Lucius Malfoy entered the box, leaning on his cane topped with a silver serpent's head, putting on an air of superiority. Arthur Weasley stared at him intently. Normally, the two would already be exchanging sharp insults, but this was an important occasion—and with Professor Lockhart present, both sides restrained themselves out of courtesy.
Draco Malfoy stiffly greeted Lockhart. A pair of hands in black velvet gloves rested on his shoulders. Following those elegant arms, Lockhart's gaze landed on Draco's mother—and in that instant, the deafening roar of a hundred thousand spectators seemed to vanish.
So this was Mrs. Malfoy.
Lockhart felt his heart pounding wildly. He hadn't expected to encounter her again here, especially under such circumstances.
Narcissa, however, acted as if nothing unusual had happened. "Hello, Mr. Lockhart. Your books are quite interesting—I enjoy them very much."
Lockhart snapped back to his senses and quickly took her hand, bowing slightly and kissing it in greeting.
"Mr. Lockhart," Lucius stepped forward. "I trust my foolish son has not behaved improperly at school. If he has, please discipline him strictly. I would not want him to grow into someone as ill-mannered as certain others." He cast a glance toward the Weasley family.
"Oh—no, Mr. Malfoy. Draco has been quite well-behaved at school. I rather like him," Lockhart replied, almost forgetting to shake his hand.
"Is that so?" Lucius looked at his son in disbelief. "Then I thank you for your effort."
From behind, Ron whispered, "I bet the professor's completely taken by Malfoy's mum."
"Shut up, Ron. There's no way the professor would like someone like that," Hermione retorted.
"What, you think he'd like someone like you?" Ron teased.
"Just shut up…" Hermione muttered angrily.
Lockhart returned to his seat in a daze, barely noticing when the match began.
"Professor, are you feeling unwell?" Pandora asked softly. She hadn't been paying attention to the match either—sitting beside her idol was far more exciting.
"I'm fine, thank you," Lockhart said, swallowing and forcing himself to sound steady. He felt as though Lucius's gaze might be fixed on the back of his head, even though Lucius was actually watching the match.
If the truth ever came out, Lockhart knew the consequences would be disastrous.
He sat through the match in discomfort, hardly aware of what was happening—not even knowing who won.
Afterward, he was practically supported back to his tent by Pandora. Even fighting a basilisk hadn't been this nerve-wracking, he thought. It was all in his head—nothing had actually happened.
Pandora looked at him with concern, assuming his condition was related to lingering effects from the Killing Curse. "Professor, you look terrible. Should I call a healer? The organizers have medical staff."
Lockhart quickly grabbed her hand. "No, no. I'm just feeling a bit unwell. I'll be fine after resting."
So Pandora stayed with him as he sat down. Looking at her youthful face and bright green eyes, Lockhart felt his earlier tension slowly ease. During the match, her presence and conversation had helped him get through it.
Overcome by emotion, he acted impulsively and grew physically affectionate, catching Pandora off guard. She was flustered and shy, unsure how to respond as he continued to behave in an increasingly intimate and inappropriate manner.