Chapter 4
The last week of summer was spent in Diagon Alley, preparing for the school year. Despite the looming threat of Voldemort’s return, the shops were still bustling with people—though there was an air of unease that hadn’t been there before.
Draco and Harry walked side by side, their hands brushing occasionally, though Draco refused to officially hold hands in public. ("We are in Diagon Alley, Potter, not some love-struck Hufflepuff couple.")
"That didn’t stop you last week," Harry murmured, smirking.
Draco scoffed, but the slight flush on his cheeks was proof that Harry had won this round.
Sirius, Remus, and Narcissa walked slightly ahead, making sure they weren’t overheard as they discussed security measures for Hogwarts. Lucius had gone off to meet with some old "associates"—most likely to gather more information.
The group spent hours getting supplies, though Hermione and Draco naturally took the longest, debating over which books were absolutely necessary for the year.
"Draco, you don’t need five different Potions books," Harry sighed.
"And you don’t need to breathe down my neck, yet here we are," Draco retorted, placing all five books in his shopping basket.
Harry rolled his eyes.
---
The train ride to Hogwarts was different this year. There was no mindless chatter, no silly games of Exploding Snap—just quiet conversations about the Dark Lord.
Over the summer, all of Slytherin House had received news from their families. Whether their parents were Death Eaters or not, one thing was clear—Voldemort was back.
Even those who weren’t involved with the Dark Lord understood that the Ministry was lying.
"The Gryffindors think we’re making it up," Blaise muttered, crossing his arms. "I overheard Weasley saying that it's all just some conspiracy theory."
"Let them believe whatever they want," Pansy scoffed. "They’ll learn soon enough."
"What about Umbridge?" Theodore Nott asked. "Father says she’s been given full authority by the Ministry."
Draco made a disgusted noise. "She’s a Ministry puppet. That means she’s going to make our lives hell."
"Especially Harry’s," Daphne added.
Harry sighed. "I was hoping to get through the year without another adult trying to kill me."
"Too late for that," Draco muttered. "I bet she’ll have it out for you the moment you breathe near her office."
"At least McGonagall will be on my side," Harry said.
Draco arched a brow. "That’s cute, Potter. You think McGonagall will be enough to stop that hag."
Harry groaned and leaned his head against Draco’s shoulder. "Can’t I just drop out and become a professional Quidditch player?"
"No," Draco deadpanned.
"Not even a little?"
"Absolutely not."
---
About fifteen minutes later, Nico di Angelo and Percy Jackson finally found Draco, Blaise, Pansy, Harry, Hermione, and Ron gathered around a table. Just a minute after they settled in, a short girl with long brown hair, a heart-shaped face, and warm chestnut eyes approached them.
“Excuse me?” she asked, her voice laced with a soft German accent. “May I sit here? Everywhere else is full.”
Draco smirked. “Yeah, suit yourself.”
Silence followed as the girl took a seat. Draco casually pulled out a book and flipped it open, eyes skimming the page.
“Are you new?” he asked without looking up.
“Yes. My name is Robin Purvis.”
“Never heard of that,” Draco said flatly.
Silence again. Draco kept reading.
A few minutes later, he let out an exasperated sigh. “Can you lot seriously do nothing without me?” He shut his book with a dramatic snap. “I’m Draco Malfoy, by the way.”
Then, with a resigned air, he went around the table, introducing everyone else like it was a burden he’d carried for years.
After the introductions, the atmosphere warmed up again. Pansy and Blaise started a heated game of Exploding Snap, with Ron jumping in halfway through and promptly losing two rounds in a row.
Hermione and Robin got to talking—turns out Robin was incredibly well-read, and Hermione lit up when she mentioned obscure magical theory texts. They were deep in discussion within minutes, occasionally dragging Harry or Draco into it with random questions like “Do you think spell intent is more emotional or logical?”
Harry pretended to read for a bit but mostly ended up watching Draco. Every time Draco raised an eyebrow or muttered something under his breath, Harry looked like he was this close to resting his chin in his hands like a heart-eyed idiot.
Percy and Nico sat side by side, sharing headphones connected to a charmed Muggle device Nico swore didn’t count as “unauthorized magical technology.” Percy kept offering everyone snacks from a never-ending Ziploc bag filled with questionable American candy.
At one point, Draco looked up from his book and deadpanned, “If someone doesn’t turn down that infernal buzzing, I will hex this train into next week.”
Nico: “That was a kazoo solo, actually.”
Blaise: “Please hex it. I dare you.”
They ended the ride stretched across the compartment—books, candy wrappers, playing cards, and at least one half-burned sock (courtesy of Exploding Snap) scattered around. Robin fit right in, curled up in the corner between Hermione and Harry, amused but slightly overwhelmed.
As the train began to slow, Draco leaned against Harry’s shoulder, muttering, “Welcome back to madness.”
---
The Sorting Hat sat waiting on its stool, slightly slouched like it, too, had opinions about being woken mid-term.
Robin stepped forward first. She looked calm, composed—Hermione levels of composed—and sat with quiet confidence as the hat was placed on her head.
“Hmm,” the Sorting Hat muttered, loud enough for the hall to hear. “Curious mind... disciplined... but brave, too. Loyal, and a bit of ambition tucked away in there…”
It paused for a moment longer, humming in thought.
“Oh, you’ll be interesting. Best make it—RAVENCLAW!”
Applause rose from the Ravenclaw table as Robin smiled and slid off the stool. She looked over at the Slytherin table where Hermione gave her a little thumbs-up and Blaise raised a brow in amusement.
Cassandra followed next—taller, older, with sharp eyes that scanned the room like she was measuring it for curtains. She gave off I could destroy you with a single stare energy that even Pansy nodded at in silent approval.
The Sorting Hat didn’t take long with her.
“Oh, Slytherin. No question,” it said almost gleefully. “Cunning, confident, and just a touch terrifying. SLYTHERIN!”
As Cassandra walked toward their table, Harry leaned in toward Draco.
“Okay, ten galleons says she’s your type.”
Draco gave him a scandalized look. “Excuse me? She looks like she bites people for sport.”
“I mean... you do too,” Harry whispered, grinning.
Draco rolled his eyes. “I prefer subtle menace, thank you. She’s more—blunt force trauma.”
“Mm,” Harry mused, “so you have thought about it.”
“I will hex you right off this bench,” Draco muttered, ears tinged pink.
Nico leaned in from the other side. “You guys gossip like middle-aged aunts.”
“We are middle-aged aunts,” Harry and Draco said at the same time.
Cassandra sat down next to Pansy without a word, tossed her hair, and immediately pulled out a vial of something murky and green from her robes. The Slytherins stared. She shrugged.
“Hydration potion. Don’t be weird.”
Blaise: “I like her.”
Just as the applause for Cassandra's Sorting was dying down and the food began to appear on the golden plates, there came another obnoxious little cough.
“Hem hem.”
A collective groan echoed—internally, of course. No one dared say it aloud. Except maybe Draco. Or Harry. Depending on how reckless they were feeling.
Dolores Umbridge rose from her seat at the staff table, her pink cardigan pulled tight like she was bracing for war. She smiled, which somehow made her look less human.
“If I may have your attention once more,” she said, ignoring the chorus of clinking cutlery and defeated sighs. “As your new High Inquisitor—”
Draco choked on his pumpkin juice. “Sorry?” he hissed.
“—I will be implementing several necessary reforms to restore order and discipline to this institution.”
Harry leaned toward Draco. “This is giving ‘I’m banning fun’ energy.”
“She’s going to outlaw friendship next,” Draco muttered.
“Silence in the hall!” Umbridge snapped suddenly, and every student froze mid-bite.
Even the food seemed offended.
“Thank you,” she said sweetly, clasping her hands. “Over the coming weeks, I shall be reviewing teaching standards, student behavior, and extracurricular distractions. I expect full cooperation.” She gave a pointed look at the Gryffindor table. Then Ravenclaw. Then Slytherin. Basically everyone.
“And,” she added with a prim smile, “mixed-house seating during meals is now strictly forbidden.”
Across the Great Hall, students exchanged looks of despair.
Harry groaned. “She would target the only thing keeping this school tolerable.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “She just declared war on my entire social life.”
Cassandra, who hadn’t even looked up from pouring a second vial into her water, muttered, “Should’ve brought more poisons.”
Nico: “I like her.”
Dumbledore, ever enigmatic, simply steepled his fingers and watched her with that calm twinkle in his eye that said, You may think you're in charge, but darling, you're playing chess against me.
---
Later that night, after the meeting had wrapped up and everyone dispersed back to their common rooms, Harry and Draco found themselves alone in the dimly lit corridor outside the Slytherin entrance. The stone walls of the castle were cool against Harry’s back as Draco leaned in, the shadows playing across his face.
“I thought you’d forgotten about me,” Harry teased, though his voice was softer than he intended, a hint of vulnerability he never quite managed to hide when Draco was near.
Draco smirked, leaning close, their breath mingling in the quiet. “Not likely,” he murmured. “I’m just waiting for you to make the first move.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, pretending to look affronted. “You know, I could kiss you, but I’m not sure if you’d survive the pleasure.”
“Oh, please,” Draco replied, rolling his eyes. “Like I haven’t already survived worse.”
With a grin that made Harry’s heart race, Draco closed the distance between them, the corners of his lips curling up before he gently pressed his mouth to Harry’s.
It was soft at first, gentle, the kind of kiss that was just the two of them—nothing more, nothing less. When Draco pulled back, Harry’s eyes fluttered open, and Draco’s smirk was softened, almost vulnerable.
“See? Told you,” Draco whispered, their foreheads still touching.
Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah… you were right.”
“I always am.”
They stayed there for a moment longer, the world outside the two of them fading into the background.
--
The next day, the excitement of the night wore off quickly as they gathered for their first class under Umbridge’s reign. The classroom felt wrong from the moment they stepped inside—too pink, too neat, too... stifling.
Umbridge was already there, sitting primly at her desk, her sweet smile unnerving in its fakery. “Good morning, class,” she chirped, her voice syrupy and sickly. “I trust you all had a pleasant break?”
The class mumbled a collective response, more out of habit than actual enthusiasm.
She stood, her gaze sweeping over them as she raised a hand in the air, ready to impose her control. “Now, I’m sure you’ve all been accustomed to more... relaxed teaching styles in the past. I won’t be like that,” she said, as though that was a threat. “I believe in structure, discipline, and most importantly—obedience.”
The students exchanged glances. The air felt thick, like it might suffocate them. Harry could feel Draco tense beside him, his fingers brushing Harry’s under the desk. It was a small comfort, but it was enough.
“Today, we’ll be learning the true power of the Dark Arts.” She pulled out a small, rather grim-looking book. “I’m sure this will help you better understand why rules must be enforced.”
“No spells?” Hermione asked, raising her hand, her voice already sharp with concern.
“Of course not,” Umbridge responded, her smile so wide it made Harry’s skin crawl. “That’s far too dangerous for students like you. Instead, we’ll be using this.” She held up a quill, as though it were some kind of weapon. “The power of the written word.”
Draco’s lips pressed into a thin line. “The what?” he muttered under his breath.
Harry, leaning toward him, whispered back, “She’s going to make us write essays about how we should respect authority.” He said it with barely contained irritation.
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll all have wonderful reflections on how much we adore her,” Draco replied sarcastically, his tone dripping with mock sweetness.
But Umbridge wasn’t paying attention to their whispers. She tapped her fingers on the desk, her gaze narrowing. “Now, no more distractions. I want each of you to start writing about your worst behaviors. You’ll all come to understand why rules are so necessary.”
Harry caught Draco’s eye, and they exchanged a look—oh, this is going to be miserable.
And so, the class began, each word more torturous than the last. The quills scratched across parchment, but the true torture wasn’t in the writing—it was in the air itself. The sense of suffocation, of her watching every move, knowing she was taking the first step in breaking them all down.