"Draco, tell me, where are your principles? Don't just throw your wand around—how did you ever teach Harry?" Hermione slid off him as their breathing calmed, a smile playing on her lips.
Her eyes sparkled with delight as she bent down to pick up the wand he had carelessly tossed onto the carpet. She twirled it deftly in her hand, gripped the end, and waved it in front of him as if it were a cat toy.
"Yeah, go ahead and laugh at me. It's not your fault at all." Draco touched the tip of his nose—without looking at his wand—staring instead at the smug little expression on his girl's face.
"I don't know who said 'she wants me.' I rushed right over, and she started acting like a spoiled child."
Hermione was speechless.
She suddenly realized her behavior had been a bit childish. Why was she teasing him like a cat?
With a slight blush, she glared at him playfully, then sat down on the bed beside him, pretending to examine the hawthorn wand.
Draco knew she was shy, so he didn't push the matter.
He walked slowly to her side, lowered his head, and asked, "Is this your bed?"
Hermione gave a soft "hmm" and said nothing more.
She absentmindedly slid her index finger along the two small rings on his wand, finding it very comfortable to hold.
Draco asked with a smile, "May I sit down?"
His mother had always been strict with him about this sort of thing. He shouldn't have entered such a private place as a girl's bedroom so casually.
He'd lost control of himself today and been a bit rude.
Besides, he knew Hermione was very particular about cleanliness. A girl's bed was meant to be kept tidy, and he couldn't just sit down without asking.
"Okay," Hermione whispered.
She stole a glance at the careful way he sat down and suddenly felt like laughing.
Draco really was a walking contradiction.
Sometimes he was rude, awkward, sarcastic, and willful—she was fairly certain he'd elbowed poor, innocent Ginny out of the way at the door as he came in, which was hardly good manners.
Other times he was overly polite, particular, and cautious. When it came to her, he always carried himself with a serious, natural gentlemanliness—he'd even asked permission before sitting on her bed.
This was the first time in her life anyone had ever asked her, "May I sit on your bed?"
She could never imagine Harry or Ron asking something like that; they were far too carefree to be so thoughtful.
In fact, Hermione had always felt they didn't see her as a girl at all, nor think of her as any different from themselves.
They were like two younger brothers who needed her guidance—carefree, cheerful, kind, and mischievous.
Draco was younger than her too, and yet, oddly, he was nothing like a younger brother. He always treated her as someone who needed looking after.
He never showed even a trace of the "girls are beneath me" attitude some boys had.
Hermione had seen that look on other boys' faces before—there were plenty of them at Hogwarts—boys who could never bring themselves to admit that a girl might be smarter, better, or more capable than they were.
They always believed themselves infallible, and when they made a mistake, they were quick to shift the blame elsewhere.
They judged girls only by appearance and never bothered to look any deeper.
Draco was different.
He always acknowledged her intelligence and praised her for it; when she topped the class rankings, he seemed happier about it than anyone, without a trace of jealousy.
He cherished her, tried to understand her, and protected her pride to an almost absurd degree.
Sometimes he showed a kind of excessive concern for her, as though afraid she might be unhappy about something.
He even had moments of a strange, foolish worry that she might not like him—a worry that could tip over into something possessive and obsessive.
Draco was hopelessly complicated. Adorable, strange, and insecure, all at once.
Hermione studied him with a puzzled expression, her thoughts racing.
Draco, his ears reddening, looked back at her.
There was a hint of unease in his expression that puzzled her, and yet he stubbornly held still and let her study him.
Gradually, his sincere, focused gaze began to make her uncomfortable.
She couldn't help noticing his Adam's apple bob slightly; the temperature in the room seemed to rise for no reason at all.
She had to say something, or they might end up kissing again in the next breath, she thought, gripping the wand tightly and blinking.
They were sitting on a bed, after all—if they started kissing now, things could easily spiral.
She blurted out, "Draco, I want to thank you for reminding me about 'the priority of loyalty.' It changed everything."
Draco smiled faintly at her.
He said nothing, hands crossed over his knees, his eyes still fixed on her.
"But why did that even occur to you?" Hermione asked. "Aren't you completely uninterested in house-elves?"
As she thought back over that night, she couldn't help but marvel at the depth of Draco's insight into house-elves.
He'd pinpointed the flaw in Kreacher's thinking with startling precision, and seemingly without effort.
How could someone with no interest whatsoever in S.P.E.W. come up with something like that?
"Don't get me wrong—I still have no interest in house-elves." Draco, seeming to read her mind, lazily waved off any suggestion that he cared about them.
"But when you've had house-elves living in your home for years, you pick up a thing or two about how they behave, whether you mean to or not."
Seeing the curiosity in her eyes, he couldn't help but explain further.
"My father may be the head of House Malfoy, but he still can't command my grandfather's house-elf. And the elf that belongs solely to my mother is sometimes reticent with my father, especially where my mother's privacy is concerned."
"Oh, I see." Hermione's eyes lit with understanding. "I suppose only wizards who live with house-elves every day would notice something like that. I always thought house-elves had preferences, but I never realized they'd actually prioritize commands from different masters because of it."
"That's not on you—I didn't realize it at first either," Draco said. "Apart from Dobby, I've never seen a house-elf deviate from its owner's orders and set its own priorities. Normally, Kreacher should obey his mistress first and foremost."
"Have you ever seen a house-elf receive conflicting commands?" Hermione asked.
"It happens occasionally," Draco said slowly. "When they're caught between commands they can't reconcile, they often choose to punish themselves with the fire poker—unless their master issues a new command to override the old one. That's usually the end of it."
"That's horrible!" Hermione frowned in disapproval.
"It's the usual way most house-elves cope when they're given orders that confuse them," Draco said, unbothered.
Hermione began to glare at him, lips pursed, as though he were personally responsible for driving innocent house-elves to self-harm.
Sensing her resentment, Draco cleared his throat and changed the subject.
"When I came in just now, I caught a glimpse of Kreacher," he said casually, recalling the old elf's furtive movements. "He looked like he'd just come back from a battle. Did you duel him?"
Once the topic shifted, Hermione's irritation faded.
"Oh, I'd love a proper battle of wits with him, but he's been avoiding me lately," she said thoughtfully. "The past few days he's seemed a bit out of it—distracted around everyone. I imagine that's the result of my mental bombardment."
A flicker of regret crossed her face.
"I meant to strike while the iron was hot and spend more time helping him find his 'self.' But since I finished brewing the Wolfsbane Potion, most of my time's gone into 'cornering Kreacher in every nook of the Black house.'"
"Sounds like you've been having a grand time playing hide-and-seek with Kreacher these past few days," Draco chuckled. "No wonder there've been so few messages on the Ring Letter."
Hermione said nothing, only shrugged at him apologetically.
"I have to say, it was a clever move on your part—but also riskier than I'd expected." His eyes were fixed on her as he said quietly, "I only meant for you to confuse Kreacher a little—"
"How do you mean?" she asked, intrigued. "Actually, what were you thinking when you reminded me of that line so suddenly?"
"I thought—on the matter of 'loyalty'—that he hadn't given Mrs. Black's rightful priority its due, that he'd gone against his mistress's wishes and done something 'against the Dark Lord.' If I threw those words at him, at least it would shut him up—shame him into holding his tongue about you," Draco said slowly.
"You and Sirius have a strange similarity there. He said something like that to needle Kreacher during one of their arguments, though I don't think he realized at the time how deeply those words touched Kreacher's pride," Hermione said.
"Who would've thought a stubborn little elf like Kreacher would even have a 'self'?" Draco shook his head. "I only meant to plant a seed of doubt—get him questioning himself. I never expected you to take it this far and actually dig out Kreacher's 'self' in one go."
At the time, he'd only spotted a vague loophole—a rough foothold for her to pry at. Hermione hadn't disappointed him; she'd far exceeded his expectations, uncovering something far more thought-provoking than he could have imagined: Kreacher's "self."
He thought for a moment. "I assumed you'd go after Dobby's 'self' first, or find an easier, more cooperative subject—like one of the Hogwarts kitchen elves."
"Draco, I don't need to dig for Dobby's 'self'—he already has one," Hermione said calmly. "Besides, every house-elf has an equal 'self' inside them. How could you even rank them?"
"Of course there are different levels of difficulty. It's obvious which is friendlier—a house-elf like Kreacher, who curses at people all day, or one that curtsies to humans," Draco said. "He's steeped in pure-blood ideology to the core, and his attitude is extreme. If anything, I'd have called him one of the most stubborn cases there is."
"No—that's exactly why I think Kreacher has more of a 'self' than any other house-elf." Hermione's face showed no sign of discouragement; if anything, she looked more animated. "Think about it—his likes and dislikes are so intense, his love and hate so clear-cut—"
"Love makes him wish to live, hate makes him wish to die," Draco finished. "That is unusual, for a house-elf. Most of the ones I've known keep a calm, dignified demeanor and a permanently blank little smile."
"Draco, the 'self' doesn't only show itself in positive ways—there's a negative side too. But either way, anyone with a 'self' has their own emotional swings, and Kreacher has never lacked those."
Draco, watching her animated expression, found himself impressed by her novel way of putting it.
"I think if we can bring out that intense, distinct 'self' of his," Hermione said eagerly, "we might find it's more vivid than the 'self' hidden in any other house-elf."
Draco made a noncommittal sound of agreement, watching her energetic demeanor, trying to keep his doubts to himself.
In the end, though, he couldn't resist voicing them. "As things stand, I don't think Kreacher agrees with you—or believes he has a 'self' at all."
"Just because he hasn't accepted it yet doesn't mean he never will," Hermione said proudly. "He's in the 'denial' phase right now. I'm sure he'll come around eventually! He simply can't argue his way out of my logic. Whether he admits to having a 'self' or not, the conclusion stands—he needs to start thinking about wages and compensation."
Draco eyed her with a mix of suspicion and surprise at the direction she was headed.
"So this stubborn old house-elf, poisoned for years by pure-blood ideology, this ungrateful thing that hurls insults at you—has now become the poster child for 'self,' and your new favorite project?"
"Draco, don't talk about him like that. You have to understand something—although he goes out to buy groceries, he's never truly set foot outside the Black family home in his entire life," Hermione said patiently. "His view of the world is very narrow. He's had almost no real education—whatever he's learned has come from Mrs. Black's own words, which happen to be biased, unfair, and prejudiced."
"So what?" Draco studied her expression and pushed back. "That doesn't change the fact that he insulted you."
There wasn't a trace of hurt in Hermione's eyes—only a defiant gleam.
"I admit I don't like the language he uses. But after listening to it for a while, I noticed a pattern—his insults were word-for-word the same as what Mrs. Black says in her portrait."
She smiled at the stern-faced boy in front of her.
"Honestly, I think when he called me a 'Mudblood,' and called Ginny and the others 'blood traitors,' he didn't fully understand what he was saying, or its real meaning," she said. "He probably thought calling me a Mudblood was simply following Mrs. Black's orders, mechanically repeating whatever she'd said."
"And you think that means you can forgive it?" Draco lowered his eyes and said in a low voice. "You always show an astonishingly generous streak toward people who've hurt you, don't you?"
"I wouldn't call it generous. I admit it's stirred up plenty of feelings," Hermione said softly. "This has probably been the holiday I've been called Mudblood the most. I won't pretend it doesn't bother me. But he can't really hurt me now. Once I understood that his cruelty came from ignorance, I let it go."
So Draco found the courage to look at Hermione again.
He studied her closely and found her gaze so sincere that it seemed there was no wrong she couldn't forgive.
So—could she forgive him too, for the hurtful words and thoughtless things he'd once said?
Draco clenched his fist quietly. He looked at her, his heart a tangle of nerves, worry, and hope.
"What's wrong?" she asked with a bright smile. "Why are you just standing there? What are you thinking about?"
A faint flicker of joy and anticipation stirred in him. Draco blinked, snapped back to the present, and hastily returned to the original topic.
"By your logic, Kreacher's been blindly repeating Mrs. Black's words this whole time—so doesn't that mean he has no 'self' at all? Wouldn't an elf with a 'self' stop and consider whether its words were even true before saying them?"
"It's not that simple. He wasn't entirely blind about it. When I went over everything again, I found a contradiction in Kreacher—and that contradiction is what convinced me he must have a 'self.'"
"A contradiction? Are you saying Mrs. Black chants slogans in support of the Dark Lord, Regulus works against the Dark Lord, and Kreacher somehow supports both at once?"
Hermione said slowly, "That's right. Out loud, he always echoed his mistress's ideals and claimed to support the Dark Lord. But through his actions, he did everything he could to carry out Regulus's mission and destroy that Horcrux—which was clearly working against the Dark Lord. I don't think he supported both sides at once. When the two conflicted, he made a choice, using a 'self' he doesn't even acknowledge he has. He chose to side with Regulus, to keep that earth-shattering secret, and to try to destroy the Horcrux on his own."
"Destroy the Horcrux alone…" Draco turned the phrase over, since Hermione had clearly stressed it.
"Yes—alone. Draco, don't you see? Regulus gave him that task, and on the surface, Kreacher's just carrying out a house-elf's orders. But we should realize this task was anything but simple," Hermione said. "Horcruxes are notoriously difficult to destroy—you can't just throw one in the fireplace. You know that, don't you?"
"That's right."
"If Kreacher was going to complete Regulus's task without telling his mistress, he'd have had to destroy the Horcrux entirely on his own. That means thinking independently, over and over, to find a way to do it. Doesn't it?" Hermione said. "If Kreacher has no 'self,' then who was it that kept finding solutions on his own?"
"I'd never thought of it that way," Draco said, visibly shaken. "Merlin, you're right."
He remembered how, back in his fourth year the first time around, he'd racked his brain countless times trying to find a way to destroy the Horcruxes.
Without self-awareness and the capacity for independent thought, it would have been impossible to keep taking action against them, again and again.
"So I think Kreacher's 'self' has been awake for at least fifteen years." Hermione spoke calmly, watching Draco's growing astonishment. "The moment Regulus gave him the task of destroying the locket, the moment he first tried to deal with it alone, his 'self' had already stirred. Every time he tried and failed to destroy that stubborn locket—right up to the moment he concluded that 'the locket cannot be destroyed by ordinary means'—he was using his 'self' the whole time, without even realizing it."
"You're absolutely right—completely right. Hermione, you never fail to impress me," Draco murmured, admiration written across his face. "Merlin, I've always known you were clever, but you still manage to amaze me."
Hermione's face flushed slightly as she smiled at him, pleased and a little smug.
Draco looked at her smile and suddenly found her breathtaking.
He couldn't resist cupping her flushed cheeks in his hands and kissing her lips two or three times, each one landing with a soft, audible sound.
Between kisses, he murmured, "Why are you so clever—so gorgeous—so beautiful—why?"
Hermione went quiet.
Her face burned red, her cheek resting in his palm as he kissed her, her breath quickening; she didn't know how to respond.
He's a trap I can't escape, Hermione thought wistfully.
He was like bait laced with pheromones, drawing her in until she could no longer control herself.
His face, his smile, his breath.
He stood so close, his eyes shining with admiration.
He stared straight at her, kissed her lightly without warning, and murmured sweet nothings against her skin.
She found him simply irresistible—she could feel her body pressing closer to him with every kiss, as though pulled by some hopeless magnetism—and they might have toppled onto the bed at any moment.
Hermione gasped for breath, gripping the wand tightly, feeling utterly helpless against her own weakening resolve.
Absolutely not—there were people just down the hall and downstairs. As much as she wanted to give in, they couldn't afford to be as reckless here as they'd been at the Muggle hotel!