novelraw Chapter 103: Jealousy Ignites at the Stadium
Chapter 103: Jealousy Ignites at the Stadium
The lights in the stands were dimmed, and all the light and attention were focused on the centre of the pitch—the team mascot's performance had officially begun.
The Veela's dance electrified the atmosphere in the boxes and stands, and almost all the male creatures at that moment degenerated into showy gorillas.
Hermione Granger could hardly believe her eyes. Harry was trying to put one leg up against the wall of the box, while Ron seemed to be standing on his seat, poised to dive from a diving board.
"What are they doing?" Hermione asked in surprise. She gazed at the beautiful creatures in the sky above the pitch. "Is it because of the Veela?"
"That's right. They're magical creatures with human-like appearances, often appearing as young, beautiful women," Ginny said, pursing her lips. Hermione detected a hint of disdain in her tone. "They possess an innate charm ability, especially when they dance—you'll find that almost no man can resist their allure."
Hermione looked at the Veela with surprise and doubt. They had light golden hair and skin as white as moonlight, like fairies.
She suddenly wanted to know what foolish thing the boy behind her would do. Just now, when he'd gone upstairs, he'd seemed so calm and indifferent, as if nothing mattered to him.
Now? Faced with the allure of such beautiful Veela, would his gaze also become as uncontrollable, infatuated, and fanatical as Harry and Ron's right now? Hermione couldn't help but wonder.
Hermione was starting to lose control. As the atmosphere grew more heated, the idea gradually fermented into a tremendous temptation, and she couldn't ignore it.
Even the Ministry of Magic officials admitted defeat. They didn't behave any better than the ordinary wizards. Instead, they too succumbed to their own dazed state, making embarrassing noises or performing strange actions.
She'd originally decided not to look back at him. However, at this moment, if she glanced at him secretly, he shouldn't notice, right? Right now, all the wizards should be in a state of chaos, shouldn't they?
She finally couldn't resist any longer. With a sense of curiosity, she furtively turned her head, only to suddenly meet a pair of eyes that were fixed on her, still calm, indifferent, and restrained.
Those grey eyes flashed with amusement at her, as if to say: I've caught you.
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of panic washing over her. She abruptly turned back, quickly joining Ginny to rescue Harry and Ron from their foolish antics, as if keeping busy would somehow cover up the fact that she'd been spying on him.
"Oh dear, how could you do this!" she said loudly to the two silly boys, her face flushed.
Draco, how did he do that? she wondered in astonishment.
However, she couldn't possibly turn back and ask him. She'd just embarrassed herself enough—he'd caught her spying on him. Straightening up again, Hermione felt a burning sensation on the back of her head.
Draco was finally satisfied. After all, she'd watched him, especially when the Veela came on stage, as if she wanted to find some leverage against him.
What a wicked girl! He had no doubt that she'd wanted to see his reaction.
She was destined to be disappointed. He stared at the back of her head, which remained motionless, and his mood suddenly improved. He smiled slightly.
Next, the leprechauns' gold brought another wave of surprise and excitement to the people in the boxes and stands. After the mascots' performance, the match got down to business—the Bulgarian Quidditch national team took to the pitch.
The loudest cheers came from the stands when Seeker Krum entered the game.
Draco finally turned his gaze away from Hermione and looked at Viktor Krum. He was dark and thin, with sallow skin, a large hooked nose, and thick, bushy eyebrows, making him look like a very large bird of prey.
If Draco's memory hadn't deceived him, the match would end with Krum catching the Golden Snitch, but Bulgaria wouldn't win.
Draco had mixed feelings about this international Quidditch star he'd once idolized.
On one hand, Krum was exceptionally talented. As a fellow Seeker, Draco greatly admired his skills. The Wronski Feint he'd used to rescue Harry from a group of Dementors last year was something he'd learned from Krum during this World Cup.
On the other hand, Krum would be coming to Hogwarts this year to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, which would surely stir up a series of ripples in the calm Black Lake. Speaking of which, it seemed that Harry also had a lot of troubles surrounding him this year... Draco's eyes flickered, and his thoughts inevitably drifted away again.
"Ten-nil, Ireland in the lead!" Bagman roared, and the whole stadium erupted in cheers and applause, shaking the stands.
The witch before him jumped up and down with the Weasleys in the row ahead, waving her arms incessantly. Draco watched her back and couldn't help but recall his own passionate moments in the Top Box in his past life. Back then, he too had been in the same seat, cheering and shouting wildly, thrilled and excited by every brilliant goal.
However, in this life, the roaring crowd in this enormous stadium made him feel as if he were in another world. Many moments when a player scored—exactly the same as in his previous life—would leave him wondering what day it was.
He could hardly feel any excitement from the match anymore. Instead, he felt waves of weariness and emptiness.
The bustling scene created by a hundred thousand spectators didn't feel as real as the excited look on the witch's face before him.
So he spent most of his time staring at the back of her head, though he didn't catch her glancing back at him again. She seemed engrossed in watching the match through the Omnioculars.
The match was undoubtedly intense. The intense atmosphere wasn't just in the air, but also on the ground—a serious conflict erupted between the leprechauns and the Veela.
In the end, amidst the chaos and commotion, Krum was hit by a Bludger—blood streaming down his face—yet he still managed to keep pace with his opponent, Lynch, and snatch the Golden Snitch.
"Just another predictable ending," Draco thought lazily. The Irish fans erupted in cheers. Their team had won: despite Krum's capture of the Golden Snitch, Ireland held a ten-point lead over Bulgaria.
The result, "Ireland wins," left commentator Bagman somewhat bewildered and at a loss for words. He seemed about to faint as he stammered out the result.
Even seeing the same scene a second time, Draco still held Krum in high regard. Few could match his skill in catching the Snitch while wounded and out of position.
He recalled Krum's every move in the air. He flew as freely as if he were returning home, as if he hadn't used a broomstick at all—he was as light as a flag fluttering in the wind.
"He's turned Quidditch into a flowing art form," he heard nearby Ministry of Magic members exclaim.
It seemed that few wizards could resist such allure—not even Hermione, a little witch who was afraid of flying.
"He's really brave, isn't he?" Draco said, noticing her intently leaning forward to look at Krum on the pitch, his expression full of sympathy for the red-haired git. "He looks so pathetic..."
Draco's mood immediately soured. The last vestiges of joy from the Quidditch World Cup faded, and the gloom of his holiday was rekindled, settling in and weighing heavily on his mind.
He slowly hardened his expression, remembering that she'd called him "an ordinary friend from another House," and his expression grew even colder.
After the match, Draco didn't linger. He wasn't in the mood for small talk. At that moment, his heart felt like a griddle for frying steak—a small fire of jealousy ignited within him. It strangely seared him, sizzling in his mind.
"Draco, are you all right? You seem a bit listless," Narcissa asked on the way back to their tent.
"I'm a little tired," he said, standing before his tent, watching with an inscrutable expression as the crowd gradually spread from the venue to the campsite.
"We're going to a banquet to discuss some cooperative projects with the Bulgarian Minister for Magic," Lucius said. "Since you're tired, get some rest and don't wander off."
Draco nodded. He agreed verbally, but he had no desire to sleep at all.
After watching his parents leave the tent, he stood alone at the tent entrance, silently gazing outside.
The campsite gradually became very lively. Raucous singing filled the night sky, leprechauns flew overhead, waving their lanterns and cackling. The wizards supporting the Irish team sang and danced, raising their glasses in celebration, still celebrating their victory.
Amidst the deafening noise, Draco was enveloped by a strange sense of loneliness. He felt dejected tonight. He'd been tormented all day by her cold description of him as "just an ordinary friend from another House," and now he was finally on the verge of emotional collapse.
He might have been influenced by some of the wilful traits of a certain witch.
He suddenly didn't want to go back to the magnificent but desolate tent, nor did he want to lie down right now and enter a dream that was destined to be filled with fear and unease.
Perhaps he should go for a walk. Walk aimlessly. Walk without stopping at all.
However, his legs seemed to move on their own, heading straight in one direction.
When he came to his senses, he realized that he'd already walked to the edge of the woods at the end of the campsite.
In the far corner, two tents leaned precariously. The trees were silent, and the night was peaceful. Hermione, dressed in a pink short-sleeved shirt and Muggle jeans, was fiddling with a large kettle by the campfire before the tent.
The moment he saw her, the emptiness in Draco's heart was filled. However, jealousy still burned quietly.
"Isn't there even a stove in this tent?" He frowned as he looked at the campfire.
"Draco?" Hermione turned around at the sound of his voice. She saw him and smiled with some surprise. "Mr Weasley said we should respect the safety regulations for Muggles, so we started a fire outdoors."
As she spoke, she opened the lid of the kettle and glanced inside—it was completely empty. She sighed regretfully and decided to go to the other end of the area to fetch some water.
"They won't even give you water?" Draco glanced at the kettle and couldn't help but sneer.
"Why are you saying that? The Weasleys have been very kind to me..." Hermione said.
His mocking tone sounded somewhat unfamiliar, and this unfamiliarity turned her initial surprise into faint astonishment. She didn't look at him anymore, afraid of being dazzled by his shimmering platinum-blond hair, and walked out with the kettle. "We just finished the water! Ginny just spilled the last cup of hot chocolate..."
"Speaking of which, why is that red-haired brat so persistent in bothering you?" Draco followed her, his tone somewhat sharp.
"Don't call her that. She has a name—Ginny. Didn't you go with Harry to rescue her in second year?" Hermione said awkwardly. "She... is a nice person."
Aside from the fact that she always teased about Draco, Ginny was actually quite nice to her.
Draco tried to move closer to her and take the kettle to help her carry it, but she defensively stepped back.
"Oh, I can manage on my own," she said, her voice a little nervous.
This action stung Draco. He observed her expression—extremely stubborn, and with a hint of aloofness.
So he gave up and didn't persist. He followed her dejectedly, like a hungry puppy begging for food, pitiful and angry at the same time.
"You two seem like sisters. And it's only been a few days! It's unbelievable." He thought she was too quiet, so he picked up the previous topic again in an arrogant tone, trying to get her to say something—even a rebuttal would do.
"Draco, what's wrong with you? Why are you talking so sarcastically today? Who upset you?" Hermione stopped and turned to look at him, finally noticing that something was wrong with him.
He seemed a little uneasy today, even a bit neurotic. He was nothing like the calm and composed person he'd been in the stadium box, she thought, puzzled.
"Nobody upset me." Draco kicked a pebble before him, his gaze following the pebble away into the distance. He didn't dare look at her and muttered to himself.
"When I was at the Burrow, I shared a room with her, so of course we were close," Hermione said, glancing at him again and offering a rare moment of good humour.
Under the moonlight, his sharply defined profile revealed a strange melancholy, which left her somewhat at a loss and unable to get angry at his current strange behaviour.
Draco wasn't happy at all when he heard her explanation. Instead, he scoffed inwardly—she seemed to be having a great time at the Burrow.
During their conversation, they reached the centre of the campsite. The path here wasn't wide enough for them to walk side by side. Instead, they had to walk one behind the other, weaving through the gradually denser crowd.
Where there are people, there are bound to be unexpected events. Especially at a rare gathering like tonight, with countless drunkards shouting and all sorts of wizards gathered together.
In an instant, an unexpected event occurred. A drunken leprechaun rampaged before them, forcing Hermione to take a step back, nearly tripping over her own foot. She let out a short, sharp sound and looked as if she was about to fall backward.
When facing Hermione Granger, Draco's physical reactions were always much more honest than his brain or mouth.
He reacted quickly, catching her by the waist and shielding her back with his chest, preventing her from falling.
Hermione's heart started pounding.
She didn't know if her heart was pounding from the sudden fright or from the heat that spread from his hands to her waist. She'd suddenly fallen into his arms, and he'd held her without hesitation.
This realization dazzled her, and her inner defences crumbled.
This was their first physical contact of the day—it seemed like ages since the last time he'd held her waist—and this unexpected touch thrilled her.
She shouldn't have done this. He shouldn't have done this either. This was completely beyond her expectations.
Before she could think, she turned around in a panic to look at him, only to find him staring at her with concern in his eyes.
Too close, she thought. He was too close to her. His exquisite, sculpted features bombarded her mind, and the pleasant scent of cedarwood was subtly enveloping her.
"Thank you," she whispered, quickly turning her head to look ahead at the road, her neck stiff.
"You're welcome," he whispered in her ear. A breath from his lips sent a warm sensation down her neck, which then sent a shiver through her body.
Her trembling body naturally caught Draco's attention—his hands keenly sensed the subtle changes.
It was hard for him not to notice the change, given how thin and short her blouse was. A slight raise of her arm would reveal a smooth, slender waist. He now rested his hand on her waist without any obstruction, as if caressing a piece of vibrant, fragrant silk.
For him, the touch was also a sudden shock, and a sense of emptiness that had tormented him throughout the entire holiday was satisfied in that moment. His heart, which had been burning with jealousy, was now brimming with a spring of pleasure, no longer filled with turmoil.
"Are you cold?" he asked, swallowing hard, his voice a little hesitant.
He couldn't move his hand, reluctant to leave, yet dared not move it lightly.
"No," Hermione said briefly, her voice trembling slightly.
This direct touch made one thing clear to her. She didn't reject his direct touch. On the contrary, she felt a flutter in her heart. Then came a kind of spasmodic feeling, unfamiliar, tense, mixed with a certain anticipation.
Does this mean anything?
She felt a little dizzy. After a great internal struggle, she managed to get up from his embrace, leave his warm hands, and continue walking forward with her large kettle.
Draco continued to follow her forward, quietly exhaling and secretly clenching his right hand—the hand that had just supported her waist.
He always felt a lingering trace of her unique silky feel on that hand. It was different from the other hand that hadn't touched her. He wanted to smell that hand, and in fact, he did do so secretly. He always felt a faint scent of her lingering on his hand.
This thought, or rather this private behaviour, quickly made him blush.
Fortunately, she didn't notice. She remained silent. She also refused to make eye contact.
She walked stubbornly before him, holding the large kettle in a serious manner, still refusing to let him help her.
He couldn't understand any of her thoughts at that moment. There was no witch more difficult to understand than her.
The road ahead remained fraught with danger. There'd always be some drunkards weaving through the crowds, or overly excited, reckless fanatics.
Draco couldn't afford to be careless. He had to stay close to her, raising his arm to protect her from being bumped by the celebrating crowd, much like a puppy guarding its food.
He absolutely could not bear the thought of her being bumped into by some other drunken wizard, leprechaun, or some other species.
Even though she was incredibly stubborn and refused to accept any extra help from him, at least she didn't reject his arms around her.
Hermione's heart was boiling with turmoil. Amidst the noise and jostling, she'd occasionally be pushed into his arms, and he'd always catch her. Sometimes he'd press his chest against her, sometimes he'd grab her arm, and sometimes he'd protect her waist.
Each touch would cause her to experience spasms and tremors. On this short journey, she suddenly developed an irregular heartbeat.
The boy behind her remained silent. She didn't know what he was thinking, nor what his mindset was in protecting her.
She didn't even dare to look back at his incredibly alluring face. Yet his mere presence was enough to intoxicate her. She didn't understand his intentions. Once it was all over, once the surroundings were less crowded, he'd automatically release her, just like always.
He probably did all this out of politeness. Perhaps it was out of protectiveness toward a little sister, she thought, a lump in her throat. It was understandable that an only child might have a strong desire for siblings—didn't she also quite like her little sister Ginny?
Finally, they escaped the crowds unharmed and passed through the somewhat deserted Bulgarian tents.
Finally, they were able to maintain a normal distance between friends, instead of being as close as two dizzy, crammed crabs.
Krum's portrait on the tent remained prominent, gazing gloomily at the boy and witch passing by.
"I bet you really like Krum, don't you?" Hermione glanced up at Draco, trying to find something in common to talk about.
She had to say something to break the ice, Hermione thought. She was going mad from the barely perceptible tension in the air, and his silent, pursed-lipped expression in the moonlight was so mysterious and captivating that she couldn't look away.
She understood. She liked his touch. She liked the feel of his hands on her skin, just as she liked the sensation of her back against his chest. If she continued to think this way, it would be difficult for her to keep her distance from him.
"You like him?" His voice was as cold as the moonlight tonight, as if he didn't understand Krum's charm at all.
That shouldn't be the case. Draco was a Seeker—how could he not like tonight's most popular Seeker?
Hermione carefully chose her words, eager to break the ice with some light-hearted conversation. "He—he fought very bravely. I think he showed people the charm of Quidditch."
"You like Krum?" Draco clicked his tongue, preoccupied with confirming the matter again. He felt a slight pain in his back molars.
"Who wouldn't like him? He catches the Snitch so beautifully!" Hermione said matter-of-factly.
Draco's growing sense of joy was abruptly shattered by those words. His face darkened instantly, and he said in a sharp tone, "Oh—I didn't know you were so shallow, liking people with fame and charisma."
"What nonsense are you talking about?" Hermione was taken aback by his words. She hadn't expected him to interpret her that way, in such a malicious tone. She retorted sharply, "He's a highly skilled player—isn't it normal for people to like him? Harry and Ron like him too! You—are you implying something?"
"Dating a famous player, that's what I mean! Can you honestly say you've never thought about it?" Draco gave her a sour look, a hint of anger flashing across her rosy cheeks.
"What's wrong with you?" Hermione said irritably, finding him utterly unreasonable. "I just admire him! He's an international Quidditch star—how could he possibly have anything to do with us in real life?"
As Hermione had hoped, the ambiguous atmosphere between them was indeed broken, but it didn't make her feel any better. She'd never intended to argue with him. She just wanted to keep a safe distance and not appear too infatuated with him. But without realizing it, they were bickering like two childish fools all the way to the water collection point.
The water collection point was no longer bustling with activity as during the day. Apart from a few dark tents, it was deserted.
A secluded place perfect for arguing.
"An international Quidditch star?" Draco said curtly, launching into an aggressive interrogation, as if determined to get to the bottom of things today. "What if he crossed paths with you? What if he appeared before you and confessed his feelings? Would you go on a date with him, start a relationship, or something?"
"He's utterly unreasonable!" Hermione thought angrily. Her anger had finally been ignited by Draco Malfoy's constant taunts throughout the night.
"Yes!" she said sarcastically. "Why not? Maybe he doesn't think I'm too young, but rather that I'm a suitable person to date or even have a romantic relationship with!"
In an instant, Draco's face turned pale.
All right! Now, the answers to those deliberate avoidances and evasions were clear.
It was only natural that he'd become "just an ordinary friend from another House."
Hermione Granger—that wretched, heartless witch—had a new target: Viktor Krum.
She might have spent the entire holiday swooning over his poster.
Just thinking about the scene was enough to make his stomach churn.
What was Draco Malfoy compared to Viktor Krum? Maybe nothing at all. She hadn't seen him for a month, nor had she shown him any concern.
"Very well. Then I won't bother you any longer." He said this abruptly, took long strides, and left her behind.
"Draco!" Hermione called after him. He paused only briefly, then quickened his pace. He walked with an air of nonchalance, like the most dreadful git in the world.
He caught a glimpse of her expression from the corner of his eye: somewhat confused, and somewhat sad.
He behaved utterly rudely and ungentlemanly. Draco hated his behaviour at that moment—but if he stayed any longer, he wasn't sure he wouldn't say something even worse.
"That's enough for today." He walked back to his tent, feeling upset and depressed.
The campsite was still incredibly noisy, filled with singing and laughter that had nothing to do with him.
But gradually, the singing stopped, replaced by terrible screams. Draco snapped from his burning jealousy and realized that people were fleeing in panic.
By the light of a few still-flickering campfires, he saw people fleeing into the woods, as if avoiding something moving toward them from some part of the campsite. That thing was flashing strangely and making a sound like gunfire.
By the light of an eerie green glow, Draco saw several blurry figures floating above the campsite, and in the distance, some firelight and thick smoke, as if someone's tents were on fire. Other figures wearing masks and hoods, accompanied by mocking laughter and maniacal shouts, also appeared faintly in the distance.
Hermione! In an instant, he was terrified and turned to run back. He frantically pushed through the surging crowd, roughly shoving aside those who bumped into him with his arms.
Some people complained, but he didn't care—he only cared about her.
He was filled with remorse. How could he forget what day it was, the day he'd foolishly left her there in a fit of pique? And now, the road back seemed exceptionally long, with so many people clashing with Draco.
The air was filled with the cries of children, the screams of women, and the curses of men. Screams erupted overhead, and by the light of the flames from a few tents, Draco recognized the Muggle family from the reception area. They were hanging upside down in the air like pigs to be slaughtered, emitting terrified howls.
Draco hurried back, his heart filled with immense unease. He finally squeezed through most of the crowd and returned to the vicinity of the water collection point. A thin, pink figure was lying on the ground, struggling to get up.
He rushed over and helped her up, asking, "Are you all right?"
She looked up at him, her face smudged with dust. Her eyes were wet, and her voice trembled with tears. "What are you doing here? Didn't you... didn't you say you weren't going to talk to me anymore?"
"I'm so sorry, so sorry. I shouldn't have left you here." Draco quickly glanced at her knees and elbows, which were covered in mud. He took her arm and asked, "Can you walk? We need to get out of here right away."
"I can't move my legs," she said, sniffling. She was dressed lightly, and the night air was a bit chilly. He heard her sneeze softly.
He sighed, deftly took off his dress robes, and draped them over her shoulders. She looked at him with a pitiful expression, but didn't refuse.
"I'll carry you—get on quickly." Draco crouched down, gesturing for her to get on. She sobbed, then clung to his back, her bare arms encircling his neck.
He easily hoisted her onto his back and followed the main group deeper into the woods. She was very light, clinging to him like a feather, almost weightless. He could feel her trembling, unsure whether it was from fear or cold.
"Are you still cold?" he asked her softly, tilting his head slightly.
"No, it's very warm," she said, resting her face on his shoulder, her voice trembling with tears.
Hermione Granger was frightened. Everything had happened so suddenly. After Draco left, she was listlessly fetching water when she heard a commotion in the crowd, which grew louder and louder as it approached.
This felt very wrong. She decided to grab the kettle and hurry back. But after only a few steps, someone running hurriedly behind her bumped into her and knocked her down, sending a sharp pain through her ankle.
"I'm doomed," she thought. She had her wand, but she had no idea how to heal her ankle.
A cloud of despair enveloped her.
That bastard Draco—he was so mean to her! Did he come to her just to say something stupid to make her angry? And then leave her all alone here...?
How could she like such an unreasonable and awful boy? She struggled in the mud while despising herself in her heart.
Then her unreasonable awful boy rushed back. He looked terrified, his neatly styled hair was now a mess, completely unlike the calm and composed demeanour he'd had in the Top Box. The moment he saw her, a glimmer of joy seemed to flash in his eyes.
He transformed back into the familiar, considerate, and gentle Draco she knew, without his usual sarcasm and sharp tongue. Like a dream, he tenderly helped her up, gently carried her on his back, and led her away from the terrifying, raging fire behind them.
She rested her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and inhaled the faint, warm scent of cedar, finding peace within herself. It felt so good to be close to him again. He always made her feel safe. His robes enveloped her, concealing her vulnerability completely. This greatly comforted her troubled emotions.
His back was much stronger than when he'd carried her in second year, and his arms were even stronger than when he'd carried her a few months ago. His warm hands held her legs firmly, and he carried her for a long time, his breathing remaining steady and normal.
"Draco, what happened?" His sudden concern made her choke up, and she couldn't help but ask him, sobbing.
"Something terrible has happened. Those hooded and masked men attacked the Muggles—the campsite manager's family." Draco looked around warily.
Dark figures stumbled around them, their shouts and voices rising and falling in a tense atmosphere. Behind them, the campsite continued to rumble, occasionally emitting eerie green lights.
"How could they? That family didn't bother anyone—they're innocent..." Hermione sniffed. She felt it made no sense.
"That was done by the Death Eaters. They never reason. They take pleasure in things like that," Draco said calmly. "Those tents weren't all on fire at once. I think we need to go a little deeper, away from those explosions."
The tents weren't all on fire at once—it was a targeted attack. Draco would bet his hair that under every burning tent was a Muggle-born wizarding family. The danger facing Muggle-born Hermione was likely far more serious than it appeared.
The witch keenly sensed the unspoken meaning in his words. Her trembling hand gripped his shirt tightly, leaving many creases in the smooth fabric. She paused, then hesitated before asking softly, "Draco, were your father and mother Death Eaters?"
"My father was, my mother wasn't. But they both supported the Dark Lord." His voice was as cold as the night sky. He glanced around and decided to carry her deeper into the woods.
"Are they one of the hooded and masked men tonight?" she asked fearfully, stopping her sobs, though she didn't want to hear the answer.
"To be honest, I don't know," Draco said, rubbing his hands together in frustration.
In his past life, his parents hadn't directly told him where they'd gone. But tonight, they had an appointment with the Bulgarian Minister for Magic, who'd pretended all night that he couldn't speak English, and he guessed that Lucius and Narcissa probably hadn't had a chance to torment the Muggles yet.
More and more dark figures gathered in the woods. The rustling of bushes, the crackling of breaking branches, the faint cries of children, and the whispering of voices echoed through the trees.
At times like these, getting too close to any unfamiliar wizard was fraught with risk. Draco cautiously looked around, preparing to find a slightly quieter grove of trees to properly hide his witch.
Sensing his anxiety, Hermione wisely changed the subject. "Draco... why weren't you affected by those Veela tonight?"
"Oh, that," Draco finally smiled slightly, "I didn't even look at those Veela back then."
He'd been looking at her the whole time.
"Then why were you angry with me tonight?" Hermione asked softly. Her lips were so close to Draco's ear that he could feel her breath brushing against his cheek.
"It's nothing," he said quickly. He suddenly realized that she was only a thin shirt between him and her thinner blouse. This made many tactile sensations exceptionally clear. He could feel something soft against his back, which made his heart tremble as he moved.
"Stop lying—I know you have something on your mind. Tell me!" she said urgently, her lips seemingly brushing against his earlobe—as if the softness on his back wasn't stimulating enough.
He was so startled by her action that he almost tripped over the tree roots. The witch who'd lit the fire, oblivious to the effect she'd caused, thought his vision was blurry and quickly took out her wand from her pocket, using the narrow beam of light created by "Lumos" to illuminate the rugged path for him.
"These are all silly ideas... I'm a little bothered that you chose to go to Ron's house instead of keeping my appointment... I know it's wrong to think like this..." Draco had been holding back for ages, and could only come up with this reason to deal with her in a sullen way.
He couldn't exactly say he was angry because she liked Krum, could he? Before Krum arrived at Hogwarts as a Durmstrang student, that reason was utterly absurd and completely untenable.
In addition, his mind was now like a mess, unable to think due to certain tactile sensations.
"You silly goose! If you really care that much, invite me earlier next time—don't wait until the last minute..." Hermione whispered in his ear, both amused and annoyed.
"All right," Draco agreed, a surge of joy welling up inside him once more.
"Wait—you're just going to leave me there for such a small thing?" Hermione's tone suddenly turned unusually angry.
"I'm sorry," he said guiltily, not daring to look back at her, and just kept walking forward.
Looking back now, he also felt that he'd gone too far.
"Draco Malfoy! Never leave me standing there like that again! Never!" she whispered through gritted teeth in his ear. "It feels awful to be abandoned... I hate it!"
"All right." He answered her softly but firmly, "I promise—it will never happen again."