Chapter 213
The following days passed as usual.
For most students, life was either dull or filled with small excitements. But for the warriors, everything quieted down—they simply waited for the first task to arrive.
One thing worth mentioning was what happened in the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class after Pansy returned.
Alastor Moody almost got into a conflict with her.
The "overly sensitive" professor assumed that Pansy's limping gait was deliberate imitation—mocking his own injured leg.
Fortunately, Draco Malfoy stepped in quickly and explained the situation.
Once the misunderstanding was cleared, Moody said in a rough tone,
"Dark wizards won't care whether you're injured. They're not gentlemen. If you choose to attend my class, then endure it. Don't use your injury as an excuse."
He paused, then added, almost casually,
"Of course, it's your choice. Taking leave for an injury is perfectly normal… especially for a girl."
"So what if I'm a girl?" Pansy snapped back immediately.
From that moment on, she decided to persist—no special treatment, no excuses.
After all, most defensive magic didn't require her legs. As long as she could hold a wand, she could fight.
"Not bad. Strong will," Moody said approvingly.
Then, when Pansy wasn't looking, he gave Malfoy a wink. Judging by the movement of his lips, he seemed to be saying something like "girlfriend."
Malfoy felt increasingly certain that this man had been twisted by his time in Azkaban.
And Moody didn't stop there.
During lessons, he would drag his wooden leg around Malfoy's desk, occasionally tapping it with his cane—leaving faint scratches in the wood.
If one looked closely, those scratches formed a single phrase:
Fire Dragon.
Day by day, time passed quickly.
One afternoon, the low bell of Hogwarts rang again.
After Minerva McGonagall finished assigning homework in Transfiguration, she dismissed the class. Students began filing out.
Just as Malfoy and Pansy reached the door—
a clear, bell-like voice sounded from outside.
"I need to speak with you, warrior of Beauxbatons."
Fleur Delacour stood there, wand in hand, blocking their path.
She wore her usual Beauxbatons uniform—elegant silk robes, a soft blue collar, and a light blue hat. Even without effort, her presence was striking.
"I'm coming too," Pansy said quickly.
"This is a matter between warriors," Fleur replied, refusing her without hesitation.
"I'll be back soon," Malfoy said calmly. "Wait for me."
---
They walked together toward the lakeside.
It was midday. The area was quiet, almost empty. Only the occasional ripple disturbed the still surface of the water as a bird skimmed across it.
"You seem relaxed," Fleur said first. "So you already know how to deal with it?"
"I won't deny it," Malfoy replied. "Are you here to gather information?"
He stopped walking.
"Of course not," Fleur said with a small shake of her head. "I only wanted to help someone who might not know. But it seems you already do. So… I worried for nothing."
"Thank you," Malfoy said simply.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Fleur sighed.
"I don't know if I'll survive this."
Her voice softened, losing its usual composure.
"Madame Maxime wants me to win. I want to win too… but I don't have confidence."
Faced with danger, even she revealed a trace of vulnerability.
"Who wants to lose?" Malfoy said.
"No one," Fleur agreed quietly. "But Beauxbatons has always been slightly behind Hogwarts. The historical record is 63 to 62. If we win this time, we'll equalize."
"Then Durmstrang must be far behind," Malfoy said lightly. "At that rate, it'll take them centuries to catch up."
Fleur couldn't help but laugh.
The tension in her expression eased for a moment, her smile bright and fleeting.
"I never paid attention to Durmstrang's results… but now that you mention it, that's rather unfortunate for them."
Then the smile faded again.
"But even so… Hogwarts has grown too strong under Albus Dumbledore. Our headmistress wants to use this tournament to surpass him."
Competitive people are troublesome, Malfoy thought.
Aloud, he only said,
"He's just an old man. Not a god."
He kept his sharper thoughts to himself.
"Don't worry," he added instead. "Hogwarts has strict safety measures. Trust your own strength."
Fleur looked at him for a moment.
Then she smiled again—this time more relaxed.
"I'll take that as encouragement. I hope you achieve a good result as well."
For once, the conversation felt… normal.
No rivalry. No tension.
Just two people speaking honestly.
Perhaps, she thought, they could become friends.
Then—
she suddenly remembered something.
"Oh—have you read the newspaper?"
"What newspaper?" Malfoy asked.
"Nothing." Her expression changed instantly. "Goodbye."
She turned and walked away quickly.
Malfoy watched her retreating figure, slightly puzzled.
"Hard to understand," he muttered.
Then, as she was about to disappear from view, he spoke again—
softly.
"I think it'll be cold on the day of the task."
Fleur paused for a brief moment.
Then she continued walking—
without turning back.