Because of that unforgettable figure beneath the moonlight, countless young wizards lay awake in their beds that night, tossing and turning as if the entire school had come down with collective insomnia. And because of her, the Durmstrang delegation that arrived afterward barely made an impression at all.
The only thing anyone vaguely remembered was that one of them might have been a Quidditch star… probably…
...
The morning after the two visiting schools arrived, Hogwarts was preparing a lavish welcome feast. It would also be the occasion for announcing the start of the Triwizard Tournament and the details of the selection process.
When Draco stepped through the entrance hall into the Great Hall, he immediately spotted the Quidditch commentator Lee Jordan bouncing up and down in the crowd as if searching desperately for someone.
Several witches were also rummaging frantically under their robes.
After getting close enough to overhear, he finally understood why.
"I can't believe I didn't bring a single quill!"
"Do you think he'd sign my hat with lipstick?"
"Why isn't he here yet? Did he oversleep?"
"Who knows where the Durmstrang students are staying. I'll go check."
Who were they trying to get an autograph from?
Draco didn't care in the slightest. Once he figured out what was going on, he quickly walked past the witches who all seemed a bit unhinged.
Pansy and Hermione noticed the commotion too.
"Viktor Krum. That's what all the fuss is about."
"Viktor… isn't he the star Seeker for the Bulgarian national Quidditch team? I didn't expect him to show up here." Hermione's excellent memory immediately recalled the players from the World Cup, and Ron Weasley had repeated the guy's name several times on their way there.
"You know him that well? What's wrong, Granger, do you want his autographed photo too?"
"What? Why would I do something that ridiculous!"
Hermione shot back loudly, flustered. Even as she snapped at Pansy, she sneaked a quick glance at Draco.
When she saw that Draco didn't seem to care at all, Hermione finally relaxed. She then shot a venomous glare at Pansy Parkinson, who was wearing a smug, wicked smile.
That woman was unbearable.
...
A professional-level Quidditch star could certainly stir up excitement among young wizards, but compared to the graceful figure now stepping into the dining hall, it all felt insignificant.
It was as if last night's scene was unfolding all over again.
The moment that silver-haired figure entered through the doors, every student—boy or girl—found their eyes drawn to her.
Maybe because they had already experienced her arrival the night before, most of them were mentally prepared this time and didn't make fools of themselves. Still, the conversation naturally shifted to her, and hardly anyone's gaze drifted away from her.
"She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."
"Yeah… especially those eyes. I'd give anything to protect her."
Draco wasn't surprised in the slightest.
It wasn't that Hogwarts lacked beautiful girls, or that Pansy or Hermione had no charm. There was a deeper cause behind this reaction.
Sensing the faint magical pulse in the air, Draco frowned.
'Not quite on par with a true Veela. Is it because her power's being restrained by a magical item... or is it because she's a half-blood?'
That thought reminded him of Beauxbatons' Headmistress. If half-giants existed, then a half-Veela wasn't strange at all.
While Draco contemplated this, the identity of the Beauxbatons witch was soon uncovered thanks to several enthusiastic young wizards.
Fleur Delacour.
The witch who had caused such a stir the moment she appeared.
She came from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and judging from where she stood beside Maxime, the school's Headmistress, Miss Fleur Delacour clearly held a certain level of status among her peers.
Her proud expression also suggested she'd grown up surrounded by admiration.
Whether that admiration came from Maxime's mentorship or the privileges tied to her Veela bloodline was anyone's guess.
In any case...
As the Beauxbatons students gathered in the middle of the hall looking for empty seats, Fleur Delacour—obviously the leader of her group—chose, to the shock of every male student watching, the Slytherin table.
What made it even more heartbreaking for the onlookers was that the dazzling Fleur Delacour chose the very table where Draco happened to be sitting.
To most wizards, it felt like watching a princess wander straight into the dragon's lair...
...
Her Veela bloodline gave Fleur Delacour a charm others could only envy, but it also brought her problems of its own.
The nauseating stares were especially unbearable, and they only fueled her cold, aloof expression.
If she didn't keep her guard up like this, she'd be swarmed by people desperate to meet her—or worse, those wanting to try something inappropriate.
'So that's how it is. Even if this school's headmaster is Dumbledore... huh?'
Arms crossed and expression full of disdain, Fleur Delacour's gaze suddenly paused on someone. She stared for a few seconds, then after a brief moment of thought, headed toward him with a blank expression.
Because, unlike the others—
He wasn't leering at her in that disgusting way, nor did he show the hostility some of the other girls had.
It felt as though he… simply didn't notice her charm at all.
As if the book in his hands was more interesting than her beauty.
That discovery sent a faint ripple through Fleur Delacour's heart.
Before she realized it, her feet were already moving.
Rather than sit across from people who would gawk at her, she wanted to sit opposite someone who treated her like an ordinary person...
...
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