At dawn, Draco awoke, puzzled.
He never expected that he could actually fall asleep on this cold, hard floor without having any nightmares.
How did he manage to forget his thoughts about the Fat Lady's fate last night?
He closed his eyes, trying to get back into the vortex of thought, but was suddenly assaulted by the sweet aroma of green apples.
The sensory cells have awakened. My stomach is empty, and my mind is utterly desolate. The message they gave were clear.
He reluctantly opened his sleepy eyes and was surprised to find the sleeping girl nestled in his arms.
Or rather, he had wrapped his arms around her entire sleeping bag, along with her inside, holding her tightly and closely, an unconscious smile on his face.
Hermione, that sweet little girl who was completely oblivious to her situation. She had buried her face affectionately in his neck, her fingers obediently clutching his collar, her hair cascading over him, and the corners of her mouth slightly upturned, as if she were having a sweet dream.
How did she end up in his arms? Draco swallowed hard, glancing around guiltily to find the students still fast asleep. A few coughs occasionally drifted from afar, the sounds of the prefects on night patrol and the ghosts.
He was secretly relieved that no one had noticed... until he saw the Grey Lady quietly float over, glance at him with a knowing look, and then slowly leave with a faint smile.
Draco felt incredibly uncomfortable. For a moment, he felt like a bad student caught red-handed.
A faint blush rose to his face, but he paid it no heed.
He quickly and gently removed Hermione's slender fingers, one by one, from his robes... and soothed her unhappy groan by stroking her hair... then tucked her sleeping bag in, wrapping her up snugly.
That is right. She was completely covered up; no one could see her sweet and innocent smile at that moment.
That is too dangerous.
Draco muttered to himself as he tiptoed out of the Great Hall, following the swaying Grey Lady into an empty, dark doorway.
The Grey Lady glanced back at him and asked suspiciously, "What are you doing? Following me?"
"No, my lady, I have something I want to share with you," he said.
"What is it?" she asked warily.
"Not long ago, two more pieces of his soul were destroyed," Draco told her. "I thought you might want to know."
"Two more pieces?" The Grey Lady's gentle, ethereal voice turned shrill as she rushed towards him, her usually elegant and beautiful face contorting instantly.
"Yes." Draco was startled by her sudden change in expression and tone, but he tried his best to remain calm and stood still.
"Oh, Merlin... he is a devil..." The Grey Lady exhaled slowly like a deflated balloon, muttering, "and a fool too."
"What do you mean by that?" Draco asked.
"Splitting the soul..." The Grey Lady turned around and looked at the distant mountains outside the window. "It is not something you can do at will. No one can precisely divide the soul into equal parts. When you split it, all your qualities at that time will be reflected in the split soul, just like another you."
Draco looked at her, puzzled, a thought flickering in his mind.
"This means that every split is a process of one becoming two," the Grey Lady said softly.
A long silence followed.
A cricket, not yet frozen to death, chirped in a drawn-out, melodious voice from a crack in the bricks, like some kind of humorous background noise.
"You mean..." Draco said in shock.
"The first time, he split his soul in half. The second time, he was left with only a quarter of his soul." The Grey Lady's face twisted in disbelief; she could not believe she had been deceived by such a fool.
"But he made a third, a fourth..." Draco continued, his eyes widening suddenly as he awoke from his drowsiness. He felt a chill run through him. "How much of his soul... how much of it does he still have left in his body?"
"I do not know." The Grey Lady's face returned to its calm, even indifferent state. "It depends on how many times he has split."
"How many times..." Draco murmured, gradually losing his ability to speak.
"Ha! Now I understand why he was defeated by a baby..." She laughed mockingly, then floated away, leaving behind a profound statement. "His soul is so fragile, even weaker than a baby's... He is so shattered that he can no longer properly sustain his body. His soul must be suffering the torment of being broken every moment."
Draco stood frozen in place, utterly shocked. Was this... the truth?
His worldview, like a stack of building blocks, had been shattered by the Grey Lady's analysis, crumbling into pieces.
He recalled what his grandfather Abraxas had once told him: "The rupture of the soul brings irreversible and permanent loss, resulting in mood swings, lack of judgement, and a growing detachment from human form..."
If things went as the Grey Lady had predicted...
So, the fact that the Dark Lord's personality became increasingly eccentric and his face increasingly distorted day by day in the later stages was finally given a reasonable explanation.
With such a fragmented soul, he could no longer be called a human being, but a hideous and broken monster.
How could such a monster possibly lead those pure-blood wizards with beautiful dreams to restore their glory?
What else could a monster, constantly immersed in the pain of ruin, possibly desire besides slaughter?
Draco stood on the cold, wind-swept corridor, feeling a chill run through him.