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Whenever Hermione Granger appeared in any situation, there would always be someone looking for the famous Harry Potter either behind her or nearby (but never too far away). To them, Hermione Granger, despite her rumored bravery and intelligence, was just an "accessory" to Harry Potter. Ron Weasley often grumbled about these troubles, but in his mouth, it became: People only care about Harry and Hermione, as if my existence is just to highlight how great they are!"
Of course, he never let Hermione or Harry know he said such things—keeping it to himself made him feel aggrieved, but if he said it, it would upset his two friends. Ron understood this much at least.
"The trio of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and the youngest Weasley, Ron, are inseparable companions." This thought had deeply rooted itself in people's minds.
Change the order and the sentiment remains—yet they were accustomed to always putting Harry Potter first, as if he were a guardian deity, believing that keeping Harry in the forefront would ensure their success and smooth sailing, even in marriage.
But no one knew that one spring, due to an unusually blooming Deadly Nightshade, Hermione Granger and her colleague, Draco Malfoy, were trapped in a castle in northern England.
"It's been five days," Draco Malfoy descended the spiral staircase from the castle's center and addressed Hermione, who was seated in the hall flipping through scrolls. Apart from a brief conversation on the first day they arrived at the castle, discussing their tasks and setting assembly times, they had not spoken.
On the second day, when they were informed they couldn't leave, they exchanged glances for a while, then satisfied themselves with the displeasure they could see in each other's eyes and retired to separate guest rooms, closing their doors with no further communication.
This sentence remained the first spoken by Draco after so many days.
"I know," Hermione replied, her gaze still on the scroll. "I'll write to the Ministry later."
"Save your effort," Draco said. "I've written to every important person I could think of—I've never received replies so delayed; they must be equally flustered. Imagine, the letter from the Malfoy patriarch shouldn't wait more than a moment to be answered, yet I received a response three days later, with a flippant 'please wait'."
Hermione paused, rolling up the scroll and leaning back slightly in her chair, sighing deeply. "Then all we can do is wait."
"Can't we just go out?" Draco pointed to the fireplace burning with green flames. "Surely the Floo Network isn't closed? I haven't come into contact with any of those blasted pollen!"
Hermione gave him a glare. "No one dares to take that risk! If you take one step out, you're as good as dead, or should I say, you're dragging me down with you to the grave—don't even think about it!" She scolded angrily. "Do you even know how poisonous Deadly Nightshade pollen is?"
Draco sauntered over to the sofa where she was sitting, leaning against the backrest lazily. "You know I'm not interested in herbology—I'm not like you and your precious Longbottom." He examined his fingernails casually. "So, tell me how terrifying this stuff is."
"The pollen of Deadly Nightshade affects your respiratory system, depriving your lungs of air, and then makes your eyes tear endlessly until your tear ducts run dry. Eventually, your eyes will bleed, and even if you recover, your eyesight will be affected." She pulled out some scrolls from the table, slapping them in front of him. "And it's contagious! Malfoy, I'm warning you, don't even think about going out at this time—if you insist, then don't come back."
Draco glanced at the parchment on the table. The paper, recording this information, had turned yellow, and the ink stains had penetrated deep into the paper, looking dirty. He glanced at it casually, then lazily raised his eyes to Hermione, raising an eyebrow. "Alright." He straightened up. "Maybe, as you said, it's best to stay indoors."
Hermione made a face at Draco's affected tone when he called her name, cocky and bored at the same time. It was as if her name wasn't worth him making the effort to pronounce correctly.
But Draco was unaware of her mental activities. He sauntered slowly to the window, looking outside through the slightly dusty glass. "Perhaps it's best to just eradicate this Deadly Nightshade altogether."
The once lush green forest, now shrouded in Deadly Nightshade petals and leaves, was a crimson red—a sight eerie as judgment day.
"Lock the windows tightly and stay away from them," Hermione warned.
Draco turned to look at her. Even though there were no visitors to see, he was still dressed in proper attire, making him appear much more spirited. He took Hermione's advice, moving his hand away from the window sill, and replied, “Fine.”
"The ninth day," Draco spoke again when he appeared in front of Hermione.
"No need to remind me," Hermione's mood wasn't much better, but she clearly knew better how to use her time—she was busy dealing with ancient books in the castle. Yet even with a job she loved, after spending several days alone with these inanimate objects, Hermione started to doubt if she would ever touch a book again once she left this cursed cage.
Draco appeared more solemnly dressed this time, as if he had spent hours in front of the mirror preparing.
"Don't you have anything else to do?"
"Like what?" Draco asked. "My task is already completed—remember I asked for two days, but in reality, I finished it on the same day. Applaud my efficiency, please, I haven't received compliments in ages, I'm starting to doubt who I am."
"You won't get what you want from me, Malfoy," Hermione reminded him.
"Perhaps," he said, though he looked stiff despite his proper attire. "What are you reading?"
"The follow-up treatment for Monkshood poisoning."
"Speaking of that," he suddenly perked up, "have they found a solution yet? Are people going to be confined indoors in the entire North of England?"
"I suppose you haven't been keeping up with the news—things are improving somewhat, but the Ministry of Environment and Health still advises us to stay indoors. But our area happens to be a hotspot, so it might take a while."
Draco stared at Hermione. She remained seated in her usual spot—in the center of the castle hall, just like her position in the Ministry of Magic, where her vast knowledge and brilliant accomplishments made her the central figure of the institution. He thought she enjoyed being in the spotlight, which led her to choose this spot here as well.
"Do you always sit here?"
"What do you mean by 'always'?"
"I mean, from morning till evening."
"Of course not."
"I couldn't tell."
"You just happened to catch me here both times we've met. That doesn't count as 'always'."
Draco hummed. "Quite the coincidence."
"What?"
"You're talking to me with a pleasant tone."
"Likewise," Hermione glanced at him, seeing no malice, then continued, "You're the one always being prickly. I'm just about the issues, not the people."
"The fair Gryffindor.”
"Hmm."
Hermione felt that Draco wasn't really willing to talk to her—despite being in this vast castle, they were both alone except for each other. He seemed more content to be by himself until he couldn't stand it anymore, stepping out onto the tower, into the hall, to exchange a few words with her as if to prove that there were people other than himself in this world. So, she reluctantly admitted that she looked forward to the sounds on the stairs, the tapping of shoes on the floor, Draco's lazy tone—she found herself spending longer and longer hours at her desk in the hall.
She didn't want to talk to Draco, but besides him, Hermione had no choice.
"The Twelfth Day."
Draco arrived once again, as usual, announcing the time first and then getting into the topic.
"Reading again," he tutted. "Is there nothing else in this world that can pique your interest?"
"It's a historical biography," Hermione replied, implying that it was different from the biology atlas she had been reading a few days ago.
"But it's still a book."
Indeed, he was right.
"Anyway," he waved his hand, "tell me what this book is about."
Today, Draco was dressed as a military officer. Hermione didn't know where he got the idea to change his appearance every day, but it was evident that these days of practice had improved his transfiguration skills.
“The Brave Colonel Chelsea" she read. Quite ironic.
Draco raised an eyebrow, straightened his posture slightly, revealing the shiny badge he had transfigured for himself.
From an unknown day, Draco changed from visiting every few days to arriving punctually every day.
Perhaps the days of isolation were too unbearable. Though they didn't show it, both of them were eager for the other to speak. In these boring days, Hermione found solace in books, while Draco started enjoying dressing up every day.
However, not every conversation was as peaceful as it had been in the beginning. Living alone had made them both sensitive, and even the smallest things could trigger a reaction from the other—arguments about blood status, political differences, or even whether one preferred cats or dogs could lead to heated debates. But miraculously, despite quarreling intensely one day, the next day, they would meet again as if nothing had happened.
Draco's unpredictability made Hermione wish she could kill him.
"I'll kill you one day—or myself. One of us has to die.” she told Draco, looking deeply into his gray eyes.
She expected this to lead to another argument today, but Draco just raised an eyebrow, "I think we both need therapy."
Hermione stared at him. "Why?"
He was silent for a moment, his gray eyes dark and deep in the light. Through this gaze, he seemed to be confirming whether he should say it out loud. Considering their dependence on each other these days, if he wanted to maintain this relationship, he'd better keep quiet. But the collapse of space and time made him gradually seek something different.
"Because I've started wanting to make love with you."
Surprisingly, this sentence, which could almost be considered workplace harassment, didn't bring Hermione's unforgivable curse to Draco. A significant reason was that he was the only person Hermione could talk to; she couldn't kill him—otherwise, she would have to endure this unbearable loneliness until the day the ban was lifted.
---
After dropping that bombshell, the time came to the twentieth day.
The man who arrived punctually today was dressed a bit more normally. Unlike the aviator and the aristocrat of the past few days, he returned to his usual style—slightly exaggerated, but still within reason. He wore a black cloak with shiny gold buttons on the cuffs, holding a wand topped with a serpent's head, a bit like his father—Hermione had to admit.
"I guess you're playing the role of the Malfoy family patriarch today?"
"Indeed, I admire your keen observation, Granger."
"I can't help but notice," she said nonchalantly.
"I'm getting tired of your unchanging attire. Can't you change your clothes? I remember your transfiguration skills aren't bad."
"I don't have that kind of time—"
"Nonsense!" he waved his hand. "We're rotting away! I could tell you exactly how many staircases and stone statues are in this castle; don't joke with me!"
Hermione closed the book—this surprised Draco. In all their time together, he had never seen her put a book down, let alone close it. He began to feel a strange sense of pride. Draco Malfoy had forced Hermione Granger to set aside her book—this might go into his autobiography, highlighted in bold and red.
"You..." she hesitated.
"Yes," he hadn't realized what she was going to say, instinctively responding.
"I hope you won't dress like this next time," she controlled her gaze, steadying her voice.
"What?" Draco frowned, somewhat displeased.
Hermione was a typical Briton—of course she was—but Draco meant that she would never criticize anyone's taste in clothing—an excellent British tradition. Draco believed that even if he walked out naked tomorrow, Hermione wouldn't have any opinion on it—
"—Because it's making me start to want to make love with you," she blushed, lowering her head, fingertips tightly gripping the edge of the book.
Draco was stunned, then burst into laughter.
Oh. That's uncertain.
---
As the spring in England gradually passed, the flowering period of the Deadly Nightshade came to an end.
Departing from the castle with the footsteps of summer, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger left behind in the castle what exactly, besides themselves, no one knows.