After Draco forcibly interlocked their fingers.
A powerful urge to shake him off instantly overwhelmed Hermione's reason!
But Draco held her hand tightly, not with much force, but with a control that made it impossible for her to break free.
She could clearly feel her hand being tightly enveloped by that cold hand.
Fingers were forced to intertwine with his, palms pressed tightly together.
That unfamiliar touch was so clear, so burning, and so hard to accept.
Hermione stared at their clasped hands, feeling a surge of humiliation, as if her hand had been defiled.
Her soul seemed to have been ripped out, leaving only a cold, lifeless shell, numbly enduring it all.
Unlike Hermione's resistance, Draco could clearly feel a warm body temperature coming from their clasped hands.
That was Hermione's temperature, soft and delicate, with a slight, almost imperceptible tremor.
This was the first time he had ever held a girl's hand, and it was Hermione no less.
The sensation was far more wonderful than he had imagined; it was fantastic.
He finally understood what it meant to force something to taste different.
Malfoy's gaze was fixed on their clasped hands, watching her fingertips stiffly curl up, showing a clumsy resistance, and a strange emotion welled up in his heart.
Hermione abruptly turned her face away, her gaze fixed on the darkness ahead, and hurriedly urged, "Go... go! Don't... don't look anymore, let's go back to the lounge!"
Her cheeks were burning hot, and her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst out of her chest.
She only hoped that this long corridor would come to an end soon, ending this humiliating protection.
Draco, hearing Hermione's hurried urging and catching a glimpse of the blush of embarrassment on her cheek, said teasingly, "Feels... very good."
What does it feel like?
Is it the feeling of holding her hand?
Or is it the thrill of controlling her destiny?
Hermione felt extremely ashamed.
Draco was clearly pleased with her dramatic, silent reaction.
He didn't look at her pale face and stiff body, but simply held her hand tightly.
He then withdrew that creepy gaze and took Hermione's hand, starting to walk.
Hermione, like a soulless puppet, was led along by him, stumbling and following.
Her gaze was blank as she stared ahead, unable to focus, especially unable to look at their still tightly intertwined hands.
The touch was like a red-hot branding iron, burning her very soul.
The journey from the Chamber of Secrets of Secrets to the Gryffindor Tower wasn't short, but for Hermione, it felt like crossing a century.
Her mind went blank, and she could only passively let him lead her.
The two walked through one silent, seemingly endless corridor after another, and climbed one cold, spiral staircase after another.
Finally, the familiar portrait of a wealthy lady in a pink silk dress appeared at the end of the corridor.
The entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room, the Fat Lady.
Upon seeing the portrait that symbolized safety and belonging, Hermione's cold, lifeless eyes flickered with an extremely faint light.
Have we arrived yet?
Is this nightmare finally coming to a temporary end?
That nauseating, forced contact, is it finally over?
Just as they were about to reach the portrait, Hermione's mind stirred with an instinctive urge to break free.
She instinctively tried to pull her hand back.
But just as she exerted that slight force to pull her fingers away, Draco decisively released her.
There was no gripping, no delay, no extra resistance, as if he had been waiting for this moment all along.
Hermione's hand suddenly felt lighter.
The tightly intertwined, icy touch vanished instantly, leaving only a strange, empty feeling on the skin's surface and a belated, slight ache in the knuckles.
She even staggered forward half a step before regaining her balance due to the sudden loosening of her grip.
She stared blankly as she finally gained her freedom, yet her right hand remained in the position of being held.
He just let it go like that?
So easy?
No more pressure, no more mockery, not even a single word?
This sudden and easy liberation made her feel a sense of unreality and illusion.
If Draco knew, to put it bluntly—you wouldn't be happy if I let you go.
Before Hermione could recover from her daze, a loud voice filled with surprise and curiosity broke the silence at the end of the corridor.
"Oh my god! Look who's back! Our first-year students!"
The Fat Lady peeked out from the portrait, her round eyes first landing on Hermione, then turning to Draco beside her.
Her gaze swept between the two of them, finally settling on Hermione's hand, which remained in a stiff position.
Upon hearing the Fat Lady's words, Hermione's body stiffened as if struck by lightning.
She slowly raised her head.
What came into view was the Fat Lady's face, which appeared exceptionally vivid with surprise and curiosity.
She was leaning out of the picture frame, observing the two of them.
"And... Merlin's beard!" the Fat Lady exclaimed, pointing at Hermione and Draco.
"You two... just now... were you holding hands when you came back?! And you're first-year students? Oh my god, this is truly one of the most astonishing things I've seen this year... no, in all the years I've been here!"
"Tell me quickly, what's going on? Is it a nighttime stroll? Or some kind of... 'friendly interaction' between freshmen?"
Every word the Fat Lady uttered felt like a slap to Hermione's numb face.
Her heart stopped beating the instant the Fat Lady cried out in alarm.
Then it started pumping up wildly at an almost explosive speed!
They saw us! They saw us! The Fat Lady saw us!
She was spotted holding hands with Draco Malfoy!
The Fat Lady is the doorman of the Gryffindor Common Room; she knows every Gryffindor student!
Will she... will she tell anyone? Will she tell someone else?
This thought, like the sharpest ice pick, pierced Hermione's already fragile nerves!
She seemed to already see tomorrow; all the teachers and students in the school were looking at her with all sorts of eyes.
No! No! No!!!
Hermione wanted to explain, to deny, to disappear from the world immediately!
But she didn't know how to explain it.
So he could only stand there stiffly, like a prisoner caught red-handed.
Just then...
Draco, who had been standing silently beside her, took a half step forward.
"Good evening, madam," Draco said with a smile.
The Fat Lady's attention was instantly drawn to the blond boy.
She looked at him with interest, waiting for his explanation.
"Oh, you mean this?" Draco said in a nonchalant tone.
"It's nothing, just a small... new student orientation game."
"Adapt to... games?" The Fat Lady found this statement both novel and puzzling.
"Yes." Draco nodded, his expression calm and sincere.
"We're lost, near that corridor on the fourth floor filled with armor."
He casually mentioned a location that would easily confuse freshmen.
Then he continued in that storytelling tone:
"Then, we made a bet."
As he spoke, he glanced almost imperceptibly at Hermione remained frozen like a statue beside him.
" Miss Granger believes that one can walk back to the common room even with their eyes closed, relying on counting steps and memory."
Draco shook his head slightly as he spoke.
"And I believe that in the dark, especially for freshmen, maintaining physical contact is a better way to ensure safety and avoid getting separated or bumping into armor."
"After all, as you know, some armor is quite old and not very stable."
"I don't want to cause trouble on the first day of school like 'a freshman knocking over armor and attracting Filch '."
His explanation was logically consistent, and even took into account school order and his own safety.
absurd.
That's outrageous.
But strangely, the way he said it, coupled with his helpless and sincere expression and tone, somehow... gave it a strange, undeniable credibility.
Especially when he mentioned avoiding knocking over the armor and attracting Filch, the Fat Lady even nodded thoughtfully, clearly agreeing with this reasoning.
Hermione listened, her body trembling violently.
She stared wide-eyed at Draco in disbelief.
Watching him weave such a flawless yet utterly absurd lie with such a shameless tone!
Lost? Making a bet? Counting steps with eyes closed? To avoid bumping into armor?
This made her feel even more disgusted and powerless than if she had just admitted it!
But if she denies it, how can she explain it?