Chapter 258
Later, Draco took Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy on a tour around Hogwarts Castle.
As Lucius walked through the corridors, he would occasionally pause to inspect a statue or decoration, offering sharp, critical remarks, clearly unimpressed.
By lunchtime, they were seated in the Great Hall.
Narcissa barely touched her food. She prodded the lamb chops on her plate with her fork, then set it down.
"The food here is quite poor," she said coolly, one elegant brow lifting. "Draco must be suffering."
She looked at her son with exaggerated sympathy, making Draco shift uncomfortably.
He actually thought the food was perfectly fine—Hogwarts' house-elves never failed in quality.
"I think it's actually quite good, Aunt Narcissa," Pansy added lightly.
"Oh? And he must also endure dining with people of… lesser standing," Narcissa replied, casting a disdainful glance toward the Gryffindor table, where Molly Weasley sat with her family.
To her, families like the Weasleys—so close to Muggles—were an embarrassment to pure-blood wizards.
"They should be ashamed," she muttered.
"Dumbledore likely believes this so-called 'equality' reflects his boundless compassion," Lucius added, idly stroking the head of his silver serpent cane.
Fortunately, they were far enough away that Mrs. Weasley couldn't hear them.
Otherwise, the situation would have escalated quickly.
Draco pushed his plate aside and spoke calmly.
"Father, Mother, I'll be going to the library this afternoon. I need to prepare for the third task."
"I can take Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa to the VIP lounge," Pansy offered quickly, shooting Draco a subtle wink.
"Then we won't disturb you," Narcissa replied, though her tone carried a trace of reluctance.
She rose at once, urging Lucius along so they wouldn't interfere.
—
After parting from them at the entrance to the Great Hall, Draco headed to the library.
But he didn't actually search for anything related to the task.
Instead, he wandered between shelves, absentmindedly pulling books down and flipping through them.
Sunlight filtered softly through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over the rows of books.
His eyes skimmed pages rapidly—ten lines at a glance—before he set each book aside.
He wasn't reading.
He was trying to calm himself.
The steady flow of information helped him suppress the unease coiling quietly in his chest.
Outwardly, he remained composed.
Inside, however, there was a lingering tension he couldn't shake.
Everything was still proceeding within his expectations—
Even slightly better than anticipated.
Compared to the original course of events, things were largely the same…
But there were subtle deviations.
Draco exhaled quietly, returning a book to its place.
He rubbed his temples, closed his eyes, and leaned back against a bookshelf in a shaded corner.
For now, he chose to rest.
To conserve his strength.
And wait.
In this "pure" final task, he would only play a supporting role.
—
Time passed.
The sun dipped lower, its light turning a rich amber as evening approached.
Dinner time arrived, and the Great Hall filled once more.
The meal was more lavish than usual. Many students eagerly helped themselves, eating with excitement.
At the Gryffindor table, Harry Potter felt uneasy.
Ever since Viktor Krum had been attacked, Alastor Moody had grown distant.
No hints.
No guidance.
Nothing.
—
As the enchanted ceiling darkened from blue to deep violet, Albus Dumbledore rose from the staff table.
The hall fell silent at once.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said calmly, stroking his long silver beard, "in five minutes, we will proceed to the Quidditch pitch for the final task of the Triwizard Tournament."
"Champions, please follow Mr. Bagman."
Draco stood.
Pansy looked at him, concern clear in her eyes.
She had already said everything she could.
This final task… would not be easy.
"Don't worry," Draco said quietly, ruffling her hair. "It'll be fine."
Then he turned and followed Bagman.
—
The Quidditch pitch was completely transformed.
A towering hedge—twenty feet high—encircled the entire field.
At the front stood a single opening.
The entrance to the maze.
Dark.
Silent.
Foreboding.
—
Within minutes, the stands filled.
Hundreds of students poured in, their voices rising in excited chatter.
Above them, the sky deepened into a clear night blue, stars beginning to appear.
Minerva McGonagall, Alastor Moody, and Filius Flitwick stepped onto the field, their robes adorned with bright red stars.
"We will patrol outside the maze," McGonagall told the champions. "If you require assistance, send up red sparks."
"We will come immediately."
All four champions nodded.
"Excellent!" said Ludo Bagman cheerfully. "Let's begin!"
The patrol members moved into position.
Bagman raised his voice, amplified across the stadium.
"Ladies and gentlemen! The final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin!"
"Current standings—"
"Draco Malfoy — 87 points — Hogwarts!"
The crowd erupted into cheers. Even birds in the distant Forbidden Forest took flight into the darkening sky.
Draco glanced toward the stands.
He saw Lucius and Narcissa watching proudly.
Pansy was waving excitedly.
He gave them a small nod.
"Fleur Delacour — second place — 86 points — Beauxbatons!"
"Harry Potter — third place — 85 points — Hogwarts!"
"Viktor Krum — tied third — 85 points — Durmstrang!"
Polite applause followed.
But Igor Karkaroff's face darkened noticeably.
To him, this ranking was nothing short of humiliation.