A/N:
Hello there! I hope you're all doing well. If you've made it this far into the fanfic, thank you so much for reading. I'd really appreciate any comnts, reviews, or Power Stones you'd like to leave—it truly helps and ans a lot!
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What sort of person was Draco Malfoy?
This problem had beco the reason Hermione Granger had been having trouble sleeping lately.
He was an enigmatic boy, and always had been.
She'd suspected his coldness until she'd discerned his hidden tenderness in countless details. She'd suspected his evil until she'd discovered his heart was set on the light atop the Astronomy Tower. She'd suspected him of being a coward until that full moon night when he'd stood before the werewolf to protect her, proving his rare courage.
Now, with the sa haughty deanor, he was telling her he was indeed, as she'd suspected, a selfish Slytherin who only did what was in his own best interest.
However, when he'd frankly admitted it, she wasn't so sure. Calmly thinking about it, he wasn't that sort of person at all.
Draco was always like that. He always used the worst words to describe himself. He was good at saying one thing and aning another, and he didn't hesitate to use the worst terms to define himself.
He seed to lack the ability to discover the beautiful qualities within his own soul. This didn't an those beautiful qualities didn't exist, but rather that he buried them deep within, even ashad to unearth them.
For example, last year when he'd promised to teach everyone the Patronus Charm, he'd used that "Slytherin benefits" tone, and was ashad to admit he was "helping others for fun."
Constantly belittling oneself—that was hardly a healthy lifestyle. Hermione's eyes flickered as she watched him wield his wand with such ease.
She was about to start her favorite debating ga.
This ti, she intended to observe him, to determine whether Draco Malfoy was truly a self-serving individual, and to understand what he ant by "benefits."
"I've noticed you go to the Quidditch pitch every evening," Hermione whispered to him during Transfiguration. "Isn't there no Quidditch this school year?"
"Oh, special training—for Crabbe and Goyle," Draco said, yawning. "They're planning to try out next year, so I've prepared a year-long training plan for them. The early Kneazle gets the Knarl, you know."
"What good does this do you? You Slytherins who always want the best deal?" Her beautiful eyes sized him up, as if in provocation.
He paused for a mont, then quickly regained his lazy deanor. "Isn't it a benefit to train players for the Slytherin team in advance?"
"I suppose so," Hermione said reluctantly, a hint of doubt still lingering in her eyes.
"So, how's your S.P.E.W. going?" He idly twirled his wand in his hand, seemingly trying to kill ti.
"I'm working on it," Hermione said briefly. She tensed her jaw, not wanting to discuss the topic.
Draco guessed things weren't going well. Hermione had only been angry with him for three days before responding to his persistent attempts to talk to her with a certain reserve.
"Why have you been so listless lately, Harry?" He glanced at her suddenly stiff face from the corner of his eye and tactfully changed the subject.
"He thinks he's worrying unnecessarily. You know, ever since he wrote to his godfather on your advice," Hermione said, shaking her head, her face full of worry. She turned a large white porcelain plate into a pretty little mushroom.
"That was wonderful," he said, smiling encouragingly at her. "Nothing can stump you, can it?"
"Of course," Hermione said. Hearing him say that, she couldn't help smiling again, pulling herself from her lancholy about "S.P.E.W.'s mbership developnt hitting a bottleneck" and smiling happily.
Honestly, what good would it do him to encourage her? Was this sothing a selfish person should do? She looked at the beautiful shape of the boy's lips, who was showering her with complints, and wondered in bewildernt.
This was a Transfiguration lesson on a Thursday morning in mid-October, where Professor McGonagall was teaching students about cross-species transformations, such as turning a hedgehog into a pincushion or a guinea fowl into a guinea pig.
Draco was already adept at using this type of transfiguration. He and his study partner Hermione had successfully perford advanced transfiguration for Professor McGonagall last year, making both pincushion and guinea pig flawless.
Professor McGonagall was impressed and had to assign them a separate task: to preview the content of N.E.W.T.-level Transfiguration.
"Of course I can let you just follow the syllabus. You'll have a very easy ti in my Transfiguration lessons. However, why waste your precious youth and your talents? Don't you think that would be wasteful? Learning ahead will help you achieve better results in your fifth-year O.W.L. examinations, and may even help you in your future N.E.W.T. courses—" A look of expectation appeared in her usually stern eyes, rather like the Muggle parents Hermione described who hoped their children would succeed. "I think you'll probably both choose Transfiguration as one of your N.E.W.T. subjects, won't you?"
"Of course," they said in unison, glancing at each other discreetly.
"Then you'll have to put in your utmost effort," Professor McGonagall said with a satisfied smile. "I shall be very strict with you."
Encouraged by Professor McGonagall's rare smile, Draco and Hermione diligently practiced everything Professor McGonagall had taught them: turning plates into mushrooms, Summoning Charms for inanimate objects, turning owls into opera glasses, Vanishing Spells, even human transfiguration, and all sorts of Counter-Charms...
At that mont, Draco whispered to Hermione, "Harry isn't entirely being paranoid. The timing of his scar pain is indeed very strange, and that dream—he saw a large serpent, didn't he?"
As he spoke, he casually turned Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, into an ornate telescope and handed it to Ron with a wicked grin.
"It looks just like the real thing!" Ron exclaid with great interest as he observed everything in the distance through the telescope. "Aha! Harry, I saw a beetle on Seamus's head! Now it's flown away, passed Dean, and landed on Lavender's hair..."
Harry remained lost in thought, gazing silently at his hedgehog, seemingly uninterested in turning it into a pincushion, and not participating in their conversation as usual.
He did look rather preoccupied, Draco thought.
"Lavender's swatting at the beetle, and now Parvati's joined the fray..." Ron said enthusiastically, as if he were giving so sort of running comntary. He only stopped when he saw Professor McGonagall's angry nostrils flaring in the telescope's view.
"Mr. Weasley, if you're so interested in beetles instead of transfiguring pincushions properly, I wouldn't mind transfiguring you into one and seeing what happens," Professor McGonagall said, giving him a stern look, then glancing at the pincushion on his desk, which was trembling with fear—a few hedgehog spines still stuck in it—before moving off to observe the other students' work.
"She can be really frightening sotis, you know—Professor McGonagall," Ron said, smirking at Draco and tossing the ornate telescope back to him so he could break the spell.
"It's all right, Ron—she was just trying to frighten you. Professors can't transfigure students—that's a serious violation," Hermione said, tilting her head slightly across Draco and reassuring him in a matter-of-fact tone.
Ron pulled a face and continued tornting the pincushion on his table that was trying to escape, with his wand.
"Ron, actually, you can—" Hermione couldn't help trying to remind Ron, but Draco interrupted her.
"There's a little trick to the pincushion transfiguration," Draco said, suddenly turning around, blocking her view, and speaking to Ron. "You can try this thod..."
What good would it do Ron to learn the tricks of transfiguration? Hermione stared at the back of his platinum head as he solemnly uttered what she'd intended to say, and suddenly felt a wave of confusion wash over her.
The school bell rang, interrupting her thoughts. Hermione hurriedly packed her books, stuffing them all into her bag. The next mont, the boy took the bag and said casually, "Let's go."
"I can carry it myself!" Her face flushed.
"Hermione Granger, I've noticed you're really uncomfortable accepting help from friends, even the smallest bit," Draco said, looking her over in a hurt tone. "Don't you consider a friend?"
"Of course I consider you a friend," she said hastily.
"Just a regular friend from the neighboring House," Draco said with a half-smile.
Hermione opened her mouth, then abruptly closed it again. How did he know? she wondered guiltily.
"Don't rush to deny it, saying you didn't say anything like that. I heard it all," Draco said, his face showing a hint of resentnt. "It sounded rather distant, didn't it?"
"I—I an, you're a good friend from the House next door. Not just a friend," Hermione said hastily, realizing she was making things worse, and awkwardly turned and walked away. "You—take it if you want!"
What good would it do to carry her schoolbag? This Slytherin who claid to be "selfish"! She was extrely puzzled, walking empty-handed from the aisle to the classroom door, her mind full of questions.
Draco smiled smugly and followed behind her.
Ron, who'd witnessed everything from across the aisle, was dumbfounded. He asked Harry, puzzled, "A schoolbag—what's so brilliant about that? It's not like it's the Quidditch Cup—why are you so excited?"
"Have you ever heard of the phrase 'staking a claim'?" Harry said, finally snapping from his daze. He glanced around at the puzzled or dismissive looks on the faces of those around him and said with an air of mystery, "He's staking his claim."
The girl, whose claim had been inexplicably staked, was completely unaware of this. She was walking side by side with a scheming young man on the way to the Ancient Runes classroom, discussing Harry's ntal state.
"Harry thinks Sirius has finally started to have his own life and is finally willing to go out and see the world... He doesn't want to beco a burden to Sirius..." Hermione said softly.
"Nonsense! What burden? Sirius Black is Harry's godfather," Draco said, frowning.
"Harry's worried the title of godfather will put too much pressure on him. He feels Sirius shouldn't be confined to Grimmauld Place, but should go out more and enjoy so freedom. Being a godson ans too many constraints," Hermione said, clicking her tongue.
"He doesn't fully understand his godfather, nor does he grasp the gravity of the situation. Sirius Black's years in Azkaban were far from easy. The only reason he survived those harsh conditions without collapsing or withering away was sheer willpower—Harry was probably that willpower," Draco said, his gaze distant and complex. "I suspect that for a long ti, Harry was Sirius Black's only reason to keep living. If anything happens to Harry, he'll never recover."
Hermione looked at Draco with an inquisitive gaze.
Was he really the "late-blooming boy" his mother thought he was? However, he had such keen insight into many things, and his thinking patterns when examining many specific issues were quite mature.
Neither Harry nor Ron could grasp the depth of Sirius Black's story; their understanding was sowhat childish. Draco, however, was able to make such a judgnt, recognizing the suffering and inner tornt Sirius Black had endured.
He always called himself a selfish Slytherin. But could a selfish person really put themselves in other people's shoes and think from their perspective?
He always said he didn't do things that didn't benefit him. But what good did it do him to care about Harry's low spirits, Ron's Transfiguration problem, or even Sirius Black's ntal state?
"You're right. I think so too," Hermione said, staring at his silent face, trying to find evidence of his insincerity in his calmly blinking gray eyes. "I've tried persuading Harry, but he needs ti to understand. You know, he always wants to hear good news and not bad, always wants Sirius Black to be proud of him, not worried about him. That's probably a common human failing."
"I understand. You wouldn't tell Mr. and Mrs. Granger all those worrying things, would you?" Draco asked.
"Of course not. They'd be terrified if they knew what dangers we'd been through. I only told them a little about werewolves, and Dad got into quite a panic," Hermione said, exasperated. "They try their best to hide it, but I can still sense it. Sotis, I don't know how to handle it. You know how much I value honesty, but I'm hiding things from them, and that often puts considerable pressure on . It's not that I don't love them—"
"On the contrary, you love them too much, which is why you find it hard to be honest with them about certain things. There's no need to feel burdened by this," Draco said casually. "Think about it the other way round—would your parents tell you everything that worries them?"
"I don't think so," she said, suddenly feeling a sense of relief.
"So hiding sothing doesn't an you don't love soone. Being less than honest doesn't an you don't trust them," Draco said aningfully. "Do you understand what I an now?"
"I understand rather better now," Hermione said, reminding him warily, "but I still hope you can be more honest with ."
"On so issues, I've been more honest with you than with my parents," Draco said bluntly.
"Really?" She looked at him and suddenly smiled.
"Of course. So, to be frank, I have to tell you Sirius Black's reason for going out on his travels is because of Harry. Rember our conversation at the Astronomy Tower? He's doing what I'm doing; he's my ally now," Draco said mysteriously. "He left London not for so ridiculous reason like traveling or seeking freedom, but to try following so leads."
"Oh—" Hermione nodded thoughtfully.
Now she found even more evidence pointing to his selflessness. He was rebelling against Voldemort, going against his family's principles. What good did that do him?
He put on an air of disdain for fairness and justice. Yet he'd embarked on a difficult, clandestine path of opposing Voldemort, constantly facing the pain of betraying his family and parents. Wasn't he, in doing so, upholding the fairness and justice in his heart?
However, he insisted he was selfish. Was there anyone more hypocritical than him?
"That makes sense now," Hermione said, striding into the Ancient Runes classroom as he casually opened the door for her, smiled gratefully at him, and continued toward her seat. "I was wondering why Sirius Black had rushed off on his journey so quickly, even missing the Quidditch World Cup. It was supposed to be a wonderful family activity, you know—the two of you pitching a tent, camping, and such. I'll wager Harry was rather disappointed about it—"
"Don't tell Harry about this, at least not now. Sirius Black wants this kept quiet, at least until he gets back; and you don't want Harry having to worry about his godfather's safety while he's in Transfiguration, do you? He's already anxious enough as it is," Draco said, sitting in their usual seats and leaning close to her ear, whispering so the other students in the classroom wouldn't hear.
"Of course I understand! I'll keep it secret," she said. She felt a slight tickle on her ear and blushed.
Ancient Runes, which followed Transfiguration, was one of Draco's favorite subjects.
It wasn't that it was particularly interesting; in fact, most of the ti its content was obscure and difficult to understand. But it was quite practical, especially when it ca to so ancient magical fields—like repairing the Vanishing Cabinet.
In his previous life, Draco hadn't specifically chosen to study this sort of knowledge; he'd repaired the Vanishing Cabinet through self-teaching. In this life, Draco longed to learn it systematically, so he'd seized this opportunity to take the course.
In this lesson, they were learning about the symbolic representation of numbers in ancient runes.
Professor Bathsheda Babbling had always been passionate about the courses she taught: "In the early Middle Ages, many ancient English inscriptions were written in runes, which led to their widespread use in many dieval wizarding circles in Britain... and among them, nurical symbolism was a very important part."
She glanced around at the students' eager faces and smiled with satisfaction: "Today, we'll explore which magical creature symbols represent the numbers zero to nine. I suggest you work in pairs to explore these concepts in your textbooks. This is your assignnt; please hand it in before the end of the lesson..."
"The runic number zero cos from the Demiguise... the number one is the horn of the Unicorn... the number two is the horns of the Graphorn... the number three is the three heads of the Runespoor..." Hermione said, quickly flipping through the book and reading out the symbolism of these numbers, while Draco transcribed them in beautiful cursive script onto blank parchnt.
"The Fwooper has four-colored plumage, representing the number four... The Quintaped represents the number five... The salamander can only survive for six hours after leaving fla, representing the number six... The number eight cos from the Acromantula's eight eyes... The number nine represents the Hydra..." Hermione continued reading, her brow furrowing.
"What about the number seven?" Draco said, glancing at Hermione casually, then stopping, tapping the table with his knuckles with a hint of impatience.
"That's the problem," Hermione said, puzzled. "Seven doesn't refer to anything. It's just stated as: it's the most magical number."
"The most magical number..." Draco said with great interest. "I rember the sa thing about the number seven in our Arithmancy lessons. It's a mysterious and magical number—although we don't know what's so magical about it."
He was particularly struck by the number seven because both their nas contained the number seven in their arithmantic interpretations.
"That's right. This number's quite popular in the Muggle world as well—Muggles divide the week into seven days..." Hermione pondered with interest.
"A week in the wizarding world also has seven days. Oh, so it's ti to test your reasoning skills again?" Draco said lazily. "If you really want to find proof from the margins, there's also the concept of seven planets in Astronomy—the Sun, the Moon, rcury, Venus, Mars, Saturn, and Jupiter. I just drew them."
"If you've studied Muggle mathematics, you might know seven is a pri number, divisible only by one and seven," Hermione retorted. "I won't lose to you in a place like this."
"There are seven colors in a rainbow," Draco said, glancing at the colors reflected in the windowpane.
"In one of the Muggle religions, in the Old Testant, it says God created Adam in seven days and then used Adam's seventh rib to create Eve," Hermione said seriously.
"That's rather grueso!" Draco said, looking at her in surprise. "Why did he take his ribs out?"
"That's a taphor! It shows the deep bond between them!" Hermione said, shaking her head, amused by his ignorant attitude.
Then again, what good did it do him to always play the debating gas she enjoyed so much? Was it just to beat her?
"Well, Muggles are terrifying," Draco said with lingering unease. "Going back to the number seven—in the wizarding world, children will show magical abilities around the age of seven."
"Yes, I did start showing magical abilities when I was seven. I was sitting on the floor, glanced at the book on top of the bookshelf, and it instantly appeared in my hand—my parents were startled," Hermione said, asking curiously, "I thought this ability appeared randomly. Do all wizarding children show magical abilities at a specific age—seven? Are there no exceptions?"
"A Squib," Draco said. "If there are no signs by age seven, it's most likely a Squib."
"Like Mr. Filch?"
"That's right."
"I have a question: are there many Squibs in the magical world?" Hermione asked with interest.
"More than you think," Draco said casually.
"But I've only ever seen one Squib—Mr. Filch."
"That's because the other Squibs have gradually moved to the Muggle world to live," Draco said. "Apart from places like Hogwarts, very few people are willing to offer Squibs employnt opportunities."
"Oh, please—yet another unfair example," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I thought it was only house-elves—"
"Don't get angry yet," Draco said, seeing her disapproving look. "Even if there are employnt opportunities, very few Squibs can adapt to wizarding society and et the needs of their employers. Imagine everyone around you can use magic, but you can't. Filch can't even cast a Scouring Charm—all the cleaning has to be done manually—it's extrely inefficient, isn't it?"
Hermione looked at him and nodded.
She suddenly realized he was always willing to patiently explain these rules of the wizarding world to her, but what benefit did it bring him? He could have chosen not to explain so much.
"You see, what could have been easily solved with a wand has beco sothing that requires considerable ti and effort," he said regretfully. "The Squibs naturally don't want to live in the wizarding world for long—it's too difficult."
"That's rather sad," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Now I understand why Mr. Filch always punished students by making them polish trophies by hand instead of using magic. He probably wanted the students to experience the hardship of not being able to use magic. Every cleaning job was difficult for him, and everyone subconsciously ignored that and kept adding to his workload with mud, Stink Pellets, and all sorts of prank items."
"Oh, don't tell you sympathize with him," Draco said dismissively. "Have you forgotten who caught you in first year and made you lose fifty House points?"
"Of course I rember. But we did break curfew. He was just doing his job," Hermione said, frowning and speaking slowly. "Of course, I don't think his punishnt thods were humane. I just think not all Squibs are as harsh as him; there are always so Squibs who are likable, just as there are likable people among Muggles."
"Which Muggles do you an are likable?" Draco countered.
"The neighborhood children are all very lovable. My parents' friends' children are always friendly to too," Hermione said with a shrug.
"Boys or girls?" he asked, pursing his lips.
"Both," she said frankly.
"Oh, Muggle boys!" Draco's face darkened.
"Don't forget, no matter how likable a Muggle is, they're still a Muggle. Wizards and Muggles are from two different worlds," he said coolly.
"I have reservations," Hermione said stubbornly.
Her parents were the most lovable Muggles she knew. She'd love them forever, and her love for them would never diminish just because they couldn't use magic.
"Fine," Draco said, glancing at her, finding her confident expression that "so Muggle boys are likable" quite hurtful.
He said irritably, "Anyway, I win. After all this discussion, you haven't co up with any new points about the number seven—"
"Wait—Hogwarts has seven years!" Hermione protested. "I didn't bring it up straightaway because I wanted to discuss the topic of Squibs with you!"
"Since you're going to say that, don't forget the castle has seven floors," Draco reminded her.
He even thought of the seven secret passages to Hogwarts shown on the Marauder's Map, but that was difficult to explain to Hermione.
Hermione seed stumped. She pondered for a mont, then hesitated before saying, "There are one hundred and forty-two staircases in the castle—"
"From an arithmantic perspective, the numbers one, four, and two add up to seven," Draco quickly replied.
"I gave you this example—you can't take it!" Hermione said, glancing at him disdainfully and adding smugly, "Can't think of anything else? I won, didn't I?"
"Humans have seven orifices," Draco said, staring at her face.
Hermione was furious, glaring at him. "A Quidditch team needs seven players! The seventh player is the Seeker!"
"I didn't know you were so interested in Quidditch," Draco said, his gray eyes flashing with a faint smile.
"Because—" Hermione stamred.
Because you play Quidditch.
I haven't missed a single one of your Quidditch matches.
But she couldn't bring herself to say it.
She didn't want to show too much infatuation with him.
"Why?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"A Seeker," she said briefly, her cheeks gradually turning pink as she looked at him defiantly.
Then she saw the smile slowly fade from those clear eyes, replaced by a cold hue. His mouth opened and closed, uttering a nonsensical remark: "Oh, it seems Viktor Krum is quite unforgettable."
What did this have to do with Krum?
She didn't like his expression or his tone.
What good did it do him to bring up that unfortunate Krum now? Was it just because he couldn't think of any other points for "seven" that he was trying to dodge the question and confuse the issue?
"Draco, you're being ridiculous," Hermione said, slamming her book shut. As the lesson bell rang, she snatched the parchnt from the boy's hand and handed it to Professor Babbling at the front of the classroom.
A whole day had passed, and she still didn't know if he qualified as the sort of selfish person he claid to be.
She still didn't understand what benefits he claid were hidden behind his many seemingly selfless actions.
But she was absolutely certain that Draco Malfoy was, at tis, quite eccentric, inexplicable, and even extrely difficult!
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