Chapter 3
Hermione Granger sat in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, her expression tight with barely restrained frustration. Dolores Umbridge, with her sickly sweet smile and high-pitched voice, was already grating on Hermione's nerves more than she thought possible. The woman’s saccharine tone was a stark contrast to the reality of what she represented—a tyrant in pink who was about to make Hermione’s least favorite class even more unbearable.
Umbridge’s lessons were nothing short of a nightmare. Hermione had always loved learning, especially when it came to defending herself and her friends against dark forces. But this was something else entirely. Umbridge insisted that there was no need for practical defense, only theory—dry, uninspiring theory that Hermione could recite in her sleep.
“We’ll be following a carefully structured, Ministry-approved course this year,” Umbridge simpered, her eyes scanning the classroom as if daring anyone to challenge her authority. “There will be no need for wands, no need for silly dueling practice.”
Hermione's hand shot up, her frustration getting the better of her. “But Professor Umbridge, how are we supposed to defend ourselves if we don’t practice the spells?”
Umbridge’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. “Miss Granger, you and your classmates will be perfectly safe as long as you follow the Ministry’s guidelines. There is no need to learn how to fight.”
Hermione’s jaw clenched, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. How could someone who was supposed to be teaching them to defend themselves be so blind to the reality of what was happening outside the castle walls? She knew that Voldemort was back—Harry had seen it happen, and Hermione believed him without question. But here was Umbridge, denying everything, dismissing their fears as childish paranoia.
As the class dragged on, Hermione found it harder and harder to focus. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the summer, to the horrors she had witnessed and the loss she had suffered. The memory of her parents' death at the hands of American wizards flashed through her mind, and she had to fight back the tears that threatened to spill over. She couldn’t let Umbridge see her cry, couldn’t let that woman think she had any power over her.
The other students were whispering among themselves, clearly unimpressed with Umbridge's approach. Even the Slytherins, who were usually eager to show up the Gryffindors, seemed uninterested in this farce of a class. But Hermione couldn’t afford to let her guard down, not when she was dealing with someone as dangerous as Umbridge.
As the lesson finally came to an end, Hermione gathered her things in a daze, feeling utterly drained. She exchanged a look with Harry, who was fuming quietly beside her. They both knew that this year was going to be different, harder than any they had faced before. But Hermione was determined not to let Umbridge get the better of her. She would find a way to keep learning, to keep fighting, even if it meant doing so in secret.
Outside the classroom, Hermione paused, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She had to stay strong, for Harry, for Ron, for herself. There was too much at stake to let someone like Umbridge derail everything they had worked for.
As she walked down the corridor, her thoughts turned to Draco. She hadn’t seen him in class today, but she knew that he was probably dealing with his own version of Umbridge’s nonsense in Slytherin. They had agreed to keep their new understanding a secret, but Hermione couldn’t help but wonder how he was handling the situation.
For now, though, she had to focus on the task at hand—surviving another year at Hogwarts, one that was already proving to be more challenging than she could have imagined. But Hermione was nothing if not resilient, and she knew that she had the strength to get through this, no matter what Umbridge or anyone else threw at her.
Theodore Nott sat at the back of the Slytherin DADA class, his fingers tapping a silent rhythm against the desk as Dolores Umbridge's voice droned on. It wasn't just the content of her lecture that grated on his nerves, but that voice—sickly sweet, with an edge of condescension that made his skin crawl. He could feel the tension building in his shoulders, an unpleasant tightening that threatened to bring back memories he’d rather keep buried.
Every time Umbridge spoke, Theo had to fight the urge to flinch. He wasn’t about to let that pink menace get under his skin, not in front of his classmates, and especially not in front of Draco Malfoy, who sat a few seats away. But Merlin, it was hard. Her voice was the kind that could grind down even the most patient person, and Theo wasn’t exactly known for his patience.
He glanced sideways at Draco, catching his friend rolling his eyes in that subtle way he had mastered over the years. It was almost imperceptible, just a slight movement of his eyelids and a quirk of his lips, but Theo saw it. He knew that Draco was as unimpressed with Umbridge as he was, and that small, shared reaction was enough to keep Theo grounded.
Still, it didn’t stop the flashbacks from creeping in. That voice, so falsely sweet, reminded him of another person who had spoken to him in the same tone—someone who had tried to control him, to manipulate him into being something he wasn’t. Theo’s hand stilled, his tapping ceasing as his thoughts started to spiral.
He wasn’t there anymore. He was in Hogwarts, in a classroom full of students, not back in that suffocating house where every word was a trap. Theo forced himself to focus on the present, on the here and now. He wasn’t that helpless boy anymore, and he wasn’t going to let some Ministry puppet make him feel that way again.
But it was hard to ignore the parallels, especially when Umbridge was standing at the front of the room, dictating how they should think, how they should act. Theo clenched his jaw, trying to shake off the dark thoughts. He didn’t want to be here, but he didn’t have much of a choice. They were stuck with this woman, at least for now.
Across the room, Draco rolled his eyes again, this time with a bit more flair, and Theo almost smirked. Draco always knew how to make light of a bad situation, even if it was just for show. It was one of the things Theo admired about him—Draco’s ability to keep up appearances, even when everything was falling apart.
Theodore Nott had always been good at blending in. As a Slytherin, it was almost a survival skill. You observe, you learn, and you adapt. It was what kept you out of trouble—or at least, what kept trouble manageable. But today, in Dolores Umbridge's DADA class, something went wrong.
It started out as just another insufferable lecture. Umbridge was prattling on about the importance of "order" and "discipline," and Theo, as usual, tuned her out. He let his mind wander, focusing on the patterns in the wood grain of his desk or the way the light filtered through the classroom windows. He was good at pretending to listen while actually thinking about anything else.
But then she started talking about blood purity, about how the Ministry was cracking down on so-called "half-breeds" and other "undesirables." The way she said it, with that sickly-sweet smile, made something snap inside Theo.
Without thinking, he scoffed—loudly. The sound echoed through the silent classroom, causing several heads to turn his way. It wasn’t a big sound, but in the tense atmosphere Umbridge had cultivated, it was enough to draw her attention.
"Theodore Nott," Umbridge's voice cut through the air like a knife, sugary yet sharp. "Did you have something you wished to share with the class?"
Every Slytherin instinct told him to back down, to apologize and retreat, but the words caught in his throat. He wasn’t sorry. He was disgusted, and for once, he didn’t feel like hiding it. But when he met Umbridge’s gaze, that flicker of rebellion extinguished, replaced by a cold, creeping dread.
"No, Professor," he muttered, lowering his eyes. But it was too late.
"See me after class," she said, her voice dripping with that same condescending tone that made his skin crawl. The other students exchanged glances, some curious, others concerned. Draco caught his eye, a silent question in his raised brow, but Theo just shook his head. There was nothing Draco could do for him now.
After class, Theo lingered behind as the other students filed out. Draco gave him a sympathetic look before leaving, but neither of them said anything. It was better that way. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Theo alone with Umbridge.
She watched him with that same syrupy smile, her eyes cold and calculating. "I expected better from a Nott," she said, her voice deceptively gentle. "Your family has always been so… cooperative with the Ministry."
Theo didn’t respond. He stood there, silent and still, as she circled him like a predator sizing up its prey. Every word she spoke reminded him of his uncle—the same false kindness, the same undercurrent of menace. It made his stomach churn.
"Detention," she finally said, her smile widening. "I think a few hours of discipline will remind you of your place."
Theo’s heart sank, but he forced himself to stay calm. "Yes, Professor," he replied, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.
"Good boy," she cooed, patting him on the shoulder in a mockery of affection. "You may go."
Theo left the classroom, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The corridors were empty, the other students long gone, and the silence was suffocating. He walked quickly, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls, trying to put as much distance between himself and Umbridge as possible.
He knew what was coming. His uncle had always been fond of "discipline," and Theo had learned early on what that meant. It wasn’t the same as what Umbridge was going to do to him, but the memories it stirred were close enough to make his breath hitch.
He didn’t see Draco waiting for him until he nearly ran into him. Draco raised an eyebrow, but Theo just shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about it, not now. Maybe not ever.
"Detention?" Draco asked quietly.
Theo nodded. "Not with Potter, at least."
Draco scoffed, but there was no real humor in it. "Lucky you."
Theo managed a weak smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah, lucky me."
As they walked back to the common room in silence, Theo couldn’t shake the feeling of dread curling in his stomach. Detention with Umbridge was going to be bad, he knew that much. But it wasn’t just the punishment he was dreading—it was the memories it would drag up, the things he’d tried so hard to forget.
Blaise Zabini had a talent for going unnoticed. It wasn’t that he was unremarkable—far from it. Blaise was one of the most observant and calculating students in Slytherin, but he knew the value of staying in the background, of watching and learning without drawing attention to himself. It was a skill that served him well, especially in situations like this.
Today’s Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson had been the same monotonous drivel that Dolores Umbridge seemed to delight in. Blaise had spent most of the class leaning back in his chair, half-listening as she droned on about the Ministry’s new policies. His real focus was on the other students, particularly the way Umbridge’s words affected them.
Theo, seated a few rows ahead of him, had been unusually tense. Blaise had noticed it immediately—the tightness in Theo’s posture, the way his jaw clenched every time Umbridge mentioned blood purity or the Ministry’s so-called “order.” It wasn’t like Theo to react so visibly. He was usually as controlled as Blaise, a quiet observer who kept his thoughts to himself.
But today, something was different. Blaise could see it in the way Theo’s fingers drummed restlessly on his desk, in the way his eyes narrowed as Umbridge spoke. Blaise had a feeling something was going to happen, and he wasn’t sure if he was looking forward to it or dreading it.
Then it did happen. Theo’s scoff cut through the air like a knife, sharp and unexpected. Blaise’s eyes flicked to him immediately, noting the slight widening of Theo’s eyes—surprise, maybe even regret, at his own outburst. But the damage was done. Umbridge had heard it, and the room fell into a tense silence.
"Theodore Nott," Umbridge’s voice was sickeningly sweet, and Blaise felt a chill run down his spine. He watched as Theo met her gaze, saw the moment the defiance in his friend’s eyes flickered and faded into something more guarded. Theo knew he’d made a mistake, and now he was bracing for the consequences.
Blaise didn’t move, didn’t react, as Umbridge gave Theo his punishment. He simply observed, taking in every detail—the way Theo’s shoulders tensed, the slight tremor in his voice when he muttered his response, the way Draco’s eyes narrowed in concern as he watched from across the room.
It was all so… predictable, really. Blaise had seen it all before, the way students crumbled under Umbridge’s fake sweetness, the way she reveled in their fear. He’d seen it happen to others, and now it was happening to Theo. But there was something different about this, something that made Blaise’s usually steady pulse quicken.
Theo wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t one to make mistakes, to let his emotions get the better of him. And yet, here he was, caught in Umbridge’s web because of a momentary lapse in control. Blaise couldn’t help but wonder what had pushed Theo to this point—what had made him slip up.
As the class ended and the students began to file out, Blaise lingered near the back, his eyes following Theo as he stayed behind. Draco hesitated by the door, casting a glance back at Theo before leaving, but Blaise didn’t move. He waited until Theo was alone with Umbridge, until the door closed behind them, before he finally turned to leave.
He didn’t go far. Blaise wasn’t one to interfere, but he was curious, and curiosity was a powerful motivator. He leaned against the wall outside the classroom, waiting, listening. He couldn’t hear much, just the low murmur of Umbridge’s voice, the occasional muffled response from Theo. It wasn’t long before the door opened again, and Theo emerged, his face pale and drawn.
Blaise caught Theo’s eye as he passed, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Theo’s expression told him everything he needed to know—Umbridge had gotten under his skin, and whatever had happened in that room had shaken him more than he wanted to admit.
Blaise watched as Theo walked away, his steps a little too fast, a little too hurried. He knew Draco would catch up with him soon, would try to offer some kind of support or comfort. But Blaise stayed where he was, rooted in place as he processed what he’d just seen.
Theo was slipping, and that was dangerous. Blaise knew better than most how quickly things could spiral out of control if you let your emotions get the best of you. He’d seen it happen to others, and he’d sworn it would never happen to him.
But Theo was his friend, one of the few people Blaise actually cared about, even if he’d never admit it out loud. And seeing him like this, shaken and vulnerable, made something in Blaise tighten with unease.
As he pushed off the wall and started walking toward the Slytherin common room, Blaise’s mind was already working, already considering what this might mean for all of them. He didn’t like it, didn’t like the idea that things were changing, that Theo was changing.
But for now, he’d keep watching. That was what Blaise did best, after all—he watched, he listened, and he learned. And when the time came, he’d be ready to act.