At last, they made it through the crowds unscathed, passing by the rather more deserted Bulgarian section of tents.
At last, they could keep a proper, ordinary distance between friends, rather than being pressed together like two dizzy crabs stuffed into the same basket.
Krum's image, printed on one of the tents, still gazed gloomily out at the boys and girls passing by.
"I would wager you rather admire Krum, do you not?" Hermione glanced up at Draco, hoping to find some safe subject in common.
I had to say something to break this tension, Hermione thought.
She was nearly driven to distraction by the almost imperceptible strain hanging in the air between them, and his silent, tight-lipped expression, there in the moonlight, was so mysterious, so captivating, that she could not look away from it.
She understood it now.
She liked his touch. She liked the feel of his hand upon her skin, just as she liked the sensation of her back pressed to his chest.
If she went on thinking this way, it would grow very difficult indeed to keep her distance from him.
"You like him?" His voice was as cold as the moonlight tonight, as though he had never seen the least appeal in Krum at all.
That could hardly be right. Draco was a Seeker himself; how could he fail to admire the most celebrated Seeker of the whole tournament?
Hermione chose her words carefully, hoping to ease the tension with something light. "He... fought very bravely. I think he showed everyone the real appeal of Quidditch."
"You like Krum?" Draco clicked his tongue, quite fixated on confirming the point once more. A dull ache settled somewhere behind his back teeth.
"Who would not like him? He catches the Snitch so beautifully!" Hermione said, matter-of-factly.
Draco's growing sense of ease was shattered at once by those words. His expression darkened instantly, and he said sharply, "Oh... I had no idea you were so shallow, liking a person merely for their fame and their charm."
"What are you talking about?" Hermione was quite taken aback by his tone; she had never expected him to twist her meaning so unkindly.
She retorted sharply, "He is an exceptionally talented player, is it not natural enough that people should admire him? Harry and Ron admire him too! You... are you implying something?"
"Fancying a famous player, that is exactly what I mean! Can you truly say you have never thought of it?"
Draco shot her a sour look, a flash of colour rising in her cheeks.
"What on earth is wrong with you?" Hermione said, exasperated, finding him utterly unreasonable.
"I simply admire him! He is an international Quidditch star, how could that possibly have anything to do with the real world, with us?"
Just as Hermione had hoped, that charged atmosphere between them had well and truly broken, and yet it left her feeling no better for it.
She had never meant to quarrel with him at all; she had only wanted to keep some safe distance, to avoid appearing quite so besotted with him.
Yet somehow, quite without meaning to, they had gone on bickering like a pair of squabbling children the whole way to the water point.
The water point, so busy in the daytime, now stood deserted, save for a scattering of dark, silent tents.
A properly secluded spot for an argument, then.
"An international Quidditch star?" Draco said curtly, pressing ahead with his interrogation, as though determined to get to the bottom of things tonight, once and for all.
"And if he happened to cross your path? If he appeared before you, and confessed his feelings for you? Would you go out with him, then, start dating with him?"
He really was utterly unreasonable! Hermione thought angrily, her temper finally sparked by his relentless goading all evening.
"Yes!" she said, with some spite. "Why ever not? Perhaps he would not think me too young at all, but rather someone perfectly suited to courting, or even something more serious."
Draco's face turned pale in an instant.
Very well, then. Now, at last, here was the answer to all that deliberate evasion, that dodging about.
It was only natural, then, that he had become "just an ordinary friend from the neighbouring House."
Hermione Granger... that wretched, heartless girl... had found herself a new object of interest: Viktor Krum.
She had probably spent the entire holiday mooning over his poster.
Merely picturing the scene was enough to turn his stomach.
What was Draco Malfoy, set beside Viktor Krum? Perhaps nothing at all. She had not seen him in a month, nor shown him the slightest concern.
"Very well, then. I shall not trouble you any further." He said this abruptly, and, with long strides, walked off and left her behind.
"Draco!" Hermione called after him.
He paused only briefly, then quickened his pace still further. He walked off with an air of studied indifference, like the very worst sort of scoundrel in all the world.
He caught a glimpse of her expression out of the corner of his eye: rather confused, and rather sad.
He had behaved abominably, quite without any manners at all. Draco loathed himself for it, just then... but had he stayed a moment longer, he was not at all sure he would not have said something even worse.
That is quite enough for tonight. He walked back towards his own tent, feeling wretched and thoroughly low.
The campsite still rang with noise, full of singing and laughter that had nothing whatsoever to do with him.
But gradually, the singing died away, replaced by dreadful screams; Draco was jolted out of his simmering jealousy, and realised people were fleeing in a panic all around him.
By the light of a few still-flickering campfires, he saw people rushing into the woods, as though fleeing something advancing on them from another part of the campsite. Whatever it was, it flashed strangely, and made a sound rather like gunfire.
By an eerie green glow, Draco saw several blurred shapes floating above the campsite, and, further off, firelight and thick smoke, as though someone's tents had been set alight.
Other figures, in masks and hoods, drifted faintly into view too, amid mocking laughter and wild, jeering shouts.
Hermione!
In an instant, terror seized him, and he turned and ran back the way he had come.
He shoved his way frantically through the surging crowd, thrusting aside anyone who blocked his path.
Some grumbled at him, but he paid them no mind at all... he cared only for her.
He was consumed with remorse.
How could he have forgotten, even for a moment, what tonight was, when he had so foolishly abandoned her out there in a fit of pique?
And now, the way back seemed endlessly long, with so many people crashing into him at every turn.
The air was full of children crying, women screaming, men cursing. Shrieks rang out overhead, and, by the light of a few burning tents, Draco recognised the Muggle family from the site office. They hung upside down in the air, like pigs bound for slaughter, letting out terrified howls.
Draco hurried on, his heart consumed with dread. He finally forced his way through the worst of the crowd, and reached the area near the water point once more. A slight, pink-clad figure lay upon the ground, struggling to rise.
He rushed over and helped her up, asking, "Are you all right?"
She looked up at him, her face smeared with dirt. Her eyes were wet, and her voice trembled with tears. "What are you doing here? Did you not... did you not say you would not speak to me again?"
"I am so sorry, so terribly sorry. I should never have left you out here alone."
Draco glanced quickly at her knees and elbows, both smeared with mud. He took her arm and asked, "Can you walk? We need to get away from here at once."
"I cannot move my leg," she said, sniffling. She was rather lightly dressed, and the night air had turned chilly; he heard her sneeze softly.
He sighed, swiftly shrugged off his black suit jacket, and draped it over her shoulders. She looked at him with a pitiful expression, but did not refuse it.
"I shall carry you, climb on, quickly." Draco crouched down, gesturing for her to climb onto his back. She sobbed once, then clung to him, her bare arms wrapping round his neck.
He lifted her easily onto his back and followed the main crowd deeper into the woods. She felt very light against him, clinging like some feather, almost weightless. He could feel her trembling, though he could not tell whether from fear or from cold.
"Are you still cold?" he asked her softly, tilting his head slightly.
"No, it is lovely and warm," she said, resting her face against his shoulder, her voice still trembling with tears.
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