HP: Redemption

A/N: Well, hello there, guys! How are you all doing? Sorry for the late update. I mostly just forgot to upload it—my bad! But here you go.

That night, Ginny Weasley lay in the bed next to Hermione’s, gazing at the exquisite star chart on the ceiling. Her heart was full of excitement, and she couldn’t fall asleep right away.

Hermione had mentioned to her in a late-night conversation long ago that Malfoy had taught her to fly.

Ginny hadn’t taken it to heart. She had assumed it was a last resort Hermione had turned to in order to pass her flying exam.

What could Malfoy teach her? Probably just what Madam Hooch did, correcting Hermione’s posture, right? It was only “flying practice.” What room for imagination was there?

Only a little witch like Hermione, with no flying experience, would seriously practice how to hold a broom properly without falling out of the sky. Ginny, who had been secretly playing with her brothers’ brooms since she was a child, could fly quite well after just a little fiddling.

Ginny had never considered that a private flying lesson could be taught in such a romantic style—until today.

Nor had she realized that Hermione had such a special hang-up about flying itself.

Honestly, Hermione had always been a misfit when it came to flying. It was no secret throughout Gryffindor, and Harry, Ron, and Ginny were all quite used to it.

So whenever they played Quidditch, they assumed she was the weakest player and never deliberately made things difficult for her or asked anything of her. Sometimes they even let her sit quietly by the pitch with a book, watching from the sidelines, rather than insisting she play, because of the troubled look on her face.

And yet that Malfoy, arrogant and outrageous, had managed to make Hermione Granger—a bookworm who didn’t belong in the sky—put aside her lingering hesitation about flying, fearlessly conquer the heights, and even catch the Golden Snitch in half an hour!

As Hermione Granger’s “best confidante,” Ginny had firmly believed that such domineering behavior would not end well.

When Malfoy rudely climbed onto Hermione’s broom and “forced” her to fly, for a moment Ginny had even thought that this abrupt action would lead to a terrible argument.

If she hadn’t been holding the ball, with no time to fasten it to her belt, she would have rushed over to stop Malfoy.

She had thought he was disrespecting Hermione. Judging from the stunned and fearful expressions on Harry’s and Ron’s faces at the time, she knew they felt the same way.

A girl like Hermione, with her independent personality, would never accept being “forced” to do anything by anyone.

However, Hermione hadn’t been angry—she had actually gone along with him.

Her face had shown tension, subtle anticipation, and even a hint of unexpected joy.

It was then that Ginny suddenly realized: perhaps he wasn’t forcing her.

Perhaps it was out of some “understanding of Hermione Granger” that he had done this without hesitation.

Ginny could never forget that scene: Hermione proudly jumping off her broomstick, showing off the Golden Snitch in her hand, the pride and arrogance on her face exactly the same as when she learned she had “topped the class.”

At that moment, she had felt that Hermione was glowing.

That radiance was like the brightest starlight, like the stars shining on the map on the bedroom ceiling right now.

What other expression could they have had besides dumbfounded?

No one could have imagined that Hermione could do this, but she had done it anyway.

So everyone had to admit, with surprise, that “Hermione Granger is amazing.”

Even Harry—Ginny’s “best Seeker,” the youngest and most talented Seeker in Gryffindor’s history—had to admit aloud, under Malfoy’s watchful gaze, that Hermione’s catch was brilliant.

Malfoy, standing to one side, had worn a smug smile.

After dismounting, he had gone back to his usual arrogant demeanor and said nothing more, merely watching Hermione. But his expression said it all, and while everyone praised her, anyone could see the smugness in his eyes and brows.

Well, that’s not surprising, Ginny thought. Malfoy’s attitude towards Hermione had always been different from how he treated others.

What truly surprised Ginny was what Malfoy said to Hermione afterwards. She had overheard it while deliberately lagging two steps behind as they walked towards the brooms.

“Hermione, I don’t expect you to be a Seeker or join the Quidditch team or anything. That’s not why I’m ‘witnessing’ you catching the Golden Snitch today—I know that’s not your ambition.”

His choice of words was surprisingly careful. He had used the word “witness” instead of words like “accompany,” “help,” or “guide,” which might have diminished Hermione’s ability to catch the Golden Snitch.

That kind of care was chilling, Ginny thought in amazement. God knew how he had come up with that word.

Filled with surprise, she continued to eavesdrop.

Malfoy, who was usually so arrogant in public, was now speaking in a gentle, encouraging, and loving tone.

“Hermione, what I did today was just to make you understand one thing: you can catch the Golden Snitch if you want to. You could be good at flying and Quidditch, but that’s not your real interest. You must remember that you can do anything, Hermione Granger. Just go for it. Never lose confidence.”

This was nothing like the mushy love talk Ginny had expected—she had originally intended to eavesdrop so she could tease Hermione—yet these words were more beautiful than any love talk in the world.

He hadn’t used a single word to express his “like” directly, yet in every sentence he spoke, Ginny could plainly sense how much he liked Hermione.

These words even made the word “like” seem somewhat superficial.

They might seem as light as a feather to a girl at first, but upon reflection they felt as heavy as a mountain.

She could sense his deep concern for Hermione.

Incredibly, Malfoy, who seemed to have no soul on the surface, actually cared about Hermione’s soul. He actually cared about her interests, and he actually cared about whether she had confidence.

The next second, Ginny heard Hermione sniffle, and then Malfoy’s gentle, almost imperceptible voice as he coaxed her, as if he were under a spell.

“Hermione, I know there are many difficulties you need to overcome, and it may make you feel discouraged for a while. But I think, since you can even catch the Golden Snitch, what difficulty can’t you overcome?”

Then Ginny heard Hermione stop crying and start laughing.

In that instant, Ginny finally realized one thing: Hermione liked Malfoy not just because of his looks or those worldly accolades.

Perhaps this Slytherin had some redeeming qualities. At the very least, he was serious about liking Hermione.

His feelings for her deserved respect, even though he was still incredibly rude, arrogant, and conceited towards others.

Just then, Hermione’s voice broke the silence of the night and interrupted Ginny’s thoughts.

She was looking at the stars on the ceiling above her head. She hesitated, then asked, “Ginny, can we keep this star map? Will it affect your sleep?”

“Oh, go ahead and leave it.” Ginny waved her hand and said lazily, “Leave your boyfriend’s ‘I was here’ mark. I don’t mind, as long as you’re happy.”

“Thank you, Ginny.”

“Hermione, I think I can understand why you like your Slytherin boyfriend,” Ginny whispered, turning to look at the girl who was staring blankly at the ceiling. “Is he particularly attentive to you? Does he understand you very well?”

Hermione’s smile was lingering and deep.

“That’s right. He understands me. He always tries to understand me, sometimes to a degree that surprises me greatly. In some ways, I feel a connection with him.”

She sighed happily and said, “Sometimes I feel like I’m quite similar to him… We’re both sensitive, proud, and stubborn, both very competitive, and both love challenges. I always try to understand him a little more, just as he’s always trying to understand me.”

Ginny suddenly chuckled softly in the darkness. “Hermione, you really like him, don’t you?”

Hermione remained silent for a long time.

Her eyes were fixed on the constellation Draco directly above her, and she could no longer suppress the urge to speak.

“I probably won’t say this to anyone a second time. The truth is, I like him very, very, very much. I even think—I’ve fallen in love with him.”

Ginny held her breath.

“Love? Hermione, isn’t that a bit much?” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s more serious than I thought!”

Hermione gave a soft “hmm.”

“Does he know—have you told him?” Ginny stammered. “Did he—tell you—that he loves you?”

“Not yet. As for him—” Hermione said, covering her face with her hands, “I can’t be sure.”

He probably loved her, didn’t he? He had clearly whispered those words to her in his drunken sleep that time.

Although it had only happened once, and the sound had been barely audible, she had heard it clearly and still couldn’t forget it.

Ginny’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. “So, are you going to tell him how you feel? Are you going to ask him what he thinks?”

“How could I just say something like that?” Hermione lowered her hands, turned sharply to glare at her, and said, “I only told you—you have to keep it a secret!”

“Of course, of course!” Ginny patted her chest proudly. “Your secret is safe with your best friend!”

By the faint starlight twinkling on the ceiling, Hermione looked nervously at Ginny.

She couldn’t see Ginny’s expression clearly, but she could see Ginny’s bright, gazing eyes in the light and shadow.

“What are you looking at?” she asked, blushing slightly.

“I’m watching a lovestruck fool. You’re doomed, Hermione Granger.” Ginny chuckled. “It’s all so obvious. You’ve really fallen for him, and I’d guess he loves you too.”

“How did you figure that out?” Hermione asked, nervous yet expectant.

“All day long, you two were completely oblivious to everyone else, with eyes only for each other,” Ginny said. “If the way you act around him is an expression of love, then isn’t his identical, passionate attitude a kind of confirmation from the other side?”

Hermione smiled without realizing it. “Oh, maybe.”

“And you’ve been laughing all day—more than you have all week.”

“He always manages to do something unexpected to make me happy and soothe my anxieties. Ginny, you have no idea how happy I am that he comes to see me. It’s like he’s reawakened a part of me that was about to die.”

“Yes, as soon as he arrived, he cured you of that dejected state,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “Sometimes I worry about you too much, but looking back now, it doesn’t seem like it was really necessary. He seems to care about you quite a bit.”

“Dear Ginny, sweet Ginny. I know you’re standing up for me today because you feel he never comes to see me. But he’s under a lot of pressure, and he’s not having an easy time at home.”

Hermione gazed at a rather dim star, sighed, and looked a little melancholy.

“I can feel his exhaustion. He always craves a hug, as if only then can he feel a little safe. He’s really tired, I can tell. During the day he lies on my bed and falls asleep in no time. I really don’t know how many hours of sleep he gets each day—”

“What? In your bed?” Ginny interrupted excitedly. “What were you two doing in bed?”

“Ginny, that’s not the point!” Hermione’s face flushed red, and she said, both embarrassed and annoyed, “The point is he’s exhausted!”

“The point isn’t that he’s tired, but what exactly you two were doing at the door! How did you end up on the bed? By the way, when I knocked, were you blushing?” Ginny’s eyes gleamed with gossip, like a beacon in the darkness. “Tell me about it—”

“Ginny, we’re just chatting—just chatting!”

The man in question was completely unaware that his girlfriend was being harassed by her gossipy best friend.

Draco was in the potion-making room at Malfoy Manor, examining the quality of the Polyjuice Potion in the crystal vial in his hand by candlelight.

Hermione deserved much of the credit for the successful preparation of the potion. She had meticulously explained all the precautions to her boyfriend beforehand, ensuring he didn’t make any mistakes during the brewing.

Draco gave a satisfied hum, put the vial into his pocket, and carefully placed the remaining vials of Polyjuice Potion in the medicine cabinet for storage.

For Draco, the Polyjuice Potion wasn’t his primary concern at the moment. Veritaserum was the potion he needed to explore and handle with greater care.

Veritaserum required a full lunar cycle to mature, and just three drops could make someone tell the truth. For Draco, a “potion collector,” it was a very worthwhile potion to add to his collection.

If Slughorn heard the name of this potion, he would wink at you and tell you, “This potion is not easy to obtain.” The Ministry of Magic placed very strict restrictions on Class A Non-Tradeable Substances like this one, and its sale had always been controlled.

Brewing it in private was an even more arduous task. First, the required ingredients were often expensive and rare. Second, the brewing instructions given in books were full of loopholes, which made it even more difficult.

But for Draco, a problem that could be solved with Galleons was not a problem. Moreover, he had the friendly guidance of two Potions Masters, Slughorn and Snape.

At that moment, he glanced into the uncovered storage container and was pleased to find that the potion had changed from deep purple to a clear, water-like liquid—it must have been a success.

Using Veritaserum in private was not something to be proud of, Draco had to admit.

However, for a Slytherin who didn’t have much time to waste, adhering to the principle of “the ends justify the means” was undoubtedly the simplest and most straightforward option.

If Draco wanted to ask someone a small question—say, Bathilda Bagshot about Dumbledore—nothing would be more efficient than this. Rita Skeeter, in her previous life, had already proven its effectiveness, hadn’t she?

Draco knew in his heart that no matter how many dark personal secrets Dumbledore had, he was the only light the Malfoy family could choose at the moment. But this understanding did not mean that Draco shared the Gryffindors’ blind loyalty to and trust in Dumbledore.

The truth was that his parents’ and grandfather’s wary assessment of Dumbledore had, more or less, influenced his own judgment. If he had access to a channel to learn more about Dumbledore and assess the risks of cooperating with him more accurately, Draco would certainly have seized it without hesitation and dug out all of Dumbledore’s secrets.

These days, he couldn’t accept any mistake—he couldn’t afford to lose anymore.

The more he loved Hermione, the less he could afford to lose, and the less he could accept failure.

The advice he had given Harry—”Think more about the costs of the failure you can’t afford, and perhaps you’ll have to pursue success”—was also a warning to himself.

The pursuit of success was like brewing a flawless, advanced potion; it required extremely precise measurements and a careful weighing of gains and losses.

Draco silently plotted in his mind, while his hands moved deftly and carefully, dividing the completely clear potion into small crystal vials and sealing them.

Details determine success or failure.

We must be precise about every thread, every direction, and every end of every line.

Only by accurately grasping the overall situation can one find the correct connections among those threads, pull at them from behind the scenes, create a chain reaction, and ultimately achieve the desired effect.

Understanding Dumbledore’s background and history was also part of Draco’s “precise understanding.”

There was an opportunity right now. He might be able to learn about Dumbledore through Bathilda Bagshot.

Draco knew that Bathilda Bagshot was currently living in Godric’s Hollow. Coincidentally, Horace Slughorn, who was also staying in Godric’s Hollow, had extended a sincere invitation to Draco to a small luncheon he was hosting.

“Several former students have come to visit me, as well as a few old friends. I thought you might like to come and join us,” Slughorn wrote in his letter.

Draco immediately sent Joan off with a positive reply. Even disregarding Bathilda Bagshot, Slughorn’s invitation was quite attractive in itself.

He hadn’t forgotten one thing: before the end of the school year, Professor Dumbledore had revealed a plan. Hogwarts was extending an olive branch to Slughorn, trying to recruit the Potions Master back to teach at Hogwarts.

The official reason Dumbledore could give was that he valued Slughorn’s talent and hoped he could shine at Hogwarts and nurture more promising students. The real reason was that he wanted to find out from Slughorn how many Horcruxes the Dark Lord had made.

Draco and Slughorn kept in touch through correspondence. Ever since the summer before their third year, when he and Hermione had received Slughorn’s instruction, Draco had never lost contact with him. Every Christmas and on his birthday, he sent the Potions Master, who was fond of material pleasures, a batch of thoughtful gifts.

Slughorn also knew how to reciprocate, and he wrote to Draco from time to time to answer his questions and solve the little problems about potion-making that Draco deliberately raised.

It wasn’t that Professor Snape couldn’t answer these questions. Rather, one always had to find a reason to continue this kind of exchange, which resembled the one between teacher and student but went beyond academics—a friendly, mutually beneficial relationship disguised as a teacher-student one.

Both Draco and Slughorn were aware of this.

But this was the first time Slughorn had directly invited him to a luncheon.

Draco guessed that Slughorn wanted to sound him out and get some information about the current situation at Hogwarts before making a final decision on whether to accept the teaching position.

After all, turbulent times were just around the corner, and it was quite normal for Slughorn, that keen old Slytherin spider, to sense the slightest movement in the wizarding world through his web.

If it could help in the “resistance against the Dark Lord,” Draco wouldn’t mind doing his part by taking a Slytherin-style roundabout approach with this shrewd and opportunistic Potions Master, whispering a word in his ear.