Sometimes, the key to victory comes down to whether one side's presence can completely overwhelm the other.
A duel to the death.
Two armies facing off.
A sniper standoff at center gate.
Momentum. Formation. Killing intent.
These things can't be written down or neatly measured. They sound intangible, almost illusory—yet no one can truly deny their existence.
In the wizarding world, however, that invisible pressure can be made unmistakably real.
Just as Draco was doing now.
Trembling.
Disbelief.
Watching from the stands at a distance was one thing. Experiencing it up close was another entirely.
Only now did they truly understand the gap between themselves and Draco.
Magic poured from him as though it had substance, surging outward like a demon god rising from the abyss.
In their ears, they could hear uneven breathing, a heartbeat skipping involuntarily. People instinctively tried to shrink their presence, to make themselves smaller.
Without thinking, they lowered their eyes before that pale golden figure.
...
Suspended, but not released.
There was nothing more torturous than that.
Draco had originally planned to end this farce quickly. But when he noticed the strain etched across every face, a faintly wicked thought crossed his mind.
As his wand moved slowly, deliberately, each wizard it passed over broke into a cold sweat.
It was as if he had found an amusing new toy—and decided to prolong the game.
Penelope, who had already resolved not to interfere and happened to catch the look in Draco's eyes, felt her temples throb.
Compared to the tense, complicated expressions around them, the three girls standing behind Draco—and Goyle and Crabbe who had quietly retreated to a corner—looked far more at ease.
In fact, Goyle and Crabbe were casually commenting on everyone's reactions, as though watching a performance.
Perhaps they were confident Draco would never turn that pressure on them.
Or perhaps they were simply used to scenes like this.
In any case, one thing was certain.
The Gryffindors led by the Head Boy were about to have a very bad day.
"I hope Draco keeps it somewhat under control."
"Huh? Granger, what are you talking about? Of course he should teach them a proper lesson!"
"Did I say I wanted to stop him? I just don't want this to get out of hand. Those people aren't Thunderbirds."
Seeing the silver puppy baring its teeth in imitation of its master, Hermione twitched and pushed the dog's head away. At the same time, she absentmindedly adjusted the wand she hadn't used in a while.
She wasn't the type to admit defeat.
There was no way she was worse than Parkinson.
More importantly, she wanted a cute Patronus too.
While Pansy and Hermione whispered back and forth as if no one else existed, Astoria's attention remained fixed on Draco.
Or rather, on what spell he intended to use to resolve this.
"What spell? Obviously the most powerful and explosive one—the Fiendfyre Curse."
"Perhaps you'd like to reconsider what you just said, Miss Parkinson."
Hermione's retort was instant.
Pansy, unfazed, pressed the silver puppy against Hermione's cheek.
"Oh? Looks like our Know-It-All knows something."
"Don't call me that. You're just someone's little tail."
"Ah! Don't call me that either!"
Hermione's undisguised look of disdain made Pansy bristle immediately.
The nickname had only started circulating recently. It wasn't particularly malicious—but coming from Hermione, it carried an inexplicable sense of embarrassment, as if she had somehow lost.
Which was precisely why she reacted so strongly.
Seeing the topic drift off yet again, Astoria sighed softly and, as if speaking to herself, asked,
"Has Draco ever cast the Patronus Charm in front of you?"
"The Patronus Charm… What are you implying?"
"Aren't you curious what Draco's Patronus would look like?"
Pansy.
Hermione.
Astoria's words snapped them back to reality. This was not the time to argue over nicknames.
They exchanged a look.
After a few seconds, they blinked in perfect sync—and reached the same conclusion.
"If it's Draco's Patronus…"
"There could only be one."
They murmured separately, then fixed their eyes on the reassuring figure standing before them.
After all.
It was Draco.
The scene returned to Draco.
As the subject of Pansy and the other two girls' discussion, he had heard more than enough—especially the argument between Pansy and Hermione over that ridiculous nickname.
"Someone's little tail."
It was the first time Draco had heard it.
The corner of his cold expression lifted slightly.
That fleeting smile instantly eased much of the oppressive tension in the air. A few of the younger witches even found it dangerously charming.
The contrast was so sharp that for a moment, no one could look away from that faint smile.
Noble elegance intertwined with unrestrained, almost violent magic.
Two completely opposing qualities fused into one person.
In Muggle terms, it might be described as—
A well-dressed menace.
And just as everyone was still caught off guard by that smile, a voice rang out like a king issuing a decree.
"Come forth. Expecto Patronum!!"
Draco's voice was low and magnetic.
Unlike the silver glow Pansy had produced earlier, the light that burst forth now was far more brilliant.
What should have been warm and gentle carried instead a searing intensity.
Like the sun—something people instinctively longed for, yet dared not approach.
As the silver radiance condensed and took shape, the being that emerged forced everyone to stumble back in unison.
If Harry Potter's Patronus felt gentle and beautiful, like a work of art—
Then Draco's Patronus embodied true power.
It had—
Vertical pupils filled with pride.
Silver wings that spread wide, slicing through the air.
A massive body that radiated raw, violent beauty.
And as they stared at it, the same two words escaped everyone's lips.
A Dragon.