"Have you offended Professor Snape?" Draco asked Potter in a low voice as they were bottling their potions.
He had wanted to ask this question for some time.
"Never. This is my first time dealing with Professor Snape," Potter said listlessly, looking somewhat dejected.
"Professor Snape seems to have somewhat of a prejudice against you," Draco discreetly scrutinized his expression, searching for any trace of guilt.
"Oh, prejudice? I even think he hates me," young Potter made no attempt to hide his feelings. He was preoccupied with his dejection.
Interesting.
Draco raised an eyebrow. There was no such thing as hatred without cause. There must be a story behind this.
Of course, compared to Professor Snape's empty, unfathomable demeanor, Draco was most concerned about Professor Quirrell, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
If nothing unexpected occurred, apart from Draco, probably no one knew that beneath Quirrell's garlic-scented turban lay the Dark Lord's distorted face.
Draco was unsure whether he should tell Professor Snape about it.
If this master of Occlumency was ultimately proven to be aligned with the Dark Lord, his confession at this moment would be tantamount to giving the Dark Lord, who was preparing to return, a significant advantage.
Draco did not want to act rashly and increase the chances of the Dark Lord's successful resurrection.
Draco decided that telling Dumbledore was the safest course of action. However, first-year students were not really qualified to bypass Professor Snape, the Head of House, and communicate directly with the Headmaster.
First, Draco did not want to expose his unusual condition. By exposing Quirrell, he was also exposing himself. How did a first-year student deduce all this? How could he explain it?
Secondly, communicating above one's station could easily incur Professor Snape's displeasure, causing this unfathomable former Death Eater to change his attitude toward him from admiration and appreciation to wariness and suspicion.
From any perspective, this was not a risk a prudent Slytherin would be willing to take.
On Friday afternoon, Draco was writing diligently in the library on the second floor of the castle. He wrote lines of elegant script on the parchment for his Charms homework, while secretly pondering how to inform Dumbledore appropriately.
Ideally, one should be able to clear oneself through the words of others.
At the same time, the timing of reporting Quirrell needed to be carefully considered.
Quirrell had to leave evidence first. Only then would a student's suspicion of the professor seem reasonable.
After writing the final full stop, he returned the quill to its place, rubbed his temples in frustration, and prepared to stand up to search for some additional materials. He had other matters to attend to besides his studies.
At Hogwarts, diligent first-years like Draco were rare. In fact, aside from Miss Know-It-All, there seemed to be very few other first-years in the library.
That messy mass of brown hair was truly difficult for Draco to ignore.
Why were Potter and Weasley, her two "good friends," not with her?
Draco gave a quiet sigh and stood beside the bookshelf, attempting to pull out a book about the Disillusionment Charm. Just then, part of the back of the bookshelf was pulled away, revealing the girl's brown eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Draco!" The eyes widened in surprise. "I did not notice you were here."
"Of course you do not know," Draco thought wearily. "All you care about are Potter and Weasley."
Aside from his Slytherin classmates, few would notice that Draco, who consistently ranked in the top ten of his year in his previous life, was also a frequent visitor to the library. He also devoted considerable thought and time to his studies.
Otherwise, did his achievements simply fall from the sky?
"I thought that after Potions class, you would not want to speak to a Slytherin anymore." Between the pages of the book, Draco's pale grey eyes gleamed with an expression that Hermione could not decipher.
After experiencing Professor Snape's blatant favoritism and his venomous words toward the Gryffindor students, Draco clearly sensed that a flame of resentment toward Slytherin was rising among all the Gryffindor students.
He saw the disdainful looks the Gryffindors gave him in class.
He assumed Hermione would be no exception.
After all, this proud little girl had been ignored and mistreated like that.
"I was indeed quite angry at the time. I did not approve of what Professor Snape did." Hermione raised her face with a hint of pride, but spoke pragmatically. "However, I know it was not your fault. It was only right that he praised you. I was observing your technique, and it was indeed very skillful."
Hermione knew that Draco had done nothing wrong in this Gryffindor-Slytherin animosity. He was simply caught in the middle of the conflict between the two houses because of his superior potion-making skills. How could she arbitrarily project her negative impression of Professor Snape onto a talented, innocent student?
Miss Know-It-All possessed a rather broad mind, quite different from how she held grudges in his previous life. Draco looked at her with uncertain eyes, unsure how to respond.
"Speaking of which, I was just about to ask you about that potion from the last class. There is one ingredient in it that needs to be ground—" Before she could finish speaking, Hermione came over cheerfully from the other side of the bookshelf, but suddenly stopped, revealing an expression of surprise that Draco enjoyed seeing on his all-knowing companion.
She thought she had explored the library thoroughly, but this was the first time she had ever seen the study space behind the stacks of bookshelves.
A comfortable, secluded learning space with a classical atmosphere.
Hermione was immediately drawn to the antique mahogany desk in the center. It was filled with all sorts of ornate quills, carved storage boxes, bundles of scrolls, and three-dimensional astronomical models.
The star models were crafted with exceptional detail and realism. Some twinkling stars were slowly moving along some mesmerizing trajectory, making them difficult to look away from.
Not far from the desk was a beautifully decorated fireplace, adorned with many carved figurines. The flames inside flickered slowly, sending a warm breeze through the room.
Any bookworm would be content here and would willingly spend a quiet afternoon immersed in books.
"Since you are here, have a seat," Draco said, leading her to a caramel-colored leather sofa with armrests in the corner and gesturing for her to sit down.
He casually took the large stack of books she was carrying and placed them on the walnut-colored solid wood coffee table with drawers and brass trim. Hermione glanced at it and noticed that the coffee table had a single piece of agate on its surface.
"Some tea?" Draco asked, arranging the gilded sterling silver tea set and a rosewood tea box inlaid with mother-of-pearl on the table.
Hermione initially wanted to refuse, as she did not wish to cause trouble for others.
In particular, he was a Slytherin student.
Was this level of private communication acceptable to Gryffindors?
But no young girl disliked beautiful things. She was captivated by the pumpkin-shaped teapot, which was covered with semi-three-dimensional reliefs of roses and daisies. The textures were delicate, each petal was distinct, and the veins of each stem and leaf were clearly visible, making it extraordinarily lifelike.
Moreover, Draco behaved like a hospitable host, treating her with considerable courtesy.
Although he appeared somewhat serious, he was not off-putting. In fact, he made her feel a kind of approachability that was different from before.
For no apparent reason, she suddenly wanted to try and discover what kind of tea would be worthy of such a beautiful teapot.
"All right, just a little," she could not help but say, her face turning slightly pink.
Draco then used a small gold key to open the tea box inlaid with light gold floral and mother-of-pearl patterns, and removed a small, pure silver tea caddy with an embossed fairy and floral design.
Hermione watched with curiosity as he picked up the delicate and lovely three-dimensional morning glory on the top of the teapot lid, and slowly used a silver tea spoon with an animal pattern placed beside the tea box to take some tightly rolled, dark and glossy tea leaves from the gilded tea caddy and placed them into the pumpkin teapot.
He noticed her gaze. "It is Darjeeling tea," he said to her as he added hot water to the teapot.
A faint aroma of tea wafted through the air, and Hermione seemed to smell the scent of freshly baked bread, a soft, sweet aroma that made her feel somewhat languid and even amplified the comfort of the sofa.
"It smells lovely," she said. This made Draco's lips curl into a slight smile.
This was his favorite tea. Miss Know-It-All had excellent taste.
For some reason, this tea session brought a sense of calm to his restless mind.
"Try it?" Draco did not say much, but simply handed her a silver-rimmed porcelain cup.
Hermione sniffed the tea, a smile immediately bloomed on her face, and her expression became animated. "Thank you. Although I do not drink tea often, I must say I quite like the taste."
"My pleasure," he said briefly, his expression unchanged.
"Why have I not found this place before?" Hermione asked casually, savoring the pleasant, faint sweet scent.
Draco did not answer her question directly. The Hogwarts Board of Governors had the right to reserve a quiet, undisturbed space in the library, distinct from the noisy study area.
When Draco occasionally helped Crabbe and Goyle with their homework, he would reluctantly go to the study area to make an appearance. When he was studying alone, he preferred to come to this secluded corner.
This was his own private sanctuary, a place where he could return to being the somber and weary Draco Malfoy.
This was why the Potter trio did not often see Draco in the library in his previous life. Draco could activate concealment charms, disguising the area and preventing anyone from disturbing it.
Students passing by would often only see a pile of damaged furniture with a sign before it that read the Hogwarts motto or "Danger, Do Not Touch."
Draco was not certain if he could tell Hermione Granger about this.
Especially when they were not yet very familiar.
He needed to observe her further.
He gave a distant yet polite smile and made a hushing gesture. "I believe I must ask you to keep this a secret again."
"All right! You are always so secretive," Hermione said, scrunching her face.
She felt that he was like a pearl oyster, covered by a cold, hard shell, making him impossible to see through.
But his attentiveness to her, always promptly refilling her empty teacup with steaming hot tea, greatly won her over.
Perhaps that was simply his personality. Everyone had their little secrets, correct? Forcing someone to be forthright with her about their secrets seemed rather presumptuous. Hermione thought quietly.
"What are you reading? Quidditch?" Draco skillfully changed the subject, casually pulling one book from her stack and flipping through it.
Hermione's face immediately turned red.
"Worried about next week's flying lesson?" Draco looked up at her, asking pointedly.
"Ah... yes," Hermione stammered, taking a sip of tea as cover. She had intended to appear nonchalant, but Draco seemed to see right through her.
She stole a glance at him and, seeing that he did not seem to be mocking her, hurriedly explained in a low voice, "I have never ridden a broomstick before. It seems like all my classmates have experience with it. Seamus from our house has been riding one since he was small, and so has Ron. They are both really good at it. I thought perhaps reading some books would help me learn how to use a broomstick beforehand..."
"No," Draco shook his head slightly, interrupting her.
"Flying is something you cannot learn from books alone. You must actually fly and experience it." It was rare for him to say something slightly longer.
Miss Know-It-All probably had only one weakness. She never seemed to be particularly adept at flying broomsticks.
Speaking of which, when she was fleeing from the raging Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement, she had seemed quite unskilled at riding.
How could Hermione Granger be so inadequate at such an essential wizarding skill that should be mastered by first-years?
At the very least, when it came to saving your life, you could not afford to fail like this, could you?
Draco secretly rolled his eyes, grasped the sleeve of her wizard's robe, and walked toward the library entrance. "Come with me."
"Wait a moment, the flying book I need to borrow—" Hermione kept turning back to look at the book she had painstakingly collected.
"We do not need those books," Draco said firmly, continuing to lead her along.