In the end, Pansy's questioning fizzled out. Her attention drifted elsewhere, quickly caught by Malfoy's self-important rambling.
The incident in the Chamber of Secrets had more or less settled, and as the petrified students were gradually restored, Hogwarts began to return to something like normalcy. The rumors about Dumbledore's expulsion also died down once the "truth" of the matter came to light.
Still, it couldn't be said that order was completely restored. Lockhart, who had played the "hero" in this whole affair, was said to have suffered a serious blow to his spellcasting ability due to a head injury. It wasn't so bad that he had become a Squib, but his ability to use many spells was noticeably impaired. Dumbledore told the public that this was the conclusion after careful examination, and so, for the rest of the term, Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were suspended.
What's more, because of the incident, the school decided to cancel final exams — which, of course, was good news to more than a few students.
"Man, I really wanted to see Professor Lockhart smack the old bat around a few more times," Ron said with exaggerated regret, spooning food from the serving platter in front of him. "Guess that's not happening now."
He seemed genuinely sorry for Lockhart's condition. Rumor had it that a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would replace him next semester, and naturally, the Duelling Club would be discontinued as well.
"Hermione, are you sure you don't remember what happened that day?" Harry asked again. He had asked many times before, but Hermione's answer was always the same — a helpless shake of her head.
This time was no different.
"I only remember bits before I drank the potion," she said, frowning as she tried to recall. "Like you distracting Pansy for me."
She pressed her brow tightly, her expression twisted in frustration. Everyone around her had been praising her courage lately, saying she had shown true Gryffindor bravery — yet she couldn't even remember what she'd done. Every time she heard those compliments, her cheeks burned with guilt. She didn't feel she deserved the praise at all.
"Could it be a side effect of the Polyjuice Potion?" Ron suggested, sipping a cup of honey tea and grimacing. "If I'd been there, maybe I could've helped somehow."
"Polyjuice Potion doesn't have that kind of side effect," Hermione said sharply, almost as if to prove that her memory wasn't at fault. Her voice rose a little too loudly, drawing glances from nearby students.
"Keep your voice down, Hermione — Snape's looking this way," Harry warned. He turned his head and caught sight of the professor's sour expression aimed straight at them.
"Don't worry," Hermione muttered, though she still lowered her tone. "Anyway, I already confessed everything to the Headmaster."
"What?!" Harry and Ron exclaimed together, nearly jumping out of their seats.
"Everything's fine now," Hermione said quickly. "But stealing is still wrong. I know we had no other choice back then, but… once it was all over, I couldn't just keep quiet about it. Even if it was Snape's ingredients." Her last words came out in an even lower whisper.
Ron groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Please tell me the old bat doesn't know."
"The Headmaster handled it," Hermione said simply.
"That's… good," Harry sighed in relief. The last thing he wanted was another round of detentions or punishments.
Just then, the sound of chairs scraping echoed from the Slytherin table.
Ron glanced over and sneered. "Look at them — acting like he's some kind of hero."
The commotion was, of course, caused by Malfoy. Whenever he appeared, the Slytherin students stood to greet him; some even bowed.
"Their House Cup chances are shot anyway," Harry said, grinning. "We've still got Hermione's two hundred points to thank for that."
Hermione didn't respond. Her eyes lingered briefly on Malfoy, her expression complicated — unreadable — before she turned away in silence.
Later that week, after class, Hermione caught up with Dumbledore in the corridor.
"Professor, does Polyjuice Potion have any… emotional side effects?" she asked hesitantly.
Dumbledore stopped mid-step, his long silver beard catching the light as he turned toward her with gentle curiosity. "Ah, Miss Granger, it seems you've encountered a problem?"
Hermione nodded, fidgeting slightly. "It's just… ever since that day, my emotions feel strange. You said that Professor Lockhart saved me, but… I don't feel any gratitude at all. I don't even want to see him. In fact, every time I think about him, I feel… disgusted."
She hesitated, glancing down at her shoes. "Could something have gone wrong with the potion I brewed?"
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Hmm… interesting. As far as I know, Polyjuice Potion has no such side effects. Still…" His blue eyes twinkled. "There's an old saying — every wizard is a prophet. Perhaps, Miss Granger, you should try to trust your intuition."
Hermione blinked in confusion. "My intuition?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said with a knowing smile. "Sometimes the heart understands what the mind cannot explain."
Hermione didn't quite understand his meaning, but she also knew Dumbledore wouldn't lie to her. After a moment of hesitation, she nodded. "But isn't that… impolite, Professor? I mean, he saved me — and he paid such a heavy price for it. I feel terrible for not being able to thank him properly."
"I appreciate your kindness," Dumbledore said kindly, "but I'm afraid you won't be able to find him right now. He's been transferred to St. Mungo's Hospital for treatment. If you truly wish to visit, you'll have to wait until the holidays. For now, I imagine he's being interviewed by reporters instead."
He chuckled softly, as if the image amused him. "Perhaps you'll meet again at the end-of-term ceremony. We plan to commend both of you for your bravery. When that time comes, you may find your emotions… a little clearer."
Hermione nodded, though her brow furrowed slightly. "All right, Professor."
Dumbledore's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. "Tell me, Miss Granger — besides this, have you experienced any other emotional disturbances?"
Hermione stiffened, caught off guard. After a moment of silence, she forced a small smile. "No, Professor. None at all. Thank you for asking."
"That's good to hear," Dumbledore said warmly. With that, he turned, his wide robe sweeping the floor as he walked toward his office, leaving the faint scent of lemon drops in the air.
Hermione watched his back disappear around the corner, guilt stirring faintly in her chest.
"I'm sorry, Professor," she whispered under her breath. "I lied."
Because the truth was, she did have another emotional problem — one far stranger than her disgust for Lockhart.
For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to hate the real culprit of everything that had happened. In fact, buried deep within her heart, she felt something faint… something she didn't dare to name.
The days slipped by quickly after that. With classes easing up and no final exams, most students treated the rest of the term as a lighthearted holiday. Gryffindor students often gathered in the common room, laughing and talking late into the night. Even Harry and Ron seemed unusually carefree.
But Hermione couldn't relax. Every time she saw Malfoy across the Great Hall, that strange, twisting feeling in her chest grew worse.
It didn't make sense. She knew he was the one who had caused everything — the fear, the danger, the suffering of so many students. He was supposed to be the enemy, someone to despise.
And yet… when she looked at him now, she couldn't muster the hatred she thought she should feel. Instead, there was only confusion, and beneath it, a strange warmth she didn't understand.
She often found herself staring without realizing it — until Ron elbowed her or Harry called her name.
"You okay, Hermione?" Harry asked one evening as they walked back from the library.
"Mm? Oh — yes, I'm fine," she said quickly, forcing a smile.
Harry frowned. "You've been spacing out a lot lately."
"I'm just… thinking," she murmured.
"About what?"
Hermione hesitated. "Nothing important."
But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.
When the end-of-term ceremony finally arrived, the Great Hall was decorated with the scarlet and gold of Gryffindor. The banners shimmered in the candlelight, and laughter filled the air.
Dumbledore's voice echoed warmly as he praised the students who had shown courage and loyalty during the turbulent months. When he mentioned Hermione's name, applause erupted from every corner of the hall.
Hermione stood up, smiling awkwardly as she accepted the cheers. Her cheeks burned.
Beside her, Harry and Ron clapped loudly, grinning from ear to ear.
On the opposite side of the hall, at the Slytherin table, Malfoy watched quietly, his expression unreadable.
Dumbledore then announced that Professor Lockhart, though unable to attend in person due to his injuries, had been awarded a special commendation for bravery. The applause this time was noticeably less enthusiastic.
Hermione sat down slowly, her heart a tangle of emotions. She didn't know why, but she was relieved that Lockhart wasn't here.
At the same time, she couldn't stop herself from glancing at Malfoy again — and when she did, their eyes met for a brief second.
Her breath caught.
Then she quickly looked away, pretending to adjust her robes, her face growing hot.
Across the hall, Malfoy smirked faintly, then turned his gaze elsewhere.
Hermione pressed a hand against her chest. Her heartbeat wouldn't calm down.
"What's wrong with me…" she murmured under her breath, her voice trembling just slightly.
That night, as fireworks from Fred and George burst outside the windows, Hermione sat alone by the fire in the common room. The flames danced, painting her face with flickering light.
She thought again of Dumbledore's words — trust your intuition.
"Trust my intuition," she whispered. "But what if my intuition is wrong?"
Her fingers tightened around the hem of her sleeve. The warmth in her chest was both terrifying and unfamiliar, and she didn't know what it meant.
"Malfoy…" she whispered the name softly, almost afraid to hear it aloud.
Then she shook her head quickly, standing up and brushing away the thought.
"No. That's ridiculous."
But even as she walked up the stairs to the girls' dormitory, she couldn't shake the strange flutter in her heart — the one that refused to fade, no matter how hard she tried.
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