"...That's wrong."
The one most surprised that those words had slipped out was me, Draco Malfoy himself.
But once I opened my mouth, the words would not stop.
"If all you can think about is being top of the exams or being praised by professors, then of course you're going to fail."
Because she had nothing but magic… perhaps that alone was Astoria's only salvation.
That was why she worked as if her life depended on it. Even if it cost her life, she wanted to win with magic alone. That feeling, I understood painfully well.
"You're certainly strong. But that's all you are."
For the first time, the words "confusion" surfaced on Astoria's resolute face.
To protect oneself with one's own hands. To become strong enough to do so. That was why she sought more strength.
That must have been her driving force. And wishing to live that way surely was not wrong.
After all, the world ultimately runs on survival of the fittest.
The weak are devoured by the strong. We Slytherins accept that natural law as something obvious, something unavoidable.
If this were the Gryffindors, they would see it as a matter of good and evil.
They would pursue justice, saying things like "Bullying the weak is wrong" or "It's not right that honest people suffer," and deny the existing structures that contradict those ideals.
But Slytherins like us are different.
"If crying made you stronger in sports, studies, or work, life would be easy. The world is not built so that suffering more than others guarantees victory."
That is reality. There is no point in denying what is right in front of you. Instead, you accept reality and think about how to maneuver cleverly within it.
Even so, if you still wish to change something—
First, you have no choice but to become strong enough that you are not tossed around by others.
Astoria's relentless pursuit of power was, in a sense, the flip side of Slytherin-style realism. Because she was keenly aware of her own weakness, she clung to strength more than anyone else.
That was why Astoria was surely right. Her way of being was rational, logical, and so thoroughly refined that it even carried a sense of functional beauty.
Calmly. Quietly. Yet quite literally with her life on the line.
The girl standing before me had pushed her own potential this far entirely on her own.
(Of course her magic would improve…)
Anyone who can live that way is unquestionably strong.
If one could always live like that, it would be correct. Rational. Ideal.
But it was probably not what one would call "happiness."
"...!"
The instant I said it aloud, Astoria stepped forward sharply and grabbed me by the front of my robes.
"From you of all people, I do not want to hear that…!"
I thought I heard the sound of her teeth grinding. Her lips, likely suppressing the stream of abuse rising to her throat, were pressed into a thin line, and her beautiful green eyes glared up at me from more than ten centimeters below.
Even if she kept a composed expression, she must have been at her limit long ago.
Now that I was this close, I could see slight cracks at the edges of her perfect façade. Though cleverly hidden with the natural makeup she must have learned from Daphne, dark circles beneath her eyes hinted at nights spent studying late, and fatigue and irritation seeped through her complexion.
The reason Astoria could not produce a Patronus was obvious if you thought about it. If, as Elaina said, it required a "happy memory," then there was no way someone in Astoria's condition could conjure one.
On the verge of tears, she continued fighting alone while completely worn down. She asked no one for help, relied on no one, neither liking nor enjoying anything.
Chanting the Patronus Charm in such a bleak state would only attract even more Dementors instead.
There was no doubt about it. If it were me, I would have given up.
I would not force myself to suppress my fraying mind with a tearful face, nor brace myself on trembling, slender legs.
I would have long since relied on my father's authority and my family's wealth and connections, brandished pure-blood ideology, and taken out my frustrations by bullying vulnerable Muggle-borns.
She really was an awkward girl, I thought.
I could never say this to anyone, but I was well aware that I was not that diligent, nor that virtuous.
If possible, I would rather coast on the privileges of my birth, blame others for inconvenient problems, and when something unpleasant happened, take it out on someone weaker as a form of escapism.
Of course, it was not that I made no effort at all, but if I could score eighty out of a hundred on a test, I was fairly satisfied. Just living in a mansion larger than the Weasley family's already made me feel vaguely pleased.
By piling up such small self-satisfactions, I would shrug it off and keep on living.
I do not have any sparkling dreams, dramatic ambitions, or unshakable convictions.
But I do put in a reasonable amount of effort for exams, and I have my share of competitiveness as a Seeker.
Still, in everything I do, I instinctively gauge what is "just enough" and skillfully rein myself in.
Without fear of misunderstanding, I think I am a "capable" person. That way of living is very Slytherin-like, and I take pride in it.
However, even if I tried to put that into words for Astoria, I doubt it would truly reach her. Telling someone who continues to fight by her own will to "relax a little more" would not just be meddlesome, but almost insulting.
So, that is why I—
"Elaina."
I decided to borrow the strength of the genius beauty who happened to be right there. Do not call it relying on others.
"How about we make Potter and his lot cry over the Quidditch Cup this time?"
I asked with a slightly mischievous grin.
"You are tired of losing ever since last year too, aren't you?"
A sly smile was returned to me.
"Draco, isn't that idea a bit too simplistic?"
"Do you know this saying? Simple and clear is best. Simplicity is best."
I patched it up with a convenient excuse, but to be honest, I was not confident myself. Still, even if the opponent was riding a Firebolt, the truth was that I did not want to lose to Potter.
The fact that I learned Astoria's secret at this particular timing also felt like some kind of fate.
"Well, since it is a rare opportunity. If winning the Cup allows Astoria to produce her Patronus, that is a small price to pay."
Elaina said that and shrugged her shoulders.
It was a very her-like answer.
But I think the trigger can be something trivial.
For better or worse, we do not brood more than necessary. Sudden, passionate reversals are common, and some people might call that being "worldly," but still.
There is a saying that acting on impulse brings good fortune. Leaving oneself to the whims of fate once in a while is probably not so bad.
As for the Lupin matter, it was temporarily put on hold for now. At first, I had planned to expose it immediately, but after Elaina whispered in my ear with a wicked grin, I reconsidered.
"In business, the secret to success is continuing thinly but for a long time."
My respected father often says things like, "Hold your enemy's weakness, neither letting them live freely nor killing them outright." Using a political rival's scandal as leverage to gain favors is a standard Malfoy family tactic.
More importantly, right now, Quidditch mattered more than a werewolf.
The Cup was on the line, and the entire Slytherin house had high expectations for our Quidditch team. Even if our practice time increased regardless of end-of-year exams, no one could complain.
Before I knew it, time after that flew by in an instant.
And thus, on the day of the Quidditch Cup, Hogwarts was in full festival mode. The stadium overflowed as if packed to the brim, with everyone waving the flags of the teams they supported in a massive celebration.
Then, amid a roaring wave of cheers, the players appeared on the pitch.
"Go, Gryffindor!""Bring the Cup to the Lions!"
Out of the roughly one thousand Hogwarts students, about three-quarters wore crimson rose decorations on their chests and waved Gryffindor flags and banners. Meanwhile, a crowd of about two hundred made the green Slytherin flags shimmer, the silver serpent emblem gleaming proudly.
"Captain, shake hands!"
At Professor Hooch's signal, after the customary ritual of Flint-senpai and Wood crushing each other's hands in a handshake, the match began.
(End of chapter)
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