Chapter Twenty-Four: Old Friends I Don't Want to See
Remember this is AU
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Lucius Malfoy, supporting himself with a cane topped with silver serpent heads, swept into the box from the dark stairwell. Arthur Weasley watched Malfoy closely—under normal circumstances, if these two met in a corridor, they would immediately exchange barbs. But on such a significant occasion, and with Lockhart present—the professor who had once tried to mediate between their children—both sides had to give him a little face.
Draco Malfoy forced himself to greet Lockhart. Then a pair of hands in black velvet gloves rested on his shoulders. Lockhart followed the graceful, elegant line of those arms and saw the woman behind them.
The roar of a hundred thousand spectators, the ringing in his ears—everything vanished at once.
That beautiful lady was Mrs Malfoy.
Lockhart felt his heart thump violently against his ribs. This stunning woman was someone he had once spent a night with. It was the first time he'd ever run into one of his one-night affairs again—and in front of her husband, no less.
But Narcissa behaved as though absolutely nothing had happened.
"Good afternoon, Mr Lockhart. Your book is quite fascinating—I enjoy reading it."
Lockhart, snapping back to awareness, quickly took her hand and kissed it.
"Mr Lockhart."
Lockhart barely noticed Lucius approaching.
"I hope my foolish boy hasn't caused any trouble at school. If he has, do discipline him—firmly. I'd rather he not grow into an uncivilised brat like certain other people's children."
He cast a sideways glance at the Weasleys.
"Oh—no, Mr Malfoy, Draco behaves very well at school, and I like him a great deal."
Lockhart was so nervous he nearly forgot to shake hands.
"Really?" Lucius looked at Draco as though he'd never seen him before.
"Thank you for your efforts."
Draco blinked at him innocently.
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"My God, I bet the professor's completely smitten with Malfoy's mother," Ron whispered from behind.
"Shut up, Ron. How could the professor possibly fancy an old woman like that?"
"As if he'd fancy a penniless brat like you, Hermione. Don't kid yourself," Ron muttered.
"Bloody hell… damn Malfoy…" Hermione hissed under her breath.
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Lockhart returned to his seat looking utterly hollowed out, barely aware of the start of the match.
"Professor, are you feeling unwell?" Pandora asked softly.
She had hardly looked at the pitch at all; being seated beside her idol was far more exciting.
"No—no, I'm fine, thank you."
Lockhart swallowed hard. He felt Lucius's eyes drilling into the back of his head. Lucius, in truth, had simply been watching the match, but if he ever learned the truth, he would kill Lockhart on the spot. Even Dumbledore could only protect him inside Hogwarts. If the matter was exposed, Lockhart would have no dignity left—he wouldn't even be able to remain a professor.
He waited desperately for the match to end. He didn't know who had won.
He didn't even know which teams had been playing.
He was practically carried back to his tent by Pandora.
Good heavens—even fighting the basilisk hadn't been this nerve-wracking.
Lockhart forced himself to breathe. His mental fortitude was just too weak—nothing had actually happened.
Pandora looked at him anxiously, convinced his old injury from the Killing Curse had flared up again.
"Professor, you look awful. Should I fetch a doctor? The organisers brought one along."
Lockhart grabbed her arm immediately.
"No, no—just… a little dizzy. I'll be all right after sitting a bit. Don't worry."
So Pandora stayed beside him. Lockhart held her small, delicate hand and looked at her beautiful green eyes and soft features. If she hadn't been talking to him throughout the entire match, he wouldn't have dared remain seated until the end.
Suddenly, Lockhart acted on impulse—he pulled her close and leaned down.
"Ah—!"
Pandora's eyes widened, then gently closed. She wrapped her arms lightly around him.
After a long while, when Pandora was beginning to lose her breath, Lockhart finally let go. Her face was flushed scarlet, and she lowered her head, looking both shy and impossibly alluring.
Lockhart couldn't restrain himself—he shifted even closer.
"P-Professor… no, please, let's… let's talk about the match…" Pandora stammered helplessly.
Lockhart was the professor she admired most—young, handsome, charming. She had no idea whether to stand up, leave, or push him away.
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