Chapter 124: Hermione's Choice of Dance Partner
On a chilly, snowy morning in mid-December, Vice Principal Professor Minerva McGonagall decided to add fuel to the fire of this cold season.
As get out of class was about to end, she stood on the podium, cleared her throat, and announced to the students:
Hogwarts is about to hold a Christmas ball.
"This is a traditional event of the Triwizard Tournament. The ball is only open to students in fourth grade and above—but you may invite a younger student if you wish—" Professor McGonagall calmly surveyed the class.
Hermione immediately heard a shrill, familiar laugh—it must have come from her roommate, Lavender Brown.
She glanced back at Lavender, and sure enough, it was her; her other roommate, Parvati Petit, nudged Lavender hard, struggling to hold back her laughter. Then, the two girls turned to look at Harry's table.
Harry and Ron were sitting there awkwardly because Professor McGonagall had just scolded them for fighting with fake wands in class, saying their behavior was inappropriate for their age.
Oh, Harry and Ron! When will these two childish brats grow up? Hermione shook her head, secretly glancing at the quiet boy beside her who was engrossed in his book, feeling smug—Draco would never make such a fuss, nor would he be so childish and belligerent.
He was probably the most nonchalant student in the entire classroom when it came to news of the ball. He continued to study the book with the same seriousness, as if the contents of that page were far less important than the "Christmas Ball."
Wait, doesn't he like balls? Hermione wondered.
Yes, he doesn't seem to like joining in the fun.
He has always been hypersensitive to crowded places and often puts on a weary look.
He probably wouldn't like the noisy, crowded environment of a dance.
"Wear your formal gowns and robes. The ball will be held in the Great Hall at eight o'clock on Christmas night and will end at midnight..." Professor McGonagall continued with a stern face, ignoring the girls' suppressed laughter, and ended her long speech with a single admonition: "Don't embarrass Hogwarts in front of students from other schools."
Hermione rested her chin on her hand with a nonchalant expression, seemingly lost in thought as Professor McGonagall's stern voice rang out. She studied the boy's expressionless, statue-like profile from the corner of her eye, and a wave of melancholy suddenly washed over her.
The tiny spark that had been igniting in her heart—which had tentatively begun because of the ball—was instantly extinguished by his indifferent expression.
She let out a sigh, determined to abandon the melancholy that swirled in her mind and focus on the real world before her: she closed the book in front of her, tightened the half-open cap of the ink bottle, and put away the few quill pens.
Unbeknownst to her, her study partner wasn't actually reading—he was lost in thought.
The Christmas ball—a memory that Draco will never forget.
The thought of that past life memory blooming under fireworks made him even more afraid to look up at her.
"You need to find a suitable dance partner…and most importantly, practice how to dance! Every girl has a graceful swan in her heart…" Professor McGonagall raised her voice on the podium to drown out the students' increasingly excited chatter. "Each house's headmaster is responsible for instructing students in dance. You can check the notices on the foyer bulletin board for specific dance practice times. Gryffindor's dance instruction class is after this one, and I suggest you all attend."
My dance partner.
Draco finally raised his head and glanced expectantly at the girl next to him.
She seemed as carefree as ever, rolling up the parchment in her hands, ignoring Professor McGonagall's words and the whispers of the students around her.
Should he invite her right away—before anyone else has even noticed her?
"Hermione, you—" he said hesitantly.
"Draco, do you think Professor Snape will teach you how to dance?" she suddenly asked him in the tone of Merlin discovering a new spell, casually stuffing the book "Intermediate Transfiguration" into her bag.
Draco's long-awaited words were cut off by her.
"Yes, he will. It's his duty, and even if he hates it, he will do it properly." He said softly, his fingers gripping the book tightly. "He'll teach us with a stern face—Crawb and Goyle might even cry."
Hermione chuckled.
Her eyes were bright as she looked at him. A faint smile involuntarily crept onto his lips. His fingers fidgeted nervously beneath his book, and under her innocent gaze, he quickly lost his words and the courage to extend an invitation.
Then, as the bell rang suddenly, he watched as she stood up and said cheerfully, "I guess Professor McGonagall won't scare anyone. I have to go now, the Gryffindor dance lesson is about to start."
"Shall I help you carry your schoolbag over?" He suddenly woke up and hurriedly tidied up the things on his desk.
"Oh, no need, I can manage on my own—I'm not a child," she said easily. "See you later, Draco."
"Uh—see you later." His voice was somewhat ethereal, his gaze fixed on her retreating figure.
Hermione Granger found dance instruction a disaster. The entire class was filled with the silly giggles of whispering girls and the whistling of restless boys.
Professor McGonagall taught for only ten minutes with a stern face—almost scaring her temporary dance partner Ron to tears—before asking everyone to practice freely.
The fourth-grade students weren't as outgoing as the older students. Most of them stood shyly outside the circle on the dance floor, watching others dance and chattering about the dance.
Hermione stood with her elbows crossed, like a wooden post next to her roommate Lavender. She missed Ginny Weasley, the third-year student who couldn't come to dance class.
Right now, Lavender is enthusiastically giving Parvati advice on how to become a Gryffindor champion's dance partner.
"First, laugh loudly whenever he passes by to get his attention; second, frequently bring up topics related to the day of the ball to make him think about the 'dance partner.' For example, you can loudly discuss what to wear that day. I think that's a safe topic…" Lavender said excitedly.
"What if I accidentally attract other guys to invite me out?" Parvati said, distressed.
"That's why we should go in groups!" Lavender said with the air of someone who'd been there all along. "It will keep those cowardly wimps from even stepping forward. The laughter of the sisterhood alone will be enough to make them blush and run away."
"What if our target doesn't dare to come forward either?" Parvati glanced at the boys staring at her and covered her mouth with a laugh.
"So, sending signals is very important! That's the third point I want to emphasize: make eye contact with your target, even greet him often, give him some encouragement," Lavender earnestly said. "If you do these things well, you won't have to worry about him not inviting you!"
"That makes a lot of sense. Hermione—" Parvati turned her head, giggling playfully, and asked the girl beside her who couldn't help but yawn, "Aren't you and Harry good friends? What do you think of these suggestions? Which one is the most useful?"
"Honestly, I don't know either." Hermione recalled Harry's thunderstruck expression after Professor McGonagall's reminder—he clearly didn't enjoy "leading the opening dance as a champion"—and said dismissively, "Maybe we should send out more signals so he can sense them."
The next day, Hermione noticed that the atmosphere of the ball was getting more and more intense.
The castle was brightly decorated; the marble staircase railings were adorned with icicles that would never melt, and the Christmas tree was hung with glittering holly berries and a constantly chirping golden owl. Even the armor was enchanted, singing Christmas carols to anyone who passed by—which intrigued Hermione.
"Hermione, I need to talk to you." Draco emerged from around the corner at the end of the fourth-floor corridor—seeing her staring motionless at the empty helmet—and asked in surprise, "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I'd like to hear if it can sing a whole song." Hermione, with her backpack slung over her shoulder, was examining a piece of armor that had been polished to a gleaming shine with interest.
The empty helmet was singing, "Oh, come, you devout people—"
"I suggest you stop listening." Draco grabbed her wrist abruptly and pulled her towards the other end of the corridor. "Let's go."
"Why?" Hermione asked, puzzled. She struggled weakly for a moment before giving up and was pulled along by him, staggering forward.
"It gets worse after that." His ears turned slightly red as he hurriedly pulled her along. "They can only sing half a normal song. After that—it's just some crude and unpleasant words."
"What awful things could he possibly sing—it's a Christmas carol!" Hermione turned back in surprise to look at the empty helmet, then caught a glimpse of Peeves's wickedly grinning face.
"Look who I found! The little bookworm and the little snake!" Pippi the Ghost clearly wasn't going to let them off the hook. He gleefully sang a shrill song, picking up where the abruptly stopped sound of the empty helmet had left off.
His cheerful voice boomed through the empty corridor, "That silly little bookworm, chasing after a viper! That cunning little viper, flicking its tongue to approach her! Luring her with vibrant colors, clinging to her shamelessly—"
"Uh, I think I understand what you mean," Hermione said softly, her cheeks gradually flushing.
He remained silent, quickly pulling her away, attempting to lead her away from this place of right and wrong that polluted her soul.
"Shameless, greedy little viper, why are you in such a panic? He wants to find a secluded spot to quietly swallow her whole! Lick her, bite her, paralyze her, and taste her over and over again..." Amid their hurried footsteps, Pipi Ghost's shouts became even more outrageous, and the lyrics took a more vulgar and daring turn.
"Damn Peeves!" Draco cursed inwardly, his ears burning.
In an instant, he felt as if his internal organs had been illuminated by some malicious ray, revealing every detail.
Those fabricated lyrics! Their hidden meanings are enough to plunge any teenage boy or girl into an abyss of embarrassment.
"Don't listen, Hermione, ignore the lyrics," Draco said stiffly—his temples throbbing from the lyrics—and quickly pulled her away.
"It's hard to ignore, isn't it? His voice is so loud," Hermione muttered, her face flushed red.
She couldn't help but notice something. He was holding her tighter and tighter, his hand getting hotter and hotter. Her wrist felt like it was melting from the heat.
"After the lotus blooms at midnight, when the morning clouds and evening rain fall—" At this moment, Pipi Ghost jumped out of the empty helmet and chased after them, singing more and more explicitly.
Draco angrily yelled at Peeves, "Enough! That's disgusting! I'm going to tell Lord Barrow what you're doing!"
It's a well-known fact throughout Hogwarts that Peeves is afraid of Barrow. However, Peeves is afraid of Barrow himself; if someone threatens him by invoking Barrow's name, it's mostly ineffective.
Therefore, he only hesitated for two seconds before giving Draco an evil smile, opening his mouth, ready to sing even more loudly—
Draco hastily released Hermione's wrist and abruptly covered her ears from behind with both hands. Then, using this encircling position from behind, he pushed her forward.
The world was finally quiet. Hermione, her face flushed with the glow of sunset, blinked blankly. "Thank you."
He covered himself up very well. She could only hear her own words of gratitude echoing in her head, but she couldn't hear what the mischievous ghost was singing anymore.
She was completely confused.
Why would Draco care whether she could hear the vulgarities Peeves were spouting—just out of concern for a friend? What friend would care that much? To the point of needing to cover her ears?
While Peeves is fond of spreading rumors—most of his vulgar lyrics are nonsense—there is one thing Peeves is right about.
Everything about him was alluring—irresistible—as if he were "seducing" her with every gesture.
For example, at this moment, his hand is steadily covering her ears, touching her burning cheeks; his arms and chest occasionally brush against her back as he walks, giving her a warm feeling that makes her want to get closer; the faint scent of cedar on his body lingers on the tip of her nose, cool and unrestrained, scratching at her heart.
These subtle, elusive feelings were impossible for her to ignore.
She would temporarily forget that they were friends and, in that instant, indulge in unrealistic fantasies.
Would he like her? Would he want to do things for her that go beyond friendship?
For example, the kind of excessively sinful things that Pippi the Ghost mentioned—would he even want to do one or two of them to her?
Hermione felt like she might be going crazy, or temporarily turning into some kind of mentally unstable bad girl, because she was thinking about whether he would want to lick her, bite her, or swallow her whole.
Of course he wouldn't do that. She steadied herself and tried to convince herself.
He's so proper—he has absolutely nothing to do with those vulgarities.
Aside from being somewhat "tempting," he did not do anything to her that Pipi Ghost described as cunning, treacherous, or shameless and greedy.
This boy had such a pure and innocent face; to have any evil thought associated with him would be a desecration. Hermione thought with shame, feeling extremely guilty for having harbored any fleeting thoughts about him for a moment.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Draco could finally no longer hear Peeves's ear-splitting songs. He lowered his hands from her ears, a suspicious blush spreading from them to his face.
"Don't listen to it again next time," he stammered. "Stay away from those armors."
"I understand," Hermione said softly, staring intently at his flushed face, trying to understand his thoughts. "By the way, what did you want to say to me just now?"
"Uh, oh, it's not important," Draco said hastily. "We'll talk about it next time. I—I have to go."
He had originally intended to take the opportunity to invite her to be his dance partner. The quiet, empty corridor was such a perfect place for a date!
But after being bombarded with Pipi Gui's words, wouldn't his invitation to her seem like he had ulterior motives?
It seems he was inspired by Peeves and wanted to find a secluded spot to quietly swallow her whole, or to taste her over and over again.
Merlin! The thought of these words made him restless.
"Maybe next time." Draco swallowed hard, smiled at the bewildered girl, and stiffly turned away—like a thousand-year-old suit of Hogwarts armor that hadn't been lubricated—walking awkwardly with his arms and legs clasped together.
"Yes, Peeves is quite annoying." In the common room that evening, Ginny Weasley told Hermione, "He's made fun of me too. One Valentine's Day, he went on a crazy rumor that Harry and I were a couple, which made us both very embarrassed. I didn't dare look Harry in the eye for months."
"Peeves was so outspoken. I felt really embarrassed too," Hermione said in a low voice.
"What about Malfoy? Does he ever feel awkward?" Ginny said gleefully. "I've never seen him feel awkward."
"Oh, he was not only embarrassed, he even started to stutter a little later," Hermione said.
"Malfoy's stuttering? Merlin's garter belt!" Ginny's eyes gleamed. "What did Peeves tease you about? Saying you two are a couple?"
"Actually, I didn't hear the whole thing. I only caught a little bit before he covered my ears." Hermione said in a low voice, her head down as she worked on her Transfiguration assignment, "Adjusting the Transfiguration Charm for Cross-Species Conversion." "What happened next, only he knows. In any case, his face turned bright red in the end."
"Hmm—this is unusual." Ginny clicked her tongue in amazement, her face beaming with a smile. "Unbelievable! The legendary aloof and ascetic platinum young master of Slytherin! He can actually stutter and blush—Levy must have exaggerated!"
"I guess so—" Hermione said with difficulty.
"He even covered your ears? Could it be—that he's afraid his girl's mind will be corrupted by Pikachu? I told you long ago that his attitude towards you is unusual; what ordinary friend would react like this?" Ginny raised an eyebrow.
"Ginny, don't say that. I'm not his girl!" Hermione's quill continued to scratch stubbornly, seemingly unaffected by the situation and not writing anything against her will. "We're just friends. I just want to be content with the status quo and not add any more trouble. I just have some doubts and don't understand what he's thinking."
"Who knows what the boys are thinking!" Ginny's enthusiasm suddenly waned. She sighed and glanced at the dark-haired boy being teased by Ron, Dean, and Seamus. "Tell me, why can only students in fourth grade and above go to the prom? It's so unfair!"
"Ginny, don't be so down, you still have a chance. Professor McGonagall said we can invite younger students to the ball," Hermione comforted her. "Maybe someone will invite you. I overheard Lavender and Parvati discussing some ways to attract boys' attention; would you like to take a look?"
"No way!" Ginny said fiercely, her face flushed. "I really want to dance, but I would never stoop to that level for a dance! I'm not going to pull out all the stops just to attract someone's attention! That's not the real me! And it won't get me anywhere!"
She recalled the series of foolish things she had done to attract Harry—the embarrassing songs sung by the goblins, the carefully crafted but rejected greeting cards, the wicked diary filled with girlish thoughts—all of which ended in failure.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Ginny, I shouldn't have given that suggestion." Hermione stopped writing—gave Ginny an apologetic smile—and said seriously.
Her casual tone vanished, replaced by a serious, appreciative one. "Ginny, I like your idea. I can't do that either. That's why we're good friends, isn't it? Neither of us can change our personalities to attract anyone, even if it means facing the prospect of not having a dance partner."
Ginny looked at Hermione with sparkling eyes—smiling shyly yet proudly—and nodded to her.
This was the third day since Professor McGonagall announced the Christmas ball. Early in the morning, Lavender and Parvati were lying in bed, chattering about the progress of finding their dance partners.
"Simon invited me," Lavender's mysterious voice came from behind the wine-red curtains. "Yesterday evening."
"Wow, Lavender, you're amazing!" Parvati exclaimed. "Only two days! So, did you agree?"
"Of course," Lavender said. "Why not?"
"I thought you'd wait and see. Maybe more guys would ask you out," Parvati said hesitantly. "Shouldn't you choose the best one? Didn't you say you were interested in other guys—"
"But he was the first boy to invite me, so I should reciprocate that gesture." Lavender chuckled, trying to sound light and cheerful. "Pavati, I know my place. I'm not the prettiest girl in our grade, and I don't aspire to be a warrior's dance partner—"
Parvati blushed and punched her lightly, "Lavender, you're so naughty!"
"That's for sure!" Lavender chuckled, encouraging her best friend in an aria-like tone. "Pavati, I have a feeling you'll be the ultimate winner. The Gryffindor champion will be yours, no doubt about it! You will succeed, stand at the top, and claim the glory that no other girl can ever attain…"
Hermione didn't listen anymore. She quietly dressed, picked up her bag, and left the girls' dormitory.
She firmly believed that she would never have any interest in things like "dancing" or "dance partners".
She didn't want to become the kind of girl who just smiled foolishly and waited to be asked out by some stupid boy.
Is a girl's life value measured by things like "whether she has a dance partner"?
No matter how hard she tries, people only care about her appearance, while her soul, knowledge, and values are worthless?
No matter how lofty her ideals are, will a girl ultimately be scrutinized and judged by boys like a dish, with "being chosen" being her highest honor and greatest success in life?
She would rather forgo this glory than care about this success.
Rolling her eyes at the word "ball," Hermione hurried through the sun-drenched courtyard. She planned to check on Hagrid early in the morning to see if he had recovered from the death of the Bombtail, but she was startled by a boy who suddenly fell from an oak tree.
"Draco!" She took a step back and said in surprise, "What are you doing up in the tree so early in the morning? Aren't you cold?"
"I'm waiting for you," Draco said quickly, determined to get the words out in one go.
"Wait for me?" she said, confused. "Wait for me for what?"
"I have to ask you a question today." Draco tugged at the back of his robe, a nonchalant expression on his face. "Hermione, would I have the honor of inviting you to be my dance partner?"
"Uh—" Hermione opened her mouth slightly.
She hadn't expected him to invite her. Hadn't he seemed indifferent and uninterested in the ball?
She looked at him and noticed that his gray eyes looked very clear in the morning light, as if they reflected the rising sun.
She said hastily, "To be honest, Draco, I'm not really interested in the ball, and I'm not much of a dancer—"
"I can teach you," Draco tilted his head, studying her eyes. "If you need to."
"Honestly, I haven't been thinking about finding a dance partner." Hermione blushed under his gaze.
Just a minute before meeting him, she firmly believed that she was not interested in "dancing" or "dance parties" and that she did not need a "dance partner".
Now, his questions have completely disrupted her rhythm and plans.
"So you don't have a dance partner yet, right?" He keenly grasped the message in her words and smiled gently. "In that case, why don't you be my dance partner?"
"Are you—are you sure? You're not joking?" She was stunned, frowning as she asked, unable to understand what he was thinking.
Why did he invite her? Just because he sees her as a younger sister? Or because they are friends who get along well?
Would he be so frivolous?
She considered the possibility of going to the ball with Draco. For a moment, she thought about this unlikely possibility, but quickly dismissed it.
Hermione never categorized herself as the kind of popular girl. She wasn't a passionate girl like Lavender or Parvati, nor was she an athletic beauty like Cho Chang.
She was a self-satisfied bookworm—not a quality so highly praised at social balls; while Draco, though he disliked crowds, would undoubtedly be the center of attention if he attended a ball—he was surrounded by so much charisma—he was the charisma itself—no one could ignore his dazzling presence.
"Of course I'm not joking, you silly little thing." Draco was a little uneasy at her frown.
In an instant, he felt his internal organs writhing, like a restless snake awakening in spring.
He appeared calm and collected on the surface, but in reality, he had almost crumpled the long robe on the back of his robe.
Hurry up and say yes, you silly girl, what are you waiting for?
Or rather, who are we waiting for?
Through Hermione's pink earlobes, Draco suddenly saw a group of Hogwarts girls with Bulgarian scarves tied around their waists in the distance, and Viktor Krum hurrying past among them.
Oh, and him too. Draco thought dryly.
Viktor Krum was Hermione's dance partner in her previous life.
When Hermione went to watch the Quidditch World Cup, she really liked him.
The boy felt as if his insides had been emptied by this realization. He felt a terrifying emptiness within him.
If the person who invited her was the renowned international star and Triwizard Tournament Warrior Viktor Krum, he couldn't be considered to have the victory in his grasp.
We must take Hermione down immediately, before that guy even notices her. Draco gritted his teeth.
"Oh, Hermione, if you'd rather go with someone else, I completely understand. Then, I guess I'll have to go alone." The boy adopted a hurt tone. He hung his head dejectedly, as if he had no dance partner if she didn't agree.
"Draco, don't play the victim with me. I don't believe you're the kind of person who would be short of dance partners." Hermione didn't even notice Krum; she was only focused on admiring his platinum blonde hair—which shimmered in the morning sun—and suppressing her racing heart. "I heard from Ginny yesterday that some girls are itching to have a 'chance encounter' with you."
"But that's not you." Draco looked up, staring directly into her eyes with genuine sincerity. "I want to invite you."
Hermione knew she shouldn't be laughing, but she couldn't stop herself from smiling.
Draco caught the smile on her lips.
In an instant, looking at her lips, he remembered the idea of "kissing her" again.
He frantically shifted his gaze to her cheek, trying to suppress the urge, but found that her cheek looked extremely soft in the sunlight. He wondered what it would feel like to touch it.
A faint blush rose on the boy's pale face. He closed his eyes, trying to banish the increasingly perplexing thoughts from his mind.
Think about what you're going to do today—invite her to be your dance partner.
She might give in soon; she was already smiling. All it took was a little more effort… He studied her expression intently, as if solving a mathematical divination problem that was nearing its conclusion.
That's right, give her a push. He made his final judgment, a wicked smile creeping across his face.
"Hermione, are you afraid to be my dance partner?" Finally, his eyes lit up with a defiant glint. "Who said they had inexhaustible Gryffindor courage? I think it's all bluff. You're not a shameful coward, are you?"
"How dare you say that? I—of course I'm not a coward! What wouldn't I dare?" Hermione blushed, staring defiantly into the boy's mesmerizing grey eyes, raising her proud chin. "I agree! I agree to be your dance partner!"
Finally—the boy under the oak tree smiled triumphantly.
"Great," he said lazily. "Need any dance lessons? We have a personal trainer here—"
"No need!" the girl said curtly, still reeling from the provocation. "I can do it myself!"
She turned and hurried away—not daring to look back at the somewhat smug-looking boy—her heart filled with a slight sense of bewilderment, a touch of joy, and a bellyful of doubts.
How could she have agreed to him so easily? So impulsive, so lacking in principle! Hermione looked down on herself, unable to suppress a smile.
As the dance approaches, more and more students are losing interest in their studies and are preoccupied with finding suitable dance partners. Those who already have partners—after showing off how popular they are—start to find out about the partners of those around them, hoping to create some gossip.
The entire Hogwarts was filled with the scent of hormones and the sour smell of love—the solemn and dignified Hogwarts Castle gradually degenerated into a large-scale gossip scene where "scandals were flying everywhere."
In the corridor, for some reason, the girls were all chatting in groups, and they would burst into silly laughter every time a boy walked by; the boys, on the other hand, would often blush with embarrassment and wander around the girls' groups, trying to find a dance partner; and some bolder girls would give up waiting and take the initiative to ask out their favorite male partners.
"I don't like being invited out by girls; it makes me feel like a piece of meat being targeted," Blaise said dismissively.
"Oh, really?" Pansy retorted. "Have you ever considered that the girls who were invited probably feel the same way?"
"Then why didn't you refuse me?" Blaise asked bluntly.
"Pah! That's because I wanted to say yes," Pansy rolled her eyes. "But that doesn't mean I'll feel comfortable with anyone inviting me."
"Fine," Blaise said arrogantly, finally managing a slight smile.
"In short, under normal circumstances, girls who take the initiative to invite their boyfriends have a very high success rate," Pansy said, lazily linking arms with her boyfriend as they walked towards the Slytherin table. "Judging from the results, many guys fall for this approach."
"I have reservations," Blaise said, gesturing with his chin towards the platinum-blonde-haired boy sitting at the table. "Look at him, does he think he's falling for that?"
Pansy heard the boy coldly utter a single word, "No."
A younger girl sitting opposite him turned pale and ran away like the wind.
"Tsk, is this the second or the third today?" Blaise sat down next to him, yawned, and took a big gulp of pumpkin juice.
"The fourth one," the boy said wearily, his face expressionless. "I really don't know where Hogwarts gets so many female students."
"Draco, why are you making such a face? You should be happy, it means you're popular," Pansy said with a grin. "Speaking of which, some of my girlfriends are really interested in your jawline and Adam's apple, and would love to touch them."
"Utterly boring—you should spend less time with them," Draco said. "I think some of them don't want their hands anymore."
"That's strange. Didn't they used to complain about how aloof he was?" Blaise looked Draco up and down, then asked his girlfriend with a smile, "Now you're dreaming of pulling a tiger's teeth?"
"You don't understand anything, Blaise!" Pansy said enthusiastically, taking a sip of hot tea. "Thinking he's aloof doesn't mean he's unattractive. There's a type of guy who, although aloof and unapproachable, happens to have a good physique or good looks. These reserved and introverted guys exude a kind of 'asceticism,' which makes girls fantasize even more."
Damn, this feeling of asceticism. What is that? Draco wrinkled his nose.
The girl across the table had been watching what was happening. Merlin, of course, didn't want to cause any unnecessary misunderstandings.
"Draco, what are you thinking?" Pansy snapped her fingers in front of the dazed boy and said enthusiastically, "Anyone in my girl group that you like? I can introduce you to someone. You need a dance partner, right?"
"Don't worry about it," Draco said casually. "If you're so free, you should worry about Vincent and Gregory."
"Give up, Pansy. He doesn't need your help at all," Blaise said casually, glancing at Draco. "He definitely has his own plans. Besides, look at all those girls flocking to him, does he need you to introduce him?"
If Draco is facing such a situation, the Triwizard Tournament warriors—who are highly sought-after as the top contenders on the "dance partner invitation list"—are facing even greater enthusiasm.
For example, Fleur de la Cour, according to Blaise, was probably ambushed and invited by at least a dozen slurred, unfocused boys every day who would suddenly jump out from around corners, behind statues, and in bushes.
Take Viktor Krum, for example. Wherever he goes, he is surrounded by a group of infatuated girls who dream that he will glance at them and invite them to be his dance partner.
Draco knew so much about Krum's movements because the damned warrior had been frequently appearing in the Hogwarts library lately, causing quite a stir.
Faced with this commotion, even Mrs. Pince, who always upheld library order and used her fierce demeanor to suppress all student noise, seemed less effective.
(Mrs. Ping, feeling exhausted: lying down, taking a break, and enjoying the show.)
Draco roughly guessed what Krum was planning. But he wasn't going to give Krum the chance to ask Hermione that question.
That guy won't get a single ounce of Hermione's attention. She'll be taken to his private space as always, to focus on her studies and escape the hustle and bustle. Draco mentally planned out today's itinerary, then smugly led the dejected Crabbe and Goyle toward the library.
"Just invite whoever you fancy, what's the rush?" Draco said impatiently to Crabbe. "How do you know she won't say yes if you don't even try?"
"What if—the person I've got my eye on already has a dance partner?" Crabbe said hesitantly.
"Oh, well, there's nothing I can do about that then." Draco asked him, puzzled, as he stepped into the library. "By the way, who exactly have you taken a fancy to?"
Crabbe stammered, not answering Draco. Suddenly, a burst of giggling laughter from the girls in the library interrupted their conversation.
Draco sighed in annoyance. That persistent Krum was probably strolling around the library again.
The next second, at the other end of the library, in the crowd, Krum said in his distinctive Scandinavian accent, "Would you like to be my dance partner?"
Draco's eyes lit up.
"Hmm—" he chuckled, a bright smile spreading across his face. "Looks like Krum has moved on to a different target."
"Let's go take a look," he said to Crabbe and Gore behind him.
They took a few steps forward and heard several older Hufflepuff girls nearby gasp enviously, whispering to each other, "Who is she?"
"It's Hermione Granger, a Gryffindor student!" Susan Burns said. Then she saw the furious young man standing to the side—Draco Malfoy.
"Are you kidding me?" the boy said irritably, his gray eyes blazing with anger.
He tossed his bag to a Slytherin student standing nearby, then aggressively shoved aside two Beauxbatons boys who were watching the spectacle in his path with his elbow. His robes billowed in the wind as he strode over to the protagonists of this farce with an air of utter indifference.
"Merlin, what's going on? Isn't that Malfoy from Slytherin?" the Hufflepuffs whispered. "Isn't that Susan?"
"That's right, Draco Malfoy. Hermione's study partner—" Susan's voice trailed off, becoming barely audible, "her friend—her best friend."
In an instant, she remembered the heart-wrenching story her aunt had told her after the Quidditch World Cup—a Muggle-born girl protecting a Malfoy from a Crouch—something no one but Hermione Granger could have done.
She also remembered that a long time ago, Hermione had taught Ernie McMillan a lesson for Draco Malfoy, forbidding him from spreading rumors that Draco was the heir to the Chamber of Secrets, and even more so from questioning Draco's identity as the Seeker.
"Ernie, with such a vivid imagination, why don't you write some novels?" Hermione said bluntly at the time. "At least it won't harm real people, and you won't have to take any responsibility for your fabrications!"
Hermione was usually very gentle. But at that moment, her words were sharp, leaving Ernie speechless.
"Susan, I'm a little confused. Krum just invited Granger, what's Malfoy doing here?" a Hufflepuff student asked her.
"Oh, I guess he wasn't just there for the fun." Susan thought about the boy whose face had turned pale in an instant and his resentful eyes, and suddenly a strange idea came to her mind. "I'm afraid—he was there to cause trouble."
Draco was obviously there to cause trouble.
Having been reborn, he always thought he could rationally face all storms, until he encountered the storm that Hermione Granger casually created.
Even the slightest ripple she created was an unacceptable tsunami to him.
For example, at this moment, he finds that he is completely unable to be rational.
In particular, he noticed Hermione's face was slightly flushed—her hand was being held tightly by Krum—and that Durmstrang scoundrel had shamelessly placed a kiss on the back of her hand.
The beast within Draco roared.
He rushed over, grabbed Hermione's hand, wiped it roughly, pulled the stunned girl to his side, placed his hand on her other shoulder, and glared at Krum with hostile eyes. His voice was icy, "She doesn't want to! She's my dance partner! You can get lost and go bother other girls!"
The onlookers were stunned and fell silent.
They didn't even know which thing was more shocking.
On the one hand, it's because Draco was so disrespectful to this international star and Demström's Warriors player. Who else would dare to speak like that?
On the other hand, it's because Krum ignored the admiration of many beautiful women and invited Hermione Granger, an unassuming and unremarkable nerd.
Another reason is that they were incredibly surprised that "Malfoy had already invited Granger to be his dance partner long ago."
Draco Malfoy—Slytherin's most celebrated platinum prince—Quidditch Seeker—Hogwarts honor student. His image of studying by the Black Lake, leaning against a tree, is the dream of countless female students. Not to mention, he is a recipient of the Order of Merlin, Second Class, and comes from an ancient pure-blood wizarding family, making him a renowned figure even in the outer houses.
Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born witch, defies the Malfoy family's pure-blood ideals in this respect alone. Admittedly, she excels academically and her talent is widely praised by professors, but few find her beautiful, and even fewer truly understand her. Most of the time, her face is hidden deep within her long, bushy hair, or behind a mountain of books. She is a thoroughly boring bookworm.
"How could he possibly ask her to be his dance partner?" Daphne Greengrass shrieked, standing next to Goyle. "Has Draco Malfoy gone mad? Has he lost his mind?"
"Shut up, don't talk bad about him." Gore cracked his knuckles and threatened, "or I'll ask you to be my dance partner."
Daphne glanced at him in alarm and quietly slipped away from the crowd.
So Crabbe said to his buddy seriously, "Gore, I don't think you understand the meaning of 'inviting a dance partner.' This is not a punishment."
"Oh, really?" Gore said in surprise, "You have to step on the other person's feet all night! Isn't that punishment?"
"What you said makes a lot of sense…" Crabbe's thinking was successfully led astray by his buddy.
At this moment, Krum's thick eyebrows furrowed slightly. He pursed his lips, gave Hermione a polite bow, and didn't look at Draco once.
"Miss Granger, I await your reply." He left those words and turned to leave. The students who had been watching automatically made way for him, watching the grim-faced Durmstrang warrior depart.
And Hermione—that lovesick silly girl—even smiled at Krum!
Draco watched her smile with a cold eye, feeling a jumble of emotions churning inside him.
"Why did you smile at him just now?" he asked, his face flushed. "Did you want to be his dance partner?"
"Oh, Draco, don't be silly. I was just being polite. Your behavior just now was very ungentlemanly. The purpose of the Triwizard Tournament is to promote friendly exchanges between international wizarding schools. Do you know how bad that hostility was? It's embarrassing for Hogwarts. Didn't Professor McGonagall warn you about this?" Hermione's face was turning increasingly red—in front of everyone—and she noticed that his arm was still on her shoulder.
"So, you think I've embarrassed you?" Draco asked sharply.
"Don't make such a big deal out of it! That's not what I meant." Hermione's blush began to fade, and her tone was tinged with annoyance.
She glanced around and noticed the students were all talking in a low voice. She quietly looked up at them.
"Draco, they're all watching us," she whispered, freeing herself from his arms.
Draco then realized that he, who had wanted to watch the spectacle, had become the spectacle itself.
"Damn it, where the hell is Mrs. Pince? Doesn't she hate it when students whisper in the library?" Draco coldly swept his gaze around the students, trying to scare them away—but their stares only intensified—so he angrily began to accuse the vanished Mrs. Pince, "A deadbeat! Neglecting her duties!"
At that moment, Mrs. Pince was hiding in the best spot in the library, holding her precious little hand mirror, and gossiping with her best friend, Ms. Bobby Pomfrey, on the other side of the mirror.
"Can you please not be so agitated? Mrs. Pince hasn't done anything to you!" Hermione said uneasily, feeling uncomfortable with his current irritability. "Draco, what's wrong with you? Can you calm down?"
"Calm down?" Draco scoffed. He tried to grab her wrist and lead her to their private space. "Fine, calm down! Let's go, let's go somewhere we can talk calmly!"
Hermione stood rooted to the spot, pulling her hand away from his. He glanced back at her, somewhat surprised and hurt.
She actually refused his hand.
Why was she unwilling to be intimate with him in front of others? Instead, she kept trying to break free and resist him.
Was he about to lose her? He wondered frantically.
"Why did you answer Krum for me?" Those brown eyes were somewhat unfamiliar, lacking warmth and instead carrying a hint of coldness.
She didn't smile at him as usual; her expression was somewhat serious. "This is a question I should answer myself, isn't it? From what standpoint are you answering it for me?"
"Was my answer wrong? Do you want to agree to him?" Draco retorted, his anger burning.
Did she regret it—did she want to be Krum's dance partner?
"This has nothing to do with whether I agree to him or not! You control freak! This is something I have to face myself from head to toe! You don't believe I can handle this at all! Do you think I would agree to someone else after I agree to you? I can't believe you don't even have this much faith in me!" Hermione glared at him in disappointment, then turned and walked out of the library.
Draco stood there, stunned, and couldn't help but give a wry smile.
Of course I would hesitate, doubt, and disbelieve.
Because you—Hermione Granger—were once Krum's dance partner.
I'm a despicable thief, stealing you from other people's hands bit by bit. How could I possibly have any confidence?
I've never had much faith in Hermione Granger. Every moment I spent with you—those bright, new days, like the rising sun—felt stolen.
Just as the person in question was in a low mood, the conversation between Krum, Granger, and Malfoy in the library spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts Castle, causing an upheaval comparable to an earthquake.
Seizing the opportunity, the Weasley twins—who, true to their spirit of enjoying a good spectacle—quickly placed their bets.
"Why would you do something like this?" Draco asked incredulously. "Isn't the Magic Theatre enough to keep you busy?"
"Oh, we need a little entertainment to break the monotony of our studies," Fred said pretentiously. "You can never have too much gossip."
Draco glared at him angrily.
"Draco, don't underestimate Krum. As long as the ball hasn't started and you haven't taken a girl's hand, nothing is set in stone!" George patted Draco on the shoulder and said, "That's what makes a ball interesting!"
Draco snorted.
"Let me see—as things stand, Hermione choosing Krum is the mainstream thinking. Who can resist a young, handsome international star?" Fred said to him, shaking the thick stack of parchment in his hand.
"He's still the champion of the Triwizard Tournament! The number one choice for dance partners in the girls' hearts. The odds for betting on him are 1 to 2," George said with a smile.
"Very good," Draco said sinisterly—clearly, that wasn't what he really meant.
"The odds of you winning by betting on him are 1 to 10," Fred said gleefully. "Not many people believe you'll succeed."
"Thank you for reminding me," Draco said through gritted teeth.
"Harry and Ron both bought you—there are still people who have faith in you," George said. "If I could buy you, I would too."
"Should I kneel down and thank you for having so much faith in me?" Draco said coolly, watching the Weasley twins walk away arm in arm.
"What's going on, Draco?" Pansy called out to him again as he hurried past in the Slytherin common room. "When did Granger become your dance partner, and incidentally, the enemy of all the girls in school?"
"Yes, I heard someone say that you invited a Muggle." Blaise took a sip of tea, looking somewhat puzzled.
"The version I heard is that Granger used a love potion on both Draco and Krum, which is why they invited her!" Pansy held up a few fingers and waved them in front of Draco. "Are you even normal? How many fingers are there? If you've been kidnapped, blink!"
"I'm perfectly fine. I didn't take any love potions, and I wasn't kidnapped," Draco clarified. "I did invite Hermione to be my dance partner—is there anything else you don't understand?"
"Are you kidding me?" Pansy put down her teacup and said in shock, "Hermione Granger—that plain-looking nerd! You want her to dance with a stack of books? Merlin's dressing table, I don't even know if she'll put on makeup or come out in a decent dress!"
"I didn't know you were such a superficial person, Pansy." Draco didn't seem to care.
Pansy, that blind fool, has no idea that Hermione can steal the show with just a little dressing up.
"Even if you have a unique taste, and you like this kind of thing, I can try to respect your taste," Pansy said with a troubled expression, as if she had just eaten a whole box of slugs. "But think about your father! He will definitely find out, do you understand what that means?"
"Yeah, Draco. If you want to mess around with her, no one will say anything, but you don't have to make such a big fuss, do you?" Blaise teased.
Pansy rolled her eyes at him and whispered, "What do you mean by 'just playing around'? You jerk."
"Pansy, don't get carried away. I'm talking about something serious. Draco, balls are very formal occasions, and there are many deeper meanings behind them. You're a wizard from a pure-blood family, and you often attend these kinds of occasions with your mother, so you should understand these deeper meanings. Do you know what it means to stand next to her on such occasions?" Blaise's cynical smile had faded.
Kodraco showed no approval, nor did he attempt to answer his question. He stubbornly pursed his lips and remained silent.
Blaise sighed, forced to continue his earnest persuasion to convince the eccentric boy, "Your father will be unhappy, your family will be unhappy, the family name behind you will be unhappy. They'll think you're out of your mind, falling for a Muggle!"
"I know, I completely understand what you mean, and I understand the deeper meaning behind this action. Blaise, thank you, I know you're worried about me." Draco leaned back on the armchair in the Slytherin common room, gazing at the flickering fire in the fireplace, and said softly, "Unfortunately, I wasn't just playing around with her. I really liked her—very much."
"What?" This shocking gossip caused Pansy to slip from her hand and drop the cup on the ground.
With a crack, the cup shattered into seven or eight pieces.
"My favorite blue and white porcelain cup!" Pansy wailed. "Draco, you Slytherin traitor, a pure-blood traitor, you owe me my cup!"
The rumors spread even more wildly the next day.
Almost everyone is saying that Pansy Parkinson threw a tantrum in the Slytherin common room because Draco Malfoy invited Hermione Granger to be his dance partner.
That's complete nonsense! Draco ate his cereal porridge gloomily at the Slytherin breakfast table, wondering why the girl hadn't come downstairs for breakfast yet.
At this moment, Hermione Granger stood blankly in front of the full-length mirror in the girls' dormitory, looking at the girl with a troubled expression, wondering why she was in such a situation.
She didn't know why Viktor Krum had invited her.
She had originally thought that even if there were more people at the Christmas ball, it would just be a form of entertainment—no different from the kind of balls she had attended with her parents when she was a child—full of delicious food, flowers, cheerful music, casual dancing, and friendly conversation, nothing more.
But look at the current atmosphere on campus, the constant scrutiny and hatred directed at her.
She swore that whenever she walked into a public place, at least half the girls stared at her, trying to see a hole through her wizard robes.
This feeling of being constantly watched was awful. All she wanted was to quietly read a good book and spend a lazy afternoon filled with the scent of parchment. She didn't want to be scrutinized like a sieve.
Why does Draco, that bad boy, have to make things even more complicated in public—as if Krum hadn't caused enough trouble already!
Draco Malfoy, he's utterly wicked! He clearly doesn't like her—at least not in the same way she does—yet he firmly occupies her place, forbidding anyone else from inviting her or getting close to her.
He's awful! He always cruelly provokes her and forbids anyone else from provoking her!
But she always loved this utterly wicked boy.
She loved him desperately, foolishly, and like a moth drawn to a flame, and even now that he has caused her so much trouble, she still loves him through gritted teeth.
Even though he said she was like a little sister, she still liked him.
However, after that punch, she closed her shell like a startled clam, trying to numbly face him.
She didn't want to be hurt anymore, nor did she want to admit her feelings. After each of those heart-fluttering encounters, she had to repeatedly remind herself that he didn't like her. His feelings for her weren't romantic; they were just friendly affection.
His care, tenderness, and physical intimacy stemmed solely from their friendship.
Close your heart, Hermione Granger. She kept reminding herself that he was just a friend.
Just friends.
Just friends!
"Hermione Granger, you are the dumbest girl in the world," she said to the girl in the mirror. "You should stay far away from him."
But she could never resist his advances. Even with a deep bitterness in her heart, she still felt happy, satisfied, and even wanted to be with him more with every touch he made.
She couldn't bear to see him suffer or be sad. She always wanted to protect him, to protect him in Hermione Granger's way. Seeing him wronged hurt her more than if she herself were wronged.
She even displayed extreme malice towards those who hurt her, something she had never done before.
Draco, that utterly wicked boy, not only did bad things to her, but he also stirred up all the evil thoughts in her heart.
"You know what? You're being very irrational," Hermione whispered to the mirror. "You're getting deeper and deeper into someone who can never respond to you."
But the girl in the mirror was smiling, as if this situation wasn't so hopeless.
That's terrifying.
Mom is right. She can try to get to know other outstanding boys and see what they are like.
Draco Malfoy isn't the only likable character.
Her roommate Lavender had a poster of Victor Krum on the headboard of her bed, and Hermione could see his gloomy face every time she turned around.
Now there's an opportunity, Krum invited her, didn't he?
Hermione and Krum weren't close. However, he had politely spoken to her a few times while looking for books near the bookshelf, mostly asking her about the exact location of certain books.
Krum, shouldn't you consider him the outstanding boy Mom mentioned? Undoubtedly, if you were to take his arm to a dance, all the girls would be jealous of you.
Draco might be furious. He definitely will. He's so proud; he can't stand having his dance partner stolen. He deserves to know what anger feels like, and what her frustration is like!
However, as she stared at Krum's poster, another face involuntarily came to mind.
Thin and pale, with sharp features, a pointed chin, platinum blonde hair, and a pair of pure gray eyes.
He simply beckoned to her through the window of the Hogwarts Express, and she obediently walked over.
She had no choice but to go.
She couldn't control herself.
She never needed to make a choice. She was always hopelessly in love with that utterly wicked Draco Malfoy.
"Hermione Granger, you're such a loser!" She glared at herself in the mirror with disdain and stormed out of the dormitory.
In the common room, Ginny sat alone on a sofa in the corner, looking very downcast.
Oh! Poor Ginny. Hermione sighed.
The reason she and Ginny became sisters so quickly is perhaps because, in essence, they both fell in love with someone who would always treat them like little sisters.
This feels awful.
But if your sisters have the same experience as you, then it seems you are not alone.
"Are you alright, Ginny?" She walked over, sat down next to Ginny, and gently stroked Ginny's long red hair.
"I'm afraid I'll never be able to go to the Christmas ball," Ginny said lazily, looking up. "Nobody will invite me. Obviously, not everyone is as savvy as your Draco."
"Oh, Ginny!" Hermione's face flushed instantly. "What are you saying? What do you mean by 'mine'—"
"His outburst at the library, blatantly provoking Krum, has practically reached the Willow Brothers. Who doesn't know he's trying to steal you from Krum, the Durmstrang warrior?" Ginny pouted, suppressing her gloom, her tone playful and mischievous. "I wonder who'll win. You know, my lovely lady."
"Ginny!" Hermione said embarrassedly, "You know that's not what I meant, I had no idea about this. This—is so sudden."
"There's nothing to be ashamed of. You're much luckier than me. I bet that jerk Malfoy likes you more than you think! Those words were definitely not something someone who treats you like a little sister would say. I seriously suspect you misunderstood him back then. I think he just likes you," Ginny said firmly. "Have some confidence, okay?"
"Oh, Ginny, stop talking," Hermione said uneasily, not wanting to waste too much emotion on this uncertain feeling.
"He's made it so obvious! Okay, okay, don't be so shameless, fine, I won't say!" Ginny raised her hands in surrender. "So, who are you going to choose as your dance partner?"
Hermione glanced at her guiltily but didn't say anything.
"I knew it would be like this—you always choose that sullen-faced jerk! Malfoy's ranking is actually pretty good, seventh on the Hogwarts ballroom invitation list!" Ginny said casually, waving the colorful parchment in her hand at her. "Look, he's behind Krum, Cedric, Harry, and a few older boys. But he's definitely not as good as Krum, who's number one. Your choice is completely irrational! Of course, Krum's fans will be very happy."
"There's even a ranking list?" Hermione asked in surprise.
"The girls voted privately, only ranking the boys. Who knows if the boys ranked the girls privately, and even if they did, we wouldn't know. Look, although the statistics aren't very comprehensive—judging from your surprised look, you probably didn't vote at all—it basically reflects the Hogwarts girls' preferences when choosing their dance partners." Ginny shrugged.
"What's the trend?" Hermione checked the list and noticed that some boys' rankings were constantly shifting up and down. It seemed to be under some kind of information-sharing magic, allowing the data to be adjusted in real time.
"Choosing a dance partner is all about looks! As long as they're good-looking, most girls will accept an invitation even from the opposing faction. But that's normal, aren't the boys the same? So many people have asked Fleur Delacour for a date! Even my brother Ron has fallen for her—" Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Once it comes to dancing, people don't seem to care which house their partner is from. They just want someone good-looking! In short, I've seen several Gryffindor girls vote for Malfoy; he's just so popular."
"Oh." Hermione's voice held a hint of bitterness. "I didn't know he was so likable."
"You're very charming. So you really need to dress up nicely, you know? And you need to practice your dance moves! You need to show all those girls who are talking sourly that you're absolutely worthy of any man's invitation and affection! Make me proud, okay?" Ginny said seriously.
"I'm no good at these things," Hermione said, annoyed. "I'd rather ride a dragon!"
"Who told you to ride a fire dragon? Where did you get this weird idea from? My brother Charlie is a dragon trainer, and he's never ridden a fire dragon." Ginny jumped up from the sofa, trying to encourage her. "Don't be discouraged! Don't try to run away, I'm good at these things! We can practice dancing together! Besides, I loved dressing up dolls when I was little! You have to give me the whole afternoon on the day of the prom!"
"Ginny, calm down—" Hermione said in surprise.
"That's right, that's what we'll do!" Ginny said gleefully, clenching her fist—looking like she'd found her purpose in life. "Hermione, I'll make them swoon over you, no matter who you choose! Now, straighten up and come with me to breakfast!"
Despite being encouraged by Ginny, Hermione, as usual, fell into self-loathing when she arrived at the Great Hall door in a daze.
She didn't want to go to public places, didn't want to be stared at with knowing looks, didn't want to be asked if she had used aphrodisiacs, and didn't want to see girls lining up to invite the popular Draco to be their dance partner.
But Ginny held on tightly, dragging her all the way to the Gryffindor dining table. She could only sit there, exhausted, trying to stuff something into her mouth.
It was at this moment that she heard the gossip Lavender was telling her: Pansy Parkinson had made a scene in the Slytherin common room yesterday because Draco Malfoy had invited Hermione Granger to be his dance partner.
Hermione knew who Pansy Parkinson was. The girl always acted arrogantly, looking down on any Muggle-born wizard, but Draco had always been on good terms with her.
She's Draco's childhood friend—what does that mean? The dark-haired bob-haired girl is now sitting diagonally across from Draco, seemingly saying something to him.
He seemed quite cheerful! He was even smiling as he spoke to Parkinson.
How wonderful, they look so well-matched. Hermione swallowed some small round sweet breads and unexpectedly tasted a slightly bitter flavor.
Soon after, Pansy Parkinson's seat became empty.
The boy sat alone, looking like a lonely king. He resumed his indifferent expression, calmly drank something, and lowered his eyes to look at the newspaper on the table.
His collar was buttoned up tightly, his platinum blonde hair was neatly combed, and he looked like a newly formed sculpture by a master artist, devoid of any emotion.
His face possessed a cool beauty, a perfect blend of sharp angles and curves.
Everything about him held an almost cruel attraction for her. Hermione knew she shouldn't look at him anymore. She was already attracting enough attention.
But then, a girl wearing a Ravenclaw scarf suddenly blushed and walked up to Draco, whispering something. This made it impossible for Draco not to look at him.
What are they saying? Could it be that the girl is inviting him?
Hermione's heart was immediately gripped by a pair of unknown hands.
A complex mix of emotions welled up inside her—it felt as if someone had discovered her long-treasured treasure and was trying to take it for themselves—she felt unwilling, reluctant, and nervous.
The coveted treasure remained as indifferent as ever. He didn't even bother to lift his head, only raising his eyelids and coldly uttering a single word to the little girl—who immediately covered her face and ran away.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Now she could finally freely express her bittersweet sympathy. She wasn't the first girl to be heartbroken by Draco.
Draco—what was he thinking with that poker face? Hermione glanced at him furtively and suddenly remembered the way he had his arm around her shoulder in the library.
Back then, although he was angry, his facial expression was quite vivid, unlike now where he is so indifferent and lifeless.
His hair, even across two long tables, remained dazzling. She suddenly wanted to touch his hair, or rather, to touch the weasel again—how lively and adorable it was! His expression was so gentle when they gazed at the stars in the Room of Requirement.
In short, not like this stern, expressionless face he has now. She stole glances at him again and again, and still felt that he looked better when he smiled.
Stop! Hermione Granger! Stop thinking about it! She told herself, what did it matter to her whether he smiled or not? Whether he smiled or not, he was still that cruel boy who ruthlessly rejected girls' affections—rejected hers.
Draco Malfoy, with a stern face, walked into the underground Potions classroom.
He was a little annoyed. He spent the whole morning with a stern face, trying to scare away the girls who were asking him out, but the girls were not affected at all; on the contrary, they became more and more persistent.
He didn't even have a chance to glance at Hermione across the breakfast table. He had planned to say a few words to her during Potions class—to smooth things over or something—but he found her going off to study with a Gryffindor girl.
Is it Lavender Brown? That seems to be the name.
He gave the girl a fierce look, trying to express his displeasure and hopefully scare her away from Hermione; the girl, on the contrary, perked up and, occasionally catching his glances at Hermione, studied him with great interest.
These boring, gossipy girls, they're acting so strangely! Why isn't his fierce gaze working anymore? Nobody's afraid of him anymore! Draco sat sullenly next to Theodore Nott, the whole class was filled with a chill, he couldn't concentrate on his studies, and he almost accidentally blew up their cauldron.
"Merlin, Draco, let me do it," Theodore said sadly. "You just sit there and watch her, okay?"
Hermione Granger, who was being secretly watched by Draco, was feeling extremely awkward.
Draco's conflict with Krum, Draco's sensitivity, irritability, and controlling nature regarding her dance partner, the endless stream of invitations from Draco, and Draco's cold attitude of rejecting all girls... all these things mixed together, leaving her in a state of turmoil.
She worried that if she continued to sit with Draco today, it would become the subject of gossip.
Merlin! Her reputation seems to have turned extremely bad overnight.
So she went and partnered up with her gossipy roommate, Lavender.
"May I ask—" Lavender said curiously.
"No," Hermione said irritably. "We can't discuss dance partners."
"Okay." Lavender shrugged.
Partnering with Lavender is relatively safe; at least it won't cause any unrest.
At times, Lavender was quite loyal. Sensing Hermione's agitation, she didn't ask any questions about her dance partner, but instead thoughtfully shared some gossip circulating on campus to distract her:
For example, Dumbledore has already bought eight hundred barrels of flavored mead from Rosmerta, the Lady with Three Brooms, for the upcoming Christmas ball.
For example, Dumbledore had reserved a wizarding musical ensemble called the "Strange Sisters" for them to perform at the ball.
"This duo is very famous on Wizarding Radio," Lavender said excitedly, winking at her.
Hermione had never heard of the Wizarding Broadcasting System, but she guessed it was a popular program among wizards. She couldn't help but smile at Lavender. "I'm looking forward to it too. Thank you for telling me, Lavender. I feel much better."
However, Hermione was still careless. What she didn't know was that the seemingly understanding Lavender possessed a special talent—while gossiping, she also had the ability to observe how often Draco Malfoy turned to look at Hermione Granger.
"I'm not here to discuss dance partners with you. I want to talk about how often a certain boy turns his head—he looked at you seventeen times in one class. Seventeen times!" Lavender said enthusiastically at lunch. "I really don't understand why he's so obvious, yet I've never noticed!"
"Notice what?"
"Please, stop pretending. How long have you two been talking?" Lavender asked her in a low voice.
"Oh, please, Lavender!" Hermione blushed immediately. "We're not what you think."
"So, what is it exactly?" Lavender chuckled.
"We—we're just study partners, occasionally discussing our lessons together—" Hermione stammered, avoiding Lavender's eyes.
"Oh? Then why didn't you continue to be his study partner in the last class? Did you two have a falling out?" Lavender asked gossipy.
Hermione casually fiddled with the cauliflower on her plate, pouting and remaining silent.
She was still a little angry with him. He didn't trust her, nor did he respect her; he always took it upon himself to do things for her!
And then there's that special Pansy Parkinson, and all those girls lining up to seek heartbreak from him—she watches coldly, feeling increasingly choked up.
"You know, he's very popular. Haven't you seen how many girls want to invite him out?" Lavender went on and on. "To be honest, when I heard that he, who is usually so aloof, actually invited you, many girls who were initially insecure suddenly felt that they might have a chance and were desperately trying to get his attention! Who knows if someone might just catch his eye? Maybe he'll change his mind the next second and go find another girl."
Lavender glanced over there and saw a blonde Slytherin girl eager to approach Draco Malfoy.
"Look, another one!" she said, exasperated. "You need to be more careful, Hermione! So many girls envy you! Cherish every boy who asks you out, okay? Whoever you choose, hold on tight to your dance partner and don't let him slip through your fingers!"
Hermione remained silent. She stubbornly refused to look at him. After a moment, she finally couldn't resist turning her head to glance at him, and also caught a glimpse of the blonde girl's heartbroken departing figure.
She breathed a slight sigh of relief, but stubbornly told Lavender, "If he wants to invite other girls, let him! It's just dancing, I'm not so arrogant as to control what other people think."