novelraw Chapter 113: Competition Between Schools
Chapter 113: Competition Between Schools
Krum's footsteps were drawing near.
On the day the Triwizard Tournament announcement was posted in the Entrance Hall, Draco's inexplicable irritability reached its peak.
"Representatives from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive at 6 p.m. on Friday, October 30th. Afternoon classes will end half an hour early. Students are requested to return their bags and books to their dormitories and gather in front of the castle to welcome our guests before attending the Welcome Feast."
Draco glanced at the notice board and walked away, looking uneasy.
*Hermione Granger, that oblivious girl!* Draco thought with a grim face.
When had she become such a passionate enthusiast who knew everything about Quidditch?
A Seeker? By Merlin, it was pretty clear. She was probably still hung up on Krum from the Quidditch World Cup! Draco still remembered all the praise she'd sung for him.
He had to think of something; he couldn't just sit idly by. He listlessly prepared the antidote Professor Snape had requested, almost mistaking sopophorous beans for mistletoe berries.
"Wait!" Hermione grabbed his hand as he was about to throw the contents into the cauldron. "Draco, don't put it in!"
"What?" he said absentmindedly, then grabbed her hand in return. The sopophorous beans rolled down between their hands and scattered all over the floor.
"These aren't mistletoe berries, even though they look a bit alike!" Hermione tried to crouch down and pick up the sopophorous beans, but found it difficult to achieve her goal—he stubbornly held onto her hand.
Seemingly unaware, he held her hand, stared down at the few shriveled, pearly-grey beans on the ground for a long time, and murmured, "Yes, you're right—these are sopophorous beans. They're much larger than mistletoe berries."
"That's right. How could you make such a silly mistake? Are you all right? You've seemed a bit listless lately. Haven't you been getting enough sleep?" Hermione stared at him and noticed a disturbingly dazed look on his face.
"Maybe." Draco raised his eyes and glanced at her furtively.
Today, she'd tied her hair up again with a clip or something similar, revealing a beautiful neck and gentle profile. Only a few stray strands of hair swayed near her ears, tickling his heart.
Hermione flushed. She whispered a reminder, "You—you're still holding my hand."
"Oh, yes, that's right." He smiled at her absentmindedly, hurriedly let go, and went to fetch the mistletoe berries.
"Actually, I'll do it." She looked at him uneasily and softened her voice. "Draco, could you go rinse the beaker and measuring cylinder? I—I think the water's a little cold."
"Of course, of course." He muttered as he turned around, clattering the utensils, making a loud noise. "You shouldn't touch the water—it's too cold."
"Is this just my imagination?" Ron at the next table said whilst rummaging through flobberworm mucus. "I always feel like Draco acts a bit like an idiot when he's around Hermione."
"No, it's not an illusion," Harry said with a shrug. "I've known for a while now. They both do."
Hermione Granger, the "oblivious girl" that Draco Malfoy often thought about, had recently developed a new hobby of sighing like a lovesick fool in the Gryffindor common room.
Hermione was struggling with one thing: what exactly was Draco doing wrong?
She unconsciously stroked Crookshanks in her lap, making his fur even more disheveled.
Finally, Crookshanks, unable to bear the indignity any longer, decided to run away. With a kick of his hind legs, he left Hermione's lap and turned to the red-haired girl beside her—Ginny Weasley.
"What happened, Hermione? I rarely see you sigh like that." Ginny stroked Crookshanks affectionately and whispered to Hermione. "You usually only sigh like that because of that Slytherin boy."
"That's right. I really don't understand him." Hermione unconsciously started scribbling on fresh parchment with a quill. "He's been really out of sorts lately. He always acts like he doesn't know what's going on—suddenly happy, suddenly unhappy, and he talks strangely. He's always daydreaming in class, and he almost turned the antidote into a cauldron of poison."
"Are you talking about Draco Malfoy?" Ginny said in surprise. "Isn't he known for his emotional stability? I heard he was very calm even when he was nearly drowned by Professor Moody."
"Yes, he remained quite calm both before and afterward." Hermione's voice held a sharp edge.
She felt a surge of anger when she thought about it. It seemed she was the only one who'd reacted most strongly to this matter, even more than the person involved.
He'd acted as if it was "no big deal," and even turned to comfort her—which only made her angrier.
Didn't he hate risk? How could he be so careless about his own life?
"It's strange he didn't complain to his father. Lucius Malfoy would never miss an opportunity to make trouble," Ginny said dismissively, curling her lip.
"I asked him. He said he thought there was a better solution. Apparently, he made some kind of deal with the professors, and Professor Moody is no longer bothering him," Hermione said thoughtfully.
"That's typical Slytherin." Ginny shrugged. "We have Potions with the Slytherins too—I've heard about their methods. Slytherins will stop at nothing to achieve their goals, sometimes even at their own expense."
"Don't say that about him. He's not like that. I dare say he's suffered far more in this than people can imagine. He—he hasn't been to the Black Lake much lately, which used to be his favourite place to relax." Hermione sighed again. "I reckon he might be a little afraid of water now."
"Nonsense! I think you're just overthinking it. Slytherin's dormitory is at the bottom of the Black Lake, isn't it? He still goes back to his dorm to sleep every night, doesn't he?" Ginny said.
Hermione didn't speak, her mind filled with his recent listless appearance—always looking sleep-deprived.
Her heart suddenly leaped into her throat. Was he not sleeping soundly in his room at the bottom of the Black Lake?
Ginny, seeing her lost in thought, narrowed her eyes and said warily, "Hermione, kindness is a good thing. But I have to remind you—you'd better be careful with your misplaced compassion, lest you be fooled by his sweet talk. Sometimes I feel like he's always playing the victim with you."
"How can you say that?" Hermione said. "He's always been very gentle and friendly to me. It wasn't playing the victim or deceiving me."
"Oh, Hermione, I admit he's quite friendly to you, even gentle at times." Ginny recalled the silhouette of the forehead kiss in the tent and still felt she hadn't seen it wrong.
She paused, then said bluntly, "But I don't think that's his true nature. Most people wouldn't think he's gentle—they'd just think he's intimidating. Do you think those Slytherins listen to him so much because he's gentle? Slytherins only respect the strong; whoever can beat them down, they'll listen to."
"He can be quite strong-willed at times, even a bit rebellious. Yes, the Slytherins have an inexplicable respect for him, and I've never understood why." Hermione rested her head on her hand, pondering him. "But he's always been very polite to me."
She'd hit him—the punch was still vivid in her mind—but he'd never laid a finger on her.
"I think you can't judge a person just by how they act in front of you; you also have to look at how they act toward the people around them. Other people's opinions are also very important," Ginny reminded her.
She couldn't help but recall the rumors that circulated from Slytherin, then through Hufflepuff, and finally reached Gryffindor—Draco Malfoy was known to hurl hexes at Slytherins, sparing no one, not even the girls.
"If he's cold and ruthless to his friends in the same House or his childhood friends, how can you expect him to be soft-hearted?" Ginny said meaningfully, trying to bring her best friend, who was hopelessly obsessed with Malfoy, to her senses.
Hermione glanced at her but remained silent.
She didn't yet understand what Ginny was worried about, but she knew Ginny cared about her.
But Ginny didn't understand, and neither did those people. They hadn't experienced what she and he had gone through.
Draco had nothing to do with the word "ruthless"—he was just too good at hiding it.
He was accustomed to showing others his hard shell, hiding his softness, vulnerability, and helplessness.
*Yes, perhaps he's hiding some secret—which is why he's been so absent-minded lately.* Hermione stared blankly at the flickering fire in the fireplace, lost in deep thought.
Hermione Granger was probably the only girl focused on exploring her "best friend from school" and not interested in the "visiting students."
Over the next week, more and more Hogwarts students awoke from mountains of homework and began talking about the Triwizard Tournament again.
The castle was undergoing a thorough cleaning; the suits of armour gleamed, and the portraits grinned, complaining about the newly exposed pink flesh on their faces.
Mr. Filch nervously checked all the students' shoes to make sure they were clean, and Blaise and Pansy would spend about three hours a day in the common room, excitedly discussing who would compete to be the Hogwarts champion, what the Tournament would consist of, and who the visiting students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would be.
On October 30th, around six o'clock in the evening, twelve winged horses pulled a huge powder-blue carriage toward Hogwarts; then a large ship appeared out of nowhere from the Black Lake.
At the Welcome Feast, Professor Dumbledore, who'd been absent from Hogwarts for some time, finally appeared. With his genial introductions, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang's students appeared one by one in the Great Hall.
The girls from Beauxbatons attracted the attention of most of the boys, especially Fleur Delacour, whose Veela heritage fascinated many; on the other hand, Viktor Krum from Durmstrang made most of the girls in the room forget how to breathe normally.
At eighteen, Krum was still as swarthy and thin as when he'd appeared at the World Cup, with sallow skin, a large hooked nose, and two thick eyebrows, looking like a huge eagle.
His movements on the ground weren't as fluid and natural as when he was in the air. If you looked closely, you could even see his legs were slightly bow-legged and his shoulders were noticeably hunched forward. Yet he still received the most enthusiastic applause from the students.
Just like in his previous life, Krum sat at the Slytherin table, giving the Slytherin students a sullen smile.
When an international Quidditch star—who happened to be your idol—sat next to you and smiled at you, it was hard not to return a polite smile; however, when he was also your romantic rival, you couldn't bring yourself to smile at him.
Draco could only nod stiffly to Krum, his expression a half-smile, thinking to himself: *Draco Malfoy, you're really pathetic.*
After exchanging a few polite words with Krum, Draco unconsciously glanced at the Gryffindor table.
Ron was craning his neck, staring longingly at the Ravenclaw table where the Beauxbatons students were sitting, as was Harry. Hermione, on the other hand, was fixated on the Slytherin table, just like any other Hogwarts girl swooning over her crush, staring intently at Krum, who was sitting next to him.
Draco suddenly felt the French onion soup in his spoon wasn't very fragrant, and even had a slightly sour taste.
*That oblivious girl! I wonder if she's like Pansy's infatuated friends, fumbling around for a quill to get Krum's autograph?* he thought irritably, pursing his lips.
After a hearty meal, Dumbledore, along with Barty Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, announced the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament.
Barty Crouch looked somewhat haggard, perhaps because his scandal had been featured on the front page of the *Daily Prophet* for a week straight.
As for Ludo Bagman, he was as energetic as ever, waving to the students who were clapping enthusiastically, and appeared very approachable.
"...The impartial selector of the champions is the Goblet of Fire." After giving his long speech, Professor Dumbledore took out a wooden goblet with blue-white flames flickering from a large jewel-encrusted casket.
"...Once the Goblet of Fire is placed in the Entrance Hall, I will draw an Age Line around it...Once a champion is chosen by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the Tournament through to the end..." Professor Dumbledore continued.
"The age limit!" As Draco walked out of the Great Hall and through the Entrance Hall, he heard Fred excitedly tell Lee Jordan, "They'll definitely be fooled by an Ageing Potion..."
"I hope you'll think this through again. It's definitely not that simple…" Draco said to George. But clearly, this had little effect.
"We know. Your girlfriend said the same thing," George said confidently, his tone impatient. "You two are practically identical in this respect—equally boring. However, we'll take a gamble…"
"She's not—" Draco's face flushed slightly, and a bubble of happiness suddenly rose in his heart. "Never mind, whatever."
He didn't try to persuade the Weasley twins again, fearing they might say something even more outrageous. Nor did he immediately return to the Slytherin common room; instead, he went up the stairs directly to Professor Dumbledore's office.
"Draco, what brings you rushing to the Headmaster's office on my very first day back at Hogwarts?" Professor Dumbledore was feeding the phoenix named Fawkes when he turned to Draco and said with a smile.
"Of course, it's not to criticize your choice of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor..." Draco said with a forced smile.
"I've heard about it," Dumbledore said kindly to him. "I've spoken with Professor Moody, and he's assured me he will never do anything inappropriate to you in class again."
"Perhaps you should apologize to Professor Snape. As far as I know, Professor Moody has been trying to break into his office and harass him…" Draco's expression hardened slightly.
Professor Dumbledore said gently, "He does have some prejudice against Professor Snape… Listen, he was once an overly cautious Auror, and that attitude might have affected some innocent people. But ultimately, he's experienced, decisive, and acts without hesitation. No one is more suitable to be the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at this moment…"
"Isn't there anyone more suitable than him to keep an eye on Harry right now?" Draco said incisively.
Dumbledore smiled slightly. "You're very perceptive."
"Actually, the appointment and removal of professors isn't the main point I'm here to discuss. I've come because I've made a new discovery." Draco was tired of the topic, so he handed him the book with pictures of phoenixes and bones.
A flicker of surprise crossed Professor Dumbledore's eyes. He took the book and began perusing it carefully. After a long pause, he slowly said, "I understand what you mean. I've heard a little about this method myself. So, you think he might use this method? That means he would go—"
"The Gaunt shack—I think he'll eventually go and exhume his father's remains—there's a graveyard nearby, isn't there?" Draco said calmly.
According to Lucius's account from his previous life, the Dark Lord had been reborn in a graveyard. Draco had long wanted to remind Dumbledore of this, but he'd lacked any evidence to tell him in a logical, unsuspicious way; Hermione's method had saved him considerable trouble explaining.
"That's one possibility," Dumbledore mused. "Once the results of the Goblet of Fire are announced, I might visit Little Hangleton to investigate."
"This brings up another issue. I think the Goblet of Fire's protective measures aren't strong enough. Someone might be able to circumvent them," Draco said hesitantly.
"Who gave you this idea?" Dumbledore looked up at him, a hint of scrutiny in his eyes.
Draco, of course, couldn't presume to know someone would put Harry's name into the Goblet of Fire.
He could only scrape together some known, dubious facts to bolster his argument. "Harry's scar hurt during the summer holidays, and he had that strange dream, which I believe he probably told you about as well. The Triwizard Tournament is always dangerous, and people have died in it historically. If someone wanted to harm Harry, they might sabotage it—by staging an accident or something."
"Harry didn't tell me any of this. But I heard it from someone else," Professor Dumbledore said calmly. Draco knew "someone else" was most likely Sirius Black.
"Then you know he's not safe—"
"Don't worry. The age restriction on this wand isn't so easy to overcome." Dumbledore smiled and stroked the Elder Wand in his hand, seemingly very confident.
"Perhaps someone has infiltrated Hogwarts," Draco couldn't help but remind Dumbledore again. "Karkaroff is—"
"Draco, I think you're being a little too anxious. I know you're worried about Harry, so I'll let you in on this: the school is under tight surveillance, and we've increased security. Hogwarts isn't as lax as you might think—from the portraits in the castle to the staff, from the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest to the merpeople in the Black Lake—many eyes are watching Harry closely. There won't be any more mad Animagi popping out of nowhere, swaggering into Hogwarts, and causing trouble," Dumbledore said casually.
Draco was slightly surprised upon hearing this. He looked up at Dumbledore and noticed that in the portraits behind him, the headmasters were all nodding silently.
"I wanted to tell you something else. My research on Horcruxes has made some additional progress—something I've been busy with all summer. If you're interested, I'd be happy to share it with you when I return from Little Hangleton." Dumbledore smiled and winked at him, giving him the hint to leave. "Now, go do what a fourteen-year-old boy should do—make some friends among your international peers."
*Cultivating friendship?* In Draco's view, that was nothing but high-sounding rhetoric.
Just like at the Quidditch World Cup, people talked about fostering friendship, but didn't the opponents still fight fiercely and end up bruised?
Besides, would Madame Maxime or Headmaster Karkaroff share the same thoughts as Dumbledore?
Wasn't the essence of the Triwizard Tournament a competition between schools? Otherwise, why not turn it into a grand celebration for the three schools instead of a competitive event full of crises and challenges? Draco silently rolled his eyes, bowed to the naive-sounding Headmaster, and walked out of the Headmaster's office with mixed feelings, sighing.
He was both surprised and worried. He was surprised he hadn't realized the extensive security measures in the castle; he was worried Professor Dumbledore might be too naive and overconfident.
Were there really no problems with the rules of the Triwizard Tournament or the safety of the Goblet of Fire?
On Saturday morning, when Draco and Hermione walked into the Entrance Hall one after the other, they saw Professor Dumbledore wielding his Elder Wand with practiced ease, drawing a golden Age Line around the Goblet of Fire.
A thin, ten-foot-radius line seemed to be the surest guarantee of Hogwarts students' safety.
Draco didn't entirely trust this line. He spent almost all his time near the Goblet of Fire. He leaned against an empty bench near the Goblet, staring at it through the crowd. He adopted a lazy, aristocratic air, but his eyes were very alert.
Hermione, who was sitting next to him studying a Charms book, was puzzled by his behaviour. She glanced up at him between flipping pages. "I've never seen you so interested in anything before... so persistent in staying nearby... You're not thinking of doing what George and Fred did—secretly slipping your name in there, are you?"
"No, not at all. I have no interest in dying," Draco said quickly. "I'm just curious who will enter."
"All right." Hermione studied his expression suspiciously. "Draco, have you been sleeping poorly lately? I see you have dark circles under your eyes."
"Oh, it's probably the lighting," he said awkwardly after a moment of surprise.
Hermione shook her head, looking helpless, and continued reading the next page of her book.
Draco wasn't the only one curious about the Goblet of Fire.
The area around the Age Line was always crowded with students—almost all of whom found it incredibly fascinating—from all four Houses. They stood haphazardly together, craning their necks and watching with great enthusiasm as older students passed through the Age Line to throw their names in, trying to predict "who will become the champion."
Now, those who'd tried to skirt the rules had learned the hard way about the power of that age restriction.
George and Fred were thrown outside the golden circle, long white beards sprouting from their chins. Amidst the laughter of the onlookers, Hermione said helplessly, "I told them this was unreliable."
"Yes, they only needed to ask around a little to find out that Fawcett of Ravenclaw and Summers of Hufflepuff had both gone to the hospital wing for the same reason." Draco smiled somewhat maliciously. "I reckon they just wanted to find an opportunity to see what each other would look like with white beards."
Hermione chuckled. She put down her book for a moment and followed Draco's gaze into the crowd.
"Cedric's done it!" A group of Hufflepuff students were shouting.
"Warrington put his in first thing this morning!" That was Pansy Parkinson and her gaggle of friends.
"Angelina Johnson's in too!" Seamus Finnigan, the Gryffindor cauldron-melter, shouted. "I'd rather have her than that pretty boy Diggory—" His words earned him angry glares from the Hufflepuff students.
"I don't know why people are so fanatical," Hermione said in surprise. "I've never seen Hufflepuffs so volatile—they're usually very mild-mannered."
"Winning the Goblet of Fire for your school is a great honour. Especially for Hufflepuffs, who rarely have the chance to achieve glory and are usually relegated to the background. Whether it's the House Cup or the Quidditch Cup, it's always been a battle between Slytherin and Gryffindor," Draco said calmly. "However, I suspect even the most mild-mannered students yearn to bring honour to their House. All things considered, among the seventeen-year-olds from all the Houses, Cedric Diggory is most likely to become champion, and they certainly cherish this opportunity."
"You actually think highly of him?" Hermione asked. "I thought you'd support someone from your House."
"Of course I'll support our House's people—until the Goblet of Fire makes its decision," Draco said quietly. "I don't know Diggory very well. But once a champion is chosen, the whole school will support them, because this is no longer a battle between Houses, but a contest between schools."
"I see you're looking at the bigger picture, rather than getting stuck in the immediate frame," Hermione said admiringly, "whilst others haven't even realized it yet."
"They'll realize it soon enough—" Draco said calmly, "once they see how united students are at other schools."
Right now, the girls of Beauxbatons were queuing up, tossing their names into the Goblet of Fire one by one, causing a stir among the boys watching. When Fleur Delacour tossed her name in, Ron, who was standing not far in front of Draco, even let out a strangled sound, which Harry quietly stopped him from repeating.
"Wait, why does it have to be supporting him and not her?" Hermione snapped out of her daze and glared at him.
"Oh, come on, Hermione, can you not take this so seriously?" Ron, who was passing by, said impatiently, and squeezed into the crowd to find Harry, who was watching the commotion.
Hermione kept a straight face, ignoring Ron's words, and just looked at Draco to see how he'd react.
"Well, once a champion is chosen, all the students at Hogwarts must support them," Draco glanced at her, carefully emphasizing his words, "whether it's him or her."
"That's more like it." Hermione nodded in satisfaction, intending to lower her head and continue reading.
At that moment, amidst a commotion, Durmstrang's students arrived in an orderly fashion. Viktor Krum was the first to throw his name into the Goblet of Fire, eliciting screams from the girls.
"Who's making such a racket?" Hermione said impatiently, looking up to see what was happening.
Just then, Krum finished entering his name, and his gaze seemed to be sweeping over the bench where Draco was sitting.
"Hermione, please look at my dark circles," Draco said quickly. "I just remembered I did have insomnia last night. You have to look and see if they're too obvious."
"All right." She immediately gave up looking at the Goblet of Fire and turned her head to examine his eyes—she'd wanted to get closer and examine them for ages—without having any chance to make eye contact with Krum.
"They're quite obvious. Do you want to ask Madam Pomfrey for something to apply? Or, can you tell me why you have insomnia?" she said, troubled, hesitating whether to ask him about his "fear of water."
"Yes, why can't I sleep..." He murmured, repeating Hermione's question, watching Krum's departing figure without giving her a direct answer.
He continued to lean lazily against the bench, giving the worried girl a slight smile, his expression as smug as Crookshanks who'd hidden away a ball of wool.