Professor McGonagall's words froze Pansy in place. She had just spotted the Golden Snitch and was about to dive for it. Her face, filled with disbelief and frustration, made Harry Potter—who'd been sneaking glances at her—look away awkwardly.
The little wizards who had been moments away from cheering for Draco's stunning spinning goal were now left gaping, like ducks with their necks wrung—funny in any other situation, but no one was laughing now.
Hovering midair, Draco frowned as he looked toward the commentary platform. Like everyone else on the pitch, he didn't believe for a second that someone as upright and serious as Professor McGonagall would make a joke like that.
If those words had come from Lockhart, things would be a very different story...
As the entire Quidditch stadium fell into a chilling silence, McGonagall's next words cruelly shattered the last traces of hope.
"All Prefects, escort your houses back to their common rooms."
"..."
"..."
McGonagall wasn't just the Transfiguration professor—she was also the Deputy Headmistress. No Prefect dared question her order, not now.
Once the Prefects began giving instructions, the students first reacted with dismay, then confusion. The bolder ones even muttered curses under their breath as they glanced toward McGonagall.
None of them realized that, as a die-hard Quidditch fan herself, McGonagall was probably the last person who would want to cancel a match. It was obvious—something serious had happened to force her hand.
Even with the Prefects' help, getting everyone to leave wasn't quick or easy. The crowd was too large, and few were willing to go without protest.
You could see it on every face as they slowly filed out—grief and frustration.
Hermione was among them. As she cast a puzzled look toward the cluster of professors now gathered at the pitch, a surprised whisper from Neville reached her ear.
"Ron! Hermione and I are right here—where've you been? I've been looking everywhere for you!"
"Keep it down! I don't want anyone else to hear. I snuck into Snape's office."
"What?!"
Neville's eyes went wide. He clearly hadn't expected that response.
If there was one professor Neville feared most, it was definitely Snape. So upon hearing Ron's confession, he immediately looked nervously in Snape's direction.
Anyone watching might've thought Neville was the one who'd broken the rules.
Even Hermione was caught off guard—she hadn't known a thing about it.
Noticing her gaze, Ron flushed a little, but he didn't look away. Instead, he lifted his chin and puffed out his chest with uncharacteristic confidence.
"Don't you remember? Without the key potion ingredient, that brew can't be made."
"But... I didn't know about any plan. Does Harry know?"
"Nope. Harry doesn't have a clue. He needs to stay focused on Quidditch. This was just a small errand, something I could handle on my own... but what's going on now? What happened to the match?"
Hermione frowned as she stared at Ron, who was now listening intently while Neville tried to explain what had happened.
Had he really thought this through on his own?
More surprisingly—how had he figured out which potion ingredients they needed?
This was Ron Weasley they were talking about... the same Ron who usually had to copy homework just to scrape by...
...
This scene felt all too familiar—something similar had happened not long ago. Back then, Draco had been at Hagrid's hut.
After Draco and the others removed their Quidditch gear and returned to the common room under escort, the truth of the situation became clear—or rather, the school couldn't keep it under wraps any longer...
"Was it the poltergeist this time?"
"A curse strong enough to petrify even a ghost... that's got to be dark magic."
"They picked a Quidditch match to strike. Was it because it's easier to go unnoticed?"
"If that's the case, then Draco couldn't have been the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets—he was on the field."
The chatter didn't stop. Everyone was talking about Peeves being petrified. No one had expected it to be him.
Sure, Peeves wasn't exactly popular, but hearing that he'd been turned to stone still made people uneasy.
Can a poltergeist even be petrified? Can they even die?
Unlike the others, Draco was unusually quiet...
"What are you thinking about, Draco?"
"Hmm... I'm thinking about when my father will show up at Hogwarts."
"Right... your family's still one of the twelve on the board of governors."
What Draco didn't say was that it wouldn't just be his father coming. The Ministry of Magic would likely send someone too. From what Draco knew, the current Minister wasn't nearly as close to Dumbledore as he used to be, so this might be the perfect excuse to challenge the headmaster's authority.
But that wasn't Draco's concern right now—nor was it what he was really thinking about.
"Goyle, Crabbe, Pansy."
"What is it?"
"Draco?"
"You want some pumpkin sweets?"
Draco ignored Crabbe, who had just stuffed a fistful of pumpkin candies into his mouth, and instead focused on Pansy and Goyle.
Something about him was different now. He usually carried an air of boredom, but at this moment, he radiated a sharp intensity. It made Pansy blink, her heart skipping slightly.
"Gather Gary and the others. I've got something for them to do."
The moment those words left Draco's mouth—and with the look in his eyes—Goyle and Crabbe immediately straightened up. They bowed slightly, then drew their wands and held them across their chests.
"Yes!"
"Yes!"
This was the gesture of true followers accepting an order—something only the most loyal were entitled to do.
It was Draco's way of showing trust—and it was a badge of honor.
The other Slytherin students nearby fell silent, their gazes shifting toward Draco and his group with newfound seriousness. As noble-born wizards, they understood the weight behind that moment.
This was why, no matter how foolish Goyle and Crabbe acted, no one dared look down on them.
Because behind them stood a dragon—one that could wake at any moment.
And Draco Malfoy never forgot a grudge...