Ruthless : d.malfoy [ REWRITING ]

PART 5

AS SOON as those two names passed Dumbledore's lips - collective gasps broke out across the hall , people angrily murmuring among themselves at the unfairness of it all. It took a moment for Draco to realise what was happening , and as soon as his eyes fell upon the brunette at the Ravenclaw table - all he could feel was fear. Extreme fear. Fear for Evanna.

He knew that she hadn't entered her name for the tournament , it just wasn't possible.

He just had to find out who it was.

He concentrated on Evanna , noticing how her face remained blank - but pallid. How the slight tremble of her legs gave away her nerve-wracking position as she stood up slowly. How her eyes had grown wide with fear. Draco watched , as she made her way up the front , watching as Harry joined her midway. Draco scoffed.

Of course it had to be Saint Potter. He was getting used to every year becoming the 'Harry Potter Show'. Rolling his eyes , he heard whispers around him.

"Of course Potter put his name in , bloody Gryffindor can't resist a bit of glory."

"How do you think he did it ? I mean , he's only fourteen and there had been a powerful age line."

"Or maybe it's Frey. She is top of her year , after all. Plus , a Ravenclaw."

"Yes , won't be a surprise if Frey did it. She's always been terrifyingly quiet , as though reading other people , not to mention she's always lonesome."

"But if it was her , why would she include Potter's name ?"

Draco's head spun as more accusations flooded his ears. He concentrated on his wavering reflection on the surface of the orange liquid that filled the sparkling goblet - running his fingers along the edge of the smooth , polished wooden table.

Lifting his gaze back up , he noticed a hush fall around the room - and it was so quiet , that he felt as though he could see the disapproving thoughts inside of everyone.

                                                 __________________________________

Evanna has had only one ambition ever since the age of seven. An act of theft. Thievery , from her own father. And today , she was a little closer to achieving it. Close , yet quite far away. The sole of her shoes clicked against the cold stone floor , bouncing off the thick walls and piercing the murmurs between the three other champions , and Madame Maxime and Igor Karkaroff.

Harry Potter was a bundle of nerves next to her. His foot tapping against the floor , with no rhythmn whatsoever , giving away his blatant nervousness. His forehead was beaded with drops of sweat  , that shone brightly against the orange tint of the low burning flames.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes , Evanna brought a perfectly manicured nail to her eyes , wiping away a salty tear - one she had quite effectively produced , which had excused her from the looks of contempt from the others , that had then been directed solely to Harry.