They hid in a nearby classroom. They had not been inside long when they heard loud footsteps and Professor McGonagall's exclamation, "Oh, Severus, it is here!" The troll seemed to have fully awakened and began to roar again.
Meanwhile, four first year students hid behind the classroom door. They pressed their ears against the door, attempting to catch any sounds coming from outside, while barely daring to breathe, afraid of being discovered by the professors.
Judging from the sound, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape seemed to have cast several spells together. Then, the troll crashed to the ground with a dull thud.
After a while, Professor Quirrell's voice came through.
He stammered that he could take charge from now on.
Time passed slowly, and only when the first years were sitting on the ground behind the door, yawning incessantly, did silence return outside.
Hermione was still holding the jar. She was leaning wearily against the door, dozing off slightly. Gradually, her thick head slid down the door, where Draco caught her with lightning speed and placed her on his shoulder.
She was completely unaware of it. The blue flame witnessed all of this, and it danced gently in the jar in her hand, tirelessly.
Potter and Weasley, on the other end, were expressionless, completely unresponsive to the scene. They leaned their heads together, panting heavily, still immersed in the terrifying moment of facing the troll.
After a while, they came to their senses, exchanged glances, whispered a few words, and finally tentatively spoke. They said softly, "Thank you."
Draco, still listening intently to the sounds outside, whispered to them, "Never be so reckless again. Not every time will someone come to your rescue."
These two idiots, trying to stop a charging troll, were incredibly lucky not to be torn to pieces or crushed into pulp by the monster.
"Also, a wand is a wizard's life, so you must cherish it," Draco said seriously, noticing Potter and Weasley nodding quietly.
Just then, his shoulder felt lighter. Hermione had suddenly woken up. She looked up, rubbing her eyes sleepily with the back of her hand. Her eyes were still somewhat swollen.
He turned his head and unconsciously smiled at her. She smiled back at him with hazy eyes. Then he looked at Potter again, his face regaining its solemnity.
"You must carry your wand with you at all times. It is for casting spells, not for physical combat. If it breaks, it can never be properly repaired."
Potter looked somewhat embarrassed, as though he had only just remembered that wands could be broken.
Draco could not help but be worried. Potter's attitude toward wands was too careless. He seemed to have no idea what a destined wand meant to a wizard.
That is a unique existence in the world.
However, Draco could only touch upon the subject briefly. He could not lecture Potter and the others too much. After all, they were merely eleven year old children. What profound principles could one expect them to understand?
Look, what goes around comes around! Now, it is not me who is being irresponsible, it is Potter and the others.
Draco sighed, feeling he had been too concerned about them, when he himself was already embroiled in a mountain of trouble and barely able to take care of himself.
He straightened his face and instructed them, "By the way, I hope you can keep this a secret. Do not tell anyone that I saved you, or that I was ever here. That would be the greatest thanks you can give me."
He did not want anyone to notice his wanderings.
As for the secret investigation into the Dark Lord, surfacing prematurely without understanding the situation would only bring disaster. Remaining hidden would be safer.
Potter and Weasley exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of his intentions. But ultimately, filled with gratitude for their savior, they nodded in agreement.
After this incident, Harry, Ron, and Hermione became true friends. Brave and loyal Gryffindors, willing to face terrifying beings for each other, even at the cost of their lives. How could there not be friendship between them?
They also gained a new understanding of Draco. Although Draco was a Slytherin, it was impossible not to develop appreciation for him when he had been through something with you and even saved your life.
This was what it meant to face a twelve foot tall mountain troll together.
In November, Hogwarts began its Quidditch season. The news that Potter was 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 spectacularly.
As for how Potter himself viewed the issue, Draco was not certain.
However, on one occasion, he saw Potter sitting at the Gryffindor dining table, holding the copy of Quidditch Through the Ages that Hermione had once borrowed, reading with little confidence, attempting to glean some self assurance.
This feeling was especially novel. Draco was hesitant to gloat over the fact that his once confident opponent, who had defeated him several times on the Quidditch pitch in his previous life, was now so genuinely displaying his anxiety in front of him.
"You have absolutely nothing to worry about." One day, he finally could not help but stop and stand next to Potter.
Potter looked at Draco, and behind him Crabbe and Goyle, who were munching on chocolate cake with gloomy faces, with a puzzled expression.
"If I were you, I would go to the trophy room on the fourth floor. I remember there is James Potter on several of the trophies," Draco said, stopping short of elaborating.
If family genetics cannot boost Potter's confidence, I do not know what better way there is.
Students who only needed to be spectators in the stands spent more time on their studies. After the initial excitement of starting term wore off, almost all students were overwhelmed by the increasing amount of homework, and more and more students 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 merely for completing her homework.
Sometimes, she would grab Potter and Weasley by the backs of their collars and forcefully order them to finish their homework, or criticize their appalling parchment and demand that they rewrite it without hesitation.
At other times, after Potter and Weasley had fled the library with their meager 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 his curiosity, he would pretend to happen upon her and glance at the books she was reading.
Then, he was surprised to find that the books she read were often completely unrelated to her studies, and the content often exceeded the level expected of a first year student.
When it comes to ambition, one can always admire Hermione Granger. Draco casually flipped through an old book that mentioned the villain Grindelwald, and could not help but feel impressed.
Why is she working so hard? Draco wondered. Could it be that Hermione's experience of being helpless in the face of the troll 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 was practically forced into becoming a Death Eater.
He had never experienced the feeling of being branded with the Dark Mark.
Of course, he would boast about it to all the Slytherins. In boasting repeatedly, 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, out of this instinctive awe, he would deliberately show them his arm.
That way, perhaps some opportunistic Slytherins will not take advantage of Lucius's imprisonment. My life will be somewhat easier.
In public, he put on a smug, boastful, and arrogant demeanor, but in private, he studied desperately, even researching forbidden and complex Dark magic and obscure Alchemy.
He desperately wanted to prove to the Dark Lord that he was a useful subordinate and someone worth cultivating, 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 parchment covered in dense writing before him.