Pink Toad
The atmosphere in the classroom was tense as the Slytherins took their seats for their first class with Professor Umbridge. Harry, determined to make a good impression and uphold the dignity of the Black name, sat with his back straight, his face a mask of polite attentiveness. Beside him, Malfoy was a calming presence. Just a few weeks ago Harry would have plucked his own eyes out before calling Malfoy a calming presence, but here he is.
The pink-clad professor entered the room with her usual simpering smile, her eyes flicking around the room as if assessing each student's worth. When her gaze landed on Harry, it lingered a little too long, a hint of disgust in her gaze as she noted his heir ring. She cleared her throat in that delicate, affected way that made Harry's skin crawl.
"Good afternoon, class," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," the class responded in unison, though the Slytherins' tones were noticeably cooler.
Umbridge's smile widened. "Now, today we will begin our study of the Ministry-approved Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum. There will be no need for wands, as we will focus on the theoretical aspects of defence."
Harry's hands clenched into fists under the desk, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. This was absurd—defence was meant to be practical, not theoretical. But he remembered Draco's advice and the importance of maintaining composure, especially in front of Umbridge.
Umbridge continued, oblivious to—or perhaps enjoying—the rising tension in the room. "You will find your textbooks under your desks. Please open them to page five and begin reading the introduction. There will be no need for questions or discussions. Simply read and absorb the material."
Harry's temper flared at the absurdity of it all. What use was reading about defense if they weren't going to practice it? But he took a deep breath, reminding himself of his goal. He needed to show Umbridge that he could handle whatever she threw at him, that the Black heir was not to be underestimated.
Draco, sensing Harry's struggle, leaned slightly closer. "Remember, Potter," he murmured, "it's all a game. Stay calm."
Harry wished he had bought Astra with him so she could bit the horrible toad but no, Astra prefered to stay in bed. If only Harry had that option. He nodded at Malfoy's words, flipping open the textbook and beginning to read, though the words blurred before his eyes as his frustration simmered beneath the surface.
The class dragged on, with Umbridge periodically glancing around the room, her eyes narrowing whenever they landed on Harry. It was clear she was watching him, waiting for him to slip up. But Harry refused to give her the satisfaction.
As the clock ticked toward the end of the lesson, Harry allowed himself to relax slightly. He had made it through without incident, despite the urge to argue or demand a more practical approach.
Hermione Granger however seemed to be growing more agitated as the time went on and soon had hand already raised as if she were in a Muggle school instead of Hogwarts. Her face was set in a determined expression, her eyes flashing with the need to challenge the nonsense that was taking place.
"Professor Umbridge," Hermione began, her voice firm but polite, "I was wondering if you could clarify why we aren't practicing any defensive spells. How are we supposed to learn to defend ourselves if we don't practice?"
Umbridge turned slowly toward Hermione, her saccharine smile plastered on her face, but her eyes were cold and calculating. She clearly wasn't interested in engaging in an actual discussion.
"Oh, Miss..."
"Hermione Granger."
"Miss Granger," Umbridge cooed, her tone condescending. "There is no need for such... practical applications at this level. The Ministry has determined that a theoretical understanding is more than sufficient for your age group. We wouldn't want to burden young minds with dangerous and unnecessary spellwork, now would we?"
Hermione's brow furrowed, clearly unsatisfied with the response. "But Professor, the world is dangerous, and we need to be prepared. What if we need to defend ourselves?"
But before Hermione could continue, Umbridge's gaze slid away from her, dismissing her concerns as irrelevant. Instead, she focused once again on Harry, who was standing just a few feet away, still bristling from the injustice of his undeserved detention.
But just as the class was about to be dismissed, Umbridge's sickly sweet voice cut through the air. "Mr. Potter," she said, her tone deceptively pleasant, "is my class boring you?"
Harry blinked, taken aback. He had been reading, just as she had instructed.
"No professor. I was reading, as you instructed," he replied, keeping his voice calm and respectful.
Hermione, realising that she was being ignored, looked incredulously between Harry and Umbridge. "But Professor, my question—"
"Miss Granger," Umbridge interrupted, her voice a touch sharper now, "I believe I've answered your question. Now, if you would kindly return to your reading, we wouldn't want to waste any more valuable class time, would we?"
Hermione's mouth opened to protest, but Umbridge had already turned away, towards Harry.
Umbridge's smile never wavered, but her eyes hardened. "I see. Unfortunately, that's not what I saw. I don't tolerate distractions, Mr. Potter."
What is this bitch on?
"I apologise, Professor."
"Not good enough, I'm afraid," Umbridge said, her voice taking on a colder edge. Harry watched as she glared distainfully at his heir ring before she spoke again. "Detention, Mr. Potter. Tonight, in my office."
Draco bristled beside him, and Harry could feel the anger radiating from the other Slytherins, but he kept his own emotions in check. He couldn't afford to lose his temper now.
"Yes, Professor." he said evenly, though every word tasted bitter in his mouth.
"Class dismissed!" Umbridge chirped, turning away as if nothing had happened.
As the students filed out of the room, Draco grabbed Harry's arm, his expression thunderous. "That was utter rubbish, and she knows it."
Harry shook his head, trying to shake off the frustration. "She's testing me. She thinks because I'm an orphan, she can push me around and get away with it."
"She'll regret it," Draco muttered. "We'll make sure of that."
The Slytherins closed ranks around Harry as they left the classroom, their anger palpable. But despite the unfairness of the situation, Harry felt a surge of determination. Umbridge might think she had the upper hand, but he wasn't going to let her break him. He had a legacy to uphold now.
~
The night was cool and still as Sirius and Arcturus Black made their way through the shadows, moving with the practiced stealth of hunters who had spent years mastering the art of remaining unseen. The only sounds were the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional distant bark of a dog, muffled by the heavy silence that hung over the countryside.
They had tracked Peter Pettigrew for days, following leads and piecing together a trail that had taken them to this small, unassuming village on the outskirts of London. It was a place so quiet and ordinary that it was the perfect hiding spot for a man who wanted to disappear. But Peter wasn't here for himself; he was here to visit his mother, an elderly woman who had been placed in a modest retirement home a few years earlier.
Sirius's heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and fury as they approached the retirement home. This was it—the moment he had waited for, the moment he would finally catch the rat who had betrayed his friends and destroyed his life. But this wasn't just about revenge; it was about justice. It was about clearing his name and protecting Harry from the dangers that Peter's continued existence represented.
Arcturus, ever the strategist, had devised the plan. They would wait until Peter arrived to check on his mother, as he did every few weeks, slipping into the retirement home in his animagus form to avoid detection. Sirius's job was to catch him before he could escape, and Arcturus would ensure that no one saw them.
As they reached the edge of the retirement home's property, Sirius crouched low behind a row of hedges, his eyes fixed on the entrance. The building was a modest, two-story structure with ivy creeping up its walls, its lights dimmed for the night. The only sign of life was the faint glow from the windows and the occasional shuffle of a night nurse making rounds.
"He should be here soon," Arcturus murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He was standing slightly behind Sirius, his wand at the ready, his eyes sharp and focused. Despite his age, Arcturus moved with the quiet confidence of a man who had faced danger many times before.
Sirius nodded, his breath coming in slow, controlled exhalations as he scanned the area. His fingers itched to draw his wand, to feel its reassuring weight in his hand, but he knew he had to remain patient. They had to wait until Peter was in position, until there was no chance for him to escape.
Minutes passed, each one stretching longer than the last. Sirius could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, his senses heightened as he watched the entrance with unwavering focus. And then, finally, he saw it—a small, scurrying figure darting across the lawn, making its way toward the building.
Peter.
Sirius's heart leaped in his chest, but he forced himself to remain still, watching as the rat reached the base of the wall and began to climb up toward the nearest open window. He moved quickly, his tiny claws finding purchase on the ivy-covered bricks, until he disappeared inside.
Arcturus's voice was a soft hiss in his ear. "Now, Sirius."
Sirius didn't need to be told twice. He moved with practiced speed, slipping out from behind the hedges and making his way to the side of the building where Peter had entered. He kept low, hugging the shadows as he reached the window and peered inside.
The room was small and sparsely furnished, with a single bed, a nightstand, and a chair by the window. Peter's mother lay asleep in the bed, her frail form barely making a dent in the blankets. And there, on the floor beside the bed, was Peter Pettigrew, no longer in his animagus form but crouched in his human shape, his eyes darting nervously around the room as he checked on his mother.
Sirius's lip curled in disgust as he watched the man who had once been his friend, now reduced to a cowardly traitor who lived in fear of his own shadow. He waited, his muscles coiled like a spring, as Peter muttered something to his mother's sleeping form and then turned to leave the room.
The moment Peter stepped away from the bed, Sirius struck.
He leaped through the window with a speed and agility that belied his years in Azkaban, his wand already in his hand as he landed silently on the floor. Peter barely had time to register what was happening before Sirius had him pinned against the wall, the tip of his wand digging into Peter's throat.
Peter's eyes went wide with terror, and he let out a strangled gasp. "S-Sirius! Please, don't—"
"Shut up," Sirius snarled, his voice low and dangerous. He pressed his wand harder against Peter's throat, his eyes blazing with fury. "You're not getting away this time, you rat. You're going to pay for what you did."
Peter whimpered, his hands trembling as he raised them in a gesture of surrender. "Please, Sirius, I—I didn't mean to—I was scared! I didn't have a choice!"
"Save it," Sirius spat, his grip tightening on Peter's collar. "You betrayed us, Peter. You betrayed James and Lily, and you framed me. You've been hiding like a coward all these years, but it's over. You're coming with me, and you're going to confess everything."
Peter's eyes flicked toward the door, as if considering making a run for it, but Sirius was quicker. He yanked Peter away from the wall and spun him around, binding his hands behind his back with a swift flick of his wand.
"Grandfather," Sirius called softly, his voice carrying just enough to reach his grandfather outside.
A moment later, Arcturus appeared at the window, his expression cold and calculating as he took in the scene. He climbed through the window with the ease of a man half his age, his wand held at the ready.
"Well done, Sirius," Arcturus said, his voice calm and authoritative. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Peter. "Peter Pettigrew, the rat who has caused so much trouble for my family."
Peter trembled, his eyes darting between Sirius and Arcturus in desperation. "Please, I—I can explain—"
"You'll have plenty of time to explain," Arcturus interrupted, his tone icy. "When you're standing in front of the Wizengamot, confessing to your crimes. But for now, you're coming with us."
Peter opened his mouth to protest, but a sharp look from Sirius silenced him. He knew there was no escape, no way out of the trap that had been laid for him. His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he allowed himself to be led toward the window.
Arcturus moved with practiced efficiency, casting a Disillusionment Charm over Peter to make him invisible to any prying eyes. Sirius did the same for himself, then for his grandfather. They couldn't afford to be seen, not when Sirius was still a wanted man and Arcturus preferred to remain in the shadows until the time was right.
With Peter securely in their grasp, they slipped out of the window and back into the night, moving silently through the darkness. The retirement home was quiet, undisturbed by their presence, and within minutes, they were back in the safety of the woods, far from prying eyes. Sirius's heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins as they made their way to the hidden Portkey that would take them back to Black Castle. He glanced at his grandfather, who gave him a nod of approval.
"You've done well, Sirius," Arcturus said quietly. "With Peter in our custody, we have the evidence we need to clear your name and bring down those who have wronged us."
Sirius nodded, his grip tightening on Peter's arm. "This is just the beginning," he said, his voice filled with determination. "We're going to set things right, and we're going to make sure Harry is safe."
Arcturus's eyes gleamed with a fierce pride as they reached the Portkey, a simple silver coin hidden beneath a large tree. He placed a hand on it, as did Sirius and Peter, and with a sudden jerk, they were whisked away from the quiet village and back to the imposing halls of Black Castle.
When they arrived, Sirius turned to Peter, his expression hardening once more. "Your days of hiding are over, Peter. It's time to face the consequences of your actions."
Peter trembled, his face pale and sweat-drenched. He knew he had no choice but to comply, and as Sirius led him away, Arcturus followed, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
The Black family had reclaimed its strength, and with their enemy now in their grasp, the path to justice was clear.
~
Harry stood outside Umbridge's office, taking a deep breath to steady himself. The Slytherins' advice echoed in his mind: act with the dignity befitting the Black heir. Determined to do just that, he knocked on the door, his movements measured and calm.
The door swung open almost immediately, revealing Umbridge's overly sweet smile. "Mr. Potter, right on time," she said in her usual sugary tone. "Do come in."
"Good evening, Professor," Harry replied politely as he stepped inside. The oppressive pink decor and the disturbing plates of kittens seemed even more unsettling than before, but he kept his face impassive, refusing to let his discomfort show.
"Please, have a seat," Umbridge said, gesturing to the small, straight-backed chair in front of her desk.
"Thank you, Professor," Harry responded, sitting down with the same calm demeanour. He folded his hands in his lap, keeping his posture straight and composed.
Umbridge watched him with that sickly sweet smile, her eyes glinting with something far less pleasant.
"This evening, Mr. Potter, we'll be focusing on discipline," she said, pulling out a long, black quill from her desk. "You will be writing lines. I want you to write, 'I must learn my place.'"
Harry's heart sank, but he nodded politely. "Yes, Professor," he said evenly, taking the quill from her hand.
As he set the quill to the parchment, he noticed the absence of an inkpot. His suspicion grew, but he kept his expression neutral, determined not to give her any reason to criticise him. He began to write, "I must learn my place."
The moment the quill touched the parchment, a sharp, searing pain shot through his hand. Harry inhaled sharply, his eyes darting down to see the words he had just written now etched into his skin, bleeding slightly. He clenched his teeth against the pain.
I must learn my place.
The words appeared on the parchment in dark, crimson letters—his own blood—while the same words carved themselves into his skin with every line. Harry focused on his breathing, forcing himself to remain calm and composed despite the burning pain in his hand. He refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing him falter.
Time dragged on, the pain in Harry's hand growing with each word he wrote, but he remained stoic. His hand trembled slightly, but he kept his movements controlled, refusing to let her see any sign of weakness.
"Is something the matter, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge asked, her voice dripping with false concern.
Harry glanced up briefly, his expression polite but firm. "No, Professor," he said quietly. "I'm fine."
"Good," she replied, her smile never wavering. "It's important to understand the lessons being taught, Mr. Potter. I'm pleased to see you're taking this seriously."
"Of course, Professor," Harry said, his tone respectful even as his anger simmered beneath the surface. He lowered his head and continued writing, the pain intensifying with each line, but he remained focused, determined to maintain his composure.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Umbridge spoke again. "That will do for tonight, Mr. Potter. You may go."
Harry placed the quill down carefully, his hand throbbing with pain. "Thank you, Professor," he said, standing up with as much dignity as he could muster.
As he turned to leave, Umbridge's voice stopped him. "Oh, and Mr. Potter," she said, her tone as sweet as ever, "I trust you've learned your place tonight. We wouldn't want to have to do this again, would we?"
Harry paused, then turned back to face her, his expression neutral. "No, Professor," he said with quiet resolve. "I've learnt."
With that, he turned and walked out of the office, his back straight and his face composed. The moment he was out of her sight, he allowed himself a grimace of pain. His hand throbbed, the words still carved into his skin, but he had managed to keep his composure.
As he made his way back to the Slytherin common room, Harry resolved to continue playing this dangerous game with Umbridge. He would remain polite, respectful, and dignified—just as a Black heir should. But he wouldn't let her break him. Not now, not ever.
~
Narcissa Malfoy sat at her writing desk, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the room. She had already sent her response to Draco, but there was another matter that weighed heavily on her mind. Reaching out to her estranged sister, Andromeda, was not something she ever thought she would do. But the situation demanded it. The Black family was on the brink of a reunion, and Andromeda needed to be warned—needed to be prepared.
She selected a piece of elegant parchment and dipped her quill into the ink. Her hand hovered for a moment, gathering her thoughts, before she began to write.
Dearest Sister,
It has been far too long since we last spoke. Though our paths have diverged, I have not forgotten the bonds that once held us together. There is a star that has been lost to us for many years, but it seems that its light will be returning soon.
I wanted to reach out to you, to remind you that even the most distant stars are still part of the same galaxy. When the time comes, the stars will align once more, and I hope that all of our stars will find their rightful place.
Please know that the brightest stars are often the ones that shine together.
With love,
Cissa
Narcissa carefully folded the letter and sealed it with the Black family crest, ensuring that it would reach Andromeda without delay. She knew that her sister would understand the message hidden within the flowery words. Andromeda was no fool, and despite their years of estrangement, she still knew the language of the Blacks.
Narcissa sat back, her gaze distant as she thought of her sister and the niece she had never truly known. The reunion of the Black family was imminent, and it would bring with it both light and darkness. All Narcissa could do was prepare those she cared about and hope that, in the end, they would all find their rightful places in the constellation of their family.
With a final, determined breath, she called for an owl, watching as it flew off into the night with her letter. The stars were aligning, and soon, the Black family would be whole again—whether they were ready for it or not.
~
When Harry finally pushed open the door to the Slytherin dorms, he was exhausted and more than a little sore. He didn't expect anyone to be awake at this hour, especially after a gruelling day topped off with detention with Umbridge. But as he quietly slipped inside, he spotted Draco Malfoy sitting on his bed, the curtains drawn back, a book in his hands and surprisingly enough Astra coiled next to him.
Draco looked up as Harry entered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Harry's disheveled appearance. Harry quickly shoved his right hand into his pocket, hoping to hide the angry, bleeding words carved into his skin. He had no desire to talk about it, especially not with Draco. But as he moved to cross the room toward his own bed, he winced slightly, the sting in his hand sharper then before.
"Potter," Draco called out, his tone sharp. Harry froze but didn't turn around. "What happened to your hand?"
"Nothing," Harry mumbled, keeping his back to Draco. "I'm fine."
Draco wasn't buying it. He swiftly stood and crossed the room in a few long strides. Before Harry could react, Draco grabbed his arm and yanked his hand out of his pocket. The sight of the fresh, bleeding cuts spelling out 'I must learn my place' made Draco's eyes widen in shock, followed by a fury that Harry hadn't seen in him before.
"She did this to you?" Draco hissed, his voice low and dangerous. Harry tried to pull his hand away, but Draco's grip was ironclad.
"It's nothing," Harry repeated, his voice strained. "Just let it go, Malfoy."
But Draco wasn't letting it go. His pale face flushed with anger, and his usually composed demeanour cracked as he stared at the words carved into Harry's skin. "This is not nothing!" he snapped. "She used a Blood Quill on you, didn't she? That bitch—"
"Draco, it's fine," Harry cut in, but Draco wasn't listening. He let go of Harry's hand, only to begin pacing the length of the room, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"How can you say it's fine? She's a bloody Ministry official, and she's torturing students—she's torturing you! This isn't just detention, Potter. This is illegal!"
"Keep your voice down," Harry urged, glancing nervously at the other beds, though it was clear the other Slytherins were fast asleep.
Draco rounded on him, his grey eyes blazing. "We're going to report this—my father can—"
"No!" Harry cut him off firmly. "No, we're not telling anyone. Not yet."
"Draco, it's fine," Harry tried to soothe, but Draco wasn't listening. He let go of Harry's hand, only to begin pacing the length of the room, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"She can't do this to you," Draco said, his voice filled with barely controlled rage. "You're the Black heir! Sirius should be able to do something about this!"
Harry looked away, his expression darkening. "Sirius is still a wanted man," he said quietly. "He can't do anything until his name is cleared. Until then, he's as powerless as I am."
Draco stopped in his tracks, his face twisting with frustration. "But that's absurd! You're the heir to, not one of, but the most powerful family in the wizarding world, and she's treating you like this? It's not right, Harry!"
"I know," Harry said, his voice laced with weariness. "But we can't do anything about it until Sirius is exonerated. If he tries to interfere now, it could make things even worse for both of us."
Draco stared at him, disbelief and anger warring in his eyes. "This is insane," he muttered. "She's torturing you, and we're just supposed to sit here and do nothing?"
Harry sighed, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him even more heavily. "Look, I don't want to make this worse. If we go to anyone now, Umbridge will just deny it, and things could get even worse for me. I can handle this on my own."
"Handle it?" Draco echoed incredulously. "This isn't something you handle, Harry. She's out of control, and we need to do something about it."
Harry was taken aback by the intensity in Draco's voice, by the way his name slipped from his lips without hesitation. He looked away, trying to find the right words. "Just... let me deal with it, okay? For now, at least. I appreciate you wanting to help, but this is something I need to figure out on my own."
Draco glared at him, his jaw clenched, but after a long moment, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Fine," he bit out. "But this isn't over. Not by a long shot."
Harry nodded, relieved but still on edge. "Thanks, Draco."
Draco didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached out and gently took Harry's injured hand again, his touch surprisingly tender as he examined the wounds. "At least let me clean this up for you," he muttered, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.
Harry hesitated but eventually nodded. "Alright."
Draco led him to the bathroom, where he carefully cleaned and bandaged Harry's hand, his movements precise and deliberate. The room was quiet, save for the occasional hiss of pain from Harry and Draco's soft muttering under his breath, curses directed at Umbridge and anyone else who dared to hurt Harry.
When they were done, Draco lingered, his fingers brushing against the bandage as if to ensure it was secure. "You're not alone in this, you know," he said quietly, not meeting Harry's eyes. "We're Slytherins, we look out for our own. But we're also Black's, family matters above all else."
Harry felt a warmth spread through him at those words, despite the pain in his hand. He gave Draco a small, grateful smile. "Anyone outside the family is an enemy. I know. Thanks, Draco."
Draco nodded curtly, the anger in his eyes still simmering but tempered by something else—something Harry couldn't quite identify. "Get some rest," Draco said gruffly. "We'll talk more in the morning."
Harry agreed, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the fact that, despite everything, Draco was in his corner. Perhaps Walburga was right, he will find stronger friends in Slytherin.