Draco stood frozen on the sofa, staring at her. He suddenly felt a hollowness in his palms.
At that moment, he realised that he had touched her face earlier that day—even if it was to wipe away tears or check the ointment—which seemed to have crossed a line.
Earlier, he had held her hand whilst stirring the potion, so close to her that his face could touch her hair.
I do not know what is wrong with me today. Why does my body feel somewhat out of control, and why do I keep unconsciously wanting to get closer to her?
Perhaps it is because I have been exposed to too much Amortentia.
That is right. That is roughly it.
But why did she not reject me? Why did she let me get so close? Why is she not wary at all?
He glanced at her, his heart a jumble of emotions. One was worry about her complete lack of wariness towards the boy, and the other was a strange sense of pleasure.
Why is it pleasant?
It is not because, at this moment, my jacket is still wrapped tightly around her, as if embracing her at all times. And she, comfortably hiding her skin inside my clothes, wears an expression of complete entitlement.
This expression makes my heart twist even more into pieces.
A short whilst later, steaming hot food appeared out of nowhere on the restaurant's table.
Through the restaurant's floor-to-ceiling windows, you could see the garden lights twinkling, and tiny fairies, no bigger than a thumb, softly humming songs, carrying little lanterns as they flitted amongst the rose bushes, their wings fluttering beautifully.
The boy and girl sat side by side, enjoying the night view of the garden whilst savouring their meal.
"It is simply like a dream..." Hermione exclaimed with curiosity in her eyes. If she had more time, she would love to go to the garden and study those magical creatures.
Draco smiled.
Is such a sight really that exciting?
If this girl were to arrive at Malfoy Manor and see that famous, enormous garden, and the endless stream of magical creatures hidden within it, what kind of dumbfounded expression would she have?
He took a sip of hot tea, his mind filled with the image of her overjoyed expression, and his smile widened even further.
Hermione turned around, about to say something to him, but caught his sudden, radiant smile.
In an instant, she swallowed her words back down, only feeling a little thirsty.
She absentmindedly lowered her head, trying to drink some onion soup, but a thick strand of hair stubbornly fell down from her cheek and almost slipped into the soup.
"Watch out!" Draco saw it in time. His hand brushed past her earlobe and swiftly grabbed the mischievous strand of hair, preventing it from suffering the tragic fate of falling into the soup.
Hermione's face flushed red instantly.
"Thank you..." In her haste, she looked up at him and said in a startled tone, "My hairband! I reckon I left it at Mr Slughorn's potions laboratory..."
Draco raised an eyebrow and continued to gently hold her hair with his left hand. Although her hair was a little wavy, it was still quite docile and felt nice to the touch.
"My hands do not mind playing the role of a hairband for now," he said casually, a strange sense of fulfilment welling up inside him.
It is as if a hollow, invisible corner has been filled by this clump of hair. My palms no longer feel empty.
Even more strangely, his face seemed to have caught her blush, turning a suspicious red. Casually scooping up a piece of Yorkshire pudding with his right hand and putting it in his mouth, Draco dared not look at her again—not at her face, not at her hair, or at the jacket she was wearing.
He had to pretend these things were nothing unusual.
The girl mumbled something under her breath, seemingly thanking him quietly. Her hair was being steadily bound and tangled by his hands, and she did not seem to mind; Hermione just kept drinking the soup, her earlobes slightly warm.
On a summer evening, time flies by. By the time the two potions apprentices, who dared not look at each other and stood stiffly in place, finished their meal, it was almost nine o'clock.
With excitement and anticipation, they rushed to Mr Slughorn's room and, under his guidance, officially began learning how to brew Felix Felicis.
Today, under Slughorn's guidance, they needed to process potion ingredients such as Ashwinder eggs, horseradish, squill bulbs, and Murtlap tentacles.
These materials were exceptionally rare; assembling a complete set was no easy feat, and there was virtually no chance of loss or waste due to improper handling. Slughorn chose to trust them, boldly entrusting them with the task. Their skilful processing of the materials for brewing the Draught of Living Death during the day was the source of his confidence.
In order not to betray Slughorn's trust, they were extremely careful.
Hermione finally found her hairband. As she retied her tousled hair, she said to Draco, "I do not want a single hair falling in and contaminating the material—"
"Oh, actually, one strand did not go in, look—" He hesitated for three or five seconds, then picked up the strand of hair from the nape of her neck and held it between his fingers.
"Ah, thank you..." she said hurriedly, then untied the hair tie and tied it up again.
"You are welcome..." he said in a lingering voice, then turned around and began processing the materials.
Then came the busy, stressful, and time-consuming process of handling the materials. After that, they needed to mix these materials in a cauldron according to a specific order and method, and then heat them over a low flame.
"It has turned bright orange." Draco said wearily as he stirred the mixture evenly with the stirring rod. Hermione, hearing this, carefully began adding salamander eggs to the cauldron.
"One, two, three..." she counted softly; he counted in his mind for her, afraid of adding too much or too little.
"All right, that is enough," he said—and she stopped dispensing the product.
Holding his breath, he continued stirring until Hermione said, "It has turned red."
"Excellent!" Mr Slughorn, who had already finished a whole box of crystallised pineapple, walked over, waved his wand, stabilised the flame under the cauldron at a low flame, and announced to them, "Now it is time to heat it up for three days."
The wall clock chimed twice. In the midst of their busy work, it was already past midnight.
"It is so late already. Children, go back and rest. You can come again in three days at the same time," Mr Slughorn said with a yawn, sounding tired.
Hermione and Draco nodded silently. A night of potion-making and prolonged tension had left them exhausted.
They finally ran out of energy to reckon about anything else and blushed incoherently.
When they finally returned to the suite, exhausted and ready to get a good night's sleep, something went wrong with the room that had been reserved for Hermione.
The door would not open; the magic key seemed to be mismatched.
You could not use a door-opening charm like Alohomora to open the door of a room in any magical hotel, inn, or sanatorium.
Almost all doors were enchanted with powerful protective spells to ensure the safety and privacy of guests.
This meant they had to go to the front desk and find the fairly kind receptionist to get a new key.
However, when they got there, they found it empty, with only a wooden sign on the counter that read "Temporarily Closed." They stood there for a whilst, but no one came.
"There should be someone on duty here twenty-four hours a day," Draco said angrily, tapping his fingers nervously on the counter. "I am going to file a complaint against them."
"Never mind, Draco. Let us go back," Hermione said with a frown.
A sudden downpour had just passed through the corridor, and the wind carried a chill. Draco saw her shiver slightly, then sneeze softly.
"All right." He finally made up his mind. "You go to my room and rest first. Come back to argue with them tomorrow."
They went and returned, walking through those long corridors once more.
The light was dim, with only a few scattered candlelight flickering in the corners of the walls. Hermione was a little scared and quietly tugged at his sleeve.
"If you are scared, you can hold my hand and walk with me." Draco was still sleepy from the dim light. He yawned, and his worries were swept away by sleepiness.
Without a word, he grabbed her hand. Her slender fingers were a little cool, and he instinctively wrapped them around his, trying to warm them.
"I am not scared. I am just not familiar with the way," Hermione argued quietly, unconvinced.
"That reason makes sense," he said, seemingly trying to suppress a laugh.
Hermione's face felt a little hot. Thankfully, it was dark, and no one could see her face clearly.
The darkness and cold rain amplified her senses. Her heart pounded violently, making a loud noise as she walked down the corridor.
The scent of roses blooming at night, mixed with the dampness after the rain, rushed into her nostrils without hesitation, bringing a gentle touch to the loud noise.
Perhaps it is because I am too exhausted. She tried to come up with a reasonable explanation for her inner turmoil.
She could feel that his hand was slightly larger than hers, warm and strong, soothing her coldness. On his ring finger was a snake-shaped ring, which seemed to be a birthday gift she had given him not long ago.
"You are still wearing that ring?" Her tone became inexplicably light.
"Oh, yes, I like it very much," he said lazily.
A feeling of satisfaction welled up inside her, and she followed Draco back to the warm and bright suite.
"Same as always, I shall sleep on the sofa for the night, you sleep in the bed," Draco said. He walked to the sitting room, habitually took out his wand, intending to lengthen the sofa, but then froze.
The owner of this sanatorium had clearly placed some kind of protective spell on the furniture; it could not be changed in size at will.
He originally understood the rule perfectly well. Otherwise, some wizards might have infinitely expanded a bed or sofa to save Galleons, until they could cram the whole family into one room.
But in the current situation, this rule seemed somewhat inhumane.
Draco shook his head and gave up.
"This will do, it shall do." He frowned, glanced at the short, narrow sofa, and turned to go to the bedroom wardrobe to find extra pillows, blankets, and quilts.
"Draco… thank you for letting me sleep in your bed… honestly, it is a big bed… I mean…" she said hesitantly as she followed behind him.
"What?" He turned around in front of the wardrobe, holding a pile of bedding, and looked at her in confusion.
"I reckon… it is not like there is not enough room for two people to sleep in that bed… otherwise, you… could… come with me…" She met his gaze, her eyes fixed on the carpet, and said the words.
There is no reason for me to cause him so much trouble and then shamelessly ask him to give up the bed.
Draco seems to be the kind of person who is very particular about sleep—I still cannot forget the faint dark circles under his eyes I saw in his dormitory room last time—he is definitely not the kind of person who could "just fall asleep on the sofa."
What is more, this sofa looks even more uncomfortable.
Hermione Granger—is this a blatant invitation for him to share a bed? Is this reasonable? Draco's mouth hung open, his face extremely unnatural. "This is not gentlemanly behaviour."
"We are friends, are we not? I trust you." Hermione quickly looked up at him.
"Innocent girl!" Draco stared at her.
She looked at him with trusting eyes, treating him as a friend who would never hurt her.
"I do not trust myself. What if I punch you or kick you in my sleep..." he said half-jokingly, trying to hide his helplessness.
"I shall forgive you, as long as you forgive me beforehand. Because I might punch or kick you back." Hermione was amused by him, and her face was no longer awkward, but instead showed some innocent and lively spirit.
The boy and girl glanced at each other and could not help but smile lazily at each other.
Then Draco noticed the extra bedding piled up in the wardrobe and suddenly had an idea. He placed the extra pillows in the middle of the bed, dividing it in two.
"Is this not better? At least there is a barrier, reducing the chances of us punching and kicking each other in our sleep," he said lightly, feeling that his mind was really stuck.
"Very good, let us do it that way." Hermione nodded in agreement, her tone tinged with weariness.
They took turns going to the washroom to wash up quickly. At three in the morning, as they had agreed, they each covered themselves with a blanket, lay properly on either side of their pillows, and soon drifted off to sleep amidst the rising and falling drowsiness.