Chapter Sixty-Three: Iced Aricano and Iced Latte
When Hermione entered the living room, Draco was sitting on the sofa, engrossed in reading *The Complete Guide to Eastern Antidotes*.
It was a day in mid-July, and the weather was incredibly clear. However, Draco showed no sign of going out. He had his long legs crossed on a footstool, his left hand holding the book, and his right index and middle fingers together, gently rubbing his temples, as if pondering so important matter.
She coughed softly.
Hearing this, he stopped rubbing his temples. He casually lowered the book, resting it against his chest with unique elegance. Through his platinum-blond hair framing his forehead, he raised his grey eyes and glanced at her dismissively. "I thought there were no classes scheduled for today."
"No, not at all," Hermione said softly, giving him a smile.
"By the way, how did you get in?" Draco realized belatedly, looked up, and raised his eyebrows to examine her closely.
Today she wore a light purple T-shirt and a white mini-skirt. A pair of white ankle socks covered her ankles, blending seamlessly with her white Mary Janes. Without the cover of her wizard's robes, the girl's long, healthy legs were exposed, radiating vitality.
"Dobby let in," Hermione said smugly.
"You seem to have grown quite familiar with him." Draco shook his head.
Hermione Granger, the house-elves' eternal friend, could effortlessly befriend these creatures he couldn't comprehend. He gestured with his chin toward the empty seat beside him, eyes fixed on her. "Co sit down."
Normally, if soone dared speak to Hermione Granger in such an imperative tone, she'd probably be indignant. But today, she'd barely frowned, and before she could utter any words of protest, her legs betrayed her will.
When his eyes were fixed on her, she seed to find it hard to refuse him.
She walked up to him under his gaze and landed lightly beside him, her smooth, pale legs very close to his trousers.
Draco's gaze swept over her legs montarily before he subtly returned his attention to his book.
Hermione was oblivious; she had her head resting on the sofa back, tilting it unconsciously, staring blankly at his face.
She was sowhat puzzled. Staring at his profile as he intently read, her mind was preoccupied with her new headphones.
She'd taken the faulty headphones to a repair shop, where the chanics inspected them and said they were perfectly fine. She'd used them again at ho for a while, and the electrical leakage never occurred again.
What exactly was the electric current that day?
Her gaze, filled with surprise and uncertainty, lingered on his gleaming pale face. His eyelashes were thick, their colour a pale gold, as if ticulously painted stroke by stroke by a Renaissance painter.
His jawline was well-defined. His nose was straight and clearly shaped.
And then there were his lips. Few boys had such beautifully coloured and shaped lips, yet they looked surprisingly harmonious on his face.
Hermione studied his appearance for a while, then suddenly forgot what she'd been thinking about.
Draco was trying to keep his mind focused on the book. But he couldn't concentrate because she was staring at him with her round, cat-like eyes and her legs were gently swaying beside him.
He didn't change his reading posture, but his gaze quietly shifted from the last line of the book to the bare Achilles tendon exposed above her socks.
A muscle ran straight down from the girl's calf to her ankle, tapering toward the ankle. Behind the ankle, there were two small dimples on either side.
He stood there stunned for a long ti, not turning the page. His free hand clenched into a fist and rested on his lap.
He felt like the strangest person in the world. He couldn't take his eyes off her dangling ankle. He even started to find that Achilles tendon quite beautiful.
There was a mont when he wanted to grasp it. The thought was enough to make him want to slap himself or make his stomach churn.
At that mont, he felt her intense gaze. He felt a little nervous.
He forced himself to look away. He dared not look at her again—he was afraid she'd see right through him.
"Would you like so tea?" he asked her suddenly as he hurriedly turned a page.
"Oh, actually, I wanted to try sothing different today—I heard there's a famous spring water coffee place in Bath." Hermione snapped out of her reverie and said excitedly, "My mum has been recomnding I try it. I just wanted to ask if you were interested."
"Really—" he said casually, sense of relief washing over him. She probably hadn't noticed what he'd been looking at. She seed less overtly observing him now. So, he tried to refocus his gaze on the words in the book.
He looked at the first line three tis, back and forth. He recognized each word, but he couldn't understand them when put together.
It's just a simple fact about Chinese edible brassica—why can't he read it?
"I can't believe I'm saying this—Draco, stop reading and co with to Bath. I've never t a more bookish boy than ! Don't you have any free ti at all? Reading so many books every day and practicing Quidditch... don't you get tired?" Hermione frowned, tone slightly petulant.
Quidditch?
During sumr holidays, Draco would often train at four or five in the morning when the weather was still cool, continuing until the sun rose and the temperature got warr.
During the day, Draco preferred to stay indoors and study, which was sowhat different from his previous self who'd been a bit lazy.
Now, how could he possibly have the confidence to sit idle? The threat of the Dark Lord might still exist, and although the task had been handed to Dumbledore, he still felt uneasy.
Had Dumbledore discovered the Horcruxes in his past life? Judging from Harry's actions retrieving the diadem, Dumbledore likely had. So, when had Dumbledore discovered them in his past life? Was there anything he'd overlooked? Why hadn't he solved the Horcruxes himself, instead leaving it to Harry?
Now, could Dumbledore really solve the Horcrux problem on his own? Draco couldn't help worrying.
Moreover, he not only had to participate in Slughorn's potions tutoring class and complete enormous amounts of sumr howork, but also had to secretly research thods to treat dragon pox.
All these things gave him a headache every day.
However, Hermione wasn't wrong. He hadn't slept well last night and was feeling tired today. Even when he tried to read, he couldn't concentrate. Besides, he suddenly rembered Mrs. Granger's words—Hermione "didn't make many friends" in Bath.
Draco softened and glanced back at her.
She was staring at him intently, like a cat seeing dried fish for the first ti.
"Oh, Spring Water Coffee, is that right?" He was helpless against her longing gaze, so he could only sigh and put the book aside.
Besides, those beautiful legs and ankles... really shouldn't be wasted indoors, but should be displayed more on the streets of Bath, Draco thought absently.
"Yes!" Seeing he seed interested, her tone suddenly beca more lively, and her eyes lit up. "Let's buy so specialty bread for Harry on the way. I heard those Muggles are mistreating him every day, only giving him a little food. He's almost starving to death..."
"Alright, let's buy it and go," he said, standing up first.
Occasionally strolling through the Muggle streets with her, engaging in role-playing, and pretending to be a Muggle felt quite nice.
It allowed you to clear your mind of the magical world and lock your anxiety away in a dark room.
As they strolled leisurely along the stone path by the river, crossing the ancient three-arched bridge, Draco thought to himself.
At least, breathing so fresh air had eased the pain in his temples.
---
"This restaurant is pretty good, isn't it?" Sitting by the window, she looked around and asked smugly.
"It's really good—the live classical music is quite pleasant," Draco said, looking at the coffee nu.
"Oh, that's Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier," Hermione said casually.
"You know about this?" Draco asked in surprise.
"I learned Muggle piano when I was little. I only studied for a few years and can play a few pieces, but I'm not proficient," Hermione said regretfully, glancing at the white piano in the center of the hall. "There's nothing I can do. Hogwarts is a boarding school, so I can't continue studying."
Draco fell silent, following her gaze as he examined the piano. There was a similar instrunt in a corner of the library at Malfoy Manor, but unfortunately, no one knew how to play it, and it was always covered with a dust sheet to prevent accumulation.
"Alright, it's not a big deal. Although I don't have many opportunities to play piano, I can still listen." Hermione quickly recovered and regained her cheerful deanor. "Let's order coffee first. What would you like to drink? It's on ."
"Oh, an iced Aricano, please," Draco said casually, closing the coffee nu. "An espresso would also be fine."
"Good heavens, isn't that the bitterest?" she said, frowning. "I've been wanting to ask you this for a while now: why do you drink this bitter stuff? Sotis I see you drinking it at breakfast at Hogwarts. Don't you like sweet things?"
"How did you know?" He glanced at her strangely.
"Although you hid it very well, I saw you eating chocolate cake once," Hermione said smugly. "You were secretly smiling."
"Why would you notice sothing like that?" he asked casually. "I only do it very occasionally—"
"I just noticed it. There's no reason why," she said quickly.
"Across the dining table and aisle, and a bunch of students? You still noticed all that?" He looked up at her, mood suddenly improving a little.
"That's not the point!" She blushed slightly. "The point is, you like sweets!"
"That's right," Draco lazily admitted. "You saw right through . Personally speaking, I do have a sweet tooth."
"Then why do you like Aricano?" She looked blank.
"I think the best coffee has never been Aricano or espresso," he said frankly.
"Can you tell what flavour of coffee you think is best?" she asked curiously.
"An iced latte, with whipped cream and chocolate sauce." He had a nostalgic look on his face. "I think this is the best."
"Alright. I'll order this and try it." She glanced at him, sly look on her face.
The waiters were quick, and soon served the coffee to the boy and girl by the window.
"Try it," he said to her, suddenly looking forward to her reaction to the coffee he liked. "See if it suits your taste."
She examined it montarily, then carefully took a sip. Suddenly, her eyes widened and lit up. "This tastes really good! It's so enjoyable to drink—is this your favourite flavour?"
"That's right," he said softly, taking a sip of his iced Aricano, the bitter, cool taste imdiately spreading in his mouth.
"Then why do you keep drinking Aricano? The taste is completely different!" she asked incredulously.
"Because it's bitter enough," he said softly. "It reminds that the happiness I'm experiencing is an illusion, and that bitterness is the only reality."
Bitterness would remind him of who he once was and what difficult mission he carried. It would remind him that he had no right to indulge in present pleasures. Although he longed to indulge, his will grew weaker day by day.
"You're torturing yourself." She shook her head. "Torturing yourself for no reason."
"I'm just trying to stay awake," Draco said, eyes downcast, unable to look at her anymore—the happiness on her face was alluring, even captivating.
"Drink it!" Hermione shoved her iced latte in front of the boy and said domineeringly, "At least take a break today—don't make yourself suffer so much, alright?"
Before he could react, she took the iced Aricano from before him and moved it to her side. "You're not allowed to drink this today."
"Don't you always say that wasting food is shaful?" He tried to retrieve the extrely bitter cup of coffee, but was afraid of spilling it on her clothes, so he didn't dare use full strength.
"I'll drink it, I'll drink it, alright?" Hermione leaned back and downed the iced Aricano in one gulp. Her movents were rather bold; she slamd the glass on the table with a clang and began to complain with a frown, "Good heavens, you self-torturing boy, drinking this stuff every day! It's so bitter!"
Draco stared at her, dumbfounded, unsure how to react.
He'd already taken a sip of the coffee; without thinking, she'd drunk it all down.
"I'm full!" Hermione said, feigning annoyance. "No waste—you have to finish that iced latte!"
Draco stared at her, then suddenly froze.
What was Hermione doing? Why was she treating him like that? Her tone was both domineering and unreasonable. Who else would dare order him around like that? Yet he always found her adorable.
He obediently picked up the cup, and for the first ti in his life, he tasted the coffee flavour he'd loved most in his previous life.
It's delicious. It's incredibly delicious. Even better than he rembered.
It's so sweet. Especially sweet. As sweet as he rembered her.
"Hermione, did you plan this all along? Did you plan it when you ordered?" He sipped the coffee that made his heart sweet and couldn't help but smile at her.
It was a smile that relaxed his brows and eyes. A smile that shone brightly. His first smile of the day.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Hermione looked at his smile with satisfaction, pretending it was none of her business, and turned her head to admire Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier, a smile secretly creeping onto her lips.
Draco had been frowning all day; sothing must be bothering him. He needed sothing to cheer him up, not sothing so bitter, she thought to herself.
As it turned out, she was right. His mood definitely improved, didn't it?
---
Draco discovered that once Hermione dragged him for a stroll through the streets of Bath, it would happen again and again, and then countless tis. He found it increasingly difficult to be alone and peacefully tackle those books one by one.
Hermione always took advantage of him, dressing up cutely to co and play, a stark contrast to her lifeless attire at Hogwarts.
Her energy was irresistible to him. She would always find so Muggle attractions that sounded absurd but were occasionally interesting to take him along to do silly things like pretending to be Muggle tourists.
Sotis it was a band playing on a sumr night, listening to the Muggles sing on the quiet lawn. "See, it's not as chaotic as you think, is it?" she'd say to him smugly.
Sotis it involved exploring a hidden chocolate shop in a back alley, asking him to taste all the delicious chocolates for her. "Please, you have to pick the best ones!" she'd say earnestly.
Sotis it was visiting the ho of a deceased Muggle female writer, and she'd drag him around the air-conditioned museum. "Oh, just walk around with for a while, and then I'll take you for afternoon tea, alright?" she'd say reluctantly. "I really like this writer."
What could he do? He couldn't just let her go alone, could he? A young witch, alone on the terrible streets of the Muggle world!
He was completely helpless against her. This know-it-all girl who could effortlessly win the affections of those elusive house-elves, yet always claid she hadn't made any other friends in Bath!
There were tis when Draco was lazy. Occasionally, when he stubbornly refused to go out, she'd stay with him.
She'd bring more cassette tapes for him to listen to.
He'd use her Muggle Walkman and headphones to listen to music that cald him—Debussy's "Clair de Lune" or Schubert's "Serenade"—lying on his back on the grass in the garden, lazily flipping through the latest issue of the *Daily Prophet*, *Transfiguration Today*, or *Practical Potions Master*; Hermione lay beside him, legs casually crossed and swaying, quietly reciting the History of Magic she'd need for next term, or reading *Interdiate Transfiguration*.
Sotis, his eyes would drift to her ankles, her swaying legs, her gracefully shaped arms resting on the grass, or her nimble fingers supporting her chin.
Sotis, he wouldn't even play any music, just eavesdrop on her earnest recitation. Her voice was like clear, flowing spring water, or so fountain in the courtyard, gently sprinkling into his ears—even more pleasant than music.
"Did I disturb you?" Occasionally, when she noticed his gaze lingering on her, she'd tilt her head and ask him, face slightly flushed.
"What are you saying?" He'd take off one of the earphones, look into those bright eyes, and pretend to be confused. "I can't hear anything."
Hermione was satisfied and continued to diligently recite her notes, while the cunning boy continued reading his newspaper or whatever else interested him.
July, with Hermione Granger by his side, was dazzling and delightful. Before they knew it, the month was drawing to a close, and the brewing of Felix Felicis was nearing its end.
---
Draco and Hermione had learned how to filter the potion residue using a filter cloth woven from unicorn hair, and how to add the filtered potion three tis to a cauldron preheated to one hundred degrees Celsius at a specific angle and position. "This technique is sowhat similar to the ancient Chinese tea-making process," Hermione comnted.
Slughorn wholeheartedly agreed. "The East also has its own path of magic, and these operations are essentially the sa," he said.
Hermione nodded thoughtfully.
Her gaze drifted to Draco, and she found herself lost in thought.
Under Slughorn's guidance, he was carefully dripping a drop of unicorn blood into the steaming potion.
She was puzzled by the fact that she sotis spaced out. For about three to five seconds, her mind was filled with his profile, which was free of distractions, his serious grey eyes, and the strand of platinum-blond hair that hung between his eyebrows.
However, she didn't have ti to think further. They needed to quickly stir the potion until it turned golden.
Then, they watched with great interest as Slughorn personally demonstrated how to pour the potion from the cauldron into the beaker without wasting any ingredients.
"You must maintain a uniform, continuous, and slow pouring motion, just like pouring honey... At the sa ti, you must keep the cauldron warm to prevent any potion residue from remaining on it." He explained and demonstrated simultaneously.
Such delicate handling drew exclamations of admiration from the two apprentices. Slughorn was quite pleased with himself. His chubby hands deftly and gently placed a unicorn horn into the golden liquid. The horn slowly rose and fell in the liquid, with tiny bubbles forming at its tip.
"Very good! Next, it needs to be kept away from light and left to stand for six months. It's only considered successful when bubbles appear on the surface of the potion." His smile carried a hint of calm. "This is the most crucial point. Many novice potion-makers overlook this, thinking that they're done once they've brewed all these ingredients. But in reality, this potion is very delicate. Even slight exposure to sunlight or a sudden jolt can ruin it."
He saw his female apprentice nod silently, then take out her notebook and begin taking notes. Her intelligence, dexterity, diligence, and eagerness to learn left a deep impression.
He smacked his lips in satisfaction, then drifted back into his mories. "I knew a Japanese potion-maker who was very talented! Unfortunately, he never succeeded in making it."
"Because of the bumpy ride?" Draco seed to have guessed sothing.
Slughorn nodded sadly. "He lived in an earthquake zone."
---
Earlier the next afternoon, Draco went to his grandfather's garden to have tea with him and polish a paper he'd finished long ago on the burning of witches by Muggles in the fourteenth century—he'd suddenly gained so new insights that day.
"I heard you've been getting close to a Muggle-born girl lately." Abraxas took a sip of his tea, watching his grandson Draco with an impassive expression.
Draco's quill paused montarily. Without looking up, he said in a casual tone, "Slughorn said that?"
"Slughorn speaks highly of that girl," Abraxas snorted, adding sourly, "That old rascal who steals other people's grandchildren! Ever since you t him, you haven't co to see your grandfather much."
"Grandfather, of course I care more about you. What I value are his potion-making skills. If I learn them, wouldn't that benefit the Malfoy family?" Draco said lazily, continuing to revise the paper at the sa pace.
"That's true." Abraxas was convinced. He cleared his throat and said with an air of superiority, "Listen, I don't care what kind of wizards you associate with. Even among wizards, who can compare to the Malfoys? Anyone with talent is worth courting. However, your father is a staunch pure-blood enthusiast, and this concern for bloodlines can even cloud his judgnt. He will definitely not be happy about it."
"Thank you for reminding , Grandfather." Draco finally finished writing the last word. He stood up, smiled at Abraxas, and poured him a cup of tea. "I have to go. A very important potion is at a crucial mont today..."
"Go away, go away," Abraxas waved him off dismissively, then chuckled. "Give so peace and quiet." He adjusted a pair of gilded round-frad spectacles and turned his gaze back to the newly arrived *Daily Prophet*, intently examining the large photograph on the front page. A short, stout, balding man with a haggard face and shifty eyes caught his attention.
He glanced quickly at the headlines and articles on the front page, his expression changed drastically, and he couldn't help but let out a rapid exclamation.
"rlin's beard!" he called to the boy who'd just reached the door. "Boy, you must co back and see this!"
The *Daily Prophet's* headline read:
**Peter Pettigrew's Escape from Azkaban**
The Ministry of Magic confird today that Peter Pettigrew recently escaped from Azkaban prison, and there is currently no indication that anyone assisted him in his escape. Although Azkaban officials stated that nothing unusual was found, so wizards from the International Confederation of Wizards have begun to question Azkaban's security system, believing it may have serious vulnerabilities...
Draco frowned as he looked at the huge photograph on the newspaper and the man in it, marveling at how magical and fateful the cycles of history were.
In his past life, Sirius Black had also escaped Azkaban around the sa ti. Given that he'd already been exonerated, Draco had expected Hogwarts to be a bit calr this year.
"Draco," Abraxas said, a deep line forming on his forehead, "I think you need to get back to Malfoy Manor as soon as possible."
Draco understood imdiately. Malfoy Manor was clearly more secure than the spa resort. He was one of the wizards who'd captured Peter Pettigrew, and was likely to face his retaliation.
Although he personally believed that the cowardly rat simply didn't have the courage.
Abraxas hesitated montarily, then suddenly stood up, leaning on the table for support. He said seriously, "Lucius and Narcissa are still traveling in Peru. I don't know when they'll find out. I'll go back with you first."
The old, lazy grandfather vanished in an instant. He straightened his back, displaying an air of authority, and said, "I'll give you an hour to pack your bags and say goodbye to your friends. We'll leave promptly in an hour."
Draco rushed back to his room. He opened a black leather trunk in the corner, tapped it with his wand, and the items in the room lined up and flew into the trunk.
He grabbed another piece of parchnt, hastily wrote a few lines, called over Joan who was dozing in the garden, and told her to deliver it to Hermione imdiately.
Finally, he ran to Slughorn's room and knocked urgently on his door.
"Sir," he said, panting, "I'm so sorry, I have to go with my grandfather temporarily and won't be able to continue learning potions from you. Thank you so much for your guidance and help during this holiday..."
Slughorn showed no surprise—he also had a newly arrived copy of the *Daily Prophet* in his hand.
"Of course, I completely understand. It's my good fortune to be able to teach such a talented student as you. It's just a pity that I haven't fully taught you about Wolfsbane Potion yet," he said regretfully.
After hesitating for a few seconds, he approached Draco urgently, and as if having made up his mind, lowered his voice and said to him, "I think you are indeed in great danger. One of my students, you know, Barnabas Cuffe of the *Daily Prophet*, is the editor in charge of this story. He wrote to that Peter Pettigrew has been talking in his sleep in Azkaban, repeating the sa phrase over and over again, 'He's at Hogwarts...he's at Hogwarts.' I have good reason to believe that he might take revenge on you."
Draco looked up at Slughorn's large, watery, light green eyes, which were filled with earnest worry.
*He's at Hogwarts?* What did that an? Did it refer to Draco, Harry, or soone else? Draco frowned.
"Tell your grandfather about this. I think it's necessary to take precautions early." Slughorn continued rambling, plopping down on the sofa without even noticing that it was the hard, uncomfortable wooden sofa he hated most.
"Thank you for the suggestion," Draco said urgently. "However, given that I have to leave imdiately and the situation is urgent, I have a request."
"If there's anything I can do to help, please let know," Slughorn said. He was already considering which of his well-inford students could offer Draco assistance in this matter.
"I don't know if this will offend you. If possible, I would appreciate it if you could give a copy of a photograph of Lily Evans," Draco said bluntly.
Slughorn was stunned montarily. He'd never expected to hear such an irrelevant request at such an urgent mont.
For a mont, his nose stung with tears. He leaned on the hard sofa armrest, slowly stood up, walked to the desk, and took out a beautifully frad gold photograph from the back of the pile of pictures.
"How about this?" he asked softly, showing it to Draco.
Draco went closer to look. He saw it was a wedding photograph of Lily Evans and Jas Potter. They were smiling brightly and freely, full of joy and boundless anticipation for the future, completely unaware of the dangers that fate held for them.
"Lily sent this to after her wedding. She said it was the best photograph she ever took." Slughorn's chubby fingers traced the photograph one last ti. Finally, reluctantly, he pulled it from the fra and handed it to Draco.
"That would be wonderful," Draco said gratefully to Slughorn. He carefully placed the photograph in the inside pocket of his robes and gave Slughorn a grateful smile.
"I know who you're giving it to," Slughorn suddenly said, turning his back to Draco as if wiping his eyes. "Please give him my regards."
"No problem. Thank you." Draco thought to himself, why was this old man getting sentintal?
*You will et him soday, at Hogwarts.* He smiled slightly, said goodbye to Slughorn again, and turned to open the door to leave.
"Draco. I...I thought you were just ordinary friends...but now, under these circumstances, for you to make this request...I'm finally convinced that you must be Harry Potter's best friend." Slughorn's trembling voice successfully made Draco stop in his tracks.
Slughorn seed to have so genuine affection for Harry's mother, rather than simply exploiting her talents. It appeared that Lily Evans was quite favored by Slughorn.
Just like now, he was genuinely worried about Draco, and even told him such secrets.
Draco was overwheld with emotion, but he didn't turn back. He said "Thank you" again, and walked out hesitantly.
He crossed the long corridor and opened his room door to find his luggage already packed. Draco looked around, briefly reminiscing about the wonderful month he'd spent here—mostly with Hermione.
They'd used to chat leisurely in the living room, drink tea in the garden in late afternoon, eat their fill of tea and snacks in the dining room, and then spread their books out on the table to study their Hogwarts howork...
He'd begun to learn about her childhood. She was a girl who'd grown up in a bright world filled with picture books, gentle parents, a grassy backyard, and smiling faces. However, a slow steam train took her from the rapidly developing Muggle society to Hogwarts. In this novel environnt, she frantically absorbed knowledge and habitually used Muggle world standards to asure the conservative magical world, always feeling that the world without magic was more prosperous, civilized, and inclusive. This perhaps explained the underlying reason for her naive desire to change all the injustices she witnessed.
And she'd begun to delve into his past. He was a boy who'd grown up in a wondrous world of countless spellbooks, doting parents, a luxurious mansion, and flying broomsticks. From his grandfathers to those rarely seen distant relatives, from house-elves wearing Malfoy tea towels to velvet-clad nobles, everyone loved him, flattered him, and spoiled him. Undoubtedly, he was never lacking in magical talent, but no one had ever told him what empathy was; even less had anyone told him that showing one's likes, interests, and kindness was not the sa as weakness. This perhaps fostered his arrogant and ignorant personality.
They'd begun to exchange ideas. He always enjoyed updating her knowledge of everything in the magical world, just as she was very happy to tell him about the headphones, high-speed trains, spacecraft, and nuclear bombs that Muggles were researching.
They had sothing in common. They both believed in knowledge and revered wisdom. The vulnerability and fragility of the disadvantaged would evoke intense compassion in her; while he couldn't guarantee he could fully empathize, his weathered soul was, after all, weary of hurt, tornt, and death.
They'd stayed up all night making potions together, debated the latest articles in *Transfiguration Today* or *Practical Potions Master*, and even fallen asleep on their desks due to exhaustion from their studies.
One day, they'd finally finished all their howork. So, they lay on the grass in the garden, each with an earphone, and listened to all the songs on the entire cassette tape. He'd admitted that the songs were all wonderful, but none were as unforgettable as "Reality," the first ti he'd heard it.
That night, she'd finally got her wish and saw the fairies among the rose bushes up close in his garden. She'd looked at them and smiled like a child, her eyes sparkling with surprise like two crystal gems.
The vivid mories brought a smile to his face, making even Peter Pettigrew's escape seem less important. He exhaled and prepared to grab his luggage to find his grandfather. Just then, a gust of wind rushed in through the door, and a tangled ss of brown hair nestled into his arms.
"Draco!" Hermione's muffled voice ca from his chin.
He smiled and returned the unexpected embrace, asking, "Why are you here?"
She carried the warmth of outdoor sunshine and a fresh, invigorating scent. For the first ti today, this made him feel warm inside.
"I was so worried about you." Hermione let out a soft whimper, like a small animal, and hugged him even tighter.
A sense of helplessness and unease crept into her heart. His sudden departure had caught her completely off guard. It left her feeling empty. She felt a pang of reluctance, but she knew he had no choice but to leave.
"Alright, alright... I'm fine." Draco patted her bushy head contentedly, comforting her. "Don't worry, I'm not afraid of Peter Pettigrew. If he cos looking for , I'll catch him a second ti. It's just that my grandfather is a bit of an overreactor."
She seed to be persuaded by his calm tone, and she finally released him and looked up.
It was then that Draco noticed the tears welling up in her eyes. He took out his handkerchief and wiped away her tears while teasing her, "I have reason to suspect you're coveting my handkerchiefs; this is the third one already."
Hermione sniffled, then smiled through her tears. "No, I didn't an to cry," she said, struggling to speak.
"I know those handkerchiefs followed you willingly," Draco said seriously, casually placing the pale grey silk handkerchief into her hand. "Clearly, you like it more."
Hermione clutched the handkerchief, both amused and exasperated, and could only wipe her eyes for a while. Once she'd cald down, her brown eyes looked at him earnestly again, "I will help you, I...we will all protect you."
"Alright." He gazed happily into those anxious chocolate-coloured eyes. "I believe in you. One day, you will beco a great witch to protect ."
User Comments
0 comments from readers