Chapter 208
"When a flower of the French court meets a traditional English gentleman, what kind of sparks will fly between them?
And what of that visitor from a land of ice and snow—the famed Quidditch star who commands everyone's attention? His demeanor before the camera is as cold as his homeland.
Will he find true love at Hogwarts? As for the Boy Who Lived, now gradually coming of age—after becoming a Champion, will other girls begin casting secret, flirtatious glances his way?
Or has his sensitive and fragile heart already been claimed by someone else? Special correspondent of the Daily Prophet, Rita Skeeter, will open a new path and bring you closer to the emotional world of the four Champions."
This was the headline splashed across the front page of the Daily Prophet.
After the wand-weighing ceremony, the newspaper had published a special feature on the Triwizard Tournament, once again penned by Rita Skeeter.
Her flamboyant style—and her tendency to fabricate gossip—remained as popular as ever.
Back then, Pansy had little to do while confined to the hospital ward, so reading had been her only way to pass the time. Coincidentally, her father had left this very newspaper behind during one of his visits.
Setting aside Rita's stories about Harry Potter and Viktor Krum, what truly caught Pansy's attention was the so-called "romance" between Draco Malfoy and Fleur Delacour.
That was the real hook.
At the time, she had nearly thrown the newspaper straight into the rubbish bin. Perhaps that would have been better—at least it wouldn't have ended up torn into pieces.
The article read:
"I wager they already knew each other. Merlin help me—I even gave up my seat at the banquet that day to create an opportunity for them.
What a fool I was. Never mind that—just don't print my name, alright?" said a Slytherin student who wished to remain anonymous.
"A perfect match—talent and beauty. Both are Champions chosen by the Goblet of Fire. I wonder if their sparks will continue to fly during the tournament," said a Hufflepuff girl, Hannah Abbott, her face filled with dreamy admiration.
"These are merely a few random interviews conducted within Hogwarts. Clearly, the eyes of the public are sharp. Reporting must begin with the masses—they are the true witnesses of history. No one can hide from everyone," Rita wrote, attempting to lend credibility to her piece.
"However, perhaps the words of those directly involved would be even more convincing."
"I refuse to be interviewed." This was Fleur Delacour's response to the rumors.
"I can't help but wonder—is she avoiding something? Is she simply too shy to speak? Or is it that her heart is already entangled… with her future rival?"
Rita's speculation grew increasingly pointed—yet she very deliberately avoided naming the other central figure.
"After that, I temporarily left Hogwarts. My professional instincts told me there was more to uncover. A true journalist never relies on a single source. I needed to move faster—to gather evidence from elsewhere," she wrote.
"I swear I remember correctly. That day at Gringotts Wizarding Bank, these two Champions from different schools already knew each other.
They even helped stop a disturbance caused by Dementors! I swear it's true! That young lady's charm—once seen, it's unforgettable for a lifetime!" an ordinary merchant insisted passionately.
"An excellent upbringing. As the sole heir to immense wealth, he shows not the slightest arrogance or decadence. He even visited Gringotts in his third year simply to experience life.
I believe that once he graduates, this rising star of the wizarding world will shine brilliantly!" Rita added, lavishing praise without restraint.
"Furthermore, the two appear to have interacted during the Quidditch World Cup… I will uncover more in the next issue.
A devoted journalist always strives to reveal the truth hidden beneath the fog—whether it be ugly reality or sweet, ambiguous scandal."
She even took time to boast about herself at the end.
Even Malfoy hadn't expected her to go this far.
He had assumed that after Lucius Malfoy became her superior, she would at least exercise some restraint.
In reality, she had shown exactly that—on the surface.
During the wand inspection, her interview with him had been brief, and even that enchanted Quick-Quotes Quill had behaved itself under his pressure.
The only explanation was that she believed this sort of article would curry favor with the heir of a powerful family.
Whether in the wizarding world or the Muggle one, society tended to be more lenient toward men.
This sort of gossip would only enhance his reputation—interpreted as proof of charm. Rita's writing leaned heavily toward flattery, sparing no praise.
She was likely quite pleased with herself.
And all of this… was what Pansy had read in that hospital ward.
Including, of course, the "beautified" photograph of the Champions.
Wizards might not use computers, but magic served the same purpose.
Rita had "subtly" adjusted the distance between Malfoy and Fleur in the photograph. What should have looked like ordinary proximity now suggested intimacy.
Pansy knew it was childish.
But she couldn't stop herself.
The innocent newspaper had been reduced to shredded scraps.
And now, seeing the real person in front of her, that buried sense of crisis surged uncontrollably.
She studied Fleur carefully.
Long silver hair like a waterfall. Captivating blue eyes. Tall, elegant—almost flawless in every way.
And she herself?
She had just changed into the only outfit she believed might give her a chance to compete. Beauxbatons students weren't restricted in what they wore outside formal occasions.
Even now, though Fleur had rushed here in disarray—hair damp, clothes muddied, expression anxious—it only made her seem more delicate.
There was something about her that stirred a protective instinct in others, as if one couldn't help but want to hold her close and comfort her.
Beauty softened everything.
Without it, the same scene would have looked ridiculous.
And most importantly—
She was older.
That alone had always been one of the reasons Malfoy kept Pansy at a distance.
While Pansy remained tangled in these thoughts, Fleur suddenly turned to Malfoy.
"And this is…?"
Before he could answer—
"Sister…?"
A weak voice came from behind the curtain of one of the beds.
Gabrielle Delacour's voice broke the tension instantly.
Fleur rushed to her side.
"Madam Delacour, your sister is recovering well," Madam Pomfrey said, already at the bedside. She had just withdrawn her hand from Gabrielle's forehead after checking her temperature.
"Achoo—!"
Gabrielle sneezed.
"I'm sorry, sister… I made you worry," she said softly, guilt written across her face. She knew her illness might distract Fleur—and even affect her performance in the tournament.
"Could you get me a cup of hot water, Draco?"
Fleur didn't turn around as she spoke, her attention fixed entirely on her sister.
But the way she said his name—slowly, naturally—
carried an ease, and a closeness, that felt entirely unforced.