Draco closed his eyes, loosened the silver and green tie at his neck, and felt as though he could not breathe.
That memory was a nightmare to him.
He used Occlumency to lock those unbearable events tightly away, forcing himself to set them aside and turn his mind to the problems facing him in this life.
Hermione, she seems to like him.
She likes him.
Is it possible? Is it possible she might care for him?
This faint possibility, like a butterfly, fluttered in his heart.
It had begun as a faint stirring of wings in his chest, and now it was a raging storm.
Yes, this whole business had spun out of control from the very beginning.
Like a beautiful dream he dared not touch, she had "met" him again that day.
She had reached out her hand to him on the train and taken his without hesitation.
She had introduced herself to him and asked him to call her "Hermione."
There had been no more Granger, no more Mudblood; no more mockery, misunderstanding, indifference, or spite.
Everything had been brand new.
A brand new Hermione, unharmed by anyone.
Hermione had looked at him curiously with her bright eyes.
Day by day, he had found it increasingly difficult to refuse her.
How could he refuse the way she was so unguarded towards him, the way he had always longed for?
He had not originally expected so much.
He knew full well he was guilty of grave sins.
He had never dared hope for anything.
He had initially told himself simply to watch from a distance, keep a safe distance, and lend a hand where necessary.
Do not let her be hurt again, do not let her become the girl from your nightmares.
He kept reminding himself of this, again and again.
Most of the harm she had suffered had stemmed from him.
For Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy was harm itself.
Sometimes he thought that perhaps keeping his distance from her was the best way to protect her.
She had never liked him at all. In her past life, she had never liked him either.
Why bother growing close to her and hurting her all over again?
Stop overthinking. It is nothing but a fleeting notion from a past life. He kept reminding himself of this.
I only wanted to help her. I only wanted to make her feel a little better. I simply could not bear to see her crying.
There was nothing more to it than that. He reached out to her again and again, silently warning himself.
He kept running from it. He avoided thinking about it.
Draco Malfoy is a coward. He cannot bear disappointment.
That was why he had said it. He had used the label of "little sister" to defuse the awkwardness.
Just when she had, in disbelief, opened the smallest crack in her tightly closed heart to him, he had said those words, hurting her all over again.
She must be furious.
She had thrown the ring away.
Draco sighed, a pang of sorrow gripping his heart.
"Draco Malfoy, the worst man alive," he said to the boy in the mirror, expressionless.
"You disgust even yourself," he said to himself.
What should he do?
I must find her first and apologise. I must make sure she has calmed down.
She is probably still furious.
Would she still want to see him? Would she still want to speak to him?
He wondered anxiously as he walked out of the lavatory.
As dusk settled, Draco still could not find Hermione. Not in the library, not by the Black Lake, not in the common room... if the Fat Lady was to be believed.
He walked slowly out of the long corridor and back to the great boulder where he had been struck. He crouched down, wand in hand, casting Lumos again and again, unusually indifferent to the dirt, feeling about on the ground.
Surprisingly, Draco could not find the ring, which frustrated him.
In desperation, he used the Tracking Charm for the first time... since she had thrown the ring away, it could not hurt to use it now, he thought.
But something extraordinary happened: the light from the Tracking Charm did not point nearby, but instead pointed straight towards the Forbidden Forest.
This is unbelievable. Had Hermione come back and retrieved the ring? But that would mean she is in the Forbidden Forest right now.
How could that be? Hermione should know perfectly well she ought not to be in the Forbidden Forest on a full moon like this. He had warned her.
If it was not her, then who had taken the ring? And why was she in the Forbidden Forest?
Draco gazed worriedly at the shadowy woods in the distance for a moment, then glanced up at the dark clouds in the night sky.
He would have liked to use the Marauder's Map to pinpoint Hermione's exact location, but it had been lent to the Weasley twins and was probably sitting in the back room of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Hogsmeade.
It was too late for that. Draco stared intently at the moon, slowly emerging from the clouds, his heart filled with unease as its full light spilled free.
Although he trusted Professor Snape's skill with potions and thought Lupin should cause no trouble tonight, if Hermione were in the Forbidden Forest, even the slightest mishap could prove fatal.
Werewolves.
This reckless, headstrong girl!
His face paled, but he made up his mind, gripped his wand tightly, and ran towards the pitch-black meadow, guided by the Tracking Charm.
As he passed Hagrid's pumpkin patch, the charm seemed to lose its effectiveness, and the direction grew increasingly erratic. Draco sighed and looked around.
In the gradually brightening moonlight, he saw Hermione's ginger cat trotting arrogantly out from the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a dead rat dangling from its mouth.
"Crookshanks," he asked anxiously, "have you seen Hermione?"
Crookshanks raised his bright yellow eyes and glanced at him, then wagged his tail happily.
"Come here." He opened his arms to Crookshanks.
The cat was unusually well-behaved today. He spat the headless rat from his mouth and jumped into Draco's lap.
"I wish your mistress were half as sensible as you." Draco stroked his thick, coarse fur grimly, plucking a willow leaf from his head. "Can you lead me to her, since you are so clever?"
Crookshanks seemed to understand him. He broke free of the embrace and leapt gracefully to the ground. With a flick of his tail, he nimbly led the way ahead of him.