In November, Hogwarts began its Quidditch season.
The news that "Potter is about to play as Gryffindor's Seeker" was like a stone falling from the sky into a calm black lake, creating ripples of discussion and stirring up waves of predictions throughout the school—some thought he would play brilliantly, while others thought he would fall hard.
As for how Potter himself viewed the matter, Draco wasn't sure. However, on one occasion, he saw Potter sitting at the Gryffindor table, holding the copy of Quidditch Through the Ages that Hermione had borrowed and trying, without much confidence, to glean some self-assurance from it.
It was an especially novel feeling.
Draco hesitated to gloat over the fact that his once-confident opponent, who had defeated him several times on the Quidditch pitch, was now so openly displaying his anxiety in front of him.
One day, he finally couldn't help but stop and stand next to Potter. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about."
Potter looked up at Draco, then at Crabbe and Goyle, who stood behind him munching glumly on chocolate cake, with a puzzled expression.
"If I were you, I would go to the trophy room on the fourth floor. I remember James Potter's name is on several of the trophies," Draco said, without elaborating.
If "family genetics" couldn't boost Potter's confidence, Draco didn't know what could.
Students who only had to be spectators in the stands spent more time on their studies.
After the initial excitement of the new school year wore off, almost all of the students were overwhelmed by the increasing amount of homework, and more and more of them were lingering in the library.
However, Hermione Granger's reasons for spending time in the library were never the same as those of ordinary people—it was never just to complete her homework.
Sometimes, she would grab Potter and Weasley by the backs of their collars and forcefully order them to finish their homework, or criticise their appalling parchment and demand that they rewrite it without hesitation.
At other times, after Potter and Weasley had fled the library with their meagre parchments, she would sit alone at a table by the window, engrossed in reading beside a misty white curtain, often surrounded by a mountain of yellowed books.
This piqued Draco's curiosity.
Sometimes, to satisfy it, he would pretend to bump into her and glance at the books she was reading. He was surprised to find that they were often completely unrelated to her studies, and that their content often exceeded the level expected of a first-year student.
When it came to ambition, one could always admire Hermione Granger.
Draco casually flipped through an old book that mentioned the villain Emeric, and couldn't help but admire her.
Why is she working so hard? Draco wondered.
Could it be that Hermione's experience of being "helpless in the face of trolls" had ignited an extraordinary fighting spirit?
Draco understood that feeling of helplessness. He had felt the same way when his father, Lucius, was imprisoned in Azkaban.
He had been practically forced into becoming a Death Eater, and he had never gotten used to the feeling of being branded with the Dark Mark. Of course, he boasted about it to all the Slytherins. In boasting over and over again, he desperately numbed himself, convincing himself that it was a glorious thing for House Malfoy.
Admittedly, the Dark Mark on his left wrist inspired awe in the Slytherins. Sometimes, seeing that heartfelt awe, he would deliberately show them his arm.
That way, perhaps some opportunistic Slytherins wouldn't take advantage of Lucius's imprisonment. His life would be a little easier.
In public, he put on a smug, boastful, and arrogant demeanour, but in private, he studied desperately, even researching forbidden and complex Dark Arts and obscure alchemy.
He desperately wanted to prove to the Dark Lord that he was a useful subordinate and someone worth winning over, so as to help his father escape the torment of Azkaban as soon as possible.
Those horrible, toxic memories relentlessly assaulted his mind. Draco rubbed his temples, pressing them back into the depths of his brain, and refocused his attention on the book and the densely written parchment in front of him.
Like Hermione, Draco often spent time in the library. Sometimes it was to perfect assignments he had already done, and sometimes it was to research the Ravenclaw diadem.
Prying open the Grey Lady's clam-like mouth was no easy task. She was a ghost, and nothing material could sway her anymore; Draco could only try to find the key to unlock her heart in books.
That day, the library was packed. It seemed that all the students were trying to finish some paper or other, since the Hogwarts teachers kept increasing the difficulty of the assignments, and the demands on the length of the parchment had reached new heights.
When Hermione Granger entered the library, there were hardly any seats available. Clutching several books, she wandered around the likely seating areas several times, almost reaching the Restricted Section, but couldn't find a single empty table.
She sighed regretfully, frowned, and simply sat down on the floor in front of a bookshelf, intending to read for a while, completely unaware that a pair of pale grey eyes were silently watching her from behind the shelves.
"What are you doing?" The owner of those eyes appeared. He slowly walked around from behind the bookshelf, stood beside her, and looked down at her.
"Reading." She turned another page, reluctantly raised her eyelids, glanced at him, and pouted. "There are no seats left, so I'm going to sit here and read for a while."
"I have an extra chair here… perhaps you would like to sit in it and read," Draco offered hesitantly.
"Really? Is that okay?" She looked up at him, her eyes lighting up instantly like twinkling stars.
"Okay." He bent down and picked up her thick books from the floor, then stretched out his arm so she could pull herself to her feet. "Come with me."
Draco led her into his secret base.
Draco Malfoy never helped anyone without a reason. Yet, strangely enough, he always found himself making an exception for Hermione Granger, the know-it-all.
Perhaps it was just a case of mutual appreciation between so-called top students.
Or rather, he needed a touch of the innocence and vitality of a little girl—it made him feel alive, not like a piece of rotten wood about to be eaten away by memories.
Hermione made him experience the word "vibrant".
Vibrant joy, vibrant worry, even vibrant anger—all were awakened by her.
Since his rebirth, almost all of his intense emotional fluctuations had been related to her.
The girl in his memory, who had only glared at him and been wary and guarded, was not only smart, rigid, and foolishly kind, but also lively, arrogant, and mischievous, and even had a cute side.
He hadn't held out much hope.
He had initially thought she would hate him, just as in his past life. However, she didn't seem to hate him, nor did she reject him.
"Would you like some tea?" he asked, skilfully fiddling with his tea set.
"Okay." She sat happily on the extra chair, holding her books, swinging her legs in mid-air, and obediently waiting for him to make her tea.
"Is it better than sitting on the floor?" he asked casually as he poured.
"Much better! There's no better seat than this!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, sparing no praise.
So he gently placed the teacup in front of her and smiled without a word.
"But I can't usually find this place." Hermione pouted in frustration. "It seems like I can only find it if you lead me."
Draco sat back down and continued polishing his paper on the villain Emeric, embellishing the life of this short-lived but extremely cruel medieval dark wizard with every last bit of legend.
After teaching for so many years, Professor Binns must have gotten bored too. He liked to see something new in his students' papers that went beyond the textbook. As long as you carefully put a note in parentheses indicating that it was a legend that had not yet been fully verified, Professor Binns would thoroughly enjoy the little pleasures he found in grading papers and would be willing to generously give an "O" to commend the students' tireless spirit of exploration.
As Draco corrected some grammar and wording, he told her slowly, "The Hogwarts library has many wonders; you'll have to discover them for yourself."
Hermione wrinkled her nose, half-believing his profound words. She sipped her hot tea and stole glances at his profile through the rising steam, feeling that he was just giving her a perfunctory answer.
"It might be a bit rude of me to ask… You seemed to be crying in the bathroom on Halloween. Why?" After writing on the parchment for a while, Draco couldn't help but ask.
For some reason, he was somewhat concerned about it.
He… didn't like hearing her cry.
"Honestly, I was a little silly back then… but it wasn't a big deal…" Hermione said, embarrassed.
"I insist on knowing." He paused, put down his quill, and looked at her sincerely with his grey eyes.
"Okay! I can tell you, but you can't laugh at me." Hermione peeked at him. "Back then, Ron said I was a nightmare… that nobody could stand me…"
Draco's quill snapped with a crack, ruining the nearly finished piece of parchment.
"Oh my God!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise. She hurriedly stood up and tried to help him clean up the ink-splattered mess. "Quick, quick, take this paper away, don't get the rest of it dirty... What's wrong with your quill? It's so unreliable..."
However, Draco did not move.
He simply continued to look at her, his face quickly darkening.
Hermione thought he was flustered by the sudden accident, so she snatched the broken quill from his hand, threw it into the bin next to the table, and grabbed a bunch of tissues from the table to wipe his hands. "Hurry and wipe them off," she said urgently. "What's wrong? Are you stunned?"
"You're not a nightmare." He ignored the ink stains on his hands and firmly grasped her hand through the pile of tissues.
He stared intently at her, his usually clear voice slightly low, but each word spoken clearly. "You are not a nightmare, Hermione. You are the best dream a person could ever have."
Hermione, who had been busy wiping his hands, was forced to stop. At first, she was puzzled; then she realised what he meant and felt shy at his unexpected praise. Then a feeling of joy at being recognised welled up inside her.
"Is that what you think?" she said happily, with an undisguised smile.
He nodded slightly, without saying anything more.
She observed him carefully and found that his grey eyes were as clear as lake water, without any flinching or avoiding of her gaze.
He was serious. Her smile widened.
"Do you need me to beat up Weasley for you?" Draco said coldly, his back teeth clenched.
He didn't even know why he had said it. Yet he just couldn't control his mouth.
"No need, Draco. He's already apologised to me. It was all a misunderstanding, I have to say. I might have been showing off a bit too much when we were learning the Levitation Charm, and he probably felt a little resentful…" Hermione said cheerfully, clearly no longer holding a grudge.
"Very good," Draco said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Then he realised his hands were covered in ink, and the parchment he had almost finished writing on was a mess.
She pulled the ink-stained parchment away from him, glanced at it, and said in surprise, "Where did you find this information? It's much more detailed than what I found... I didn't know that Emeric's rival, Egbert the Egregious, had passed on his Elder Wand through a duel..."
"Just some anecdotal history," Draco said.
He was angry and felt sorry for her, yet she was concerned about the contents of his essay? Draco was both amused and exasperated.
"I'm fine now, Draco." Hermione noticed his worry and, having shaken off her recent slump, said cheerfully, "Actually, it wasn't just because of Ron. I… I thought I had no friends and that no one liked me. But then I realised I was completely wrong."
She didn't want to tell Draco about the strange feelings she had had on the day of the flying lesson, nor did she want to admit the inexplicable sense of closeness she had felt towards him under his invisibility cloak that day.
On the day they learned the Levitation Charm, when his feather had floated above the classroom along with hers, she had felt a little angry, yet also subtly shy. Her feelings for him had nothing to do with "dislike".
Intuition told her that it was best to keep these perplexing things buried deep in her heart for the time being.
Perhaps it was simply because she had begun to genuinely consider him a friend, rather than just an eye-catching Slytherin classmate.
She looked at Draco with a bright smile. "My friends were there for me in my most dangerous moments, risking their lives to save me. And yet I was angry with them for not following the rules. In fact, if you had followed the rules that day, I might be dead."
Draco, having just calmed down, was now refilling Hermione's tea. Hearing this, he glanced up at her, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. "I'm glad you think that way."
He admired people who knew how to be flexible.
"Draco, you saved me twice that day. I think I can trust you," Hermione said seriously. "Harry also asked me to thank you. We found his father's trophy in the trophy room, and he's training much better than before."
She cleared her throat, sat back down facing Draco, readily accepted the cup of tea, and announced triumphantly, "The three of us have discussed it and decided to tell you a big secret."
Next, to Draco's surprise, Hermione, representing the Potter trio, revealed everything.
Hagrid had once been asked by Dumbledore to retrieve a special little package from Gringotts. They had inadvertently entered the forbidden area on the fourth floor and seen a three-headed dog. There was a trapdoor beneath the dog. Hermione even told him how Harry had accidentally discovered that Professor Snape was injured.
"Harry and Ron suspect that Professor Snape wants to steal what the dog is guarding!" Hermione said seriously, carefully observing his expression. "They even suspect that Professor Snape let the troll in."
Draco rubbed his temples and asked with difficulty, "Why are you telling me this?"
Were they really that reckless and gullible?
Did they really know him that well?
Shouldn't they report this to Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore?
"We believe you! You've been helping us all along." The girl in front of him had sincerity in her eyes, even a hint of trust.
Draco could only sigh.
Merlin! With such a bizarre thought process and such blind credulity, how had Harry and his friends managed to survive to the end?
Don't blame him for being so emotional.
In his past life, they had always been wary and guarded towards him; in this life, their trust came too easily, giving him a sense of unreality.
He knew, of course, that this trust was a good thing for him. It meant that Harry and the others thought well of him, or at least didn't dislike him.
Because of his past memories, Draco knew exactly what was going on. It was Quirrell who had let the troll in, and it was also Quirrell who wanted to get past the three-headed dog.
Quirrell wanted to obtain the Philosopher's Stone, which could be used to create the Elixir of Life, for the Dark Lord on the back of his head, but Draco couldn't explain this to them directly.
Moreover, as Draco re-examined the events of his entire first year, an idea gradually formed in his mind.
—All of this seemed to be a test, or trial, that Dumbledore was giving to Potter, the future saviour.
While interfering might solve the problem, it would hinder Potter's growth. How could Potter then shoulder the responsibility of being a saviour?
Hermione stirred the sugar in her teacup for a moment, then hesitated before continuing, "Actually, I don't believe any professor at Hogwarts would do anything to put a student in danger. You're in Professor Snape's House, so you know him better than we do. Perhaps you could keep an eye on him and give us some ideas."
It seemed their sincerity came not only from simple trust, but also from a desire to cooperate.
"You want me to be an inside man?" Draco couldn't help but ask.
"Not an inside man, just someone keeping an eye on Professor Snape," Hermione said seriously. "Don't you want to know what kind of person the Head of your House is?"
This idea must have come from Hermione; Potter and Weasley would never have come up with such a line. Draco looked at the girl in front of him with an inscrutable expression, lost in thought.
She was quick-witted, bold, and a bit cunning. He looked at her with admiration as she calmly drank her tea and smiled at him with a serene expression.
Draco could understand their suspicion of Professor Snape, but he did not agree with it.
Professor Snape had a terrible temper and was very mean; he loved to use harsh language to attack non-Slytherin students.
However, Draco trusted his professional ethics as a Hogwarts professor. In Draco's memories of the years, Snape might at most make a few sarcastic remarks to students or deduct as many points as he could from the other Houses, but he would never harm any student, nor did he have any interest in acquiring any mysterious treasure.
If the Philosopher's Stone were replaced with boomslang skin, Professor Snape might have given it a try.
But the Philosopher's Stone? Please.
Poor Professor Snape, due to his sinister personality and eccentric behaviour, had become the perfect scapegoat.
Out of a secret sympathy for Professor Snape, Draco couldn't help but ask, "Don't you think Professor Quirrell is more suspicious than Professor Snape?"
Hermione froze, put down her empty teacup, and stared at Draco.
"Professor Quirrell?" she asked uncertainly.
"You might not have been there at the Halloween feast and don't know the whole story," Draco said slowly, refilling her tea.
"The first thing I did when I got back to the Slytherin common room was ask the students who had witnessed the whole thing in the Great Hall. Interestingly, they told me that the first person to notice the troll was Professor Quirrell. He ran into the Great Hall, shouted that line, and immediately caused a commotion."
Hermione was disturbed by his words.
She had never imagined such a possibility. In a daze, she took a big gulp of tea, so hot that she fanned her mouth with her hand, but at the same time, she really liked the taste of the tea and squinted her eyes in satisfaction.
It was not very polite, but such simple, unrestrained vitality was not annoying.
Draco glanced at Miss Know-It-All's amusing expression—wanting to drink but afraid of burning herself—and chuckled twice. Before she noticed, he straightened his face again and continued his unfinished sentence. "Under normal circumstances, Quirrell should have quietly told Dumbledore, so as to avoid a riot and prevent a stampede caused by panic."
Hermione opened her mouth, about to retort, but Draco carried on: "What's even more interesting is that nobody knows Professor Quirrell's whereabouts. I mean, in the time between the students returning to their dormitories and us hiding in the classroom and hearing Professor Quirrell come to deal with the troll."
"Didn't he pass out?" Hermione interjected, puzzled, interrupting Draco's analysis.
"Yes, he appeared to have fainted, so when Dumbledore led all the teachers to search for the troll near the dungeons, he was the only one who didn't need to take part in the search, because he was unconscious. And after the students left, no one in the Great Hall could prove where Professor Quirrell had been during that time." Draco tapped his fingertips lightly on the table, analysing methodically.
"I agree with you. Hermione, I don't believe any professor at Hogwarts would do anything to put a student in danger." Draco rested his pointed chin on his crossed hands, staring intently at Hermione's confused and scrunched-up face.
"But if we must doubt a professor, let's speculate: is the stammering Professor Quirrell really as innocent as we originally thought?" he asked calmly.