The snowy landscape of Hogsmeade Village was undeniably beautiful.
Ice crystals.
Delicate frost.
Under the gentle fall of snowflakes, Hermione sat leaning against Draco, the two of them forming a quietly harmonious picture.
Draco watched her peaceful, softly breathing face for a long moment before lowering his gaze back to the book in his hands. His movements as he turned the pages grew lighter, more careful—almost as if he feared waking her.
Rare, indeed. So Draco Malfoy could be a gentleman after all.
...
As time passed, the appointed hour of his meeting drew near. Yet Draco seemed to have completely forgotten his original purpose. He neither woke the girl resting against his shoulder nor spared a glance at the surroundings for any sign of movement.
Bathed in snowlight, he remained absorbed in his reading—until the faint crunch of footsteps on the snow reached his ears.
“I believe I told you to come alone, Mr. Malfoy.”
“And yet, here you are, Mr. Lockhart.”
“...”
“...”
The newcomer spoke in a lowered tone as well. It was, unmistakably, Gilderoy Lockhart—dressed as garishly as ever. His brightly colored robes stood out starkly against the white snow, making him look almost absurdly conspicuous, as though terrified of being overlooked.
Draco couldn’t help but suspect that Lockhart’s so-called “secret meeting” had been nothing more than talk.
And sure enough, Lockhart had shown up while there was a third person present—though Hermione, fast asleep, was hardly aware of any of it.
Ignoring Draco’s dry remark, Lockhart bent down with an unsettling smile, studying the pair seated on the bench.
“Well, if it isn’t our lovely Miss Granger. How amusing~ Hasn’t anyone told her that the Malfoy family absolutely despises Muggles?”
“Spare me that disgusting smile. I’m not here to listen to one of your speeches.”
Draco snapped the book shut, his tone flat, utterly uninterested in engaging. He spoke as if the person Lockhart was referring to wasn’t sitting right beside him.
Lockhart, however, remained unbothered by Draco’s coldness. Straightening up, he only grinned wider, his smile so bright it almost looked genuine. To an onlooker, it might have seemed as though Draco had just praised him.
The wind blew through Lockhart’s hair, carrying a faint, cloying scent that made Draco wrinkle his nose.
“Well then,” Draco said evenly, “let’s get to the point. You wouldn’t want anyone else seeing us, would you?”
“True enough,” Lockhart replied with a shrug, leaning lazily against a nearby tree. “I’m not particularly afraid of Dumbledore, but dealing with him can be... inconvenient.”
When it came to the basilisk incident, Lockhart doubted his actions had truly escaped Dumbledore’s notice. It was likely that the headmaster had already pieced things together the moment Lockhart disappeared.
Draco raised an eyebrow.
Despite Lockhart’s seemingly careless posture, full of openings, Draco could tell that his right hand—hidden beneath the folds of his robe—was already gripping his wand. At the slightest movement, he would draw it.
Draco was no different.
The only difference was that he held his wand openly, making it very clear that he didn’t trust him in the slightest.
“This truly breaks my heart. After all, I was once your professor.”
“Tsk. I’ve never heard of a professor using Fiendfyre on their own student.”
“Haha, well, it’s not like I actually cast it, is it?”
Slowly, the smile faded from Lockhart’s face. Though the odd gleam remained in his eyes, his expression toward Draco finally turned more composed.
“Unfortunately, the Dementor incident really does seem to have been an accident. But the Ministry appears to have decided to move against our dear Headmaster Dumbledore. And, it seems, Lupin’s identity as a werewolf has been exposed.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Of course. Didn’t I tell you? I’m quite talented when it comes to Memory Charms.”
Lowering his gaze, Lockhart hid his expression from Draco, though he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he continued, as if sharing another casual piece of news.
“There’s one more thing. The day before Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban, someone saw him tearing up that day’s Daily Prophet—like he’d found something inside that made him furious.”
“Do you know which issue it was?”
“Of course. I brought that paper with me, it’s—wait. Who’s there!?”
“What?”
In an instant, both Lockhart and Draco turned sharply, wands raised toward one corner of the Shrieking Shack.
The air around them rippled with the force of their magic, distorting under the pressure.
But once they caught sight of the figure, the tension broke, and they both lowered their wands.
“Is that...?”
“A dog?”
“Woof!”
The creature had just emerged from the trees but bolted immediately after being startled by their reaction. Its matted fur was filthy, but its dark, intelligent eyes gleamed far too sharply for a mere stray.
Draco, however, didn’t have time to dwell on it—because he had noticed something even stranger.
“Crookshanks? How did you get out of the castle?”
“Meow~.”
The orange cat padded over, rubbing against his leg affectionately. Draco stared, surprised, before reaching down to scratch its head.
Hogsmeade wasn’t far from Hogwarts, but even so, Crookshanks shouldn’t have been able to get here on his own. How had he managed it? Draco’s curiosity deepened.
As he and the cat locked eyes, Lockhart’s attention shifted—his gaze landing subtly on a nearby hill.
More precisely, on two fresh sets of footprints that had suddenly appeared in the snow.
Judging by their size and the direction they came from, they seemed to belong to a pair of young wizards who had accidentally wandered too close.
‘A Disillusionment Charm? If not for that dog, I’d never have noticed,’ Lockhart mused silently.
A sly smile crept across his face. He made no mention of it to Draco, nor did he acknowledge the faint twitch of Hermione Granger’s eyelids.
After all, Lockhart thought, watching Draco struggle a bit might be far more entertaining.