HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 124: Hermione's Choice of Dance Partner

A/N: This is a longer chapter than usual. Thank you all so much for your continued support—it truly means a lot. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a comment or review, and don't forget to drop some Power Stones!

On a chilly, snowy morning in mid-December, Deputy Headmistress Professor Minerva McGonagall decided to add fuel to the fire of this cold season.

As the lesson was about to end, she stood on the podium, cleared her throat, and announced to the students:

Hogwarts was about to hold a Yule Ball.

"This is a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament. The ball is only open to students in fourth year and above—but you may invite a younger student if you wish—" Professor McGonagall said, calmly surveying the class.

Hermione immediately heard a shrill, familiar laugh—it must have come from her roommate, Lavender Brown.

She glanced back at Lavender, and sure enough, it was her; her other roommate, Parvati Patil, nudged Lavender hard, struggling to hold back her laughter. Then the two girls turned to look at Harry's table.

Harry and Ron were sitting there awkwardly because Professor McGonagall had just scolded them for dueling with fake wands in class, saying their behavior was inappropriate for their age.

Oh, Harry and Ron! When would these two childish idiots grow up? Hermione shook her head, secretly glancing at the quiet boy beside her who was engrossed in his book, feeling smug—Draco would never make such a fuss, nor would he be so childish and belligerent.

He was probably the most nonchalant student in the entire classroom when it came to news of the ball. He continued studying his book with the same seriousness, as if the contents of that page were far more important than the "Yule Ball."

Wait—didn't he like balls? Hermione wondered.

Yes, he didn't seem to like joining in the fun.

He'd always been hypersensitive to crowded places and often put on a weary look.

He probably wouldn't like the noisy, crowded environment of a ball.

"Dress robes will be worn. The ball will be held in the Great Hall at eight o'clock on Christmas night and will end at midnight..." Professor McGonagall continued with a stern face, ignoring the girls' suppressed laughter, and ended her long speech with a single admonition: "Don't embarrass Hogwarts in front of students from other schools."

Hermione rested her chin on her hand with a nonchalant expression, seemingly lost in thought as Professor McGonagall's stern voice rang out. She studied the boy's expressionless, statue-like profile from the corner of her eye, and a wave of melancholy suddenly washed over her.

The tiny spark that had been igniting in her heart—which had tentatively begun because of the ball—was instantly extinguished by his indifferent expression.

She let out a sigh, determined to abandon the melancholy swirling in her mind and focus on the real world before her: she closed the book before her, tightened the half-open cap of the ink bottle, and put away the few quills.

Unbeknownst to her, her study partner wasn't actually reading—he was lost in thought.

The Yule Ball—a memory Draco would never forget.

The thought of that past life memory blooming under fireworks made him even more afraid to look up at her.

"You need to find a suitable partner... and most importantly, practice how to dance! Every girl has a graceful swan in her heart..." Professor McGonagall said, raising her voice on the podium to drown out the students' increasingly excited chatter. "Each House's Head is responsible for instructing students in dance. You can check the notices on the Entrance Hall notice board for specific dance practice times. Gryffindor's dance instruction is after this lesson, and I suggest you all attend."

My dance partner.

Draco finally raised his head and glanced expectantly at the girl beside him.

She seemed as carefree as ever, rolling up the parchment in her hands, ignoring Professor McGonagall's words and the whispers of the students around her.

Should he invite her right away—before anyone else had even noticed her?

"Hermione, you—" he said hesitantly.

"Draco, do you think Professor Snape will teach you how to dance?" she asked him suddenly in the tone of Merlin discovering a new spell, casually stuffing *Intermediate Transfiguration* into her bag.

Draco's long-awaited words were cut off by her.

"Yes, he will. It's his duty, and even if he hates it, he'll do it properly," he said softly, his fingers gripping his book tightly. "He'll teach us with a stern face—Crabbe and Goyle might even cry."

Hermione chuckled.

Her eyes were bright as she looked at him. A faint smile involuntarily crept onto his lips. His fingers fidgeted nervously beneath his book, and under her innocent gaze, he quickly lost his words and the courage to extend an invitation.

Then, as the bell rang suddenly, he watched as she stood and said cheerfully, "I expect Professor McGonagall won't frighten anyone. I have to go now—the Gryffindor dance lesson's about to start."

"Shall I help you carry your bag over?" He suddenly woke up and hurriedly tidied up the things on his desk.

"Oh, no need—I can manage on my own—I'm not a child," she said easily. "See you later, Draco."

"Er—see you later," he said. His voice was somewhat ethereal, his gaze fixed on her retreating figure.

Hermione Granger found dance instruction a disaster. The entire class was filled with the silly giggles of whispering girls and the whistling of restless boys.

Professor McGonagall taught for only ten minutes with a stern face—almost frightening her temporary dance partner Ron to tears—before asking everyone to practice freely.

The fourth-years weren't as outgoing as the older students. Most of them stood shyly outside the circle on the dance floor, watching others dance and chattering about the ball.

Hermione stood with her arms crossed, like a wooden post beside her roommate Lavender. She missed Ginny Weasley, the third-year who couldn't come to dance lessons.

Right now, Lavender was enthusiastically giving Parvati advice on how to become the Gryffindor champion's dance partner.

"First, laugh loudly whenever he passes by to get his attention; second, frequently bring up topics related to the day of the ball to make him think about 'dance partners.' For example, you can loudly discuss what to wear that day. I think that's a safe topic..." Lavender said excitedly.

"What if I accidentally attract other blokes to invite me?" Parvati said, distressed.

"That's why we should go in groups!" Lavender said with the air of someone who'd been there all along. "It'll keep those cowardly wimps from even stepping forward. The laughter of the sisterhood alone will be enough to make them blush and run away."

"What if our target doesn't dare come forward either?" Parvati said, glancing at the boys staring at her and covering her mouth with a laugh.

"So sending signals is very important! That's the third point I want to emphasize: make eye contact with your target, even greet him often, give him some encouragement," Lavender said earnestly. "If you do these things well, you won't have to worry about him not inviting you!"

"That makes considerable sense. Hermione—" Parvati said, turning her head, giggling playfully, and asking the girl beside her who couldn't help yawning, "Aren't you and Harry good friends? What do you think of these suggestions? Which one's the most useful?"

"Honestly, I don't know either," Hermione said. She recalled Harry's thunderstruck expression after Professor McGonagall's reminder—he clearly didn't enjoy "leading the opening dance as a champion"—and said dismissively, "Perhaps we should send out more signals so he can sense them."

The next day, Hermione noticed the atmosphere of the ball was getting more and more intense.

The castle was brightly decorated; the marble staircase banisters were adorned with icicles that would never melt, and the Christmas trees were hung with glittering holly and ivy, and constantly chirping golden owls. Even the suits of armor were enchanted, singing Christmas carols to anyone who passed by—which intrigued Hermione.

"Hermione, I need to talk to you," Draco said, emerging from around the corner at the end of the fourth-floor corridor—seeing her staring motionless at an empty helmet—and asking in surprise, "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I'd like to hear if it can sing a whole song," Hermione said. With her bag slung over her shoulder, she was examining a suit of armor that had been polished to a gleaming shine with interest.

The empty helmet was singing, "Oh, come, all ye faithful—"

"I suggest you stop listening," Draco said, grabbing her wrist abruptly and pulling her toward the other end of the corridor. "Let's go."

"Why?" Hermione asked, puzzled. She struggled weakly for a moment before giving up and was pulled along by him, staggering forward.

"It gets worse after that," he said. His ears turned slightly red as he hurriedly pulled her along. "They can only sing half a normal song. After that—it's just some crude and unpleasant words."

"What dreadful things could it possibly sing—it's a Christmas carol!" Hermione said, turning back in surprise to look at the empty helmet, then caught a glimpse of Peeves's wickedly grinning face.

"Look who I found! The little bookworm and the little snake!" Peeves clearly wasn't going to let them off the hook. He gleefully sang a shrill song, picking up where the abruptly stopped sound of the empty helmet had left off.

His cheerful voice boomed through the empty corridor, "That silly little bookworm, chasing after a viper! That cunning little viper, flicking its tongue to approach her! Luring her with vibrant colors, clinging to her shamelessly—"

"Er, I think I understand what you mean," Hermione said softly, her cheeks gradually flushing.

He remained silent, quickly pulling her away, attempting to lead her from this place that polluted her soul.

"Shameless, greedy little viper, why are you in such a panic? He wants to find a secluded spot to quietly swallow her whole! Lick her, bite her, paralyze her, and taste her over and over again..." Amid their hurried footsteps, Peeves's shouts became even more outrageous, and the lyrics took a more vulgar and daring turn.

"Damn Peeves!" Draco cursed inwardly, his ears burning.

In an instant, he felt as if his internal organs had been illuminated by some malicious ray, revealing every detail.

Those fabricated lyrics! Their hidden meanings were enough to plunge any teenage boy or girl into an abyss of embarrassment.

"Don't listen, Hermione—ignore the lyrics," Draco said stiffly—his temples throbbing from the lyrics—and quickly pulled her away.

"It's hard to ignore, isn't it? His voice is so loud," Hermione muttered, her face flushed.

She couldn't help noticing something. He was holding her tighter and tighter, his hand getting hotter and hotter. Her wrist felt like it was melting from the heat.

"After the lotus blooms at midnight, when the morning clouds and evening rain fall—" At this moment, Peeves jumped from the empty helmet and chased after them, singing more and more explicitly.

Draco angrily yelled at Peeves, "Enough! That's disgusting! I'm going to tell the Bloody Baron what you're doing!"

It was a well-known fact throughout Hogwarts that Peeves was afraid of the Bloody Baron. However, Peeves was afraid of the Baron himself; if someone threatened him by invoking the Baron's name, it was mostly ineffective.

Therefore, he only hesitated for two seconds before giving Draco an evil smile, opening his mouth, ready to sing even more loudly—

Draco hastily released Hermione's wrist and abruptly covered her ears from behind with both hands. Then, using this encircling position from behind, he pushed her forward.

The world was finally quiet. Hermione, her face flushed with the glow of sunset, blinked blankly. "Thank you."

He'd covered her ears well. She could only hear her own words of gratitude echoing in her head, but she couldn't hear what the mischievous ghost was singing anymore.

She was completely confused.

Why would Draco care whether she could hear the vulgarities Peeves was spouting—just out of concern for a friend? What friend would care that much? To the point of needing to cover her ears?

While Peeves was fond of spreading rumors—most of his vulgar lyrics were nonsense—there was one thing Peeves was right about.

Everything about him was alluring—irresistible—as if he were "seducing" her with every gesture.

For example, at this moment, his hands were steadily covering her ears, touching her burning cheeks; his arms and chest occasionally brushed against her back as he walked, giving her a warm feeling that made her want to get closer; the faint scent of cedarwood on him lingered at the tip of her nose, cool and unrestrained, scratching at her heart.

These subtle, elusive feelings were impossible for her to ignore.

She'd temporarily forget they were friends and, in that instant, indulge in unrealistic fantasies.

Would he like her? Would he want to do things for her that went beyond friendship?

For example, the sort of excessively sinful things Peeves mentioned—would he even want to do one or two of them to her?

Hermione felt like she might be going mad, or temporarily turning into some sort of mentally unstable bad girl, because she was thinking about whether he'd want to lick her, bite her, or swallow her whole.

Of course he wouldn't do that. She steadied herself and tried convincing herself.

He was so proper—he had absolutely nothing to do with those vulgarities.

Aside from being somewhat "tempting," he hadn't done anything to her that Peeves described as cunning, treacherous, or shameless and greedy.

This boy had such a pure and innocent face; to have any evil thought associated with him would be a desecration. Hermione thought with shame, feeling extremely guilty for having harbored any fleeting thoughts about him for even a moment.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Draco could finally no longer hear Peeves's ear-splitting songs. He lowered his hands from her ears, a suspicious blush spreading from them to his face.

"Don't listen to it again next time," he stammered. "Stay away from those suits of armor."

"I understand," Hermione said softly, staring intently at his flushed face, trying to understand his thoughts. "By the way, what did you want to say to me just now?"

"Er, oh, it's not important," Draco said hastily. "We'll talk about it next time. I—I have to go."

He'd originally intended to take the opportunity to invite her to be his dance partner. The quiet, empty corridor had been such a perfect place!

But after being bombarded with Peeves's words, wouldn't his invitation to her seem like he had ulterior motives?

It would seem he was inspired by Peeves and wanted to find a secluded spot to quietly swallow her whole, or to taste her over and over again.

Merlin! The thought of these words made him restless.

"Perhaps next time," Draco said. He swallowed hard, smiled at the bewildered girl, and stiffly turned away—like a thousand-year-old suit of Hogwarts armor that hadn't been oiled—walking awkwardly with his arms and legs moving stiffly.

"Yes, Peeves is quite annoying," Ginny Weasley said to Hermione in the common room that evening. "He's made fun of me too. One Valentine's Day, he went on a mad rumor that Harry and I were a couple, which made us both very embarrassed. I didn't dare look Harry in the eye for months."

"Peeves was so outspoken. I felt really embarrassed too," Hermione said in a low voice.

"What about Malfoy? Did he feel awkward?" Ginny said gleefully. "I've never seen him feel awkward."

"Oh, he was not only embarrassed—he even started stuttering rather later," Hermione said.

"Malfoy stuttering? Merlin's pants!" Ginny said, her eyes gleaming. "What did Peeves tease you about? Saying you two are a couple?"

"Actually, I didn't hear the whole thing. I only caught a little before he covered my ears," Hermione said in a low voice, her head down as she worked on her Transfiguration assignment, "Adjusting Transfiguration for Cross-Species Switches." "What happened next, only he knows. In any case, his face turned bright red in the end."

"Mm—this is unusual," Ginny said, clicking her tongue in amazement, her face beaming with a smile. "Unbelievable! The legendary aloof and ascetic platinum young master of Slytherin! He can actually stutter and blush—Lavender must have exaggerated!"

"I expect so—" Hermione said with difficulty.

"He even covered your ears? Could it be—that he's afraid his girl's mind will be corrupted by Peeves? I told you ages ago his attitude toward you is unusual; what ordinary friend would react like this?" Ginny said, raising an eyebrow.

"Ginny, don't say that. I'm not his girl!" Hermione said, her quill continuing to scratch stubbornly, seemingly unaffected by the situation and not writing anything against her will. "We're just friends. I just want to be content with the status quo and not add any more trouble. I just have some doubts and don't understand what he's thinking."

"Who knows what the boys are thinking!" Ginny said. Her enthusiasm suddenly waned. She sighed and glanced at the dark-haired boy being teased by Ron, Dean, and Seamus. "Tell me, why can only students in fourth year and above go to the ball? It's so unfair!"

"Ginny, don't be so downhearted—you still have a chance. Professor McGonagall said we can invite younger students to the ball," Hermione said, comforting her. "Perhaps someone will invite you. I overheard Lavender and Parvati discussing some ways to attract boys' attention; would you like to take a look?"

"No way!" Ginny said fiercely, her face flushed. "I really want to dance, but I'd never stoop to that level for a dance! I'm not going to pull out all the stops just to attract someone's attention! That's not the real me! And it won't get me anywhere!"

She recalled the series of foolish things she'd done to attract Harry—the embarrassing songs sung by dwarfs, the carefully crafted but rejected Valentine's cards, the wicked diary filled with girlish thoughts—all of which had ended in failure.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ginny, I shouldn't have given that suggestion," Hermione said, stopping writing—giving Ginny an apologetic smile—and speaking seriously.

Her casual tone vanished, replaced by a serious, appreciative one. "Ginny, I like your idea. I can't do that either. That's why we're good friends, isn't it? Neither of us can change our personalities to attract anyone, even if it means facing the prospect of not having a dance partner."

Ginny looked at Hermione with sparkling eyes—smiling shyly yet proudly—and nodded to her.

This was the third day since Professor McGonagall had announced the Yule Ball. Early in the morning, Lavender and Parvati were lying in bed, chattering about the progress of finding their dance partners.

"Simon invited me," Lavender's mysterious voice came from behind the wine-red curtains. "Yesterday evening."

"Wow, Lavender, you're amazing!" Parvati exclaimed. "Only two days! So did you agree?"

"Of course," Lavender said. "Why not?"

"I thought you'd wait and see. Perhaps more blokes would ask you," Parvati said hesitantly. "Shouldn't you choose the best one? Didn't you say you were interested in other blokes—"

"But he was the first boy to invite me, so I should reciprocate that gesture," Lavender said, chuckling, trying to sound light and cheerful. "Parvati, I know my place. I'm not the prettiest girl in our year, and I don't aspire to be a champion's dance partner—"

Parvati blushed and punched her lightly. "Lavender, you're so naughty!"

"That's for certain!" Lavender chuckled, encouraging her best friend in an aria-like tone. "Parvati, I have a feeling you'll be the ultimate winner. The Gryffindor champion will be yours, no doubt about it! You will succeed, stand at the top, and claim the glory no other girl can ever attain..."

Hermione didn't listen anymore. She quietly dressed, picked up her bag, and left the girls' dormitory.

She firmly believed she'd never have any interest in things like "dancing" or "dance partners."

She didn't want to become the sort of girl who just smiled foolishly and waited to be asked out by some stupid boy.

Was a girl's life value measured by things like "whether she has a dance partner"?

No matter how hard she tried, people only cared about her appearance, while her soul, knowledge, and values were worthless?

No matter how lofty her ideals were, would a girl ultimately be scrutinized and judged by boys like a dish, with "being chosen" being her highest honor and greatest success in life?

She'd rather forgo this glory than care about this success.

Rolling her eyes at the word "ball," Hermione hurried through the sun-drenched courtyard. She planned to check on Hagrid early in the morning to see if he'd recovered from the death of the Blast-Ended Skrewts, but she was startled by a boy who suddenly dropped from an oak tree.

"Draco!" She took a step back and said in surprise. "What are you doing up in the tree so early in the morning? Aren't you cold?"

"I'm waiting for you," Draco said quickly, determined to get the words out in one go.

"Wait for me?" she said, confused. "Wait for me for what?"

"I have to ask you a question today," Draco said, tugging at the back of his robes, a nonchalant expression on his face. "Hermione, would I have the honor of inviting you to be my dance partner?"

"Er—" Hermione said, her mouth opening slightly.

She hadn't expected him to invite her. Hadn't he seemed indifferent and uninterested in the ball?

She looked at him and noticed his gray eyes looked very clear in the morning light, as if they reflected the rising sun.

She said hastily, "To be honest, Draco, I'm not really interested in the ball, and I'm not much of a dancer—"

"I can teach you," Draco said, tilting his head and studying her eyes. "If you need me to."

"Honestly, I haven't been thinking about finding a dance partner," Hermione said, blushing under his gaze.

Just a minute before meeting him, she'd firmly believed she wasn't interested in "dancing" or "balls" and that she didn't need a "dance partner."

Now his questions had completely disrupted her rhythm and plans.

"So you don't have a dance partner yet, do you?" He keenly grasped the message in her words and smiled gently. "In that case, why don't you be my dance partner?"

"Are you—are you sure? You're not joking?" She was stunned, frowning as she asked, unable to understand what he was thinking.

Why had he invited her? Just because he saw her as a younger sister? Or because they were friends who got along well?

Would he be so frivolous?

She considered the possibility of going to the ball with Draco. For a moment, she thought about this unlikely possibility, but quickly dismissed it.

Hermione never categorized herself as the sort of popular girl. She wasn't a passionate girl like Lavender or Parvati, nor was she an athletic beauty like Cho Chang.

She was a self-satisfied bookworm—not a quality so highly praised at social balls; while Draco, though he disliked crowds, would undoubtedly be the center of attention if he attended a ball—he was surrounded by so much charisma—he was the charisma itself—no one could ignore his dazzling presence.

"Of course I'm not joking, you silly thing," Draco said. He was rather uneasy at her frown.

In an instant, he felt his internal organs writhing, like a restless snake awakening in spring.

He appeared calm and collected on the surface, but in reality, he'd almost crumpled the robes at the back.

Hurry up and say yes, you silly girl—what are you waiting for?

Or rather, who are you waiting for?

Through Hermione's pink earlobes, Draco suddenly saw a group of Hogwarts girls with Bulgarian scarves tied around their waists in the distance, and Viktor Krum hurrying past among them.

Oh, and him too, Draco thought dryly.

Viktor Krum had been Hermione's dance partner in his previous life.

When Hermione had gone to watch the Quidditch World Cup, she'd really liked him.

The boy felt as if his insides had been emptied by this realization. He felt a terrifying emptiness within him.

If the person who invited her was the renowned international star and Triwizard Tournament champion Viktor Krum, he couldn't be considered to have victory in his grasp.

He must secure Hermione immediately, before that bloke even noticed her, Draco thought, gritting his teeth.

"Oh, Hermione, if you'd rather go with someone else, I completely understand. Then I suppose I'll have to go alone," the boy said, adopting a hurt tone. He hung his head dejectedly, as if he'd have no dance partner if she didn't agree.

"Draco, don't play the victim with me. I don't believe you're the sort of person who'd be short of dance partners," Hermione said. She didn't even notice Krum; she was only focused on admiring his platinum hair—which shimmered in the morning sun—and suppressing her racing heart. "I heard from Ginny yesterday some girls are itching to have a 'chance encounter' with you."

"But that's not you," Draco said, looking up and staring directly into her eyes with genuine sincerity. "I want to invite you."

Hermione knew she shouldn't be laughing, but she couldn't stop herself from smiling.

Draco caught the smile on her lips.

In an instant, looking at her lips, he remembered the idea of "kissing her" again.

He frantically shifted his gaze to her cheek, trying to suppress the urge, but found her cheek looked extremely soft in the sunlight. He wondered what it would feel like to touch it.

A faint blush rose on the boy's pale face. He closed his eyes, trying to banish the increasingly perplexing thoughts from his mind.

Think about what you're going to do today—invite her to be your dance partner.

She might give in soon; she was already smiling. All it took was a little more effort... He studied her expression intently, as if solving an Arithmancy problem that was nearing its conclusion.

That's right—give her a push. He made his final judgment, a wicked smile creeping across his face.

"Hermione, are you afraid to be my dance partner?" Finally, his eyes lit up with a defiant glint. "Who said they had inexhaustible Gryffindor courage? I think it's all bluff. You're not a shameful coward, are you?"

"How dare you say that? I—of course I'm not a coward! What wouldn't I dare?" Hermione said, blushing and staring defiantly into the boy's mesmerizing gray eyes, raising her proud chin. "I agree! I agree to be your dance partner!"

Finally—the boy under the oak tree smiled triumphantly.

"Excellent," he said lazily. "Need any dance lessons? We have a personal trainer here—"

"No need!" the girl said curtly, still reeling from the provocation. "I can do it myself!"

She turned and hurried away—not daring to look back at the somewhat smug-looking boy—her heart filled with a slight sense of bewilderment, a touch of joy, and a bellyful of doubts.

How could she have agreed to him so easily? So impulsive, so lacking in principle! Hermione looked down on herself, unable to suppress a smile.

As the ball approached, more and more students were losing interest in their studies and were preoccupied with finding suitable dance partners. Those who already had partners—after showing off how popular they were—started finding out about the partners of those around them, hoping to create some gossip.

The entire Hogwarts was filled with the scent of hormones and the sour smell of love—the solemn and dignified Hogwarts Castle gradually degenerated into a large-scale gossip scene where "scandals were flying everywhere."

In the corridors, for some reason, the girls were all chatting in groups, and they'd burst into silly laughter every time a boy walked by; the boys, on the other hand, would often blush with embarrassment and wander around the girls' groups, trying to find a dance partner; and some bolder girls would give up waiting and take the initiative to ask out their favorite partners.

"I don't like being invited by girls; it makes me feel like a piece of meat being targeted," Blaise said dismissively.

"Oh, really?" Pansy retorted. "Have you ever considered the girls who were invited probably feel the same way?"

"Then why didn't you refuse me?" Blaise asked bluntly.

"Pah! That's because I wanted to say yes," Pansy said, rolling her eyes. "But that doesn't mean I'll feel comfortable with anyone inviting me."

"Fine," Blaise said arrogantly, finally managing a slight smile.

"In short, under normal circumstances, girls who take the initiative to invite boys have a very high success rate," Pansy said, lazily linking arms with her boyfriend as they walked toward the Slytherin table. "Judging from the results, many blokes fall for this approach."

"I have reservations," Blaise said, gesturing with his chin toward the platinum-haired boy sitting at the table. "Look at him—does he look like he's falling for that?"

Pansy heard the boy coldly utter a single word: "No."

A younger girl sitting opposite him turned pale and ran away like the wind.

"Tsk, is this the second or third today?" Blaise said, sitting beside him, yawning, and taking a large gulp of pumpkin juice.

"The fourth," the boy said wearily, his face expressionless. "I really don't know where Hogwarts gets so many female students."

"Draco, why are you making such a face? You should be happy—it means you're popular," Pansy said with a grin. "Speaking of which, some of my girlfriends are really interested in your jawline and Adam's apple and would love to touch them."

"Utterly boring—you should spend less time with them," Draco said. "I think some of them don't want their hands anymore."

"That's strange. Didn't they used to complain about how aloof he was?" Blaise said, looking Draco up and down, then asking his girlfriend with a smile, "Now they're dreaming of pulling a tiger's teeth?"

"You don't understand anything, Blaise!" Pansy said enthusiastically, taking a sip of hot tea. "Thinking he's aloof doesn't mean he's unattractive. There's a type of bloke who, although aloof and unapproachable, happens to have good looks or a good physique. These reserved and introverted blokes exude a sort of 'asceticism,' which makes girls fantasize even more."

Damn this feeling of asceticism. What was that? Draco wrinkled his nose.

The girl across the table had been watching what was happening. Merlin, he certainly didn't want to cause any unnecessary misunderstandings.

"Draco, what are you thinking?" Pansy said, snapping her fingers before the dazed boy and speaking enthusiastically. "Anyone in my girl group you like? I can introduce you. You need a dance partner, don't you?"

"Don't worry about it," Draco said casually. "If you're so free, you should worry about Vincent and Gregory."

"Give up, Pansy. He doesn't need your help at all," Blaise said casually, glancing at Draco. "He definitely has his own plans. Besides, look at all those girls flocking to him—does he need you to introduce him?"

If Draco was facing such a situation, the Triwizard Tournament champions—who were highly sought-after as the top contenders on the "dance partner invitation list"—were facing even greater enthusiasm.

For example, Fleur Delacour, according to Blaise, was probably ambushed and invited by at least a dozen slurred, unfocused boys every day who'd suddenly jump from around corners, behind statues, and in bushes.

Take Viktor Krum, for example. Wherever he went, he was surrounded by a group of infatuated girls who dreamed he'd glance at them and invite them to be his dance partner.

Draco knew so much about Krum's movements because the damned champion had been frequently appearing in the Hogwarts library lately, causing quite a stir.

Faced with this commotion, even Madam Pince, who always upheld library order and used her fierce demeanor to suppress all student noise, seemed less effective.

(Madam Pince, feeling exhausted: lying down, taking a break, and enjoying the show.)

Draco roughly guessed what Krum was planning. But he wasn't going to give Krum the chance to ask Hermione that question.

That bloke wouldn't get a single ounce of Hermione's attention. She'd be taken to his private space as always, to focus on her studies and escape the hustle and bustle. Draco mentally planned today's itinerary, then smugly led the dejected Crabbe and Goyle toward the library.

"Just invite whoever you fancy—what's the rush?" Draco said impatiently to Crabbe. "How do you know she won't say yes if you don't even try?"

"What if—the person I've got my eye on already has a dance partner?" Crabbe said hesitantly.

"Oh, well, there's nothing I can do about that then," Draco said, asking him puzzled as he stepped into the library. "By the way, who exactly have you taken a fancy to?"

Crabbe stammered, not answering Draco. Suddenly, a burst of giggling laughter from the girls in the library interrupted their conversation.

Draco sighed in annoyance. That persistent Krum was probably strolling around the library again.

The next second, at the other end of the library, in the crowd, Krum said in his distinctive accent, "Vould you like to be my partner for ze ball?"

Draco's eyes lit up.

"Mm—" he chuckled, a bright smile spreading across his face. "Looks like Krum's moved on to a different target."

"Let's go take a look," he said to Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

They took a few steps forward and heard several older Hufflepuff girls nearby gasp enviously, whispering to each other, "Who is she?"

"It's Hermione Granger, a Gryffindor student!" Susan Bones said. Then she saw the furious young man standing to the side—Draco Malfoy.

"Are you kidding me?" the boy said irritably, his gray eyes blazing with anger.

He tossed his bag to a Slytherin student standing nearby, then aggressively shoved aside two Beauxbatons boys who were watching the spectacle in his path with his elbow. His robes billowed in the wind as he strode over to the protagonists of this farce with an air of utter indifference.

"Merlin, what's going on? Isn't that Malfoy from Slytherin?" the Hufflepuffs whispered. "Isn't that Susan?"

"That's right—Draco Malfoy. Hermione's study partner—" Susan's voice trailed off, becoming barely audible. "Her friend—her best friend."

In an instant, she remembered the heart-wrenching story her aunt had told her after the Quidditch World Cup—a Muggle-born girl protecting a Malfoy from Crouch—something no one but Hermione Granger could have done.

She also remembered that ages ago, Hermione had taught Ernie Macmillan a lesson for Draco Malfoy, forbidding him from spreading rumors that Draco was the Heir of Slytherin, and even more so from questioning Draco's position as Seeker.

"Ernie, with such a vivid imagination, why don't you write some novels?" Hermione had said bluntly at the time. "At least it won't harm real people, and you won't have to take any responsibility for your fabrications!"

Hermione was usually very gentle. But at that moment, her words had been sharp, leaving Ernie speechless.

"Susan, I'm rather confused. Krum just invited Granger—what's Malfoy doing here?" a Hufflepuff student asked her.

"Oh, I expect he wasn't just there for the fun," Susan said. She thought about the boy whose face had turned pale in an instant and his resentful eyes, and suddenly a strange idea came to mind. "I'm afraid—he was there to cause trouble."

Draco was obviously there to cause trouble.

Having been reborn, he'd always thought he could rationally face all storms, until he'd encountered the storm Hermione Granger casually created.

Even the slightest ripple she created was an unacceptable tsunami to him.

For example, at this moment, he found he was completely unable to be rational.

In particular, he noticed Hermione's face was slightly flushed—her hand was being held tightly by Krum—and that Durmstrang scoundrel had shamelessly placed a kiss on the back of her hand.

The beast within Draco roared.

He rushed over, grabbed Hermione's hand, wiped it roughly, pulled the stunned girl to his side, placed his hand on her shoulder, and glared at Krum with hostile eyes. His voice was icy: "She doesn't want to! She's my dance partner! You can get lost and bother other girls!"

The onlookers were stunned and fell silent.

They didn't even know which thing was more shocking.

On one hand, it was because Draco was so disrespectful to this international star and Durmstrang champion. Who else would dare speak like that?

On the other hand, it was because Krum had ignored the admiration of many beautiful girls and invited Hermione Granger, an unassuming and unremarkable bookworm.

Another reason was they were incredibly surprised "Malfoy had already invited Granger to be his dance partner ages ago."

Draco Malfoy—Slytherin's most celebrated platinum prince—Quidditch Seeker—Hogwarts honor student. His image of studying by the Black Lake, leaning against a tree, was the dream of countless female students. Not to mention, he was a recipient of the Order of Merlin, Second Class, and came from an ancient pure-blood wizarding family, making him a renowned figure even outside Slytherin.

Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born witch, defied the Malfoy family's pure-blood ideals in this respect alone. Admittedly, she excelled academically and her talent was widely praised by professors, but few found her beautiful, and even fewer truly understood her. Most of the time, her face was hidden deep within her long, bushy hair, or behind a mountain of books. She was a thoroughly boring bookworm.

"How could he possibly ask her to be his dance partner?" Daphne Greengrass shrieked, standing beside Goyle. "Has Draco Malfoy gone mad? Has he lost his mind?"

"Shut up—don't talk bad about him," Goyle said, cracking his knuckles and threatening, "or I'll ask you to be my dance partner."

Daphne glanced at him in alarm and quietly slipped away from the crowd.

So Crabbe said to his mate seriously, "Goyle, I don't think you understand the meaning of 'inviting a dance partner.' This isn't a punishment."

"Oh, really?" Goyle said in surprise. "You have to step on the other person's feet all night! Isn't that punishment?"

"What you said makes considerable sense..." Crabbe said. His thinking was successfully led astray by his mate.

At this moment, Krum's thick eyebrows furrowed slightly. He pursed his lips, gave Hermione a polite bow, and didn't look at Draco once.

"Miss Granger, I await your reply," he said. He left those words and turned to leave. The students who'd been watching automatically made way for him, watching the grim-faced Durmstrang champion depart.

And Hermione—that lovesick silly girl—even smiled at Krum!

Draco watched her smile with a cold eye, feeling a jumble of emotions churning inside him.

"Why did you smile at him just now?" he asked, his face flushed. "Did you want to be his dance partner?"

"Oh, Draco, don't be silly. I was just being polite. Your behavior just now was very ungentlemanly. The purpose of the Triwizard Tournament is to promote friendly exchanges between international wizarding schools. Do you know how bad that hostility was? It's embarrassing for Hogwarts. Didn't Professor McGonagall warn you about this?" Hermione said, her face turning increasingly red—before everyone—and she noticed his arm was still on her shoulder.

"So you think I've embarrassed you?" Draco asked sharply.

"Don't make such a big deal out of it! That's not what I meant," Hermione said. Her blush began to fade, and her tone was tinged with annoyance.

She glanced around and noticed the students were all talking in low voices. She quietly looked up at him.

"Draco, they're all watching us," she whispered, freeing herself from his arms.

Draco then realized he, who'd wanted to watch the spectacle, had become the spectacle itself.

"Damn it, where the hell is Madam Pince? Doesn't she hate it when students whisper in the library?" Draco said, coldly sweeping his gaze around the students, trying to frighten them away—but their stares only intensified—so he angrily began accusing the vanished Madam Pince. "A slacker! Neglecting her duties!"

At that moment, Madam Pince was hiding in the best spot in the library, holding her precious little hand mirror and gossiping with her best friend, Madam Poppy Pomfrey, on the other side of the mirror.

"Can you please not be so agitated? Madam Pince hasn't done anything to you!" Hermione said uneasily, feeling uncomfortable with his current irritability. "Draco, what's wrong with you? Can you calm down?"

"Calm down?" Draco scoffed. He tried grabbing her wrist and leading her to their private space. "Fine, calm down! Let's go—let's go somewhere we can talk calmly!"

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, pulling her hand from his. He glanced back at her, somewhat surprised and hurt.

She actually refused his hand.

Why was she unwilling to be intimate with him before others? Instead, she kept trying to break free and resist him.

Was he about to lose her? He wondered frantically.

"Why did you answer for me to Krum?" Those brown eyes were somewhat unfamiliar, lacking warmth and instead carrying a hint of coldness.

She didn't smile at him as usual; her expression was somewhat serious. "This is a question I should answer myself, isn't it? From what standpoint are you answering it for me?"

"Was my answer wrong? Do you want to agree to him?" Draco retorted, his anger burning.

Did she regret it—did she want to be Krum's dance partner?

"This has nothing to do with whether I agree to him or not! You control freak! This is something I have to face myself from beginning to end! You don't believe I can handle this at all! Do you think I'd agree to someone else after I agreed to you? I can't believe you don't even have this much faith in me!" Hermione said, glaring at him in disappointment, then turning and walking from the library.

Draco stood there, stunned, and couldn't help giving a wry smile.

Of course I'd hesitate, doubt, and disbelieve.

Because you—Hermione Granger—were once Krum's dance partner.

I'm a despicable thief, stealing you from other people's hands bit by bit. How could I possibly have any confidence?

I've never had much faith in myself. Every moment I spent with you—those bright, new days, like the rising sun—felt stolen.

Just as the person in question was in low spirits, the conversation between Krum, Granger, and Malfoy in the library spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts Castle, causing an upheaval comparable to an earthquake.

Seizing the opportunity, the Weasley twins—who, true to their spirit of enjoying a good spectacle—quickly placed their bets.

"Why would you do something like this?" Draco asked incredulously. "Isn't Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes enough to keep you busy?"

"Oh, we need a little entertainment to break the monotony of our studies," Fred said pretentiously. "You can never have too much gossip."

Draco glared at him angrily.

"Draco, don't underestimate Krum. As long as the ball hasn't started and you haven't taken a girl's hand onto the dance floor, nothing's set in stone!" George said, patting Draco on the shoulder. "That's what makes a ball interesting!"

Draco snorted coldly.

"Let me see—as things stand, Hermione choosing Krum is the mainstream thinking. Who can resist a young, handsome international star?" Fred said to him, shaking the thick stack of parchment in his hand.

"He's still the champion of the Triwizard Tournament! The number one choice for dance partners in the girls' hearts. The odds for betting on him are one to two," George said with a smile.

"Very good," Draco said sinisterly—clearly, that wasn't what he really meant.

"The odds of winning by betting on you are one to ten," Fred said gleefully. "Not many people believe you'll succeed."

"Thank you for reminding me," Draco said through gritted teeth.

"Harry and Ron both bet on you—there are still people who have faith in you," George said. "If I could bet on you, I would too."

"Should I kneel and thank you for having so much faith in me?" Draco said coolly, watching the Weasley twins walk away arm in arm.

"What's going on, Draco?" Pansy called out to him again as he hurried past in the Slytherin common room. "When did Granger become your dance partner and, incidentally, the enemy of all the girls in school?"

"Yes, I heard someone say you invited a Muggle," Blaise said, taking a sip of tea and looking somewhat puzzled.

"The version I heard is Granger used a love potion on both Draco and Krum, which is why they invited her!" Pansy said, holding up a few fingers and waving them before Draco. "Are you even normal? How many fingers are there? If you've been kidnapped, blink!"

"I'm perfectly fine. I didn't take any love potions, and I wasn't kidnapped," Draco clarified. "I did invite Hermione to be my dance partner—is there anything else you don't understand?"

"Are you kidding me?" Pansy said, putting down her teacup in shock. "Hermione Granger—that plain-looking bookworm! You want her to dance with a stack of books? Merlin's dressing table, I don't even know if she'll put on makeup or come out in a decent dress!"

"I didn't know you were such a superficial person, Pansy," Draco said. He didn't seem to care.

Pansy, that blind fool, had no idea Hermione could steal the show with just a little dressing up.

"Even if you have unique taste and you like this sort of thing, I can try respecting your taste," Pansy said with a troubled expression, as if she'd just eaten a whole box of Flobberworms. "But think about your father! He'll definitely find out—do you understand what that means?"

"Yeah, Draco. If you want to mess around with her, no one will say anything, but you don't have to make such a big fuss, do you?" Blaise teased.

Pansy rolled her eyes at him and whispered, "What do you mean by 'just playing around'? You git."

"Pansy, don't get carried away. I'm talking about something serious. Draco, balls are very formal occasions, and there are many deeper meanings behind them. You're a wizard from a pure-blood family, and you often attend these sorts of occasions with your mother, so you should understand these deeper meanings. Do you know what it means to stand beside her on such occasions?" Blaise said. His cynical smile had faded.

But Draco showed no approval, nor did he attempt answering his question. He stubbornly pursed his lips and remained silent.

Blaise sighed, forced to continue his earnest persuasion to convince the eccentric boy. "Your father will be unhappy, your family will be unhappy, the family name behind you will be unhappy. They'll think you're out of your mind, falling for a Muggle!"

"I know—I completely understand what you mean, and I understand the deeper meaning behind this action. Blaise, thank you, I know you're worried about me," Draco said. He leaned back on the armchair in the Slytherin common room, gazing at the flickering fire in the fireplace, and spoke softly. "Unfortunately, I wasn't just playing around with her. I really like her—very much."

"What?" This shocking gossip caused Pansy's teacup to slip from her hand and drop to the ground.

With a crack, the cup shattered into seven or eight pieces.

"My favorite blue and white porcelain cup!" Pansy wailed. "Draco, you Slytherin traitor, a blood traitor—you owe me my cup!"

The rumors spread even more wildly the next day.

Almost everyone was saying Pansy Parkinson had thrown a tantrum in the Slytherin common room because Draco Malfoy had invited Hermione Granger to be his dance partner.

That's complete rubbish! Draco ate his porridge gloomily at the Slytherin breakfast table, wondering why the girl hadn't come down for breakfast yet.

At this moment, Hermione Granger stood blankly before the full-length mirror in the girls' dormitory, looking at the girl with a troubled expression, wondering why she was in such a situation.

She didn't know why Viktor Krum had invited her.

She'd originally thought even if there were more people at the Yule Ball, it'd just be a form of entertainment—no different from the sort of balls she'd attended with her parents when she was a child—full of delicious food, flowers, cheerful music, casual dancing, and friendly conversation, nothing more.

But look at the current atmosphere on campus, the constant scrutiny and hatred directed at her.

She swore whenever she walked into a public place, at least half the girls stared at her, trying to bore a hole through her robes.

This feeling of being constantly watched was dreadful. All she wanted was to quietly read a good book and spend a lazy afternoon filled with the scent of parchment. She didn't want to be scrutinized like a sieve.

Why did Draco, that bad boy, have to make things even more complicated in public—as if Krum hadn't caused enough trouble already!

Draco Malfoy—he was utterly wicked! He clearly didn't like her—at least not in the same way she liked him—yet he firmly occupied her place, forbidding anyone else from inviting her or getting close to her.

He was dreadful! He always cruelly provoked her and forbade anyone else from provoking her!

But she always loved this utterly wicked boy.

She loved him desperately, foolishly, and like a moth to a flame, and even now that he'd caused her so much trouble, she still loved him through gritted teeth.

Even though he'd said she was like a little sister, she still liked him.

However, after that realization, she'd closed her shell like a startled clam, trying to numbly face him.

She didn't want to be hurt anymore, nor did she want to admit her feelings. After each of those heart-fluttering encounters, she had to repeatedly remind herself he didn't like her. His feelings for her weren't romantic; they were just friendly affection.

His care, tenderness, and physical intimacy stemmed solely from their friendship.

Close your heart, Hermione Granger. She kept reminding herself he was just a friend.

They were just friends.

Just friends!

"Hermione Granger, you are the dumbest girl in the world," she said to the girl in the mirror. "You should stay far away from him."

But she could never resist his advances. Even with a deep bitterness in her heart, she still felt happy, satisfied, and even wanted to be with him more with every touch he made.

She couldn't bear seeing him suffer or be sad. She always wanted to protect him, to protect him in Hermione Granger's way. Seeing him wronged hurt her more than if she herself were wronged.

She even displayed extreme malice toward those who hurt him, something she'd never done before.

Draco, that utterly wicked boy, not only did bad things to her, but he also stirred up all the evil thoughts in her heart.

"You know what? You're being very irrational," Hermione whispered to the mirror. "You're getting deeper and deeper into someone who can never respond to you."

But the girl in the mirror was smiling, as if this situation wasn't so hopeless.

That was terrifying.

Mum was right. She could try getting to know other outstanding boys and see what they were like.

Draco Malfoy wasn't the only likable person.

Her roommate Lavender had a poster of Viktor Krum on the headboard of her bed, and Hermione could see his gloomy face every time she turned around.

Now there was an opportunity—Krum had invited her, hadn't he?

Hermione and Krum weren't close. However, he'd politely spoken to her a few times while looking for books near the bookshelves, mostly asking her about the exact location of certain books.

Krum—shouldn't she consider him the outstanding boy Mum mentioned? Undoubtedly, if she were to take his arm to a ball, all the girls would be jealous of her.

Draco might be furious. He definitely would be. He was so proud; he couldn't stand having his dance partner stolen. He deserved to know what anger felt like, and what her frustration was like!

However, as she stared at Krum's poster, another face involuntarily came to mind.

Thin and pale, with sharp features, a pointed chin, platinum hair, and a pair of pure gray eyes.

He simply beckoned to her through the window of the Hogwarts Express, and she'd obediently walked over.

She'd had no choice but to go.

She couldn't control herself.

She'd never needed to make a choice. She was always hopelessly in love with that utterly wicked Draco Malfoy.

"Hermione Granger, you're such a loser!" She glared at herself in the mirror with disdain and stormed from the dormitory.

In the common room, Ginny sat alone on a sofa in the corner, looking very downcast.

Oh! Poor Ginny. Hermione sighed.

The reason she and Ginny had become sisters so quickly was perhaps because, in essence, they'd both fallen in love with someone who'd always treat them like little sisters.

This felt dreadful.

But if your sisters had the same experience as you, then it seemed you weren't alone.

"Are you all right, Ginny?" She walked over, sat beside Ginny, and gently stroked Ginny's long red hair.

"I'm afraid I'll never be able to go to the Yule Ball," Ginny said lazily, looking up. "Nobody will invite me. Obviously, not everyone's as perceptive as your Draco."

"Oh, Ginny!" Hermione's face flushed instantly. "What are you saying? What do you mean by 'mine'—"

"His outburst at the library, blatantly provoking Krum, has practically reached the Weasley twins. Who doesn't know he's trying to keep you from Krum, the Durmstrang champion?" Ginny said, pouting, suppressing her gloom, her tone playful and mischievous. "I wonder who'll win. You know, my dear lady."

"Ginny!" Hermione said embarrassedly. "You know that's not what I meant—I had no idea about this. This—is so sudden."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of. You're much luckier than me. I'll wager that git Malfoy likes you more than you think! Those words were definitely not something someone who treats you like a little sister would say. I seriously suspect you misunderstood him back then. I think he just likes you," Ginny said firmly. "Have some confidence, all right?"

"Oh, Ginny, stop talking," Hermione said uneasily, not wanting to waste too much emotion on this uncertain feeling.

"He's made it so obvious! All right, all right, don't be so obstinate—fine, I won't say!" Ginny said, raising her hands in surrender. "So who are you going to choose as your dance partner?"

Hermione glanced at her guiltily but didn't say anything.

"I knew it'd be like this—you always choose that sullen-faced git! Malfoy's ranking's actually rather good—seventh on the Hogwarts ball invitation list!" Ginny said casually, waving the colorful parchment in her hand at her. "Look, he's behind Krum, Cedric, Harry, and a few older boys. But he's definitely not as good as Krum, who's number one. Your choice is completely irrational! Of course, Krum's fans will be very happy."

"There's even a ranking list?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"The girls voted privately, only ranking the boys. Who knows if the boys ranked the girls privately, and even if they did, we wouldn't know. Look, although the statistics aren't very comprehensive—judging from your surprised look, you probably didn't vote at all—it basically reflects the Hogwarts girls' preferences when choosing their dance partners," Ginny said, shrugging.

"What's the trend?" Hermione said, checking the list and noticing some boys' rankings were constantly shifting up and down. It seemed to be under some sort of information-sharing magic, allowing the data to be adjusted in real time.

"Choosing a dance partner's all about looks! As long as they're good-looking, most girls will accept an invitation even from the opposing faction. But that's normal—aren't the boys the same? So many people have asked Fleur Delacour! Even my brother Ron's fallen for her—" Ginny said, wrinkling her nose. "Once it comes to dancing, people don't seem to care which House their partner's from. They just want someone good-looking! In short, I've seen several Gryffindor girls vote for Malfoy; he's just so popular."

"Oh," Hermione said. Her voice held a hint of bitterness. "I didn't know he was so likable."

"You're very charming. So you really need to dress up nicely, you know? And you need to practice your dance moves! You need to show all those girls who are talking sourly that you're absolutely worthy of any man's invitation and affection! Make me proud, all right?" Ginny said seriously.

"I'm no good at these things," Hermione said, annoyed. "I'd rather ride a dragon!"

"Who told you to ride a dragon? Where did you get this weird idea? My brother Charlie's a dragon handler, and he's never ridden a dragon," Ginny said, jumping from the sofa and trying to encourage her. "Don't be discouraged! Don't try running away—I'm good at these things! We can practice dancing together! Besides, I loved dressing up dolls when I was little! You have to give me the whole afternoon on the day of the ball!"

"Ginny, calm down—" Hermione said in surprise.

"That's right—that's what we'll do!" Ginny said gleefully, clenching her fist—looking like she'd found her purpose in life. "Hermione, I'll make them swoon over you, no matter who you choose! Now straighten up and come with me to breakfast!"

Despite being encouraged by Ginny, Hermione, as usual, fell into self-loathing when she arrived at the Great Hall door in a daze.

She didn't want to go to public places, didn't want to be stared at with knowing looks, didn't want to be asked if she'd used love potions, and didn't want to see girls queuing to invite the popular Draco to be their dance partner.

But Ginny held on tightly, dragging her all the way to the Gryffindor table. She could only sit there, exhausted, trying to stuff something into her mouth.

It was at this moment she heard the gossip Lavender was telling her: Pansy Parkinson had made a scene in the Slytherin common room yesterday because Draco Malfoy had invited Hermione Granger to be his dance partner.

Hermione knew who Pansy Parkinson was. The girl always acted arrogantly, looking down on any Muggle-born wizard, but Draco had always been on good terms with her.

She was Draco's childhood friend—what did that mean? The dark-haired bobbed girl was now sitting diagonally across from Draco, seemingly saying something to him.

He seemed quite cheerful! He was even smiling as he spoke to Parkinson.

How wonderful—they looked so well-matched. Hermione swallowed some bread rolls and unexpectedly tasted a slightly bitter flavor.

Soon after, Pansy Parkinson's seat became empty.

The boy sat alone, looking like a lonely king. He resumed his indifferent expression, calmly drank something, and lowered his eyes to look at the newspaper on the table.

His collar was buttoned tightly, his platinum hair was neatly combed, and he looked like a newly formed sculpture by a master artist, devoid of any emotion.

His face possessed a cool beauty, a perfect blend of sharp angles and curves.

Everything about him held an almost cruel attraction for her. Hermione knew she shouldn't look at him anymore. She was already attracting enough attention.

But then a girl wearing a Ravenclaw scarf suddenly blushed and walked up to Draco, whispering something. This made it impossible for Hermione not to look at him.

What were they saying? Could it be the girl was inviting him?

Hermione's heart was immediately gripped by unknown hands.

A complex mix of emotions welled up inside her—it felt as if someone had discovered her long-treasured treasure and was trying to take it for themselves—she felt unwilling, reluctant, and nervous.

The coveted treasure remained as indifferent as ever. He didn't even bother lifting his head, only raising his eyelids and coldly uttering a single word to the little girl—who immediately covered her face and ran away.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Now she could finally freely express her bittersweet sympathy. She wasn't the first girl to be heartbroken by Draco.

Draco—what was he thinking with that poker face? Hermione glanced at him furtively and suddenly remembered the way he'd had his arm around her shoulder in the library.

Back then, although he'd been angry, his facial expression had been quite vivid, unlike now where he was so indifferent and lifeless.

His hair, even across two long tables, remained dazzling. She suddenly wanted to touch his hair, or rather, to touch the ferret again—how lively and adorable it had been! His expression had been so gentle when they'd gazed at the stars in the Room of Requirement.

In short, not like this stern, expressionless face he had now. She stole glances at him again and again and still felt he looked better when he smiled.

Stop! Hermione Granger! Stop thinking about it! She told herself—what did it matter to her whether he smiled or not? Whether he smiled or not, he was still that cruel boy who ruthlessly rejected girls' affections—rejected hers.

Draco Malfoy, with a stern face, walked into the dungeons Potions classroom.

He was rather annoyed. He'd spent the whole morning with a stern face, trying to frighten away the girls who were asking him out, but the girls weren't affected at all; on the contrary, they became more and more persistent.

He didn't even have a chance to glance at Hermione across the breakfast table. He'd planned saying a few words to her during Potions—to smooth things over or something—but he found her going off to study with a Gryffindor girl.

Was it Lavender Brown? That seemed to be the name.

He gave the girl a fierce look, trying to express his displeasure and hopefully frighten her away from Hermione; the girl, on the contrary, perked up and, occasionally catching his glances at Hermione, studied him with great interest.

These boring, gossipy girls—they were acting so strangely! Why wasn't his fierce gaze working anymore? Nobody was afraid of him anymore! Draco sat sullenly beside Theodore Nott; the whole lesson was filled with a chill. He couldn't concentrate on his studies, and he almost accidentally blew up their cauldron.

"Merlin, Draco, let me do it," Theodore said sadly. "You just sit there and watch her, all right?"

Hermione Granger, who was being secretly watched by Draco, was feeling extremely awkward.

Draco's conflict with Krum, Draco's sensitivity, irritability, and controlling nature regarding her dance partner, the endless stream of invitations to Draco, and Draco's cold attitude of rejecting all girls... all these things mixed together, leaving her in a state of turmoil.

She worried if she continued sitting with Draco today, it'd become the subject of gossip.

Merlin! Her reputation seemed to have turned extremely bad overnight.

So she went and partnered with her gossipy roommate, Lavender.

"May I ask—" Lavender said curiously.

"No," Hermione said irritably. "We can't discuss dance partners."

"All right," Lavender said, shrugging.

Partnering with Lavender was relatively safe; at least it wouldn't cause any unrest.

At times, Lavender was quite loyal. Sensing Hermione's agitation, she didn't ask any questions about her dance partner but instead thoughtfully shared some gossip circulating on campus to distract her:

For example, Dumbledore had already bought eight hundred barrels of mulled mead from Madam Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks for the upcoming Yule Ball.

For example, Dumbledore had reserved a wizarding band called the Weird Sisters for them to perform at the ball.

"This band's very famous on the Wizarding Wireless Network," Lavender said excitedly, winking at her.

Hermione had never heard of the Wizarding Wireless Network, but she guessed it was a popular program among wizards. She couldn't help smiling at Lavender. "I'm looking forward to it too. Thank you for telling me, Lavender. I feel much better."

However, Hermione was still careless. What she didn't know was the seemingly understanding Lavender possessed a special talent—while gossiping, she also had the ability to observe how often Draco Malfoy turned to look at Hermione Granger.

"I'm not here to discuss dance partners with you. I want to talk about how often a certain boy turns his head—he looked at you seventeen times in one lesson. Seventeen times!" Lavender said enthusiastically at lunch. "I really don't understand why he's so obvious, yet I'd never noticed!"

"What did you notice?"

"Please, stop pretending. How long have you two been together?" Lavender asked her in a low voice.

"Oh, please, Lavender!" Hermione said, blushing immediately. "We're not what you think."

"So what is it exactly?" Lavender chuckled.

"We—we're just study partners, occasionally discussing our lessons together—" Hermione stammered, avoiding Lavender's eyes.

"Oh? Then why didn't you continue being his study partner in the last lesson? Did you two have a falling-out?" Lavender asked gossipily.

Hermione casually fiddled with the cauliflower on her plate, pouting and remaining silent.

She was still rather angry with him. He didn't trust her, nor did he respect her; he always took it upon himself to do things for her!

And then there was that special Pansy Parkinson, and all those girls queuing to seek heartbreak from him—she watched coldly, feeling increasingly choked up.

"You know, he's very popular. Haven't you seen how many girls want to invite him?" Lavender went on and on. "To be honest, when I heard he, who's usually so aloof, actually invited you, many girls who were initially insecure suddenly felt they might have a chance and were desperately trying to get his attention! Who knows if someone might just catch his eye? Perhaps he'll change his mind the next second and find another girl."

Lavender glanced over there and saw a blonde Slytherin girl eager to approach Draco Malfoy.

"Look, another one!" she said, exasperated. "You need to be more careful, Hermione! So many girls envy you! Cherish every boy who asks you out, all right? Whoever you choose, hold on tight to your dance partner and don't let him slip through your fingers!"

Hermione remained silent. She stubbornly refused to look at him. After a moment, she finally couldn't resist turning her head to glance at him, and also caught a glimpse of the blonde girl's heartbroken departing figure.

She breathed a slight sigh of relief but stubbornly told Lavender, "If he wants to invite other girls, let him! It's just dancing—I'm not so arrogant as to control what other people think."