with chocolate frogs.
Just then, an inconspicuous wooden board not far away was quietly pushed open.
A messy head poked out from the hole.
Harry Potter climbed out of the secret passage panting, his body covered in quite a bit of dust.
He was just about to breathe a sigh of relief at his success when he suddenly froze.
He heard breathing.
There was someone else in this cellar!
He instinctively held his breath, his heart racing; he didn't dare move a muscle, huddling tightly behind those tall crates.
He didn't know that he had already been discovered.
More accurately, Draco had been waiting for him.
"It seems we have a guest."
Draco whispered in Daphne's ear, his warm breath making her ear itch.
Daphne was startled and was about to look back when Draco pulled her over, her back gently hitting the cold shelf.
"Draco..."
Before she could finish, her words were blocked.
Draco's fingers tilted up her delicate chin, and he kissed her forcefully.
Daphne's eyes widened instantly, but soon, under Draco's aggressive assault, her gaze became hazy.
She could only reach out and tightly clutch Draco's lapels, letting out small, suppressed gasps.
All of this was seen clearly by Harry Potter, just a few meters away.
Through the gaps in the crates, he saw those two entangled figures.
It was Malfoy! And Greengrass!
Harry felt his blood freeze.
He was in a dilemma.
Go out? Malfoy would definitely catch him for illegally coming to Hogsmeade.
Stay hidden? He would be forced to watch the person he hated most get intimate with the unattainable goddess of his heart!
Awkwardness, shame, anger... all sorts of emotions flooded over him like a tide.
He could only cover his mouth tightly, terrified of making even the slightest sound that would expose his presence.
Draco's Child of Wind talent allowed him to clearly perceive the faint air fluctuations where Harry was hiding, as well as that extremely suppressed breathing.
He deliberately increased the scale of his movements.
His hand roamed over Daphne's slender waist, which was wrapped in a cashmere cloak.
While kissing Daphne's neck, he spoke in a voice that wasn't loud but was just enough for all three of them to hear clearly.
"Darling, did you hear that?"
"It seems... a poor little mouse is peeping from the corner."
Daphne's body trembled, her cheeks so red they almost looked ready to bleed.
To Harry, those words were no less than a loud slap in the face.
He knew Malfoy had found him!
This bastard was doing it on purpose!
He was humiliating him!
Draco's lips pressed against the shell of Daphne's ear, his voice full of playful amusement.
"Ignore him, Daphne. A loser who can only hide in dark corners and peep isn't worth our time."
"Just consider it... a bit of interesting background noise for our date today."
Harry felt like his lungs were about to burst from rage.
Listening to Draco's suggestive and mocking words, and hearing Daphne's increasingly rapid breathing, every second felt like torture.
This feeling of helpless shame was a hundred times worse than fainting from Dementors on the Quidditch Pitch!
After an unknown amount of time, the activity over there finally stopped.
Draco straightened his and Daphne's slightly disheveled clothes.
Daphne leaned in his arms, her face flushed, her ice-blue eyes watery and shimmering, unable to speak.
"Let's go, darling."
Draco's voice returned to its usual elegance.
He took Daphne's hand and led her toward the cellar exit.
As he passed the crate where Harry was hiding, Draco's footsteps paused imperceptibly.
He turned his head, his gaze seemingly piercing through the thick wooden box, landing precisely on Harry's position.
That look was full of a victor's pity and mockery.
Then, he left without looking back.
Harry remained frozen in place for a long time, and only after confirming they were truly gone did he slump weakly to the floor.
He walked out of Honeydukes despondently, the sunlight outside stinging his eyes.
Everything in Hogsmeade lost its color in his eyes.
He even forgot his original purpose for coming here, returning to the school through the secret passage like a ghost.
In the empty corridor, he ran straight into a familiar figure.
It was Hermione.
She was carrying a thick stack of books, heading for the Library.
When she saw Harry, she froze for a moment.
Then, she looked at Harry with a very strange expression.
Harry's heart sank abruptly.
An absurd and terrifying thought flashed through his mind.
Could it be... could it be she knows what I just did?
Chapter 139: The Firebolt! A Mysterious Christmas Gift Triggers Infighting!
On Christmas morning, snowflakes blanketed the windowsills of Hogwarts.
In the Gryffindor Common Room, a cry of surprise shattered the silence.
Harry Potter tore open an anonymous Christmas gift.
A broomstick.
An ebony handle, straight birch twigs, and a registration number engraved on the tail.
A Firebolt.
"Merlin's beard..." Ron's eyes widened, his voice trembling as he reached out, not quite daring to touch it. "It's real... it's really a Firebolt!"
The entire Common Room crowded around, exclamations of awe rising one after another.
Harry's cheeks flushed as he gripped the cool, smooth handle tightly.
The humiliation he had suffered in Hogsmeade a few days ago was completely washed away by this unexpected joy from the heavens.
He could almost see the next match: himself riding the Firebolt, catching the Golden Snitch under Draco Malfoy's stunned gaze.
At the same time, at Malfoy Manor.
With a soft pop, a House-elf appeared out of thin air, kneeling on the study carpet and rapidly reporting news from Hogwarts.
After listening, Draco waved his hand to dismiss the elf.
He watched the falling snow outside the window, picking up a quill from the desk and slowly twirling it between his fingertips.
Sirius Black.
The plot was proceeding exactly as expected.
A grand Christmas gift to split the Gryffindor golden trio—it was sent at just the right time.
The Christmas holidays ended, and it was time for the Start-of-term feast.
The Gryffindor table had become an exclusive display stand for the Firebolt. Harry and Ron showed off this piece of art to every passing student, basking in everyone's envious gazes.
Harry's vanity was satisfied like never before.
Over at the Slytherin table, Draco was unhurriedly cutting his steak, turning a deaf ear to the commotion.
Only when he finished his meal did he wipe the corners of his mouth with a napkin and stand up.
He didn't return to his own House; instead, he walked straight toward the High Table.
Professor McGonagall was talking in low voices with Professor Flitwick, and she looked a bit surprised to see him approaching.
"Good evening, Professor McGonagall." Draco's voice rose above the surrounding noise.
"Is something the matter, Mr. Malfoy?"
"A small matter, Professor." Draco wore a look of perfectly calibrated concern on his face.
"I saw that Mr. Potter has a new broomstick, a Firebolt. It's truly enviable."
He paused, his tone shifting.
"Only, Professor, don't you think... it's a bit too coincidental?"
"Coincidental?" Professor McGonagall's brow furrowed.
"Yes." Draco lowered his voice, but ensured that the surrounding tables could hear him.
"We all know that Sirius Black, that murderer, is trying every possible way to get close to Potter."
"Now, a broomstick representing the highest craftsmanship, yet of unknown origin, is sent to him anonymously."
There was a convincing calmness in his voice.
"What if... Black placed some kind of delayed-action jinx on it? For instance, a spell that causes it to disintegrate automatically once it reaches a hundred meters in the air?"
Draco's words were like ice water poured into boiling oil.
The surrounding chatter came to a dead stop.
Everyone's eyes focused on the brand-new Firebolt on the Gryffindor table.
The smiles on Harry and Ron's faces froze.
"Nonsense! Malfoy, you're just jealous!" Ron was the first to shout out.
Not far away, Hermione's face turned pale bit by bit.
Her mind raced; Draco's reasoning... logically, it was actually flawless.
A dangerous madman.
A top-tier broomstick of unknown origin.
The risk involved was self-evident.
For Harry's safety... Hermione bit her lip and stood up abruptly.
"Professor!" Her voice trembled slightly, but it was clear. "I think... Mr. Malfoy's concern is justified!"
Harry and Ron turned their heads simultaneously, looking at her as if she were a stranger.
"Hermione! Are you crazy? You're taking his side?" Ron's voice was sharp and shrill.
"It's not about taking sides, Ron! It's for Harry's safety!" Hermione argued urgently. "This broom must be checked!"
Draco stood to the side, watching this scene with a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
He didn't need to do anything else.
The knife had already been handed to Hermione.
Professor McGonagall's expression became extremely serious. As the Head of House, she could not tolerate any potential danger.
"Mr. Potter," she stood up, her tone brookng no argument, "give me the broom."
"Professor! No!" Harry panicked.
"That is an order, Potter!" Professor McGonagall's expression was stern. "I will keep it until it is confirmed to be absolutely safe."
Harry watched helplessly as the Firebolt was taken away by Professor McGonagall, feeling as if a piece of his heart had been hollowed out.
He turned his head and glared at Hermione, his eyes filled with anger and betrayal.
"I can't believe it, Hermione."
"I hate you."
Ron went even further, walking right up to Hermione and pointing at her.
"You're a traitor! You're in league with Malfoy, you can't stand to see anything good happen to Harry!"
"I'm not! I only..." Hermione tried to explain, but tears welled up first.
The surrounding Gryffindors also cast reproachful looks at her.
She had become the snitch who ruined everyone's hopes.
After the feast, the atmosphere in the Common Roomdropped to freezing point.
"You're always like this, Hermione! Always have to show that you're the smartest, the most correct!" Ron's accusations lashed out at her like a whip.
"You don't understand what friends are at all!"
Harry said nothing, only looking at her with cold eyes—a gaze more hurtful than any insult.
"I only did it for your own good..." Hermione's voice already carried a sob.
"Save it!" Ron interrupted her. "You just love tattling! You and Malfoy's lot are a perfect match!"
Hermione couldn't stand it any longer.
She felt as if the entire world had abandoned her.
She ran out of the Gryffindor Common Room crying, the cold air rushing into her lungs with a stinging pain.
The corridor was long and empty, her footsteps echoing against the walls as tears blurred the path ahead.
Just as she ran around a corner, she crashed headlong into someone's arms.
It was a solid chest, carrying a crisp scent of cedarwood.
She was startled and looked up in a panic.
Draco Malfoy.
He was standing there, holding a snow-white handkerchief as if he had been waiting specifically for her.
He reached out and, using the soft fabric, extremely gently wiped away the tear tracks on her cheeks.
Only when her sobbing gradually subsided did he lean down and speak in her ear with a voice like a sigh.
"See, Hermione."
"I told you a long time ago."
"In this world, only I am right."
"And only I truly care about your judgment."
Chapter 140: Tears and Comfort! Hermione, only I am right!
Hermione couldn't hold on any longer; she crashed into Draco's arms, crying heart-wrenchingly.
Those grievances and misunderstandings were like a dam breaking, rushing out in a flood.
"They don't understand... they don't understand at all..." Hermione's tearful complaints were incoherent as she clutched the fabric of Draco's chest.
"They called me a traitor... said I didn't want Harry to do well... I clearly did it for him..."
Draco said nothing, letting her vent.
He just raised his hand and, stroke by stroke, rhythmically caressed her soft, long brown hair.
He didn't need to speak ill of Potter and Weasley; that was the lowest form of provocation.
What he needed to do was let her, with her own hands, bury that foolish friendship.
When the sobbing in his arms gradually subsided, he spoke in a very soft tone, close to her ear.
"Hermione, have you ever tried reasoning with a Troll?"
Hermione lifted her tear-stained face, looking at him blankly.
"You wouldn't," Draco's voice carried a strange calm. "You would only use your wand to knock it unconscious. Because in its mind, there is only destruction."
He cupped her face, his thumb brushing across her wet eye corners.
"Then why do you expect a Potter whose brain has been burned out by the title of savior, and a Weasley who has nothing left but food and jealousy, to understand your logic?"
"You are not wrong, Hermione."
"Your mistake lies in the fact that you have been treating two idiots as if they were smart people."
Hermione's body froze.
Idiots... this word was crude, yet so precise that she couldn't refute it.
Draco took her hand, which was as cold as if it had just been fished out of the snow.
"Let's go. The corridor is windy, not a place for a smart head to stay."
He led her once again to the Room of Requirement on the Eighth Floor.
The door swung open, and inside was no longer the empty room from last time, but a private Library so warm it made one want to sigh.
Flames danced in the fireplace, a thick, soft dark-red carpet covered the floor, and two armchairs that looked expensive were placed before the fire.
All four walls, from floor to ceiling, were filled with books.
Hermione had only seen the covers of many of these books in the borrowing catalog of the Restricted Section.
This place was simply... a paradise tailor-made for her.
The moment she stepped into this room, the sharp pain in her chest miraculously subsided.
Draco picked up a cup of hot cocoa from the side table and pressed it into her cold hands. The warmth of the cup's wall traveled from her palm straight to her heart.
"Sit."
The two sat down before the fireplace, the warm firelight reflecting on Hermione's face, dispelling her last trace of chill.
"Your actions were completely correct," Draco said, his voice crystal clear in the quiet room.
"First, any magical item of unknown origin must be checked; that is a school rule."
"Second, for someone being hunted by the Dark Lord's top lackey to receive an anonymous, priceless gift is itself the biggest red flag."
"Your judgment was even approved by Professor McGonagall."
Draco analyzed everything methodically, each point hitting exactly what Hermione wanted to hear.
"Then why... Harry and Ron..." she whispered.
"Because they are Gryffindors," Draco's tone was full of contempt.
"Emotion always takes precedence over the brain. In their eyes, your rationality is a betrayal of their friendship."
"Potter has been put on such a high pedestal that he can no longer listen to any questioning. And Weasley, he's just Potter's echo, a follower with no opinion of his own."
"You are saving someone who doesn't want to be saved at all, Hermione. Your kindness is worthless in their eyes."
Draco's words were like a key, unlocking all the dead knots in Hermione's heart.
Yes, I am not wrong.
It's they who are wrong.
It's because they are too stupid, too emotional, it's they... who are not worthy of my efforts.
Seeing the last trace of hesitation vanish from Hermione's eyes, Draco knew the time had come.
"To reward you for the 'correct' choice you made today," he put down his cup and pulled a heavy Ancient Dragonhide Book from the shelf behind him.
"I'll teach you something truly useful."
He sat down next to Hermione, spreading the book across both their laps.
The pages were filled with obscure Ancient Runes.
"'Silentium Claustra', a High-level Silencing Barrier." Draco's finger pointed to the Ancient Runes as he explained it to her.
"A hundred times stronger than 'Muffliato'. Once you learn it, you can create an absolutely soundproof private space for yourself anywhere."
To see more clearly, their shoulders unknowingly pressed together.
The clear, cold scent of cedar on him, mixed with the ink fragrance of the ancient book, lingered at the tip of Hermione's nose.
"Look here, this rune represents 'absorption' rather than 'blocking'. So, you need to channel your magic..."
Draco's hand moved from the page, reaching behind Hermione, his palm pressing against her back through the thin school robes.
"...like this, guide the magic up along the spine, and in your mind, construct a 'cavity' that absorbs sound."
Hermione's body suddenly tensed.
That palm was like a branding iron, the startling heat passing through the fabric, making every inch of her skin tingle.
"Relax, feel the flow of magic." Draco's voice was right by her ear, his warm breath making her earlobes itch.
His other hand, at some point, had grasped her hand resting on the armchair.
His fingers, irresistibly, squeezed into the gaps between hers, interlocking their ten fingers.
Hermione's mind went blank instantly.
She forgot the spell, forgot Harry and Ron, forgot everything.
She could only feel the hand moving on her back; every slow and powerful slide brought a current that made her soul tremble.
She was like a vine whose structure had been removed, her whole body going limp, leaning powerlessly against the back of the chair and in his arms.
Draco looked at Hermione in his arms, her eyes hazy and her face flushed, and smiled silently.
Gryffindor's miss know-it-all, from tonight on, was his private property alone.
It was a long time before Hermione recovered from that dizzying feeling, leaning on Draco's shoulder and steadying her rapid breathing.
She felt as if she had had an absurd yet sweet dream.
She even began to feel that only here, by Draco's side, was she not that out-of-place nerd.
Here, her intelligence was a virtue worth rewarding.
"Draco..." she whispered softly.
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"Thank me for what?"
"Thank you for... understanding me."
Draco let out a low laugh and pressed a kiss onto her smooth forehead.
"Of course I understand you, because we are the same kind of people."
He paused, then changed the subject.
"By the way, Hermione. Since you've fallen out with Weasley now, you can help me keep an eye on something."
"What is it?"
"That rat of his, Scabbers."
Draco's voice in the warm room suddenly took on a hint of chill.
"Don't you find it strange? An ordinary pet rat living for twelve years."
Hermione was stunned.
She was extremely knowledgeable about Magizoologyand immediately grasped the key to the problem.
The lifespan of an ordinary rat is three to four years at most.
Twelve years... that was absolutely abnormal.
"This rat is likely not as simple as it looks," Draco said in her ear, his voice a mere breath. "It might be an Animagus."
His hand gently stroked Hermione's cheek, his gaze deep.
"After you go back, observe it carefully."
"See if there's anything special about it. For example..."
"Is it missing a toe?"