Boom!
Roar!
Wings spread, tail lashed.
Shattered pillars and falling rock made it seem as though the chamber itself was about to collapse.
No one had expected such a colossal being to emerge from that suitcase.
The massive shadow that burst forth engulfed the chamber, its wings stretching wide enough to cover everyone present. Only Ron Weasley lay unconscious, while the other two wore vastly different expressions.
Voldemort—so sure of his victory moments ago—now looked shaken. His mist-shrouded figure twisted faintly, as though he had just witnessed something beyond belief.
And it wasn't just him. The enormous yellow eyes lurking behind him flickered uneasily, and the massive body that had been slithering out of the statue halted its advance.
Unlike them, Draco had prepared for this. Having already put distance between himself and the statue, he leveled his wand squarely at Voldemort.
"Two against two. Seems fair."
"..."
The veins on Voldemort's forehead bulged as he raised his wand, his red eyes blazing with murderous intent. The mocking edge in Draco's voice hadn't gone unnoticed.
Yet even as fury threatened to drown out his reason, Voldemort couldn't stop himself from stealing glances at the towering figure, wings folded awkwardly in the confined chamber. Alongside fear, greed and ambition flickered deep in his gaze.
After all, before him stood a creature at the very peak of the magical food chain.
A dragon...
...
Though wizards' power and cunning had long reduced dragons to rare and coveted resources, making them seem almost tamable, their true might was something no one could ignore.
Their raw physical strength, their advantage of flight, and above all, their fire-breathing made them nearly unbeatable. Add to that the anti-magic resistance of their scales, and it was no exaggeration to say that under normal circumstances, no wizard—or even a group of wizards—could stand against a fully-grown dragon.
From the suitcase had emerged such a beast. Just as it drew breath to unleash fire and force the Basilisk out of hiding, Draco called out quickly to stop it.
"Wait, Norberta—this isn't the place for fire."
"Grah?"
"Mm. Those are the enemies. Watch out for the red-haired wizard on the floor. And don't bring the whole chamber down."
"Roar!"
The exchange between wizard and dragon made Voldemort falter, cutting short the hissing command he had been about to give. His glowing eyes fixed sharply on Draco Malfoy.
"A gift like Parseltongue... so that's where your confidence comes from? Excellent. Join me, then. With your help, I will reclaim my loyal followers, command a legion of magical creatures feared by all, and rule Britain entire!"
"..."
His crimson eyes gleamed with fervor, his words a blatant attempt at recruitment.
Draco did not answer. He simply studied the Dark Lord before him with an inscrutable gaze.
But even without words, the meaning was clear. That subtle, unwavering look stung Voldemort's pride more deeply than any insult. He realized then that this young wizard was not afraid of him at all.
"No one dares look at the great Dark Lord like that. The secret of how you speak with dragons—I'll pry it from you after you're dead. Kill him!"
Voldemort's wand flared green as his furious hiss ordered the Basilisk forward.
"Norberta, tear that snake apart!"
"ROOOAR!!"
The Basilisk lunged, its massive shadow streaking toward Draco—only to be intercepted mid-strike by Norberta's lashing tail. The force of the blow stopped it cold. Were it not for the chamber's cramped space limiting the dragon's movements, the Basilisk might have been crippled then and there.
Meanwhile, Draco was already prepared for Voldemort's spell and dodged it cleanly. The distance made accuracy poor, but Draco had also noticed something else.
"He's not as strong as I thought. He hasn't fully recovered... and he's still using that worthless wand."
"Damn it—kill the dragon, you useless beast! Don't waste your deadly gaze on it, that won't work. Use your venom!"
The Basilisk thrashed desperately under the dragon's claws, and Voldemort barked commands in growing frustration—only to be cut off as a rock flew straight toward him.
"Don't lose focus in a fight, Dark Lord!"
"Out of my way!! I'll see you dead!!"
Voldemort deflected the flying boulder with his wand, while his other hand channeled magic to hurl another stone straight at Draco.
Perhaps because he was still in his sixteen-year-old form, with little of his original strength restored, Draco felt little real pressure from him. Still, some of the techniques Voldemort used in battle made Draco's eyes narrow with interest.
That kind of multitasking—splitting focus between defense and counterattack—was no small feat, especially in actual combat.
Setting aside any thoughts of training in that direction for now, Draco raised his wand and unleashed the spell he knew best...
The surge of deadly magic at the tip of his wand made Voldemort flinch, instinctively sensing danger. For the moment, he abandoned all attention to the Basilisk.
"Sectumsempra!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
The Severing Curse split the boulder in two, colliding head-on with the flash of green from the Killing Curse.
Boom!
The violent impact of two dark spells sent shockwaves through the chamber, forcing both Draco and Voldemort to stagger back a step.
But even in what looked like a deadlock, Draco noticed Voldemort's form starting to blur again, his outline unstable—as though he might dissolve into the air at any moment.
"So that's it... That's why he relies on the Basilisk instead of striking directly. To hold this form, he must be feeding on a wizard's life?"
As Voldemort held back from attacking further, and Norberta all but overwhelmed the Basilisk, Draco's sharp gaze analyzed the truth of what stood before him.
A ghost-like soul remnant?
And this... was supposed to be resurrection?
No—Draco felt he was overlooking something.
Perhaps Voldemort's plan had never been resurrection at all...