Draco had always kept his distance from and remained wary of Lupin, the professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts.
He had no intention of exposing Lupin.
Since Professor Dumbledore had hired him and Professor Snape was willing to brew him Wolfsbane, why was Draco Malfoy so eager to get involved?
A proper Slytherin always stays out of the way, observes detachedly, and avoids trouble.
However, a change had occurred: Hermione Granger, using her brilliant mind and meticulous analysis of seemingly minor details, had uncovered the truth that Lupin was a werewolf.
"What do you plan to do? Report him, or continue to remain silent?" He asked her again on the snowy road from Hogsmeade back to Hogwarts Castle.
Draco was curious about what choice a Gryffindor girl who considered herself brave would make.
Should one meddle in other people's business like him, or should one rise to the challenge and make it known to everyone for the sake of one's sense of order?
Hermione hesitated.
She deliberately tugged at his robe, slowing her pace and falling far behind Harry and Ron, before whispering, "What do you think would happen if I told everyone that Professor Lupin is a werewolf?"
"Oh, it is no great matter. Hogwarts will not be affected at all. As for Lupin, he will lose his teaching post," Draco said casually. "Those parents' owls will flood Professor Dumbledore's office, demanding that he replace this Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Why?" Hermione's face was as white as snow. "Simply because he is a werewolf?"
"That is right, because he is a werewolf," he said slowly, leading her towards flatter ground.
"But he has done nothing wrong," she asked anxiously.
"When you first learned that Lupin was a werewolf, were you not scared?" Draco turned to look at her with interest. "What? Now you are standing up for him?"
"I was just too shocked! Not scared." She widened her brown eyes and retorted seriously, "I have calmed down now! When I think about it calmly, he is quite talented, is he not? And very responsible, he even has to teach Harry the Patronus Charm! He is a good professor, is he not?"
"He is a 'good professor' now," Draco said calmly, amidst the crunching snow. "Once he transforms, he will be a 'dangerous element.' He will be more dangerous than you can imagine."
"I know werewolves are dangerous. But thinking about Professor Lupin, he is so gentle, I find it hard to believe he could turn into a raging werewolf." Hermione raised her head and said seriously, with a hint of naive innocence in her eyes.
This made him uneasy.
"Hermione, you cannot take any chances with this. When a werewolf transforms, it loses all its reason and humanity. Wizards have a hard time dealing with werewolves head-on; they are highly resistant to magic. If you encounter a werewolf in its transformed state, you might end up dead." Draco stopped and said to her solemnly.
"I know, I have read about it in books. Professor Snape also made us write essays on it when he taught the class." Hermione was a little puzzled as to why he looked so serious.
"Then you should know that the best way to avoid being harmed by werewolves is to avoid encountering them in the first place." Draco said with utmost seriousness. "Hermione, stay far away from werewolves, understand? This is no joke."
"I know," she said impatiently. "Do you think I would walk right into a werewolf's clutches?"
You did not even go near the werewolf, you simply summoned it right away!
Draco rolled his eyes, thinking about their foolish actions in their past lives, actually calling out the Dark Lord's name and getting caught red-handed by Greyback... it was utterly stupid!
"So, should we expose him, Gryffindor's heroine?" he asked as he walked, leading the bewildered girl who was tugging at his robe forward in the gradually darkening sky.
This was the third time he had asked her that question today. He was very curious about her thoughts and choices.
Hermione remained silent for a long time before asking him a question: "Draco, what kind of professors does Hogwarts really need? In terms of character, talent, teaching ability, and teaching attitude, who is more qualified to be a professor at Hogwarts... Professor Lupin, Quirrell, or Lockhart?"
"He is indeed talented," Draco said dismissively, "but it is too dangerous for the young wizards at Hogwarts to have a werewolf as a professor. No parent wants their child living near a werewolf. The risk is too great."
"But the risk is under control, is it not? He has been drinking Wolfsbane every month," Hermione said, puzzled, feeling her hands growing a little cold.
"That is right, he drinks Wolfsbane Potion to minimise the risk. But that does not solve the fundamental problem... being born a werewolf is the original sin." Draco's tone was firm. "Once the truth is known, the only outcome will be dismissal."
"That is why I am hesitant," Hermione said slowly, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her voice. "I do not think a talented person who has never hurt anyone should be treated this way. So far, he has done nothing wrong, teaching responsibly and managing risk to the best of his ability. It is a shame to deprive him of his right and opportunity to be a professor just because people are afraid of his werewolf identity and some kind of mistake he may never make in his life."
Draco glanced at her. She was shivering from a gust of cold wind, her body and voice trembling.
But she looked at him with a defiant gaze, trembling in the cold air, and asked, "Does that mean a person's talent, character, and thoughts are unimportant, that a person's efforts, sweat, and erudition are meaningless, and that just because he is a werewolf, he should be rejected and sentenced to social death?"
Draco suddenly understood her thoughts, and he gently shook his head.
"Hermione, sometimes I think you are endearing, but also naive," he said coldly. "There are only two options in this matter. One is to expose him and have him dismissed; the other is to keep it a secret. The scenario you envisage, where everyone knows his identity and can accept him as a professor, does not exist."
Hermione stopped in her tracks. She released her grip on his robe.
Draco had seen through her thoughts.
Then, he had mercilessly mocked her, calling her "naive." He had shattered her illusions, like popping a colourful soap bubble she had woven.
How could he be so cruel? Was his thinking too extreme, or was he revealing objective reality?
She suddenly felt a sharp pain in her heart.
Draco felt a sudden lightness at the hem of his robe.
He turned to look at the girl who was standing frozen in the snow, refusing to leave. She frowned, seemingly both confused and angry.
This stubborn and headstrong girl possesses a captivating complexity. She is clearly afraid of werewolves, yet she refuses to admit it; she worries about innocent people being harmed, yet she is filled with sympathy for werewolves.
This is contradictory, yet captivating.
Just as she had been to him in her past life.
He sighed and turned back to look at her. He stood directly in front of her, looking down at her.
He watched her stubborn lips pursed together. He watched her slender, dark eyebrows furrowed together.
He watched the tip of her nose turn slightly red from the cold. He watched her face turn deathly pale from the cold. He watched the fine snowflakes begin to fall again onto her hair. He watched her bare neck, without a scarf.
"Where is your scarf, Hermione?" he asked softly, softening his tone.
"I forgot to wear it," she said softly, trembling slightly in the wind. She pouted, suddenly feeling a pang of grievance.
So he took off his own scarf and wrapped it around her neck, several times over, until her neck was completely covered and not a single cold draught could get in.
Hermione looked at the boy in front of her.
She felt exhausted and numb, heartbroken and cold, because of the werewolf topic. She had thought that in this situation, it would be impossible for her heart to race. But her heart still beat stubbornly, persistently, and vigorously, beating because of his every move.
For a moment, she was angry with him; she seemed to have been angry with him all along. Whether it was his concealment, his composure, or the harsh reality he had just told her, she felt angry.
But he had taken off his own scarf, letting the cold wind carrying snowflakes blow against his neck.
He had wrapped her tightly and snugly in his scarf, which still held his warmth.
He looked at her with those gentle eyes, as if to comfort her, even though he did not say a single word of comfort.