Chapter 130: Attention
As the song ended, everyone applauded again.
"I heard we missed the tango, which is a bit of a shame, isn't it?" Hermione said, slumping her weary body into a comfortable, ornate chair, taking a big gulp of butterbeer, and watching the men and women putting on their energetic dance.
They had just danced many dances—soothing, melancholic, graceful, and intense. She probably made up for all the dances she hadn't danced in the first fifteen years of her life, and perhaps even borrowed some for the next few years.
"Oh, I don't feel regretful at all." The boy next to her leaned lazily against the chair beside her, his eyes fixed on her. He would rather miss a few more dances and stay behind the tapestry a little longer.
Hermione sensed something in his words, and she felt her face burning.
She didn't speak again, nor did she dare to look at him. Instead, she began to survey the crowd around her.
At this moment, Harry and Ron, who had been nowhere to be seen, reappeared at a table far from the dance floor, whispering to each other; at the judges' table nearby, Madam Maxim sat alone, looking sullen, her dance partner Hagrid nowhere to be seen; on the dance floor, Ginny was still dancing with Neville, her steps already somewhat erratic; Fred and Angelina next to them were dancing with exceptional abandon.
George was behaving strangely. Instead of staying with his brother as usual, he strode out of the crowd, following Ludo Bagman; he passed Harry and Ron's dance partners—the two girls were sitting next to some Beauxbatons boys—and then walked through a group of Durmstrang boys…
"Who are you looking at?" Draco suddenly interrupted her thoughts and gaze, a hint of wariness appearing on his face.
"I wasn't looking at anyone." Hermione glanced uncomfortably at the boy who was staring at her intently. "Honestly, Draco, why are you always staring at me?"
"Fine, I'll watch others." Draco said fiercely, glaring at a Beauxbatons boy who was trying to invite Hermione over, successfully scaring the overconfident competitor back two meters away.
"You know, that expression of yours reminds me of my childhood friends," Hermione said, observing his displeased look and laughing playfully.
"I'm very happy to know you have a childhood friend," he said reluctantly, clearly not very happy. "How come I've never heard of him before?"
"He was a light golden retriever," Hermione said, downing her butterbeer in one gulp, reminiscing about her childhood friend. "He was always very possessive of his food, and no one could touch his bowl—I remember it was a light blue one—and he was always fighting with the squirrels in the backyard who tried to get near it."
"Oh, I can't imagine why he would do that," Draco said, pouting, as he casually swapped the empty butterbeer in her hand with his own, letting her hold his untouched glass to quench her thirst.
Hermione sipped her second butterbeer with delight, feeling quite happy.
As for Draco, he set his empty glass aside, observing the girl's smug expression, and felt she was subtly mocking him. He glanced disdainfully at the dance floor, trying to find something else to talk about, "What are they dancing now?"
It was midnight, and people were making the most of every minute for a final celebration. They no longer cared about the rules of dance; their steps became casual, free, and unrestrained.
Under the influence of butterbeer and flavored mead, and the dynamic music and changing lights of the eccentric sisters, the "dignified and proper" demeanor was completely trampled underfoot. The young dancers acted willfully, swaying according to their mood and releasing their joy.
Even the professors were no longer reserved. Professor McGonagall's hat had somehow ended up askew as she stood in a corner of the dance floor, smiling and clapping; Ms. Pomfrey and Mrs. Pins were twirling hand in hand, each acting as the other's partner; Professor Flitwick even took to the center of the dance floor, one hand on the ground, the other in mid-air, to show off his skills, drawing gasps and cheers from the students.
"I bet they're improvising, like jazz dance." Hermione looked at the crowded dance floor and suddenly became interested. "I bet you've never danced like this before."
"Of course they didn't jump!" Draco said, staring intently at the excited crowd. "They were just jumping around wildly. What kind of behavior is that?"
Hermione suddenly laughed, finding his awkwardness—wanting to jump but holding back because of his status—quite endearing. She took his hand. "Come on, let's jump together!"
"Crazy, completely crazy…" Draco shook his head, his words carrying a tone of disapproval, but his body language betrayed him, as he was easily pulled into the dance floor by the girl.
"On such a rare night, forget about your image, Draco Malfoy! Nobody cares what you do right now! What did you tell me again, to relax when you dance? Now give me your body and get moving!" Hermione started swaying, her eyes sparkling mischievously, urging him on loudly to the music, "I've seen the madness in your heart, no need to hide it anymore!"
So, Harry Potter, peeking through the gaps in the crowd at Cho Chang and Cedric, inadvertently witnessed a scene that utterly astonished him:
Draco Malfoy, the most image-conscious and reserved Slytherin boy in the entire grade, was laughing like a fool as he and his friend Hermione swayed and danced some unknown dance.
"Oh, he must be very drunk—" Harry murmured, forgetting to even look back at Cho Chang.
"Yeah, I can tell. Should we borrow Crevy's camera to take some pictures, keep a record or something? Draco will be so embarrassed when he sees them tomorrow that he'll jump into the Black Lake…" Ron said.
"Let him go," Harry said. "Tell me again, where have all the giants of England gone?"
"Oh, they slowly went extinct, and a large number were killed by the Aurors. However, there should still be giants abroad, most of them hiding in the mountains," Ron said seriously.
At midnight, the eccentric sisters stopped playing, and everyone gave them one last round of applause before heading towards the foyer.
The memory of the walk from the Great Hall back to the Gryffindor common room is shrouded in mystery for Hermione.
She was busy regretting why the ball had ended so quickly, busy reminiscing about his attraction and support, busy wondering why he had become restrained and polite again after returning to the hall—as if the passionate kiss under the mistletoe had been an illusion—and by the time she came to her senses, he had already led her back to the portrait of the fat lady.
By now, the corridors and stairwells were nearly deserted; the Gryffindors had already lined up and entered through the door behind the Fat Lady. The Fat Lady, in her portrait, impatiently fanned herself with a fan, gave a mock yawn, and said to Hermione, who stood before her, "Hey, you're the last one. Are you going in or not?"
"Go in. This is all I can do for you," Draco said to her, his smile gentle and kind.
"Oh, thank you. I had a wonderful day," she smiled, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling.
The young man lowered his head and placed a kiss on the back of her hand, saying "Goodnight," as he watched her step into the portrait of the fat lady.
Hermione's feet ached terribly, but she didn't care. She cheerfully kicked off her worn-out high heels and carried them to Ginny, who was lounging on the sofa by the fireplace.
"Ginny! How was your night? I noticed you and Neville were dancing the whole time," she said excitedly.
"Not bad. Neville's dancing isn't as bad as I thought… actually it's pretty good, he only stepped on my feet twice." Ginny gave her a satisfied smile.
"I guess so. I heard from Harry that Neville practices hard in his dorm every day. He really values this ball." Hermione jumped onto the sofa, as lively as a child. "I dare say he's the fastest improving dancer in all of Gryffindor—I haven't practiced as much as he has."
"Don't belittle yourself. I saw your dance." Ginny raised an eyebrow and looked at her meaningfully. "You danced very well and were very relaxed. You seemed to be enjoying yourself! Speaking of which, you and that Slytherin egomaniac danced almost from beginning to end. He's so inconsiderate. Didn't he let you rest?"
"Ginny, please, don't say that about him. Actually, it was my own idea to dance. I never thought I'd enjoy dancing itself." Hermione sat next to Ginny, gazing absently at the flickering fire. "It's a wonderful feeling. You don't need to think too much; the other person controls the rhythm, and you just need to be led by them—"
"It's rare to see Hermione Granger, who always tries to control everything, actually relinquishing control and letting someone else dictate the pace?" Ginny teased her. "You weren't this relaxed when you were practicing with me."
"When we were practicing, I wasn't very skilled yet! Besides, he's very good at leading dance partners, and I think we should let the good people do what they're good at," Hermione said, her face flushed, trying to justify her argument.
Hermione felt a little guilty. She knew Ginny was right. She liked to have everything firmly under her control; it felt safer, more secure, and more secure that way.
But when faced with Draco, a boy whose controlling nature was even stronger than hers, she willingly gave in.
Admittedly, this concession was partly due to emotional factors, but more so because of her recognition of Draco's ability to manage the overall situation. Even a proud girl like Hermione sometimes has to admit that trying to control everything herself is exhausting. At times, she breaks down and wishes someone could take care of everything for her, saving her from racking her brains.
Draco was someone she could trust—he would never mess up something she cared about—she had this inexplicable confidence in him. Hermione smiled as she thought this, the warm sound of the burning wood filling the air.
"…Your dance partner simply couldn't take his eyes off you, and all the effort I put into you was worth it." Ginny's voice pulled Hermione back to reality; the red-haired girl was quite proud of her skills at disguising people.
"Ginny, thank you for everything you've done for me." Hermione's face flushed slightly. She leaned back on the sofa, closing her eyes contentedly. "Thanks to you, I've had a wonderful night, like a dream. I don't know how to repay you—"
"You're welcome. You only need to tell me one thing, and that will be the best reward. Tell me, after you danced with Krum, did he get jealous?" Ginny laughed gleefully.
"Without a doubt."
"Really? Are you sure? I glanced at him briefly when you were dancing with Krum, and he seemed perfectly calm," Ginny said. "If he cared about this, shouldn't he have acted more angry? I was actually looking forward to seeing him lose his temper."
"Believe me, he was definitely jealous, even to the point of losing control," Hermione said to Ginny, who looked at her with a questioning expression. "I have conclusive evidence."
Yes, this two-faced boy never reveals his true thoughts to anyone other than her. Whether Draco is leaving the Great Hall or returning, he always puts himself in some kind of shell, wearing a mask of gentleness, restraint, and gentlemanliness, with absolutely no trace of the madness shown by that kiss under the mistletoe.
However, Hermione knew that the kiss was not an illusion—just as his loss of control over her was real.
"What is the evidence?" Ginny asked.
Hermione reached out and showed Ginny a beautiful white mother-of-pearl button.
"A button?" Ginny was confused. "What kind of evidence is that?"
Hermione smiled without saying a word.
It was originally the second button of his white shirt, but now it became a secret piece of evidence of his loss of control over her. She had accidentally ripped it off in the darkness behind the tapestry. He didn't even realize his button had been torn off, given that he was kissing her passionately, obsessively, and almost uncontrollably at the time.
Hermione somewhat enjoyed his loss of control over her. At these moments, he ceased to be the epitome of Slytherin composure and instead displayed a touch of Gryffindor recklessness.
The thought that his perfect mask had once been cracked for her, or even shattered into pieces, gave her a strange sense of satisfaction.
"Hermione Granger, your idea is too bizarre." She smiled at the button and said to herself.
"You seem a bit odd," Ginny said, glancing at the girl grinning at the buttons, then adding with a hint of amusement, "You really gave me a boost today! In the second half of the event, I saw several boys eagerly trying to ask you out—from all sorts of colleges, and even some from other schools. Did you notice?"
"No," Hermione said frankly. "I was quite busy at the time. You know, I didn't have the energy to look around."
"I guessed so. It's a pity you're completely monopolized by someone, with no free time at all, not giving anyone else a single chance." Ginny asked curiously, "Speaking of which, why are you being so well-behaved today? Don't you usually hate being restricted?"
"Oh, don't mention it, Ginny, it has nothing to do with freedom; I just don't want to make him jealous anymore." Hermione yawned to cover up her feelings, burying the crazy kiss the boy had given her in his jealousy deep in her heart.
Jealous Draco was tossing and turning on his four-poster bed at the bottom of the Black Lake.
Despite his extreme physical exhaustion, his mind remained racing with excitement, making it difficult for him to fall asleep. Tonight, everything felt like a magnificent, dazzling dream, and his thoughts lingered within it.
It was just a four-hour social dance... yet he felt as if he had experienced a thrilling Quidditch match, and his heart was filled with excitement.
The long wait, the extreme amazement, the boundless pride, the intense joy... then came the heart-wrenching jealousy, the vague sadness, the uncontrollable love... followed by the cautious panic, the wonderful feeling of losing and regaining... these countless emotions swept through his recollection, like the sudden detonation of a white dwarf star, illuminating his world with boundless light and giving birth to a supernova.
He savored the nooks and crannies of his memory, and with a blissful smile, he suddenly recalled some words she had acknowledged but which he had ignored at the time.
"Krum had nothing to do with this from the very beginning! It was you from start to finish!" she said, embarrassed and annoyed.
"I was looking at you sitting next to him! I was worried you wouldn't sleep well at the bottom of the Black Lake because you're afraid of water, so I kept studying your dark circles!" she roared at him.
"—That's because of you! Have you forgotten something? There's more than one Seeker in Quidditch! I knew the best Seeker in the world long before I knew him—or at least I thought it was—and that's you! Is it surprising that I studied Quidditch? Which of your Quidditch games have I missed?" she said anxiously.
As he savored the experience wave after wave, a tide of ecstasy gradually filled Draco's heart.
These forceful words were almost a declaration of love to him… they were evidence that she cared about him. Fragments of this evidence surged and churned in his memory, repeatedly verifying itself—ultimately, he became certain that they were all true and valid.
It turned out that Hermione had cared about him all along—only about him. Draco smiled slightly at the canopy above the four-poster bed.
And that intense, willful, almost out-of-control kiss.
It was pleasurable, exciting, and even craving for more. He knew it was too outrageous, sinful, and he was almost slipping into some kind of abyss of evil, a fervent desire that she shouldn't be able to bear right now.
It's too fast. He told himself that she was only 15 years old and things shouldn't progress too quickly.
Take it slow. Don't scare her. There are still so many things to do; he shouldn't drag her into this so soon. She trusts him so much; he should live up to her trust, not take advantage of her naivety and passionate trust to do something utterly despicable.
He shouldn't have been so brazen as to do those things he dreamt about—those things that made her wail like a kitten—even though he longed for them, longed for them so much that his whole body ached.
He tried to lock the unruly beast within him into the deepest, most unfathomable cage. The beast wore an innocent expression, as if everything he had done before had nothing to do with it; it hadn't shouted, roared, or instigated him at all.
Doing the right thing is far more difficult than satisfying one's desires. He absolutely did not want to mess this up, and for that, he was willing to be more careful. Draco sighed, savoring the lingering kiss and recalling the sweet feeling of her wriggling in his arms, and tried again to drift off to sleep.
The Slytherins adopted an odd silence regarding Draco and Hermione becoming dance partners, even showing more respect for Draco than they had previously.
This puzzled Draco—he had expected them to react more strongly.
"Of course they have nothing to say. You invited away the prettiest girl in the entire year that day! They'll only regret not noticing her sooner!" Blaise Zabini rolled his eyes. "And look at the Gryffindor boys' reaction. They're furious! Their house's prettiest girl was invited away by their arch-rival house… It's an absolute disgrace. Many in the house feel incredibly proud…"
"I really didn't expect this," Draco said slowly. "I thought I would become the enemy of the Academy."
"You're a hero in the eyes of the Slytherins now. They all think you beat Krum and won the dance partner he wanted. This has nothing to do with the house rivalry, or Hermione Granger herself, but that you, as a Hogwarts student, are superior to Durmstrang's champions…" Pansy Parkinson leaned listlessly on the sofa, feeling sleepy from yesterday's ball frenzy.
"She's not some prize or anything," Draco muttered—but the smile on his face betrayed his good mood.
"In short, if you can manage to lure Miss Gryffindor to Slytherin, I wouldn't mind." Blaise patted his shoulder with a grin. "I can't wait to see Potter and the others cough up blood."
"I don't mind. Who knew that such a beautiful woman was hidden behind that stack of books… Why doesn't she take care of her messy hair…" Pansy said regretfully, fiddling with her carefully styled bob. "What a waste."
Hermione Granger, who had been wasting her natural beauty, reverted to her usual casual hairstyle.
"Using quick-smooth hair conditioner every day is too much trouble," she said practically to Draco, scratching Crookshank's ear as the large yellow leather blanket on the armrest of the sofa in their study corner hummed comfortably.
It was the last day of the Christmas holidays, and almost all the students chose to bury themselves in the library to finish their assignments during this darkest hour. Only these two probably had the leisure to read extracurricular books, since they had already completed their homework ahead of schedule.
Draco, who was leaning against the sofa beside her and studying a book called "New Principles of Numerology," put down the book upon hearing this, revealing his eyes that had been hidden by the book.
"No matter the hairstyle... she's adorable." He tilted his head and studied her hair for a while before finally drawing a conclusion.
Hermione looked pleased, her cheeks beginning to flush. But you can never underestimate a girl's obsession with these kinds of questions, nor can you underestimate how much she cares about a boy's opinion; a bland, predictable answer won't satisfy her.
"Which hairstyle left the deepest impression on you?" she asked, trying different approaches, determined to get to the bottom of it.
"To be honest, I'm most impressed by the way you tie your hair up," he sighed, adding meaningfully, "It reminds me of the 'Dictionary of Magical Words'."
Hermione coughed, realizing he was implying something.
The kiss witnessed by the "Dictionary of Magical Words"—their first kiss—was when she was putting her hair up.
She noticed a smile spreading across his face, his eyes scanning her lips. She blinked nervously, instinctively covering her mouth as if to hide it.
Good heavens! Why did she bring this up?
How was she going to handle this? She let out a series of embarrassed coughs, wishing she could disappear into the ground.
"Cough clear up." Draco waved his wand, patted her back, and asked considerately, "Would you like some tea?"
"Okay." She quickly buried her face in the book "Advanced Transfiguration Guide" on her knees.
Draco enjoyed this leisurely and peaceful moment. Accompanied by the crackling of the fireplace and the clinking of the porcelain teaware, they continued reading their respective books, occasionally glancing up to exchange a few words, or simply smiling at each other.
Strangely enough, he used to find this state of affairs boring, but doing this with her seemed somewhat enjoyable.
"How is Harry? How's his research on the golden egg going?" After quietly sipping his tea for a while, seeing that she had stopped coughing, he cheerfully started talking again.
"I don't think he has time to study the golden egg right now—he and Ron are still working on the papers Professor McGonagall assigned!" Hermione said, abandoning her shyness and adopting an indignant tone as soon as she heard their names.
"This is really difficult," Draco mused.
He had no idea how to deal with the golden egg; he only knew the content of the competition.
How can I hint to Harry?
"However, he told me that after the Christmas ball, Cedric gave him a method, although he thought it was like a joke," Hermione said, gazing at the bright, mellow tea in her cup.
"What method?" Draco raised an eyebrow.
"He didn't go into details. I guess if he still makes no progress, he'll probably try something desperate." Hermione's face showed a hint of worry. "Last time he almost completed the first project on sheer courage, and I'm afraid the second one won't be so easy; courage alone might not be enough."
"I believe you are right," Draco said with an expression of agreement.
Spending a full hour at the bottom of Black Lake is chilling enough; add to that the various unknown creatures lurking beneath the surface...
Harry needs to practice the Bubble Head Charm as soon as possible, as well as other defensive and offensive spells he might need. However, as things stand, Harry hasn't solved the mystery of the golden egg at all; how can he subtly hint at it to Harry?
"By the way, do you remember Professor Snape and Professor Karkaroff's voices in the hallway that day?" Hermione asked, blushing and staring at the tea.
"Ah, I remember a little bit—" Draco coughed lightly, adjusted his posture, and his ears quickly turned red.
After the ball, they seemed to have reached a tacit agreement to never mention the passionate kiss in the corridor. If either of them even touched upon it, even the slightest hint, the other's face would turn bright red.
But Hermione persisted in telling him—she felt it was necessary for him to know.
"Harry and Ron overheard some conversation while they were walking in the rose bushes, between Professor Snape and Professor Karkaroff. They seemed to know each other before, saying something about 'it's starting to become obvious.' Sirius said Karkaroff was a Death Eater, didn't he? Do you think this has anything to do with Voldemort… the Man of Unknown?" She saw his expression turn stern in an instant and wisely refrained from uttering the name "Voldemort."
"Good girl." He noticed the change in her address, and his expression softened considerably. "You know, this name can't be said casually. During the Dark Lord's heyday, he would place a protective charm on his name, and anyone who called him by his name would be quickly identified."
"But he's no longer a threat." Hermione wasn't too concerned; she felt Draco was being overly cautious.
"As long as he's not completely dead, he could come back at any time. I hope you can develop a habit of not waiting until you suffer losses before you change. This isn't because we're afraid of him, but because we don't want to increase unnecessary danger and harm." He looked at her earnestly. "I'm very worried about this, more worried than you can imagine."
Even though Voldemort is now barely clinging to life and his power is far less than in his previous life, Draco still hates the possibility that she might be captured by Fenrir Greyback.
Hermione looked at him with a puzzled expression, her delicate lips pursed. His expression was very serious, as if he had experienced something terrible.
That's impossible. When Voldemort was at the height of his power and then declined, he was only a little over a year old and had a smooth life. He didn't have the same tragic experiences as Harry. What made him have such a deep fear?
Draco let those brown eyes scrutinize him, secretly clenching his fists, until her voice, tinged with confusion, came through, "Okay. I'll try my best."
"Very good. As for what they said, 'it's starting to become obvious,' I guess it's the Dark Mark. You should know what that is, right? It's on the arms of Death Eaters."
"Oh, I've read about it in a book, but it was a bit vague, and I've never really understood it," Hermione said. "Does it change color too?"
"The Dark Mark on the Death Eaters' arms is normally red, but turns black when touched and activated. At this point, the Death Eaters must immediately Apparate to the Dark Lord's side and obey his commands," he said somberly, his mood plummeting.
"Could he be summoning—" Her voice suddenly became shrill.
"No, not at that point. A burning pain and the mark turning black is what signifies a summoning." Draco gasped, lost in a painful memory, briefly releasing his fear of the Dark Mark. "They just said 'it's starting to become more obvious,' which is a different story. Whenever Voldemort is powerful or present, the mark on the Death Eaters' arms becomes clearer. This means the Dark Lord's power is returning—again, not a good sign."
Hermione looked at him, a strange suspicion suddenly rising in her heart.
No book has ever described this event in such detail.
Why would he know so much about this? Would his father, Lucius Malfoy, a former Death Eater, tell his son such inside information in such detail?
Why did the pain and fear on his face look so real—as real as if he were there?
However, the boy quickly regained his composure, composed himself, and looked at her again with gentle, calm, and soft eyes, as if everything he had talked about was meaningless and only she was the most important person.
He always looked at her like that, becoming increasingly brazen. It was as if he didn't realize how lethal his gaze was. Whenever he looked at her like that, her mind would become hazy and sluggish.
She struggled to gather her thoughts and posed her final question, "So—why did he talk to Professor Snape about this?"
"Because Professor Snape was a Death Eater too," Draco said calmly, unsurprisingly seeing the utterly shocked look on his girl's face.
"Does Dumbledore know?" Hermione asked after a long pause.
"He knew," Draco said. "Back then, he went against the grain and recommended Professor Snape to Hogwarts, offering him a teaching position, just as he had done for Lupin and Hagrid."
"Oh, I trust Dumbledore's judgment." Hermione's tone suddenly became more positive. "He's such a great wizard, he wouldn't be wrong, would he?"
"I hope not," Draco said softly. "Believe me, in this matter, no one hopes he won't misjudge the situation more than I do.