With a "poof," a disheveled Kreacher suddenly appeared in Harry's room, startling Ginny, who was picking a Butterbeer bottle cork up off the floor.
"What happened, Kreacher?" Harry asked in surprise.
Kreacher still looked a little listless.
"Young Master Sirius and Mistress Cici are leaving for a while to run some errands," he said in a hoarse voice, clearly reluctant. "The young master has ordered Kreacher to obey all of Young Master Harry's orders."
"Oh, I see," Harry said quickly. "Kreacher, keep an eye on the area. As soon as Sirius or Draco's mother appears in Grimmauld Place, let us know immediately."
Kreacher nodded with a long face, then disappeared with another "poof."
The room returned to a state of superficial tranquility, but with undercurrents of turmoil.
Ron, the least bothered by the whole business with the door, was meticulously torturing a piece of parchment with his quill, as if he were trying to drive some inspiration forming in his mind onto the page.
Ginny, who had overheard the kiss through the door along with Harry, was blushing slightly and rolling a cork across the wooden floor with a serious expression. She seemed more interested in teasing Crookshanks into chasing it than in replaying what she and Harry had overheard.
Harry glanced at her casually and picked up the instructions for "Fifteen in a Row" again to study them. He stared at the few lines of text, but he just couldn't read them.
Amidst the rustling of Ron's quill, Harry couldn't help glancing at the wall Ron was facing. On its other side lay Hermione and Ginny's bedroom, and he anxiously prayed to Merlin that they wouldn't hear any more eerie noises from the lovestruck couple through the wall.
He watched Ron, who was writing furiously, for a moment, and then said, "Ron, shall we go downstairs to the living room?"
"Ah—ah?" Ron turned around in a panic, dropping his quill on the floor. "What?"
"Wait a minute," Harry said suspiciously. "Are you doing your homework or writing a letter?"
"Oh, the living room downstairs—aren't we waiting for Draco and the others to come over—" Ron hurriedly stuffed the parchment into his tattered copy of Unfogging the Future while bending down to pick up his quill. "I still want to have a showdown with him in Wizard's Chess!" he said loudly.
"Let's go to the living room and play while we wait for them," Ginny said, glancing at Harry knowingly. "There's no room for any more people in here. The living room is bigger, isn't it? Come on, I'll help you carry the chessboard downstairs."
However, almost an hour passed, and Harry lost two rounds in a row. He still hadn't heard Draco and Hermione open the door, or sensed any sign that the overly engrossed couple would come down to check on them.
When Ron's knight destroyed Harry's castle again, Ginny, staring at the ever-growing pile of broken chess pieces on Harry's side of the board, finally couldn't bear to watch any longer.
While Ron was frantically tearing open a bag of Chocolate Frogs, Ginny pretended to lean over to look at the chessboard and whispered to Harry, "I bet you're already tired of Wizard's Chess."
"Hmm," Harry said, gazing absently at the small patch of orange-red hair hanging over the chessboard.
"So, I guess I have to be the bad guy, don't I?" Ginny asked.
"I guess so," Harry said in a low voice.
Ginny shook her head helplessly, stood up, and quickly walked out of the living room.
She never knew that the breeze stirred by her clothes left a faint fragrance in Harry's nose, nor that it made him misplace his last castle once again, allowing Ron's knights to display their might.
Ginny scrambled up the fourteen steep steps between the second and third floors in just six or seven strides.
She knocked on the door impatiently and said loudly, "I really don't want to bother you, but Hermione, are you really not going to bring your rude boyfriend out to show us?"
There was no movement from inside.
"At least they have some brains!" Ginny thought. They must have listened to her and used a Silencing Charm.
She crossed her arms and waited patiently for a while before the door was finally opened, hesitantly.
"Not bad—" Ginny looked Hermione up and down. Hermione's face was flushed. Ginny turned and walked toward the stairwell.
As she walked, she drawled, "It seems that some foolish girl who walked right into the trap is still alive and well, and hasn't been devoured alive by some treacherous snake."
Hermione felt her face burning as she listened to her tone, which was half annoyed and half teasing.
"Wait—" she called out, forcing herself to stop the red-haired girl in front of her, who was radiating displeasure. "Ginny."
"What's wrong?" Ginny stopped and turned to look at Hermione, still not intending to glance at anyone else.
Hermione turned around and tugged at her boyfriend's sleeve. "Draco, say 'I'm sorry' right now."
"I'm sorry," Draco said with a resentful look, rolling his eyes at the ceiling of the corridor.
"Look at his attitude!" Ginny said, dissatisfied.
"Draco, speak properly, be sincere, and use her name," Hermione whispered, tugging at his arm. "What did I just teach you?"
"I'm sorry, Ginny, I shouldn't have elbowed you," Draco said seriously, no longer rolling his eyes, but lowering his head.
Ginny quietly shrugged at Hermione and frowned.
She truly didn't understand the point of all this. Malfoy didn't seem sincere at all. In her opinion, he was only pretending to be honest and admit his mistake in order to please Hermione.
However, Hermione seemed to take the matter quite seriously. She silently gave her "best friend" a pleading look, which made it hard for Ginny to refuse.
Draco lowered his eyes and waited, growing increasingly impatient. He secretly glanced at the girl holding his arm.
The girl felt his gaze, smiled at him, and patted his hand reassuringly.
"Okay, I accept—" Ginny said, arms crossed, "for Hermione's sake."
She glanced at them, sighed slightly, shook her head, and walked down the stairs with an arrogant expression.
Hermione didn't follow Ginny downstairs right away.
"Draco, well done! Absolutely fantastic." She looked up at him and smiled approvingly. "I love it when you do this."
"Hug—" Draco's eyes showed a hint of grievance.
That Weasley brat had always given him the cold shoulder and couldn't stand him. She had just jumped out to stop him, yelling at him rudely and arrogantly. He hadn't even had time to get angry about it, and instead he'd had to apologize to her first!
Hearing this, Hermione instinctively threw herself into his arms.
"I'm holding you." She felt his strong heartbeat and stroked the back of his shirt. "Are you feeling any better?"
She could faintly feel the shape of his muscles again.
Hermione was increasingly realizing that her Slytherin boyfriend was very good at disguising himself. He appeared to be an elegant young man who posed no threat. But once you were in his arms, his strength became undeniable, and you couldn't help wanting to touch him, or to get even closer.
"A tiny bit better," Draco said in a muffled voice.
He didn't bother to guess what his girlfriend was so obsessed with; he was only concerned with how nice she smelled.
He hurriedly held her tight, wrapping her up like a solid, cedar-scented blanket. Then he discovered that she was incredibly soft, noticeably so in certain places.
At times like this, he always wanted to caress her, even though reason told him it was inappropriate in a hallway lined with portraits of Black family ancestors who might appear at any moment.
"Draco, I know. I know you don't like to bow down to others, I know you're not good at apologizing, I know you're not used to caring about everyone's feelings—" Hermione nestled in his arms, subconsciously putting all her weight on him.
She nuzzled his cheek and whispered, "But we can't be so rude to others. I'm glad you can try to change, even a little."
She noticed his ears gradually turning red.
"I'm willing to do anything for you. For you, I can try to do things I don't like, am not good at, or am not used to. As long as you like me—" he said softly, "always like me."
"Of course I like you," Hermione coaxed softly. "Remember, you can't run away from what you've done wrong. Let's face it and make amends together, okay?"
Draco sniffed her hair and asked tentatively, "If I don't run away and I'm honest with you, will you always like me?"
"Yes, I will." Hermione chuckled softly and patted him on the back.
"Anything?" he asked hesitantly.
"Anything," she said firmly.
He silently inhaled the scent of her hair, feeling a little more at ease, and tried to hold her even tighter.
"Hermione, when you're done sticking together, go play Quidditch in the backyard!" Ginny poked her head out of the second-floor living room and yelled up the stairs, ruining the mood. "I'm going to get Harry to beat him to a pulp!"
The young couple blushed slightly, let go of each other, and hurried downstairs.
"Let's go play Quidditch in the backyard?" Draco intertwined his fingers with hers and let her pull him along.
He asked curiously, "Is there even enough room to play properly?"
"Oh, that's Sirius's birthday present to Harry. He cast a massive Extension Charm on the backyard of the old Black house and created a world-class Quidditch pitch," Hermione said excitedly. "I'm sure he used a lot of other advanced magic too. I think he used some kind of magic circle as well."
"Of course he did!" Draco said in an exasperated tone, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. "Is there anything he can't do?"
Hermione glanced at him with a grin, but she sensed a hint of sourness in his tone.
"Anyway, he secretly prepared it for a long time, and even set up a special broom room," she said with a smile. "It's quite impressive!"
Draco pursed his lips.
Sirius Black's extravagance was merely a continuation of the Black family's tradition of extravagance and waste, so it was hardly surprising.
Hermione stopped on the second-floor landing and looked into the living room through the doorway.
With his back to them, Ron was enthusiastically directing his pieces to dominate the board, which explained Harry's pained expression. Behind Ron, Ginny frowned as she stared at the chessboard. Not far away, Kreacher was slowly wiping a gilded clock, his expression blank.
"Let's go!" she said to Ginny. "We're done talking."
"You two talked for a whole hour!" Ginny said, shaking her head. "We're practically growing mushrooms on our heads! Even the chess pieces are getting impatient."
"It's alright, I actually think time went by pretty fast," Ron said, glancing back at them, then suddenly perking up. "By the way, Draco, after this game, do you want to play a round with me—"
"Please, let's play Quidditch!" Ginny said, her voice brimming with fighting spirit.
She turned her head and smiled at the dark-haired boy who was frowning at the chessboard. "Isn't that right, Harry?"
"Uh—the weather is definitely perfect for Quidditch today." Harry was clearly relieved.
Instead of moving another piece forward, he asked tentatively, "Ron?"
"That's not fair, Ginny!" Ron said angrily to his sister. "You can't kidnap Harry every time—"
"Excuse me, my mother and Sirius—" Draco interrupted.
"Oh, don't worry." Harry stood up casually and said to Draco, "I've had Kreacher keep an eye on things. He'll let us know as soon as they show up in Grimmauld Place. Right, Kreacher?"
It wasn't until Harry called him that the frail old elf emerged from his wandering thoughts. He bowed to Harry and nodded hastily; then, seeing Draco at the door, he bowed respectfully in his direction as well.
"Thank you, Kreacher," Hermione said warmly.
Kreacher glanced at her, and his body stiffened abruptly. His teeth chattered, and a hoarse gurgling sound came from his throat. He opened his mouth as if he were being choked, but nothing came out. Then he grunted incoherently twice and darted off to the potions room next door.
Hermione paused, then pursed her lips.
Although she hid it well, Draco could still sense her slight disappointment.
He squeezed her hand and said loudly, "That's progress. It wasn't this gentle before, was it?"
It was already a remarkable achievement that she could keep such a stubborn, prejudiced, foul-mouthed house-elf from hurling insults at her. She must have put in a lot of effort during her time at the old Black house, Draco thought.
Hearing his words, the girl seemed to force herself to cheer up and smiled at him.
"You really shouldn't have encouraged her," Harry whispered to Draco as the boys and girls walked from the living room to the backyard. "Kreacher didn't lash out any harder, but that's no thanks to you. You should have seen him after Hermione persuaded him to 'pursue freedom' the other day. Kreacher almost killed himself to prove his point, and he's been teetering on the brink of a breakdown these past few days."
"Oh, she never gives up, does she?" Draco said admiringly. "There's nothing Hermione Granger can give up on easily."
He smiled, his eyes fixed on the girl's back. She was pouting and muttering something to Ginny, with a captivatingly stubborn air about her.
"You're hopeless! I'm not telling you this to praise her. Kreacher went on strike for days because of it, and we almost starved to death," Harry said, annoyed. "If it weren't for Ginny's sandwiches—"
"What's with all the whining? You didn't starve to death, did you?" Draco waved his hand impatiently, earning a subtle eye roll from Harry.
Harry snorted. "I told Ron I shouldn't have had any unrealistic hopes about you. He actually thought you could persuade her. I knew all along you had no principles when it came to her!"
Draco chuckled lazily and didn't pursue the topic.
He deliberately slowed his pace, gradually widening the distance between them and the three people in front.
"Listen, Harry, speaking of 'persuasion,' I need to talk to you about Occlumency."
"You've heard?" Harry's face immediately darkened. "I have nothing to say about it. I've done my best."
"I understand," Draco said calmly. "I have no intention of forcing you. I know this branch of magic is obscure and difficult to learn. It's not something that can be mastered casually."
"It's a relief that you see it that way." Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
"But Sirius doesn't?" Draco asked tentatively.
"He tries his best to control his temper, but I can tell he's sometimes quite impatient. He always wants me to learn right away," Harry said, frustrated. "But the results are usually disappointing. Lately he's been saying I'm not progressing because I'm under too much pressure, and he even built a Quidditch pitch and called it 'relieving stress.'"
Draco glanced at him, trying to sound casual. "Where do you think the problem lies? I heard from Hermione that you seem unable to resist him. Aren't you wary of him at all?"
"He's incredibly powerful, how could I possibly stand up to him?" Harry said matter-of-factly. "Besides, why would I be wary of him? He's my godfather!"
"I see the problem," Draco said in a low voice. "You trust him too much."
Harry stopped in his tracks.
"You think it doesn't matter if he sees your thoughts, is that right?" Draco asked pointedly.
"Kind of. I like him a lot." Harry smiled sheepishly. "I can't guard against him. Being wary of Sirius is the last thing I could do."
Draco noticed that Harry even sounded a little proud as he said this.
He seemed proud of his inability to guard against his godfather.
For a fifteen-year-old who didn't fully understand how terrifying the Dark Lord was, and who still retained some naivety and loyalty, having such a close bond with his beloved godfather that he couldn't guard against him was perhaps something to be proud of.
But there was one thing Harry didn't understand.
He had no right to indulge in this pride like other ordinary young wizards, especially when that pride might bring utter destruction to his godfather.
Draco looked at him and sighed heavily.
"Think about it this way, Harry." He stopped and looked back at Harry's innocent face. "Imagine that one day, through a mind link, you saw the Dark Lord and his gang kidnap Sirius or something. What would you do?"
"He won't get caught," Harry said proudly. "He's so amazing."
"What if?" Draco pressed stubbornly. "We have to assume the most extreme scenario."
Harry frowned. "I don't know what the point of your assumption is."
Draco didn't speak, but just stared at him, waiting for his answer.
Harry's expression turned serious. He thought for a moment, then said firmly, "If that happened, I would do everything I could to save him."
"I knew it. But have you considered that this memory might be fake? For a wizard with great magical skill, memories can be fabricated out of thin air," Draco said in a low voice. "If you rush off to save him and end up in trouble yourself, then Sirius will have to come to your rescue, won't he?"
This was no exaggeration on Draco's part. In his previous life, his father Lucius had done exactly this, and his mother Narcissa had been involved too, by influencing Kreacher.
What a disaster! Draco sighed inwardly.
Harry felt somewhat lost.
Draco's assumption was already extreme, and now he had added a bunch of unexpected conditions, leaving Harry momentarily speechless. So Harry remained silent, looking at Draco with a bewildered expression.
Draco pressed his advantage, speaking even more cruelly.
"What if Sirius were seriously injured while saving you, as badly as that night in our third year? Or even worse, what if he lost his life because of it? What would you do?"
He looked at Harry's increasingly astonished face and said calmly, "All because you didn't learn Occlumency, and a distorted false memory took advantage of your weakness, causing terrible consequences. Will you feel sad when that time comes?"
Harry stared at him, speechless, seemingly never having considered such a terrifying turn of events.
He hurriedly said, "He would never—"
He stopped, not daring to say the word "death."
"Harry, you don't even realize this," Draco said calmly, scrutinizing his expression. "Your deep, open feelings for Sirius will be seen as a weakness by the Dark Lord."
"What, Draco, do you also think the Dark Lord is still alive?" Harry suddenly asked.
Draco kept his mouth shut. He had spoken with Sirius earlier and knew he couldn't be too absolute on this matter.
"Harry, you don't think only the Dark Lord can invade minds, do you?" He paused for a moment and said coldly, "Can you guarantee you won't encounter other wizards who will frame you in your life? Were those slanderous articles about you in the Daily Prophet all summer written by the Dark Lord? Can you be sure the Dark Lord is the only enemy you'll ever have?"
Harry stared at him and whispered, "No."
"Very well, now we can continue." Draco's tone hardened. "It's not only Sirius. Your friendship with Ron will also be seen as a weakness by your enemies. To put it another way, your cherishing of all your friends will be seen as a weakness, a weapon they can use to attack you."
He chose his words carefully, hammering these terrible facts into Harry's heart.
"Would you want to see them risk their lives, suffer harm and torment, or even lose their lives for this?"
Harry finally reacted, a hint of worry in his eyes, and shook his head at Draco.
"I know you're grieving the loss of your parents. You and Sirius are both tormented by that memory. I think that's one of the reasons your Occlumency training isn't progressing well," Draco said softly. "But besides what you've lost, think about what you still have. They are just as precious and fragile. If you don't try to protect them, you risk losing them too."
Harry stared blankly at Draco.
He could clearly see that Draco's expression was cold and hard, but at the same time a trace of pain flashed across his face, a kind of sorrow Harry couldn't fully understand.
Harry thought such an expression shouldn't be on the face of Draco Malfoy, who lived a life of luxury and seemed to have the most successful life.
It was as if Draco had lost something important or suffered a major blow.
How was that possible?
But in that instant, Harry inexplicably recalled the time they had encountered Dementors together on the pitch in their third year.
Back then, Draco and Harry had both fainted, and their reactions to the pain the Dementors caused had been exactly the same. When they talked about it afterward, Draco had shown a sad expression similar to the one he wore now.
At that moment, Draco patted Harry on the shoulder, his tone very serious.
"You can't let your guard down, Harry. This world has never been a safe place; danger is everywhere. You must understand that the mind invaders you're truly fighting off are not your Occlumency teacher, nor your beloved godfather Sirius, but the Dark Lord, the enemy lurking in the shadows, and any adversary who might harm your loved ones and friends. Everything you're doing now is to protect the people you cherish."
Harry looked at Draco uneasily, and for a moment he was almost convinced.
But the next second, he became defiant. "Easier said than done! Then why don't you try that Occlumency training yourself—"
Draco frowned.
"Harry, I know this isn't easy." He looked at Harry intently. "But you don't think you're the only one doing difficult things, facing difficult choices, and living a difficult life, do you?"
"Of course I don't think that…" Harry said softly, somewhat taken aback by his deep, melancholy tone.
"Draco, come quick!" Hermione waved to them from ahead.
"Everyone has something they want to protect. No one is an exception. Think more about the cost of failure that you can't afford, and perhaps you'll have no choice but to pursue success." Draco quickly finished speaking to Harry, waved to Hermione, and strode forward.
Harry looked thoughtfully at the profile of the platinum-blond boy.
He was now standing casually beside Hermione, helping his beloved girl choose a suitable broom. His expression was so nonchalant, as if he had never had a serious conversation with Harry at all.
He smiled and looked down at her. Whenever she looked up at him, smiled, and spoke to him, his gaze was focused and gentle.
It seemed that in Draco's eyes, Hermione was never a stubborn, annoying classmate who kept waving her S.P.E.W. collection tin around, trying to break through all the walls of reality and people's hearts, or even driving a house-elf like Kreacher crazy. Instead, she was a Golden Snitch he had been eyeing for a long time, someone he wanted to hold firmly in his hands, cherish, and protect, Harry found himself thinking.
Draco might be right.
Everyone has something they want to protect—
Harry didn't have time to think any further; he was busy answering Ron and Ginny's loud calls and going to get his Firebolt.