Chapter 98
Ron and Hermione's relationship grew strained once again.
According to the Weasley twins, "Crookshanks was just following his instincts." Ron, however, could not tolerate such a large cat prowling around Scabbers, staring at him like prey. Given Ron's recent injuries, Hermione chose not to argue with him. Instead, she quietly withdrew.
She spent most of her time in the library.
Between regular classes and the burden of the Time-Turner, she had little choice. The extra hours meant extra homework—work she had to complete flawlessly. Keeping distance, at least for now, felt easier than confrontation.
Whenever the three of them ended up together, the atmosphere was awkward. They still ran into each other often, but Harry's attempts to smooth things over were met with indifference from both sides.
The first Hogsmeade weekend arrived.
None of the trio went.
Harry wanted to—but wasn't allowed.
Ron was restricted partly because of his injuries, but mostly because of punishment. Even though Molly had signed his permission slip early on, it had later been revoked by a letter from home. Percy, apparently, had confiscated the signature himself.
As for Hermione, she told herself she was simply too busy. Between catching up on work and managing the risks of the Time-Turner, she had more than enough to do. Yet deep down, she knew the truth.
She didn't want to return to a place filled with someone's memories.
The novelty was gone. There was no reason to go again.
---
Compared to the trio's unease, Malfoy's days were proceeding smoothly.
Most of his preparations were complete, leaving him with time—and patience—for trivial matters.
Like shopping with a girl.
"Draco, try this flavour of Bertie Bott's," Pansy said brightly. "It's actually good!"
—Dandruff, unfortunately, was not.
"What about this liquorice wand?" She darted to another shelf.
Before Malfoy could respond, she was already waving enthusiastically.
"And look at this Bubblegum! I'm going to turn my entire bedroom bluebell-blue. What do you think?"
They were in Honeydukes.
Pansy sampled nearly everything in the shop. If Malfoy hadn't anticipated this and expanded his pockets with a Traceless Charm, he suspected he would've been buried under sweets by now.
Afterward, they wandered into the Three Broomsticks.
The pub was crowded with witches and wizards of every sort, voices raised as they argued animatedly over magical gossip. Alcohol loosened tongues quickly; a few patrons were already debating heatedly, one step away from settling matters with their wands.
Even the quieter tables were packed.
There were tall, thin wizards wrapped in robes that concealed their faces, revealing only their mouths when they drank. An elderly witch with a horned hat let her black cat climb onto the table to share her drink. Mixed among them were students—clearly here for the thrill—trying very hard to look experienced, despite their school robes betraying them instantly.
"Butterbeer isn't real alcohol, right?" Pansy asked hopefully, chin resting in her hands as she stared at the foaming mug. "Just one sip. Just one."
Behind the counter, Madam Rosmerta laughed. Amused by the girl's expression, she poured a glass and slid it over.
"New face," she said warmly. "First time here with your boyfriend? Careful—you might not make it back if you drink too much."
"How dare she?" Pansy shot Malfoy an indignant look—then immediately took a sip.
Her cheeks flushed almost at once. Whether from the Butterbeer or the word boyfriend, it was hard to say.
"…Draco," she mumbled dreamily, blinking. "Why are there two of you? Is this some new spell?"
The next moment, she collapsed forward.
Malfoy caught her just in time.
He stared down at her in disbelief. Her tolerance for alcohol had just redefined his understanding of the term. He had deliberately pretended not to notice her sneaking a sip—assuming a taste wouldn't hurt.
He had been wrong.
Utterly.
"I'm—oh dear, I'm so sorry," Rosmerta said at once. She clearly hadn't expected this outcome. Butterbeer here was mild by any standard. "I really didn't think she'd get drunk so quickly."
Malfoy was still deciding how to deal with the situation when Rosmerta leaned in, expression shifting.
"Well… it's not entirely bad," she said lightly. "Would you like a room? It seems she's quite fond of you."
Malfoy had the distinct impression her next sentence might involve Azkaban.
"You still enjoy teasing students," he said flatly.
"Oh?" Rosmerta covered her mouth, laughing. "Even boys your age know my reputation?"
"Nothing to be proud of," Malfoy replied without hesitation.
She clicked her tongue. "Such a serious child. Doesn't even blush." Then she waved a hand. "Stay here. I'll fetch something to sober her up."
As she pinched Pansy's flushed cheek, she added cheerfully, "Honestly, even I find her adorable. You sure you don't want to reconsider?"
"Let me calculate how many years Azkaban gives for instigation," Malfoy said expressionlessly.
"Boring," Rosmerta sighed, swaying away toward the back, drawing more than a few lingering glances from the pub's patrons.
Only after she left did Malfoy finally relax.
Then pain shot up his arm.
He looked down to find Pansy—still unconscious—wrapped around him, teeth sinking firmly into his wrist.
"…Were you born in the Year of the Dog?" he thought bleakly.
"This is my hand," he murmured helplessly, "not your favourite cream pudding."
Her bite tightened.
Level one danger, Malfoy decided grimly. Anything containing alcohol.
He resolved then and there never to let her near it again.
"Draco… don't die," Pansy murmured in her sleep.
"…That's a bit harsh," he muttered, though his hand moved instinctively, gently smoothing her hair. "I value my life. Don't worry."
She shuddered slightly, then relaxed.
Malfoy's expression grew thoughtful.
Just what had the Dementors shown her, to leave such fear behind?
"Soon," he murmured to himself, fingers curling into a fist. "Soon they won't be allowed to keep doing this."
His eyes darkened, cold and steady.
"They'll get what they deserve."
"Hangover potion," Rosmerta announced from behind him.
Malfoy turned smoothly, the earlier chill gone in an instant, and accepted the cup with a polite smile.
"Thank you."
It was as though nothing else had ever crossed his mind.