With the rapid advancement of technology, the quality of life for muggles was no longer necessarily worse than that of wizards. In fact, in some areas, it might even have surpassed it.
However, in medicine, muggles had no advantage at all.
For wizards, most illnesses could be cured completely with a single potion—often without any side effects whatsoever.
Thus, despite Hermione having fallen ill with a fever and even fainted, it was nothing a single potion couldn't fix, with recovery so quick it was almost unbelievable.
In short, unless it involved a particularly stubborn curse, Draco didn't see it as anything serious.
"Let's go, Crookshanks."
"Meow."
Watching her owner lift the unconscious girl into his arms, Crookshanks reluctantly gave up the spot that was rightfully his.
And so, man and cat walked together through the snow, leaving behind only a faint, distant gaze watching from afar...
...
To wizards, anything that could be solved with magic was hardly worth worrying about—especially something as ordinary as an illness.
For Draco, it was nothing significant.
So when Hermione finally regained consciousness, she immediately noticed that she wasn't in a bed, nor in the Hogwarts hospital wing. Instead, she found herself in a private room on the second floor of an unfamiliar teahouse...
Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.
It was a small establishment tucked away in a corner of Hogsmeade Village.
Though its location was a bit secluded, its decor made it stand out instantly. The shopkeeper had a peculiar taste—everywhere was lined with gaudy lace and frilly decorations. Even the small round table where Hermione had been resting her head looked overly ornate.
"Where... am I?"
The thick, sweet scent of tea filled the air. Hermione wrinkled her small nose and shook her head to clear the drowsiness. When she opened her eyes, she realized she was indeed in a teahouse.
The name on the wall confirmed it.
"What happened? Wasn't I just—"
"Awake?"
"Eh?"
"The decor may be questionable," a familiar voice said beside her, "but the tea here isn't bad. It's mixed with a bit of potion—good for recovery, especially for someone who's been sick."
Hermione turned her head and saw him.
Draco Malfoy.
He sighed and set his teacup down, looking distinctly unimpressed as he met her bleary gaze.
"Accumulated fatigue over time, then falling asleep out in a snowstorm—sure, you're not easily affected by illness, but that doesn't give you an excuse to act carelessly."
"I..."
Hermione opened her mouth, but she couldn't find a single word to refute him.
She finally turned her head aside, cheeks faintly pink, and only then noticed the empty teacup beside her and Crookshanks curled quietly nearby. Seeing that, the memories slowly came back.
After hearing what Draco had said earlier, the sharp-minded Hermione instantly pieced together what must have happened. Her condition, the place... everything fit.
And she realized, too, that none of what had happened before had been a dream.
"Um... well..."
"It's fine. I couldn't exactly leave you lying there alone."
"Yeah... thank you."
Hermione's expression was complicated—a mix of embarrassment and something else, subtle and hard to read.
Maybe it was because she was still weak, but she seemed softer than usual, her guardedness faded.
When Draco handed her the cup of tea he'd ordered for her, she didn't refuse.
"It's... good."
The way she held the teacup so delicately made Draco glance at her more than once...
...
As Draco gazed absently out the window and Hermione savored the warmth of her tea, a sudden commotion broke out inside the small teahouse. The owner had stormed in, looking furious.
"My apologies, everyone, but we have to close up—immediately."
For a brief moment, the room fell silent as the customers tried to make sense of her words.
"What? Again? Weren't those idiots here searching just a few days ago?"
"Damn it, I'd better get home before it starts."
"I've had enough of this! I'm filing a complaint with the Ministry!"
As the owner continued explaining, it was clear the local patrons caught on faster than the students. Without wasting time, they hurried out of the shop.
Hermione, however, already knew what was happening—this was the usual shutdown that came whenever the village was placed under a Dementor patrol.
Of course, not everyone took it so calmly, especially the disgruntled Hogwarts students.
"What's going on? We already paid!"
"Yeah! We just sat down!"
"Come on, we only just got here—"
The shopkeeper didn't even flinch at their complaints. She just sighed and replied in a helpless tone,
"Nothing I can do. The Dementors will be here soon. Best if you lot get moving—it's not a feeling you want to experience. Ruins your whole day."
"...Dementors?"
"Hmph. Same excuse every time. They say Sirius Black was spotted near the village, but if you ask me, those creatures just want another good feast."
"..."
"Anyway, don't say I didn't warn you. Hurry back to Hogwarts."
With that, she turned sharply and marched back behind the counter, clearly done entertaining any further protest.
The abrupt announcement left Hermione sitting in silence for a moment before she looked over at Draco.
He didn't notice her glance. Deep in thought, he simply rose from his seat.
"Come on. You don't want to run into them either."
"Mm."
Hermione nodded softly and gathered Crookshanks, who was lazily licking his paw on the table.
But just as Draco pushed open the door and stepped outside with her, he froze. Two familiar figures were walking straight toward them.
Pansy. And Astoria.
For reasons even he couldn't explain, Draco's stride hesitated for half a beat.
At that moment, he suddenly felt an odd urge—to turn around and order another cup of tea.
...
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