Professor McGonagall's leather shoes tapped on the cobblestones.
Draco's shadow was stretched long and thin by the torchlight.
He followed behind the professor, his posture upright, yet there was always a hint of awkward stiffness.
Hermione stood at the entrance of the Hospital Wing, her fingertips unconsciously fiddling with the cuffs of her robe.
If confusion is like a damp wad of cotton, stuck in her chest.
The suspicion was like fine thorns mixed in with cotton wool, pricking her nerves again and again.
Many of her questions remain unanswered, especially regarding Draco.
Just as Professor McGonagall's hand was about to touch the wall lamp at the corner of the corridor, Draco suddenly stopped.
His movements were so subtle that Professor McGonagall, who was walking ahead, stopped and turned to look at him.
Draco glanced at Professor McGonagall first, then turned his gaze back to Hermione's face.
" Professor McGonagall is taking me to determine the specifics of the confinement," Draco said.
"To be honest, I... I'm not very familiar with the rules of Hogwarts, and... uh... how to properly conduct a solitary confinement."
You always have to think carefully before talking to Hermione.
"Would you like to come and listen too? After all, you're the kind of person... well, you can recite the school rules by heart."
Draco's last sentence sounded a bit awkward.
It's as if they're trying their best to avoid any wording that might be misinterpreted as praise.
Professor McGonagall clearly hadn't expected him to say that.
Her usually sharp eyes flashed with a hint of disbelief and surprise.
She had assumed that Malfoy would be treated like any other student caught breaking the rules.
They either stubbornly refuse to listen or argue back.
Or they would silently hang their heads, like a defeated rooster, and follow her to accept their punishment.
But she never thought of it.
A young master from the Malfoy family would take the initiative to speak to a Muggle-born witch from Gryffindor.
But Professor McGonagall is Professor McGonagall after all.
She quickly composed herself and said to Hermione, " Miss Granger, in principle, other students are not required to attend Mr. Malfoy's detention sessions."
"But if you're... well... familiar with school rules and procedures, or... as a classmate, and want to accompany him and make sure he understands the confinement requirements,"
She carefully chose her words, her gaze sweeping across Hermione's face behind her glasses before settling back on Draco.
He said, "As long as it doesn't interfere with business, and you can ensure you return to the common room on time afterwards, I have no objection. You can go back together afterwards, so you can look out for each other."
That last sentence clearly indicated tacit approval of Draco's unspoken suggestion.
After all, it's safer for freshmen from the same college to walk together at night than to walk alone in an empty corridor.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat.
Chance!
This is a golden opportunity!
She realized this almost immediately.
This is not only an opportunity to observe Malfoy being punished up close.
Perhaps we can find more flaws in his reaction, and it may also be an opportunity to force him to tell the truth.
She could ambush Malfoy on her way back and force him to give the more honest version.
With that in mind, Hermione immediately agreed.
"Yes, Professor McGonagall, I think... understanding the specific procedures and requirements for detention is beneficial for complying with school rules."
Draco smirked slightly upon hearing this.
He really didn't want to go back alone.
Seeing that his goal had been achieved, Draco nodded to Professor McGonagall: "Thank you, Professor. We won't waste any more time."
So, the two people who were originally walking one in front of the other became three people walking side by side.
Professor McGonagall walked at the front, the rhythmic clacking of her leather shoes continuing.
Draco and Hermione followed behind, keeping a distance of about half a step, neither of them speaking.
The torches in the corridor overlapped their shadows, then separated them again, like a silent mime.
Professor McGonagall's office is on the third floor of the castle, and there is a lifelike cat carved on it.
The professor tapped his wand, and the cat stretched, the door creaking open.
The office was warm and dry, filled with the smell of ink and old parchment.
The fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, crackling and popping.
Professor McGonagall sat behind her large desk and picked up a parchment document.
In her usual tone, she announced the contents of Draco's confinement.
"For three consecutive weeks, from 7 p. m. to 9 p. m. each night, assist Mr. Filch in cleaning the Trophy Room on the fourth floor of the castle."
"Attention, Mr. Malfoy..."
She emphasized her words.
"No magical aids are permitted; cleaning must be done with the most basic tools: brooms, rags, and buckets—nothing more."
This punishment is undeniably severe.
The Trophy Room on the fourth floor had been covered in dust for who knows how many years.
Moreover, the trophies, medals, and banners were so numerous they were dazzling.
Making Draco clean up in the Muggle way was nothing short of a long and arduous torture.
It was tedious and arduous.
Hermione thought Draco would jump up in protest, or at least show some indignation.
After all, this is Malfoy.
To her surprise, Draco simply listened calmly.
There wasn't even a hint of displeasure on his face.
Even more outrageous, after Professor McGonagall finished speaking, she took the initiative to ask for some details.
"Where can I pick up the tools? Where does Mr. Filch usually wait in the showroom? Also, are there any special precautions when cleaning the fragile trophies?"
His attitude was unusually upright, like a child who realized his mistake and wanted to truly correct it.
Professor McGonagall was clearly somewhat surprised as well.
She paused for a moment before answering Draco's question.
The tone of her reply had unconsciously softened a bit.
Hermione stood to the side, listening attentively.
She memorized every word Professor McGonagall said.
At the same time, her thoughts were racing like a wild horse.
Malfoy's reaction was too strange, too abnormal.
Is he genuinely repentant, or is he just putting on an act? Whom is he putting on a show for? Professor McGonagall? Or her?
When I left Professor McGonagall's office, the corridor was almost empty; everyone seemed to be busy with their own things.
Hermione and Draco walked side by side, neither of them speaking first.
The atmosphere was as subtle as a taut string, ready to snap at the slightest touch.
Hermione's arms were a little sore from holding the book for so long.
But she dared not relax; those books were like her armor, giving her a greater sense of security when facing Draco.
Finally, Hermione broke the silence first.
"Now, there's no one else here. Malfoy, I think you'll give me a more honest version."
Draco chuckled and said, "Then where should I begin, Miss Hermione?"
Hermione took half a step forward and looked up at Draco.
She was more than half a head shorter Draco, but her presence was in no way inferior.
"Let's start with the very first question, and stop with platitudes like 'family tradition' or 'personal wishes.'"
Tell me, what is the real reason you were sorted into Gryffindor?
Hermione stared intently at Draco.
She could feel her heart racing and her blood surging through her veins.
She was prepared to expose Draco immediately if he dared to lie.
However, Draco's reaction left Hermione completely bewildered.
He simply looked at her, a faint smile flashing in his eyes.
Then, to Hermione's astonishment, his hand very naturally reached into the inside pocket of his robe.
The pocket looked unremarkable, made of a thin layer of fabric, and didn't seem like it could hold anything.
The next second, Draco pulled two objects wrapped in greaseproof paper from the pocket as if by magic.
Steam escaped from the gaps in the greaseproof paper, carrying with it a rich and unexpected aroma.
It was the unique aroma of baked bread, a scent Hermione had never smelled at the Hogwarts dining table.
Draco very naturally handed one of them to Hermione, who was completely frozen in place.
"No rush, Hermione. Are you hungry? Have something to eat."
As he spoke, he shook the package in his hand, the greaseproof paper making a slight rustling sound, and the aroma became even stronger.
"The scallion pancake is alright. We definitely won't make it to the Great Hall now, so we might as well grab something to eat."
"We can walk and... well, you can eat while I talk to you."
Hermione froze on the spot, the book in her arms almost slipping to the ground.
She stared blankly at the scallion pancake Draco offered her, and at his face so close to hers.