"Hey, Malfoy, watch out, you are going way too far with that dive!" Chaser Adrian Pucey nearly stumbled from the gust of wind as Malfoy charged past, yelling, "I almost thought you were a Quaffle!"
"It was not on purpose!" Draco suddenly lifted the broom handle, soaring into the air, and shouted at him.
"New players are always like that, too excited, too cocky." Beater Peregrine Derrick grinned, shook his bat, and said to his teammate Lucian Bole beside him, "I wonder how good his reflexes are."
"Malfoy, take this!" he shouted, swatting a Bludger that was hurtling towards him.
That madman, Peregrine Derrick! Just as insane as he was in his past life, he is definitely the original! Draco cursed inwardly, hanging upside down on the broom and performing a "Sloth Grip Roll."
"This is not funny at all!" Draco yelled at him through the howling wind. "You are supposed to be protecting the Seekers!"
"Very agile!" the Beater exclaimed excitedly. "One more?"
Draco rolled his eyes at the sky.
Peregrine Derrick was a dark-haired, upperclassman Slytherin boy who was somewhat unruly and one of the team's biggest troublemakers. But undeniably, his batting skills were top-notch, which gave him the right to be arrogant and only respect those who truly possessed Quidditch skills.
Having lived a second life, Draco now understood his personality very well.
You could not show weakness against Peregrine Derrick; you had to be tough.
So, before the second Bludger came, Draco charged straight at him, using a "Transylvanian Tackle" to scare him. At the last moment, instead of touching the Beater's nose, he deftly dodged and, with a clever twist, snatched the bat from his hand.
"How is it?" Draco asked, hovering in mid-air, hefting the short bat.
"You have got guts, Draco Malfoy! I am starting to like you," the arrogant Beater laughed loudly in mid-air, not angry at all. "They definitely underestimated you!"
Very good, Draco thought calmly. Peregrine Derrick's approval would save me a great deal of trouble—my teammates, whose skills are inferior to Derrick's, should think twice about whether they have the ability to mess with me.
"Malfoy, come here!" Flint shouted to Draco from the stands.
Draco tossed the bat back to Derrick, and a moment later he landed lightly in the stands, standing in front of his captain, letting him look him over.
"You have surprised me a bit, Malfoy. You are like a Golden Snitch. In a word, agile." Flint nodded smugly at him, hands on his hips facing the pitch. "Look at this pitch. Soon it will be packed with spectators, and they might be cheering for your brilliant performance."
This was Captain Slytherin's inspirational speaking technique.
Flint spoke privately with each player every year to offer them words of encouragement.
Draco stood silently beside him, looking out at the empty stadium. Several silver-green figures, enhanced by Nimbus 2001, blurred into afterimages.
He could hear his teammates yelling at each other, hitting the Bludger, or throwing the Quaffle.
This feeling was both familiar and strange.
Returning to the pitch, he felt both reborn and apprehensive.
He did not know how he would feel facing those audience members—whether he would be thrilled or still feel utterly despondent.
"Malfoy, I originally thought you were too pampered to keep up with the training pace; but you are actually a promising talent. If you keep training like this, you will definitely surprise them when you get on the pitch," Flint said with satisfaction. He stopped looking at Draco and instead squinted at the afterimages, looking smug and confident, as if he was determined to win this year's Quidditch Cup.
Draco, on the other hand, wanted to continue training for a very long time.
Let alone three days a week, even seven days a week of training was no problem.
He had done this before in his previous life.
But right now, he could not push himself that hard. Over-training would make him feel tired.
His frail little body, that of a twelve-year-old boy, was not yet as strong, robust, and sturdy as it had been at fifteen or sixteen.
This mismatch between his physical and psychological state sometimes made him feel very disappointed.
The good thing was that it meant there was still room before the Dark Lord's rise to power, so he had to hurry up and deal with that damned Horcrux as soon as possible.
When he was not training, he would spend long periods of time in the library, busy studying Ancient Greek and translating that damned, obscure little black book.
He had no idea how useful the little black book really was.
This caused him to struggle with translation whilst simultaneously doubting himself.
This damned hard-to-understand book! To some extent, Draco was even looking forward to the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. If he could get his hands on a Basilisk fang—which would be the end of all problems—would he not have to translate this book?
For a moment, Draco could not tell whether the translation work was more tiring or the new identity of "the Seeker" was more exhausting.
Meanwhile, Draco's identity as "Slytherin's new Seeker," just like in his previous life, caused the Hogwarts students to gossip about him—in a rather unfriendly way.
That day, as Draco stood beside a crowded bookshelf, bending down to pick up the thick Ancient Greek dictionary, the words of several students inadvertently drifted into his ears.
"No matter what, this is blatant corruption!" Draco saw a blond boy through the tiny gap between the books and the bookshelf. "Slytherin is filthy, making a second-year the Seeker!"
"So, Ernie, he really got into the house team by donating brooms? That Malfoy?" A boy with a full head of curly hair asked.
"Justin, it is so obvious. What other family besides the Malfoys could pull off something like this? I heard Slytherin's captain, Marcus Flint, bragging about it to Gryffindor's captain, Oliver Wood. Seven brand-new, gleaming flying brooms, Nimbus 2001…" Ernie said, his tone somewhat indignant.
Draco could even hear the students gasping in envy.
Money is a powerful motivator. Even when mocking me, there is an undisguised envy in their eyes, Draco thought sarcastically. He lazily got up, preparing to leave.
Nobody wanted to listen to someone gossip about them. Even if Draco's heart had been tempered to be a little stronger than in his previous life, there was no need to create unnecessary trouble for himself, was there?
"Oh, shut up, you do not know anything!" A somewhat familiar voice angrily interrupted the conversation.
Draco stopped and turned back in confusion, peering through the gap—it was Hermione.
She had not appeared in his library's private space for several days.
That made sense. After all, she was no longer that unpopular Gryffindor girl, and naturally, she no longer needed to hide under his protection—this corrupt Slytherin.
Hermione stepped out from the other side of the bookshelf and said to Ernie with a haughty expression, "If I were you, I would be careful with my words. I would at least know all the facts before I speak."
The boy named Ernie looked very unhappy because he had been rudely interrupted.
He was half a head taller than Hermione, making her appear exceptionally petite as he approached her. "What does this have to do with an ignorant Gryffindor girl like you?" he said angrily.
"Ernie, do not talk like that, she does not mean any harm…" said a brown-haired girl.
"Susan Bones, we are arguing about Slytherin! Think about what this house represents! This is a matter of principle, a battle between good and evil! This is not the time for you to take her side, even if you are both Lockhart's biggest fans!" Ernie said impatiently, continuing to glare at Hermione.
The girl named Susan immediately went silent.
"You, a Hufflepuff, can spread rumours everywhere, but I cannot come and refute them?" Hermione raised her head, her imposing manner not at all suppressed by Ernie's height. She said righteously, "I witnessed the Slytherin selection with my own eyes that day. He won the Seeker position fair and square, defeating all the other candidates."
"What are you doing watching the Slytherin selection? Since when did a Gryffindor start protecting Slytherin by any means necessary? Are you even thinking straight? Do you know what you are doing?" Ernie's face showed a contemptuous and puzzled expression.
"This has nothing to do with the house! No one should be wronged! Who gave you the right to call yourself righteous? Perhaps you are the destroyer of justice yourself!" Hermione's face flushed red. She threw down these words and stormed around the bookshelf, ignoring Susan's attempts to persuade her to stay. She wanted to leave this group of boring, gossipy Hufflepuffs.
What right do they have to say that about him? They know nothing!
What does this have to do with the house? And what does it have to do with justice and evil?
To categorise something as good or evil based on the house is pure prejudice!
He is just an innocent Slytherin boy, and has nothing to do with evil!
When she had lost fifty points last school year, he was the only one who was willing to encourage her. Back then, the Gryffindor students all treated her like a snotty-nosed child! She thought, pursing her lips.
There were indeed some rumours questioning the legitimacy of Draco being given the Seeker position.
This was exactly the same thing Harry had experienced last year. There were always some people who looked at others with malice and wantonly slandered them, without considering the impact of their words on the person involved!
Hermione grew angrier the more she thought about it.
At the same time, a feeling of worry for him welled up in her heart: if that boy heard such talk, would a sad expression appear on his usually calm and indifferent face?
She stormed around the bookshelf and suddenly realised that the boy she was worried about was standing there.
A rare smile appeared on his pale face as he looked at her with gentle eyes.
"Hermione, thank you for speaking up for me," he said, a beautiful smile curving at the corners of his mouth—the kind Hermione sometimes imagined.
He looks really good when he smiles, Hermione thought to herself.
"Oh, you are welcome. I think I know your flying skills better than anyone else. You taught me to fly very well last year, and you can even take people with you, but they do not know…" she said hurriedly, her face slightly flushed.
There were many reasons why you blushed.
For example, it might be because of the lingering effects of her emotional outburst during the argument; or it might be because she felt embarrassed that he had seen her throwing a tantrum; in short, she would never admit that it was because his smile was too handsome.
"I do not care about their gossip—you can never shut everyone up. But I am glad you did not misunderstand me." Draco lowered his head, pretending to flip through the dictionary in his hand, to hide the sudden surge of tears welling up in his eyes.
Being talked about behind one's back every time was a very unpleasant experience.
Even though he thought he was mature enough and tough enough, in the end, he found that he was still someone who could get hurt and cared about other people's opinions.
If no one defended him today, he would probably pretend not to care, quietly walk away as if nothing had happened, and continue to numb himself; but once someone spoke up for him, he could not help but care, and even feel some unfamiliar emotions—heartache and grievance.
These strange feelings were so intense and overwhelming that they startled even himself.
When he discovered that the person who spoke up for him was actually Hermione Granger, his surprise and resentment doubled.
After all, in his past life, she had mocked him about the Seeker. Those sharp words from her had stayed with him for a very long time.
But now, all those memories had vanished like smoke.
He was at peace with it.
Most importantly, she believed in him at that moment and was willing to defend him. That was enough.
At this moment, she was willing to believe that he had the ability to be a Seeker.
Now, she might be the only one willing to believe in him so passionately and speak up for him.
This realisation was like an axe, breaking a small hole in his heart, which was as hard as ice.