Ron hoisted Harry up, as though raising a Quidditch Cup.
The Gryffindor students erupted in earth-shaking cheers, sending Harry's name soaring toward the Great Hall's vaulted ceiling.
"He entered! Merlin's beard, he really entered!"
"Is he mad? He's only a fourth year!"
"So what? He's Harry Potter!"
Harry was held high in the air, his view swaying violently.
He saw faces twisted with excitement, as well as the complicated looks from the other houses-admiring, jealous, or appraising.
Their cheers were deafening, as though lions were announcing their king's return to the battlefield.
On the edge of the crowd.
On the edge of the crowd, the corners of Draco Malfoy's mouth had just begun to rise.
That smug, vicious grin instantly froze, replaced by a venomous hatred that almost spilled from his eyes.
He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails nearly dug into his flesh.
Time rewound ten minutes.
At a corner in the corridor.
Draco was still dwelling on Slytherin's defeat in the Dragon Pearl contest, walking in something of a daze.
He walked straight into a hard wall that smelled of stale sweat and leather.
"Watch where you're going, boy."
A rough, hoarse voice sounded above his head.
Draco looked up and met a heavily scarred face and that madly spinning Electric-Blue Magical Eye.
It was Moody.
He was about to turn and leave; this was one of the people his father had warned him not to provoke.
But Moody spoke first.
That Magical Eye fixed itself on his face, as though it could see through his skin and stare straight into his proud yet fragile heart.
"The Malfoy boy. I know you."
Moody's tone was filled with undisguised mockery.
"Didn't see your father at the Quidditch World Cup. Looks like he's finally learned a little sense."