Hermione Granger had no idea she had just walked straight past Draco.
She spent the whole day trying to lose herself in novelty and curiosity, trying to stop thinking about the boy who had inexplicably taken up residence in her thoughts.
It must be said, most of the time, this strategy worked rather well:
The dazzling array of tent decorations was quite captivating, and each chance meeting with a fellow Hogwarts student filled her with surprise and delight.
In the afternoon, vendors Apparated down out of the sky with their trays, selling all manner of strange and wonderful souvenirs... badges, rosettes, top hats, flags, models, figurines.
She and Ginny could not help but linger before every stall, quite unable to tear themselves away, until Mr Weasley, amid the cheering crowds around them, called loudly for them to hurry towards the stadium.
"Is it not spectacular? It can seat a hundred thousand spectators from all over the world, and five hundred Ministry of Magic staff worked on it for an entire year. Every single inch of the place is protected by a Muggle-Repelling Charm..." Mr Weasley said loudly, leading them into the vast stadium.
Passing a number of shouting wizards, they followed a witch up a crimson-carpeted stairway to the topmost level.
Hermione followed Mr Weasley and the others up the stairs to the box at the very top.
Some twenty purple-and-gold chairs stood arranged in two rows. They looked round curiously, one after another, and settled themselves into the front row, close to the edge.
By now, thousands upon thousands of wizards were taking their seats all around.
The topmost box offered a splendid view; it stood at the very highest point of the stadium, looking straight down onto the golden goalposts.
Hermione peered down from her seat into the stadium below, and saw it bathed in a strange golden light, the pitch smooth as velvet.
Directly opposite them, at eye level, hung an enormous blackboard, flashing up advertisements for the spectators.
Over the next half hour, the once-empty box filled steadily with lively chatter.
Mr Weasley kept shaking hands with several wizards who seemed rather important. Hermione recognised Cornelius Fudge, the portly Minister for Magic, whom she had last seen near the pumpkin patch outside Hagrid's hut at Hogwarts, a few months before.
He was speaking kindly to Harry just now.
Mr Weasley was quite devoted to introducing Harry and Hermione to various Ministry officials... his own children were already well acquainted with most of his colleagues.
However, once Hermione had properly understood what each official actually did, she gradually lost all interest in their tedious small talk.
As her mind wandered, that thought she had been suppressing for so long began, unbidden, to surface again: Draco... wherever was he?
For the thousand-and-first time, she cast an anxious glance towards the dark stairwell below, suddenly hoping he might arrive soon.
Just then, the very boy she had been longing for answered her silent call. That boy, with his sharp chin and coolly aloof manner! His neatly styled platinum blonde hair suddenly caught the light along the dark street below.
Her lips parted slightly, and she blinked, hardly able to believe it, only to find that pair of grey eyes glance up briefly towards the box above, then shoot straight towards her, like an arrow, meeting her gaze.
A gentle smile suddenly touched his sharp features. Hermione looked at him and could not help smiling back. He seemed to have grown taller since she had last seen him, carrying that particular sort of vigorous, upright bearing found only in young men.
Hermione looked at him and found, quite suddenly, that she could not look away at all.
Stranger still, the noisy chatter all around her seemed to have paused entirely, vanishing from her ears altogether.
Draco, he had cruelly, effortlessly, captured her heart.
She murmured his name to herself as she watched him make his slow way up the stairs.
It felt like some slow-motion scene from an old film she had once seen, certain details inexplicably magnified, presented to her with strange, gentle precision.
For instance, he wore a spotless, crisp black suit with a black lining, lending him a certain air of mystery; or the way his tie, drawn tightly at his collar, gave him a restrained sort of elegance.
Stranger still, she found she could hear the slow, steady tap of his leather shoes against the wooden steps, a sound that seemed to echo somewhere deep within her own chest.
Hermione had to admit, he really did look rather striking in a suit.
Everything about him drew the eye. He had caught hers entirely.
Hermione Granger, stop this, do not think of it! she told herself, and yet found her whole body had gone quite stiff, as though under some Petrification Charm.
She struggled to look away, trying not to appear so utterly smitten, but failed each time. At last, quite frustrated with herself, she simply sat, unmoving, unable to say a single word.
In that moment, she suddenly understood, completely, exactly how Ginny felt whenever she was near Harry.
What right did she have, lecturing Ginny about it at all?
She was every bit as helpless herself; the moment she saw him, her mind went entirely blank too.
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