Chapter 127: Lifting at the Christmas Ball
"You're not up to something, are you?" She walked awkwardly into the door he had opened for her, looking around the empty classroom, and said, "Just dancing practice?"
It was Christmas Eve, and the procrastinating dance partners were planning a crash course in their dance practice.
"I'll only practice dancing," he assured her, following her in. "I won't do anything unnecessary."
"Never do anything unnecessary?" she asked skeptically. "That's what you said when you invited me to the Three Broomsticks Tavern. And then you—"
Draco could tell from her nervously pursed lips that she was uneasy.
Well, he actually wanted to bring up their kiss as well. But she didn't seem to want to get involved in that topic at all.
Draco only took a few seconds to decide to drop the topic of "kissing." He quickly adopted an innocent look and kindly reminded her, "Tomorrow is the Christmas ball, we don't have much time left."
"In that case, alright." The girl made up her mind, stood awkwardly in front of him, and sighed. "Let's practice dancing. Let's begin."
"Yes, let's begin." Draco stood up straight, chest puffed out, and smiled directly at her, finally asking the question he had been waiting to ask for so long, "Beautiful lady, would you do me the honor of dancing?"
"You look a little serious," Hermione said in a forcedly cheerful tone, trying to hide the shyness she felt upon hearing his words.
Draco didn't respond to her lively tone as usual. He remained silent, extending his right hand respectfully, palm up, bowing slightly, his left hand behind his back, his gray eyes smiling as he stared intently at her.
"First of all, let me state that I'm not the kind of girl who's particularly good at dancing." She hurriedly handed him her hand.
"It's alright. I'm not very good at it either. Please guide me." He said gently, taking her hand in his, a smile involuntarily spreading across his face. "Now, I need to hold you. If you feel uncomfortable, just tell me."
She nodded slightly, feeling his right hand, with its five fingers together, gently and steadily supporting her left shoulder blade. His left hand enveloped her right hand, their thumbs touching and pointing upwards.
"Is this alright?" he asked softly.
"Okay," she said cautiously.
"Your posture is quite good. Now your right hand and arm are mine. Try to follow my lead, okay?" the boy said casually, gazing at her. "Place your left hand on my right upper arm, with your thumb and forefinger open. That's right, very good. Face left, towards my right side. When you dance, you need to pay attention to what's behind me—"
"To avoid bumping into others, right?" she said cleverly.
"That's right, good girl." He gave her an approving look. "If someone is coming from, just tap your finger to let me know. Move your finger on the side that's coming from. Uh, the music's started. Let's try dancing a bit first."
The gramophone in the corner diligently began to work. It was a beautiful waltz—"Soar Up to the Sky." Hermione tightened her waist and back, struck a pose, and looked at the boy in front of her.
He led her on. Moving forward, sideways, feet together, she was caught off guard and slipped into this beautiful dance, like a fledgling bird not ready to fly, blown by the platinum wind into the smoky gray sky.
"Turn around…turn to the side…good. Now, tilt…rise…fall…good. Remember, concentrate your strength along the central axis." He guided her, so close to her that the airflow from his words brushed against the hair on her cheek.
Hermione twirled and twirled with him in the center of the classroom, so nervous she could hardly breathe.
She couldn't ignore certain details. Their hands were clasped together, their hips and ribs close together. A light and radiant melody floated in the air, and iridescent shadows flowed in the flickering candlelight.
He was surrounding her, in a protective manner that was both close and distant. The faint scent of cedar around her always reminded her of their kiss. At times, he was very close to her, his eyes flickering in the trembling light of the wall lamp, as if he could kiss her with a mere glance, which made her feel both nervous and excited.
But the boy kept his promise.
He didn't do anything unnecessary—he didn't kiss her—but instead smiled and led her to continue practicing, his ears slightly reddening, his eyes fixed on her intently.
With just one glance from him, her dance steps began to falter. Those pure, smoky gray eyes held her captive, almost obliterating all the dance steps she remembered and had practiced so thoroughly with Ginny.
It was just a few simple movements, nothing more than embracing and spinning around. These things, which she originally thought were incredibly simple, were now filled with frantic activity and a life-or-death struggle.
Hermione tried to look away from his eyes and keep an eye on her dance steps out of the corner of her eye, but she still accidentally stepped on his foot.
"I'm sorry." She immediately became unsure, and her steps began to falter.
"It's alright," Draco said, deftly leading her in a circle to salvage her little lapse. "Don't look at your toes, lift your head and look at me. Don't stop if you step on me, keep following my lead. There will be many people busy dancing on the day of the ball, and no one will care if you make a mistake; but if you stop, the people around you will most likely stop as well, which is almost an open admission that you've made a mistake, isn't it?"
"Okay." Hermione shifted her gaze to the bridge of his nose, afraid she might drift off again. But this remedy was completely ineffective—his nose was quite handsome too—her mind recalled the ticklish sensation of his nose brushing against her cheek during their kiss.
She knew he had been staring at her. After a while, under his intense gaze, she became increasingly distracted, her ribs feeling like an over-wrung towel.
Dancing under Draco Malfoy's gaze—no one can stay focused—was a disaster. Finally, she lost her balance and stumbled in the opposite direction, feeling as if her arms were about to freeze.
That reckless girl! She almost threw herself off balance, exclaiming softly, "Oops—sorry—"
"It's okay." Draco quickly used his strength to gently pull her into his arms, saving her from twisting her ankle. "Relax, don't resist me. Don't overthink it. You don't need to exert any force, just go with my strength, okay?"
"But I don't know what your next step is—" Hermione gasped in his arms, looking up at his gentle, watery eyes, and whispered, "Shouldn't we plan everything in advance, the route, the actions, and so on?"
"Hermione, dance is dynamic; the only constant is change itself. A formal ball is different from a private rehearsal. It involves unexpected situations that require us to improvise. Nobody knows if a pair of reckless people will rush up from behind and block our way, so you should never try to plan everything in advance." Draco comforted her, patting her back reassuringly, and led her to dance again.
"That makes sense," she muttered, stubbornly looking into his bright, smiling eyes. "But I don't like being aimless, and I don't like the feeling of losing control."
"I know, I know. You like the feeling of being in control—" he chuckled, staring into her trembling pupils, "You were born a little queen, weren't you?"
"You can't say that." Her face flushed, and her breathing became a little rapid. "I know that dancing needs to be led by men. But I often forget that. I always want to do something subconsciously. I'm always worried that I can't find my balance."
"Then try standing still and don't move. I'll find your center of gravity. Don't feel pressured, don't think, and don't need to remember your partner's movements," Draco said softly, gradually becoming flustered by the rise and fall of her chest. "You just need to relax, trust me, follow me, and I will guide you, direct you, and control you."
"Okay." Hermione felt her face slowly burning up.
"Control..." He was using some confusing and even misleading words, but his expression was serious and focused, as if he were discussing dancing entirely.
"I'll give you signals with my body. When we dance, I'll lightly tap below your left shoulder; when we change steps or patterns, I'll tap you lightly too." Draco watched her gradually blushing cheeks, trying to appear calm. "Can you feel it?"
"able."
"If I want to improve, before my center of gravity shifts, I'll flick my toes forward to signal you, and you'll probably feel some kind of physical push." He moved closer to her—watching her rapidly fluttering eyelashes—his Adam's apple bobbing against her neck. "My right hand will relax, and your back will lose its support. Can you feel it?"
"able."
"If I want to step back, before shifting my weight, I will first pull my leg back. At this time, my right hand will apply pressure to you, giving you a hint." He spread his palm out and gently pressed it against her, trying to calm himself down, and smiled encouragingly at her bright, slightly shy brown eyes. "At this time, you should move forward. That's right, just like that. Quick reaction, well done."
The girl smiled slightly. Holding his hand, listening to his gentle, patient, and appreciative words, she felt a warmth in the cold weather. Her heart gradually calmed down; although she was still shy, she was no longer so flustered.
"And then there's the spinning. Spinning is the essence of the waltz. The basic spin is a counter-movement, a tilt, a sway, an undulation, all done in one smooth motion, forming an arc. All movements should be fluid and rhythmic. When you spin, I will pull you gently and give you a push." He explained in detail, slowly and lightly guiding her, leading her to a perfect spin in his palm. "Feel everything with your heart, pretend you're floating on water, let the current carry you, can you do that?"
"Yes." Hermione smiled unconsciously at the graceful feeling brought on by the spin. "I thought I had practiced very well, but I didn't expect there were still so many things to pay attention to."
"Your basic skills are quite good, which is remarkable for a beginner." Draco looked her over carefully, afraid that she would show any signs of discouragement. "This kind of dance requires a certain degree of coordination, rhythm, movement and cooperation between partners. What we lack is just practice. We'll get better with more practice."
She glanced at him happily, nodded trustingly, and smiled brightly.
"We've already developed some understanding, haven't we?" Draco raised his hand, guiding her and encouraging her, "Would you like to spin around a few more times?"
Spinning under his partner's guidance was a new experience for Hermione. When practicing with Ginny, she often struggled to spin properly due to her height. But with him, everything seemed effortless.
So she spun in his hands, round and round, smelling the joy in the wind created by the spinning. Finally, she spun so much that she was dizzy and almost flew out of his hands; at this critical moment, he reached out and caught her, and she fell into his arms without any doubt.
Draco held her tightly in his arms, smiling contentedly. She landed in his palm without warning, like a dazzling star falling into a deep ocean yearning for light. He saw the shimmering joy in her eyes.
Suddenly, he wanted to kiss her again—he had developed a craving for her lips.
But he had promised her, and he couldn't go back on his word.
So he compromised and, capriciously, held her waist—without immediately letting go—staring at her hazy eyes and increasingly flushed face, whispering to her, "In dance, generally speaking, the male partner needs to use his hands, legs, arms, and abdomen to lead the whole body, not just his shoulders, otherwise it will disrupt the female partner's center of gravity and balance."
"I see," Hermione murmured, still feeling the aftereffects of the spinning, and also lost in his warm, strong embrace.
She was becoming somewhat infatuated with his embrace. His embrace always gave her a sense of security. He always protected her well, and she never worried about being hurt in his arms.
"Admit it, Hermione, you've been infatuated with him for a very, very long time," the little voice in Hermione's head whispered. "You simply can't resist his attraction to you—his smile, his touch, his embrace."
You even really enjoy his kisses. You hypocritical girl, you solemnly declare "No!" while secretly rejoicing. The little devil, hands on his hips, smugly asks, "Don't you want him to kiss you right now?"
Well, Hermione secretly admitted that she was somewhat looking forward to it. He probably wouldn't kiss her, would he? He had promised "only dance practice." But if he intended to go back on his word and do something other than dance practice, she probably wouldn't be angry.
A gentle kiss wouldn't be bad. Hermione thought for a fleeting moment, clutching his clothes.
The little voice in her head seemed to be spinning, erasing all her reason. Before all reason vanished, she buried her face in his shoulder—regretfully avoiding his lips—and sighed softly.
No, get your act together, Hermione! You're not the kind of girl who's obsessed with pretty girls! You have to practice dancing! She berated herself, focusing on building the foundation of her inner world.
Therefore, she was completely unaware that a cunning boy had secretly kissed her hair and was beginning to subtly probe her weakness of "not wanting to admit defeat in front of anyone" in his words, attempting to further lower her guard.
The scheming Slytherin cleared his throat and said sternly above her head, "Some less professional dancers might think certain poses are too intimate; they can't understand the concept of 'physical communication' between dance partners. Of course, I'm not forcing you to understand. If you feel uncomfortable or uneasy because of this, just tell me, and I'll keep my distance."
"Oh, it's okay," she said absentmindedly. "I feel fine."
"You—you don't mind me holding you like this, do you?" Draco smiled slyly and asked her in a coaxing tone, his voice calm and collected.
However, he still vividly remembered her embarrassment after he kissed her in the library last time. Back then, she seemed to be avoiding his embrace. He needed to make sure she didn't mind.
"Of course not, I really like it—" Hermione said firmly. At that moment, she heard a rumble of laughter from his chest, and her mind cleared slightly. She hurriedly changed her nonsensical, candid tone, "Oh, I mean, if you're going to do something, do it to the best of your ability, be professional, right? I don't want to be a mediocre dancer! I'm doing this to improve my dancing!"
"Of course, of course," he said, suppressing a laugh, his tone brimming with self-satisfaction. "You always strive for excellence."
"That's right," Hermione said, her face flushed as she struggled out of his arms, straightened up, and assumed the starting position. "What others can do, I can do too."
"Very good—then how about a lift?" His gray eyes gleamed with triumph as he pressed his advantage, "Would you like to try a lift?"
Draco saw the girl in front of him slightly open her mouth, looking as if she had never dared to imagine such a thing. She said, "Oh, Draco, I don't think I'm ready to do something so difficult—"
"Let's give it a try," he said gently, sliding his hand up her wrist to grasp it again, striking a pose as if it were no big deal. "It's still early. We can give it a try."
On Christmas morning, Lavender Brown was suddenly awakened by a bright white light.
Still half-asleep, she wrapped herself in a warm Gryffindor blanket and went to the window to look out. She found that the area outside Hogwarts Castle was dazzlingly white—it seemed that there had been another heavy snowfall last night.
She rubbed her eyes, a surge of excitement spreading through her as her brain awakened.
Today is Christmas! She excitedly walked to the foot of the bed, looked at the various gift boxes piled up there, and a bright smile immediately appeared on her face.
She looked around and was pleased to see that at the foot of the bed of the prettiest girl in the grade, Parvati Petit, the pile of gifts wasn't much bigger than hers; and Hermione Granger next to her was even less impressive, the little nerd with her narrow social circle whose small pile of gifts was nothing compared to hers.
Some girls just enjoy comparing themselves to others in these kinds of situations. It's not that Lavender—this lively and enthusiastic girl—would have any ill will towards other girls; she simply derives a sense of accomplishment from comparison. She relishes the feeling of being especially welcomed.
"Get up! Get up, wake up!" Lavender called out cheerfully. "Merry Christmas!"
A rustling sound gradually came from behind the wine-red curtains, and the girls poked their messy heads out from the gaps in the curtains, looking out blankly.
"Did you have a nightmare, Lavender?" Parvati complained, still half asleep. "Or did your tarot cards foretell something ominous?"
"No! It's dawn! The Christmas presents have arrived—let's open them and see!" Lavender exclaimed joyfully.
The girls gasped with delight, jumping out of bed one after another in their pajamas, their hair disheveled, to unwrap their gifts and chatter excitedly. The dormitory was filled with a cheerful atmosphere of laughter and chatter as the girls curiously examined each other's gifts, occasionally letting out sounds of admiration.
When Hermione emerged from behind the curtains, yawning, Lavender was the only one left in the bedroom. She was still slowly unwrapping the gifts, carefully checking each one, as if performing some important ritual.
"Oh, you're finally awake. You must have been practicing dancing late last night? I heard you come home last night." Lavender glanced curiously at Hermione—watching her slowly pick up a box from the top of the pile of gifts—and asked, "What's that?"
It was a mysterious, rectangular, flat box in a silvery-green color—a color only a Slytherin would prefer—that stood out starkly against the other gold and red boxes.
Hermione glanced at the box's packaging, a faint smile immediately appearing on her lips, and a slight blush rising to her cheeks. "I don't know what it is either."
"Take it open and see!" Lavender urged her. "Aren't you curious?"
Hermione was naturally curious. Under Lavender's expectant gaze, she decisively tore open the wrapping paper—inside was a rather large black velvet jewelry box.
Confused, she opened the jewelry box. A silver necklace with sapphires and diamonds lay in the center of the black velvet, shimmering with a quiet and profound luster.
Hermione stared at the sapphire, momentarily speechless.
Isn't this a bit too exaggerated?
"Wow—Merlin's jewelry box!" Lavender gasped, his eyes widening like pigeon eggs, exclaiming, "Oh, its colors are so beautiful, so gorgeous, absolutely wonderful!"
Hermione also thought it was beautiful—a noble and elegant beauty—it reminded her of the antique private collections in some French museums.
The necklace's design is captivating. A large, oval-shaped royal blue sapphire is set on a silver base, surrounded by sparkling diamonds radiating outwards in a snowflake pattern. It resembles a pure, deep blue lake, its edges covered with snowflakes, shimmering brilliantly in the winter sun.
"This is so gorgeous… Look at the size of that sapphire! And all those diamonds…" Lavender leaned closer, examining it closely. "I bet it's very expensive, extremely expensive…"
"I'm afraid the total value of all the gifts from everyone in the dorm wouldn't even amount to a fraction of the price of this necklace," Lavender thought very realistically—retracting her earlier smugness about the quantity of gifts—and feeling a little embarrassed.
"I guessed so," Hermione said softly, gazing at the deep, rich luster reflected in the sapphire.
In fact—she stared at the necklace—she didn't even know whether she should accept it or not.
"Try it on! Hermione, I bet you'll look absolutely radiant wearing it tonight!" Lavender didn't have as many reservations as Hermione. Without a word, she took the exquisite silver chain from the jewelry box and helped Hermione put it around her neck. Then she pulled her to the full-length mirror and exclaimed, "Look, it really suits you. The moment you put it on, your aura changes completely."
Hermione gazed at the girl in the mirror. The necklace shone brightly around her neck, exuding an air of noble elegance.
At this moment, Lavender excitedly shook the wrapping paper and looked the jewelry box over and over, trying to find some information about the giver, but unfortunately found that he had nothing to show for it.
"And a mysterious gift giver at that, not even a signature." She said in a surprised tone, looking at Hermione, hoping to find some clues on the girl's face. "Who is so generous as to send you something like this?"
"Uh—I don't know either," Hermione said慌张地, noticing that the girl's face in the mirror was getting redder and redder.
She actually knew who it was. From the moment she first saw the box, she knew the answer—besides Draco Malfoy, with his extravagant and conspicuous bag, who else would be so outrageous as to give her a high-profile antique necklace as a Christmas present?
Lavender stared at Hermione suspiciously, convinced she was hiding something. But Hermione wouldn't say another word, and smiled to herself in the mirror.
Finally, Lavender suddenly said, "I just noticed that your front teeth seem to have gotten smaller—they look quite nice now."
"Oh, yes." Hermione smiled, a hint of smugness in her voice. "It's been a while now. It was Ms. Pomfrey who suggested I do it."
Ms. Pomfrey's behavior greatly puzzled Hermione for a while. Logically speaking, dealing with the endless troubles at the school hospital should have been enough to overwhelm this conscientious female school doctor. Hermione really didn't expect that Ms. Pomfrey would have the leisure to pay attention to her dental problems, which simply made no sense.
She suddenly remembered the strange smile that Ms. Pomfrey had given her after she had made her teeth smaller—a smile that inexplicably reminded her of a distant aunt who was enthusiastic about matchmaking for young men and women—full of some inexplicable sense of accomplishment and anticipation.
At that moment, Lavender's voice pulled her back from her memories.
In short, you absolutely have to wear it tonight!
"Oh, Lavender, I'm a little unsure—"
"Don't you like it?" Lavender asked in surprise.
"Of course I like it, and I'm very grateful for such a gift, but it's too—" Hermione said hesitantly.
"The best way to express gratitude to a gift-giver is not to refuse it, but to make good use of it! To show your appreciation, isn't it?" Lavender said with genuine envy—admiring Hermione from head to toe—"It matches your dress so well tonight, it's going to look amazing."
The faithful clock in Hogwarts Tower gleamed softly in the darkness of Christmas Eve.
When the minute hand was just a few ticks away from reaching eight o'clock, the foyer in front of the auditorium was already bustling with people. Some people wanted to meet their dance partners from other colleges, so they squeezed through the crowd, looking for their partners.
"Oh, Merlin, this guy looks really good—" By the stairs in the foyer, a girl from Beauxbatons nudged her friend and said with a giggle, "He's a rare find."
Her companion turned to look and saw a tall, upright young man striding towards them, pushing through the crowd. He was wearing a well-tailored black velvet high-necked tuxedo robe, with an intricately patterned white shirt underneath, exuding an air of nobility.
The young man was quite handsome. He had a dashing and debonair air about him, and his platinum blonde hair was styled smoothly and neatly, shining brightly in the flickering candlelight.
"Looks like there are a few decent boys at Hogwarts!" the girl said arrogantly, glancing at the boy again. "Unfortunately, someone beat me to it."
The boy seemed used to such scrutinizing gazes. He walked past the Beauxbatons without batting an eye and greeted Harry and Ron over there—who had already reunited with their dance partners.
Ron clutched the frayed edge of his collar and hurriedly asked him, "Are you sure Hermione will dance with you? We're sure to win, right?" He was still thinking about the bets he'd placed with George and Fred.
"I think your bet is safe—at least you won't lose tonight." Draco wore a perfectly timed smile, unusually not angry about being used as a wager, and looked around. "Where's she? Hasn't she come down yet?"
"She was acting weird, you know, she was running back to get ready before five o'clock," Ron said. "Who needs three hours to get ready for the ball?"
"Every girl needs one!" Ginny strutted past her brother Neville Longbottom, arm in arm with him, and couldn't help but roll her eyes and snort.
She glanced at Draco out of the corner of her eye, finding nothing to criticize about her sister, and could only say sullenly, "Malfoy, open your eyes wide and watch the stairs! Put away your dead fish eyes, you'll thank me!"
So the boy, who was ordered to keep his eyes wide open, waited patiently by the stairs, his gaze fixed on the top of the stairs, waiting for the eight o'clock bell to ring, and for the culprit who had been keeping him on tenterhooks to slowly walk down the stairs.
Suddenly, she appeared—the figure that haunted my dreams suddenly appeared from the other side of the stairs.
She was a stunningly beautiful stranger—at least in the eyes of most Hogwarts students. She wore a flowing gown made of a light purple-blue fabric, her figure perfectly proportioned, her waist slender, like a radiant and serene butterfly fluttering down the stairs.
Her brown hair was smooth and glossy, styled into an elegant updo at the back of her head. She had a long, slender neck, and a dignified sapphire necklace adorned below her porcelain-white collarbone, radiating a rich and noble aura.
A moment or two of silence seemed to fall over the noisy lobby.
The clock struck eight o'clock sharp.
Time seemed to stand still at this moment, yet it also seemed to have just begun.
Harry's dance partner, Parvati, broke the silence in the hallway with a gasp, "She looks so beautiful!" People snapped out of their reverie, followed her gaze, and began to murmur amongst themselves.
"Is this girl from your college? I've never seen her before," Padma asked her sister in a dreamy voice. "She looks as noble and elegant as a princess. When did your college get a girl like that?"
"That's my roommate—Hermione Granger," Parvati said, still somewhat stunned. "My God, I didn't believe it when Lavender told me about it."
"What? She—how is that possible? I've seen that nerdy Granger, but she's so beautiful—" Padma stammered.
"Yes, it's beautiful," Draco said softly, afraid that a louder voice would shatter this beautiful dream.
Although he had seen her in his previous life—when he was so shocked he was speechless—he was still captivated by her beauty.
Then he couldn't hear what others were saying anymore; her bright, sparkling eyes had captured his entire attention.
Her shy gaze searched around until it found his eyes, which she then fixed on him.
She began to smile. She was radiant. She was like starlight shimmering on the surface of a dark lake. She walked down the stairs towards him, each step of her high heels striking his heart.
Finally, she stood before him, radiant with beauty. She exuded an alluring aura, her rosy lips parting to reveal her delicate pearly teeth.
"Have you been waiting long, Draco?" Hermione asked softly, her face slightly flushed and under the watchful eyes of everyone.
"No," Draco said softly, smiling absently. "I just arrived too. Just in time."
Damn it, he wanted to kiss her again. He always wanted to kiss her.
He wanted to kiss her fiercely, right in front of everyone, in front of the stunned Harry and Ron, and in front of Krum, who was looking at him with amazement not far away, in this bustling and noisy foyer, until he made her go limp in his arms and gasp for breath.
But he held back. Reason told him he couldn't ruin such an important moment for her.
She should not be treated casually by anyone, nor should she be treated as a plaything to be mocked and scorned in public.
She is beautiful, precious, and inviolable.
She deserves to be treated like a precious gem, and to earn everyone's respect and admiration.
Draco gave her an approving look, restrainedly extended his arm so she could place her slightly trembling hand on it, and then politely led her slowly toward the entrance of the hall.
At this moment, the whispering crowd confirmed with astonishment the identity of the strikingly beautiful young woman—Hermione Granger.
No one dared to question whether Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were a good match anymore. They seemed like a match made in heaven, equally elegant and noble, radiating a captivating brilliance.
The girls who had previously slandered Hermione for using love potions now cast envious glances at her. The boys nearby gasped and gasped, looking her up and down with disbelief.
Hermione pretended not to notice the stares. She turned her head slightly to peek at her dance partner, her lips moving as she whispered, "How...did I do today?"
"So beautiful—" Draco lowered his eyes, his gaze gently caressing her pink, misty cheeks, and murmured to her, "Very beautiful."
So she held her head high and smiled proudly. No longer caring about other people's gazes and gossip, she walked with him gracefully through the crowd to the entrance of the auditorium.
Four champions stood waiting at the entrance. Harry and his Gryffindor dance partner stood at the end of the line, followed by Cedric Diggory and Ravenclaw Seeker Cho Chang. Then, they walked past the gloomy-faced Krum, and Draco proudly observed that Hermione's radiance eclipsed Krum's Ravenclaw partner.
"Now no one will think that Krum gave up inviting Hermione, right?" He widened his smile, thinking smugly.
The much-anticipated choice of Fleur Delacour's dance partner was finally revealed at this moment—a result that broke the hearts of almost all the boys at Hogwarts—she did not choose any of the boys who had invited her to dance.
To everyone's surprise, the stunningly beautiful woman, dressed in a silver-grey satin robe, was arm in arm with a handsome, elegant, tall, and slender wizard with graceful black hair and striking grey eyes. He was Sirius Black, the substitute instructor for Defense Against the Dark Arts.
He stood casually at the door, dressed in a long black velvet robe, and turned back with a grin to greet Draco as he passed by. In that instant, Draco seemed to hear the sound of most of the girls in the school breaking their hearts.
Fleur and Sirius were the true winning formula, captivating the hearts of all the Hogwarts students and bringing tears to the eyes of both boys and girls. This made Draco and Hermione's pairing seem less unusual.
"Did you see Harry's expression?" Draco said to Hermione with a smile, trying to ease her tension. "When he saw Sirius's dance partner?"
"I bet his mouth could have swallowed a dragon egg," Hermione said, her eyes sparkling. "And Ron, he looked like he'd been struck by lightning."
"That's right." He was pleased to see that she was less nervous and suggested, "Let's go into the hall and find a seat."
The auditorium was exquisitely decorated. The walls were covered with shimmering silver frost, the ceiling was a starry night sky, and hundreds of mistletoe twigs and ivy wreaths hung from it. One hundred small tables covered the space where four long dining tables had originally been placed.
They sat down at a table near the head table, announcing their desired dishes to the gleaming empty plates. Hermione hurriedly ordered some food, having no idea what the Hungarian beef stew that suddenly appeared on her plate tasted like; Draco had been staring at her the entire time, giving her no chance to catch her breath.
This gave her a subtle illusion—that she was the center of his universe. His gaze was tracing her, igniting her, scorching her, making her ready to undergo a carbon fusion reaction at any moment, turning her into a pile of magnificent and bright debris.
That look in his eyes was too much. And he was so eye-catching today. He was like a beautiful young man straight out of a portrait of Dorian Gray, his jade-like face enough to attract the admiring gaze of any girl. Under the starlight on the ceiling, the sharp lines of his face radiated a warm and gentle light, enough to make any girl forget what "reason" was.
Hermione was equally irrational tonight. If those perfect lips were to speak and ask her to do something, no matter how outrageous the request, she would probably agree without hesitation.
"The necklace suits you well." Draco's gaze lingered on the skin of her neck. In her third year, she wore a delicate gold chain of the Time-Turner around her neck; it was beautiful, but it didn't look particularly elegant.
How can gold be considered noble? Silver certainly looks more noble. He thought arrogantly.
A girl like Hermione Granger, who exudes arrogance, deserves to wear something more sophisticated; otherwise, it would be a waste of her beautiful collarbones.
So when he saw the silver necklace in the shop window, he instinctively felt it would suit her perfectly. Besides, sapphire is the birthstone for September; she, born in September, would probably like it, right?
"I really like it," Hermione said, feeling her neck getting hot from his gaze. "But—is it too expensive?"
"Take it. I don't think anyone is more suited to wear it than you." Draco's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "It matches the color of your dress, doesn't it?"
"Uh—yes. But how did you know I would wear this color dress?" she asked, puzzled.
"Just a guess," Draco said guiltily. Hermione's question was too sensitive. Was he supposed to tell her that he already knew what she would wear?
He quickly changed the subject, trying to cover up her suspicious look, "I have to tell you, this has been inscribed with many defensive spells. Wearing it can protect you from many minor curses..."
"Like that ring?" she asked curiously.
"That's right, it's even more powerful than the ring…" Draco launched into a long-winded explanation, talking incessantly about the defensive spell for about half an hour, successfully diverting her attention.
After the dinner, Professor Dumbledore waved his wand, moving the tables to the wall and leaving an empty space in the middle. The eccentric sisters, amidst the expectant gazes of the crowd, rushed onto the stage, where they were met with thunderous applause.
A moment later, music began. Four warriors took the lead in dancing.
Draco watched as Sirius led Fleur Delacour briskly into the center of the dance floor, dancing with her graceful and composed movements, drawing applause and cheers from the professors' seats.
Immediately afterwards, the surrounding crowd slowly surged toward the dance floor.
"Want to dance?" Draco smiled at the girl standing next to him.
"I might even step on your foot." Hermione looked at him with feigned composure, unaware that her eyes betrayed her—a rare hint of nervousness flickered in her chocolate-colored pupils.
"It's okay, relax." To the slow, elegant melody, he leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear, "Clear your mind and give your body to me."
The scent of cedarwood brushed against her ears and cheeks, sending a jolt through her mind.
"Give yourself to him." These words were both embarrassing and suggestive. Her long dress was thin and sheer, which should have made her feel cold, but now, his words aroused a surge of heat throughout her body.
But his hands were hotter than her body. Before she could think, he had already taken her hand and slid her onto the dance floor, his other hand firmly resting on her body, the burning heat penetrating through the thin fabric of her clothes.
The boy gently took her hand, handling it with the care of a rare treasure. In their gaze, she noticed a brightness in his eyes. It wasn't a cold indifference, nor the stillness of a lake, but rather a clear, bright luster, like the sky after a rainstorm.
She was drawn to his eyes. Like any girl blinded by beauty, in the shimmering hall, amidst the dreamy, bubbly atmosphere, she was held in the hands of her prince, firmly controlled by him, soaring above the dance floor.
Perhaps it's inappropriate to call him a prince; when he dances, he resembles a king strolling leisurely. He effortlessly guides her as she spins, moves, and leaps, these movements flowing like water through her limbs and overwhelm her mind, leaving her no time to tense up.
With him around, she no longer needed to anxiously think about her next move, as she had during countless practice sessions. He casually plucked her strings, as if he held an invisible string in his hand, guiding her to make perfect movements at every turn of the music.
She could confidently surrender her body to him. Just as he said, she was letting him do as he pleased; he even gave her a perfect lift at a crucial moment in the music, raising her so high that she could hear envious sighs from nearby girls.
At that moment, her flowing gauze skirt drew a dazzling arc in the air. With a small gasp, she subconsciously grabbed his shoulder and found that his eyes were full of smiles and his hands were tightly holding her waist.
So this is what real dancing feels like? It evokes beautiful words: soft, light, flowing, and comfortable. It's not stiff, tense, or awkward at all.
At one moment, she seemed to touch upon a perfect image, a resonance of souls and an extreme harmony of bodies. She had no time to ponder what it meant; she was busy smiling at him with excitement and delight, feeling immense joy for it all.
He was just as happy, perhaps even happier than her. This was almost the first time he had felt this happy since his rebirth—a happiness comparable to that of their kiss in the library.
No nightmares, no death, no Dark Lord, no annoying desolation everywhere.
Tonight, Draco didn't want to think about anything. Only spinning, dancing, and the slender girl in his arms.
She was the most beautiful rose of the night, smiling at him with trust. She surrendered control of her body to him, blooming joyfully in his hands.
At that moment, through the shimmering light cast by the snowflakes on the ceiling, Draco was absolutely certain that he was reflected in her star-like brown eyes.
Only him.
By convention, a pair of dance partners should only dance to one song. The same pair of partners should not dance a second song together, in order to broaden the social circles of the dance participants.
"Are you thirsty?" The first dance music had ended, and they stepped off the dance floor to rest. Draco, seeing her return to her tense state, considerately asked, "Would you like something to drink?"
"Okay, thank you." Hermione then realized that her mouth was dry and her cheeks were burning. She gently fanned herself with her hand, found a seat by the dance floor, and obediently sat down to wait for him to return.
Draco weaved through the noisy crowd of students and managed to get some orange juice. Just as he was heading back to find Hermione, through a gap in the crowd, he spotted the ever-present Viktor Krum bowing to Hermione, seemingly inviting her to dance.
Hermione looked around anxiously but didn't see Draco. Just then, Krum said something to her, and she nodded uneasily, following him into the dance floor.
Draco couldn't quite describe his feelings. He placed the two ridiculous paper cups on the table beside him, taking up an empty seat in the corner. The auditorium was sweltering, and he irritably took off his tuxedo robe and tossed it aside, loosening his bow tie—for some reason, he felt extremely uncomfortable, his throat tight.
After a while, he suddenly realized that Harry, looking utterly dejected, and Ron, looking pale and sickly, were sitting next to him.
Harry hadn't even noticed Draco. His dance partner was nowhere to be seen, but he didn't care much; he was staring intently at a certain spot in the crowd. Draco followed his gaze and saw Cho Chang, Ravenclaw's Seeker.
Draco vaguely remembered that in his past life, Harry seemed to have had a relationship with Cho Chang during his fifth year. The reason it was so memorable was that he had caught up with Cho Chang's best friend Marietta and learned about the DA's secret gathering place—the Room of Requirement—through her.
So, Harry had already developed feelings for Cho Chang so early on? Draco felt a pang of genuine sympathy for Harry. Worse still, he found himself able to empathize with Harry's dejected state.
Ron did spot Draco. He gave Draco a lazy greeting, showing no interest in going to the dance floor. He was still agonizing over his crimson lace robe, which, in Draco's eyes, looked like something from the bottom of a medieval witch's wardrobe.
Ron's dance partner seemed quite unhappy. "Are you going to ask me to dance or not?" Padma asked him, rolling her eyes.
"No." Ron frowned, fiddling with the collars and cuffs, which seemed to have been messed up by some kind of cutting spell, their edges frayed. Padma quickly followed a polite Durmstrang boy who had invited her to dance.
Ron sighed, finally giving up on the idea of "saving the robe." He looked at the dancing crowd in the distance and said enviously, "Oh, Merlin, Hermione is dancing with Krum! I want to dance with him too..." He turned to Draco and asked, "Do you think I could ask Hermione to get me an autographed photo of Krum?"
Draco took a sip of orange juice, his expression unreadable, and winced at the sourness. He didn't respond to Ron's words, but stared intently at Hermione. The feeling of holding her hand still lingered in his hand, but now her hand belonged to someone else.
This realization made his stomach churn.
Krum had better keep his hands to himself! If he dared to do anything even slightly improper, he'd teach him a lesson! He gritted his teeth and crumpled the empty paper cup into an indeterminate shape.
As the music ended, Viktor Krum finally released his girl. That damn Durmstrang warrior—his eyes defiantly swept across the crowd, meeting Draco's gaze.
His eyes were clearly filled with competition, pride, and a determination to win.
That bastard! He did it on purpose! Krum was telling him that even if Hermione wasn't his dance partner, he could still dance with her!
Draco could no longer bear such humiliation.
Krum has completely ruined this beautiful night!
He stood up abruptly and walked out of the auditorium, determined to leave this damn, noisy, and awful mess