Chapter 8
The days after the drawing, Hogwarts was in uproar. Everywhere he went, the dark‑haired guy (Harry) could feel eyes on him. There was no explosion of anger, no wave of shouted accusations in the corridors or furious glares hurled his way.
At first, the corridors were filled with soft murmurs—more astonishment than indignation. The students were still confused, surprised more than anything. Sure, some—especially among the Hufflepuffs—weren’t thrilled that Harry had snatched the opportunity away from Cedric, but there was no outright hostility. Not yet, at least.
At Gryffindor, attitudes were varied. Some looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and admiration; others seemed to be weighing whether to treat him as a hero or a cheat. But no one had the courage to confront him openly.
As usual, however, he paid no mind to any of it. Ron and Hermione didn’t make a scene. Ron merely shot him a glance that evening and shrugged.
«Being your friend is going to make me lose my hair.»
The Ravenclaw, for her part, didn’t even seem particularly surprised.
«I thought you’d lost your appetite.»
Neither of them asked him how it had happened—perhaps because, knowing him, they were aware he wouldn’t answer.
But he knew. He knew who had really put his name in the Goblet: Dumbledore. He didn’t need proof, or confirmation. And yet, he said nothing. He didn’t confront him. He didn’t try to rebel.
He had no intention of saying anything. He was playing his part to perfection: the confused student, the reluctant hero. Did Dumbledore want him to play along? Then he would play along.
In the following days, Draco couldn’t help but notice something. Harry Potter was spending more time with Cedric Diggory.
At first it seemed casual—a few exchanged words in the corridors, a brief nod during meals—but then it became more frequent.
Diggory had never been an intrusive presence; he hadn’t even known of him until his name burst forth from that useless Goblet. But now, Cedric orbited around the dark‑haired guy with a persistence that couldn’t be coincidental.
Draco saw him in the corridors, during breaks between classes, at lunch, even at the end of the Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. At first, Draco had thought it was merely courtesy: after all, Cedric was Hogwarts’ official champion, and perhaps he felt obliged to display a kind of sportsmanship toward the other.
But then he observed more closely. Cedric didn’t just talk with him. He moved around him with an incredible natural ease—a confidence that the blonde couldn’t explain. And the strangest part was that the Gryffindor simply let him do it.
It was… unnatural.
Harry never allowed anyone to get too close. He always maintained an air of detachment—even his closest friends, Weasley and Granger, had to push past his invisible barriers with patience and persistence.
But not Cedric. Cedric approached, and not only did Harry not recoil, he seemed to accept it without reservation. Draco couldn’t understand it. And the more he watched, the more it irritated him.
One afternoon, outside the castle near the Herbology greenhouses, the Hufflepuff was laughing at something, his arms crossed, while the dark‑haired guy—wearing his usual enigmatic smile—listened to him intently.
Whatever the nature of that closeness, Draco found it… annoying. He noticed that he was clenching the parchment between his fingers too tightly and forced himself to relax.
"It’s none of my business." he repeated to himself.
"But then why can’t I stop watching?"
The day of the first task arrived, heavy with anticipation.
The natural amphitheater surrounding the arena resounded with excited murmurs as the students crowded the stands, straining to catch a glimpse of the dragons—enormous, majestic, dangerous. The creatures lay in wait, their gleaming scales reflecting the sunlight while their wings moved ever so slightly, as if already savoring the impending hunt.
The champions took their turns one after the other. Krum was brutal and direct, Diggory shrewd and fast, Delacour elegant and determined. Then it was Harry’s turn.
Everyone held their breath as his dragon rose in all its imposing glory: a Hungarian Horntail, as black as night, with golden eyes that shone with pure ferocity.
Yet the dragon did not attack immediately. It did not roar, nor did it spit fire with its characteristic fury. Instead, it merely lowered its head slightly, tilting its snout in a gesture bordering on respect.
A surreal silence fell over the arena. Harry advanced with his usual measured confidence, his green eyes fixed on the beast. He did not flinch, nor did he brandish his wand in defense. He simply walked forward, slow and inexorable.
And the dragon let him pass. Unobstructed, Harry bent down and seized the golden egg. Only then did the dragon emit a deep sound—a low growl that carried no hostility. It almost seemed like a greeting.
The arena erupted in a clamor of voices, yet the school’s attention the next day wasn’t on his feat.
The real storm came with The Daily Prophet.
Front page. A photograph, probably taken without the subjects noticing. Cedric, seen from behind, his head slightly bowed. Harry, too close, his face angled in a way that left room for more interpretations than Draco was willing to tolerate.
It appeared as if they were about to kiss. The caption only fueled the fire: Champions United? From Rivals to Lovers?
Draco found himself gripping the newspaper too tightly. Harry Potter never allowed anyone to get too close, yet Cedric Diggory was within an arm’s reach of his face.
Draco dropped the newspaper onto the table with a sharp thud, his gaze fixed on the photo. Diggory. The perfect, brilliant, unbearably proper Diggory—a Golden Retriever masquerading as a wizard, with that smile of the ever-pleasant boy-next-door and the demeanor of a Sunday hero.
He had managed to get close to Potter—Potter had let him.
«What’s up, Draco?» Pansy’s voice was amused as she leaned in to peek at the photo.
«Jealous?»
Draco snorted, grabbing his tea cup too forcefully.
«Of that? Of that… perfect Diggory—the good‑boy with a commercial-worthy smile?»
The girl burst out laughing. Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained.
«That’s a new one.»
He looked up from the newspaper for a moment, his gaze briefly meeting Potter’s across the Great Hall as Potter calmly had breakfast. Potter had the newspaper folded beside his plate, opened to an article that would have made anyone else blush. But him? He didn’t even seem bothered. And that was all the more infuriating.
Cedric, for his part, sat at the Hufflepuff table with the same ease, though a slight flush tinged his cheeks whenever someone shot him a mischievous glance.
The chatter surrounding the photo was incessant. Some wondered if it was a printing mishap; others joked that the Triwizard Tournament had led to more than one kind of competition.
For the rest of the day, Harry was nowhere to be seen. That evening, while aimlessly wandering, Draco found him where, upon reflection, he ought to have been.
The Astronomy Tower was deserted at that hour, steeped in silence broken only by the wind. And there he was, leaning against the balustrade, his gaze lost among the stars. Draco approached calmly, hands tucked into his uniform pockets, and tilted his head with a sly grin.
«Not with your boyfriend?» he asked, doing his best to sound as sarcastic as possible.
Harry barely turned—a brief sideways glance was enough. The corners of his mouth curved into something resembling a smile.
«Contain your jealousy.» he replied coolly.
«He isn’t my boyfriend.»
«Sure.» Draco commented in a tone that said everything except that he believed it.
The Slytherin snorted, casually leaning against the adjacent balustrade.
«Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your poignant solitude.»
At last, he turned to look at him, the moon reflected in his green eyes. He studied him for a moment, then—with exaggerated theatricality—raised a hand and pointed at some random spot in the sky.
«Why don’t you stop being such a sulky little girl and tell me something about that constellation... Cassiopeia, right?»
The blonde raised an eyebrow.
«You know, you might have just insulted an ancient celestial deity, you know?»
Harry shrugged.
«I’m sure she’ll take it with you.»
He blinked, as if seriously considering whether to tell him to go to hell or not. Then he looked up at the sky with an exasperated sigh, tilting his head to really search for the constellation he’d indicated. After a moment, he folded his arms and adopted a vaguely professorial air.
«Yeah Cassiopeia. Queen of Ethiopia, famous for her beauty and her immeasurable ego. So vain, in fact, that she made the gods angry.»
The dark‑haired guy tilted his head, feigning genuine interest.
«So, basically, one of your ancestors?»
He shot him a piercing look. «You know, Potter, not every compliment is a veiled insult. Some are just compliments.»
Harry simply smiled, as enigmatic as ever.
«Which one?»
«That one is a jumble of senseless stars.» Draco said with perfect seriousness.
«That isn’t a constellation, Potter.» he explained with an exasperating patience.
«You just pointed at a random cluster of stars.»
Harry fell silent for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and lifted his chin.
«I just wanted to test your knowledge.» he declared with dignity before chuckling, turning his gaze back to the sky.
And Draco, for some inexplicable reason, found himself thinking that the sound of that laugh pleased him more than he was willing to admit.