---
Chapter 11 — Knowledge, Dust, and Halloween
In the blink of an eye, nearly two months had passed since they'd arrived at Hogwarts.
Today, Malfoy was practically glowing. He was in such a good mood that even while eating, the corners of his mouth kept twitching upward.
"It's just a permission slip. Why are you this happy?" Pansy muttered beside him as she cut into the smoked fish on her plate.
"This isn't just permission. This represents knowledge—wisdom—power!" Malfoy declared, louder and far less composed than usual.
"I think you ought to go sit at the Ravenclaw table," Pansy said dryly, pointing toward the sea of blue and bronze.
Thanks to his performance across several subjects, Malfoy had finally been granted special permission from Madam Pince to access most of the restricted-section books without needing a professor's written approval each time.
Some of those titles contained advanced dark magic rarely taught at Hogwarts. Normally, only students taking N.E.W.T.-level Defence Against the Dark Arts could access them, and even then they needed a teacher's explicit signature.
For him, the doors had widened. Aside from a few rare or dangerous books, he now had free rein. It was a treasure trove.
"I bet you won't even be able to concentrate in class today," Pansy said sharply, her "poisonous tongue" emerging again now that his excitement was irritating her.
"You're never this happy when you're with me," she added suddenly, a faint note of irritation slipping out.
"You're right. There's still class later," Malfoy said, trying to calm himself. He completely missed the jealousy hidden in her tone.
And as expected, Malfoy was a little absent-minded for the rest of the day.
Herbology was the final class of the afternoon. The moment it ended, Malfoy took off for the library so fast that Professor Sprout blinked, wondering whether her lesson had been that boring.
"I'm starting to think something went wrong with the Sorting Hat," whispered a group of Ravenclaws. "If he were in our House, the House Cup would be ours for sure." Clearly, word had spread beyond Slytherin.
"What's there to brag about? He's just good at school," Ron grumbled in the Gryffindor common room.
"I think what we should be discussing," Harry said firmly, "is how we're going to apologize to Hermione. That's the important thing."
"Apologize? Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron threw his hands up. "Did you see her earlier? It's like we're idiots in her eyes!"
"Ron, that's enough. You know she didn't mean it like that," Harry insisted. "You saw her crying."
"So what?" Ron muttered, though unease flickered across his face. Making a girl cry was hardly something to be proud of.
"We'll apologize at the Halloween feast," Harry said. "I know you're just being stubborn."
"Fine, fine. I'll apologize, alright?" Ron mumbled, impatient and embarrassed.
Meanwhile, Malfoy wandered through the towering library shelves.
Hogwarts was old—so old that some of the wooden shelves were starting to rot, giving off a faint smell of damp wood. Some books were coated with dust so thick they looked like they hadn't been touched in decades.
Malfoy skimmed the shelves for the kind of knowledge he sought—secret, ancient, powerful. His eyes scanned the rows quickly.
He stopped in front of one of the oldest bookcases.
"You're the one," Malfoy murmured, pulling out a heavy tome. The cover was faded and buried beneath dust, making the title impossible to read.
"Scourgify." He flicked his hand.
The dust vanished, and the book looked cleaner, though time had blurred the letters beyond repair.
"But that's good enough," Malfoy thought.
He was about to leave when he noticed something. The halls were buzzing. Students and teachers alike seemed unusually excited, and even Pansy had dropped several hints in the morning—something about pumpkin sweets.
"Halloween," Malfoy realized suddenly.
"That's an important plot point… Right—trolls!"
Lost in thought, he didn't notice the footsteps behind him until someone bumped hard into his back.
"Sorry!" a familiar girl's voice said.
"Well, if it isn't today's main character," Malfoy muttered as he turned around. A bushy head of curls greeted him—Hermione. Her eyes were red. She had obviously been crying.
"Well, if it isn't Gryffindor's resident know-it-all. You don't look too happy. Did you fight with someone?" Malfoy asked, feigning innocence.
In his previous life, he'd heard a theory that people often dropped their defenses around unfamiliar faces, showing vulnerability they refused to show friends. Today seemed to prove it.
Hermione's eyes welled again. "They all say I'm just trying to please the teachers. Ron said I'm like a nightmare in Charms. I just wanted to remind him his spell was wrong. Why do they say those things?" Her voice broke. "And the people in your House keep calling me… that name. I hate it."
"Do you want to see me humiliated? Because right now, I've lost the only thing I'm good at in front of you!"
Malfoy blinked, surprised. He hadn't expected her to crack like this. Apparently, today he needed to play therapist.
"Ahem." Malfoy straightened.
"Then, as the most outstanding Slytherin first-year, I suppose I should apologize on behalf of the idiots in my House," he said, giving a formal little bow.
"And to express my sincerity—how about Honeydukes? Since it's Halloween and all."
Hermione stared at him, stunned. She hadn't intended to say all that. She'd only wanted to push him away. She never expected him to apologize—much less offer to cheer her up.
"Aren't… aren't you angry?" she asked quietly.
"Well, since a Gryffindor had the courage to apologize to a Slytherin earlier, I can't afford to be petty, can I?" Malfoy said, clearly referencing Harry.
Hermione hesitated. Then she whispered, "Hogsmeade visits are only allowed on Saturdays. And only with signed permission. Third-years and up."
"In this world," Malfoy said calmly, "there are only places you choose not to go, not places you can't go."
"Besides—Gryffindor courage should include breaking a few rules."
"Maybe if you broke them more often, you'd get along with the others better."
He turned and started walking. "Come with me."
Hermione stood frozen for a moment, then stomped once—hard—as if making a decision, and hurried after him.
Gryffindors were born with the adventure gene, after all.
---
---
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Like it ? Add to library!
Have some idea about my story? Comment it and let me know.
Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!
Creation is hard, cheer me up! VOTE for me!