The Good, the Bad, and the Umbridge
Draco didn’t spare the Slytherin table a single glance as he walked into the Great Hall the next morning, though he did spot little Garrison Lynch and Yolanda Avery seated with a ginger headed Ravenclaw and smiled and waved to them as he passed, Garrison waving wildly in response, tapping his friends shoulders to do the same.
In contrast, Harry walked up beside Draco after Angelina finally left him alone from her first Quidditch Captain speech of the year and attempted a second smile towards Euan Abercrombie, only for the shaky boy to yelp and shift closer to Seamus, Dean offering his usual forced smile-grimace across the table.
“Well aren’t you popul--” Draco attempted, eager to get back to their light hearted banter after a summer apart, but was shut down quickly by Harry grabbing his arm quite too tightly and dragging him forwards to the Gryffindor table, saying, “Shut it and eat, will you?” He pushed him onto the bench and sat down himself, grabbing a plate of toast. “Bad morning.”
The heavy look Granger and Weasley exchanged told Draco this much, but he pushes through with a light attitude anyway, because he knows his friend needs it, whether he can see that for himself yet or not. “Oh come off it, Pots, you're probably just upset we have Potions together so early.” He snatched up Harry’s schedule--which was practically begging to be grabbed anyway--as he said this and revealed his own from his robes, holding the two up side by side.
“History of Magic, that’s an early nap for you… Potions with me, always a treat… Divination, I can’t believe you really take that load of rubbish… Double Defense Against the Dark Arts? Now that’s sure to be interesting.” Draco dropped Harry’s schedule back on his plate and frowned at Ron’s. “And I’m sure yours is the same Weasley, since you can’t seem to be original in the slightest.” Ron pouted, ripping the Slytherin’s own timetable out of his hand.
“Well let’s see how you're faring today, hm? Oh look, Defense Against the Dark Arts right off the bat, and with the Hufflpuff’s! What did you say? ‘Always a treat.’ Then Potions, obviously, but I thought you weren’t getting along well with the other Slytherins? Arithmancy… I dunno, I’ve tried to figure some of that stuff out from Hermione’s work but… Looks like a load of rubbish. I’ll stick to the easy homework for Divination, thank you. Did you know we can just make up our homework? And finishing off the day with Double Herbology. Last I checked, Neville’s the Herbology master, not you.”
“Are you two seriously squabbling over who has the worst Monday?” Hermione questioned, eyes wide with disbelief over the boy's own pettiness, though she had known them for four years, so she should’ve known by now, she supposed. When Ron only shrugged and threw the timetable back to Draco in response, she rolled her eyes, pushing aside her plate of toast and flattening out the Daily Prophet article in her hands in front of her. “Forget it, it doesn’t matter right now. Look!” The three boys crowded over the headline, and the moving pictures beneath it, eyes widening in unison in the appropriate show of surprise by the words in bold.
DEATH EATER’S CAUGHT AT MALFOY MANOR IDENTIFIED
BARTY CROUCH JR AMONG THEM
The four glanced at each other in shock and somewhat relief, but Hermione nodded back down at the paper, so they continued to read.
Though Lucius Malfoy, a trusted Ministry man and old friend to Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, as well as many other members of the Wizengamot, has managed to escape time in Azkaban alongside fellow Ministry man Corban Yaxley, the Ministry has released the names of five confirmed Death Eater’s which have been caught and taken to Azkaban. Among them are twins Alecto and Amycus Carrow, Omari Avery Jr, and the werewolf Fenrir Greyback. The fifth among these, most notably, was only recently identified by our trusted reporters here at the Daily Prophet as Bartemius Crouch Jr.
This has been noted as unusual and we can’t say we blame the Minister for keeping quiet, as Crouch Jr has been pronounced dead for years, having died in his cell in Azkaban. He was imprisoned in the First Wizarding War for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom, alongside Bellatrix Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, and Rodulphus Lestrange.
Harry leaned back and stopped reading there, leaning back to sit in his seat and clenched his fist around his fork. “So… He’s gone then.”
Hermione leaned back as well. “It would seem so…” “Knock on wood.” Ron finished for her, knocking his knuckles against the table and forcing a chuckle. She gave a half hearted smile in response, but it seemed enough for him.
“He could still escape.” Draco said quietly, and the others nodded, subconsciously focusing on the moving picture below the article’s headline, of the man Harry had only seen as a teenager in Dumbledore’s memories being dragged through crowds of people between two similar looking dark haired people, presumably the twins. He howled with madness as he was pulled through, and the photo gave Harry strange deja vu to when he had first glimpsed his Godfather on wanted posters. He shivered.
“Only one has been known to do it.” He pointed out what had been to him optimistic but judging by Hermione and Ron’s faces was hopeless, but Draco nodded. “True. He had to have gotten out once already, though, some way.”
A long pause came from Draco saying that, and he wasn’t sure if it was because the pair of Gryffindor’s was mulling the words over in their heads or something else, until Hermione lifted up the article again and pointed at the pair of names written in the middle, close to where they all had stopped reading. “Frank and Alice Longbottom… Those would be Neville’s parents, right?”
“Yeah, I was curious about that too.” Ron agreed, squinting at the names as Draco leaned closer to read them, feeling a chill race down his spine when eyeing the name ‘Bellatrix Lestrange’ right beside it. “That… Yes, that rings a bell…” He sent a quick glance to Harry, who had frozen stiff beside him, as if asking permission to reveal the connection, but the boy wasn’t seeming to acknowledge anyone, eyes wide. He himself was replaying the memory of the trial of the four Death Eater’s who had tortured Neville’s parents into insanity, whilst eyeing the boy himself across the table intently.
His friends slowly shifted their gazes to him as well, as it was hard not too. The shaking of his hand on his goblet was making it clink against his plate rather loudly, and the shaking of the Prophet in his opposite hand was hard not to notice.
“Hey mate--” They were interrupted from what would surely be an awkward conversation by Neville abruptly standing and stomping off, the article crumpling in his hand, and a moment later Hermione had rose to her feet and gathered her book in a sack, slinging it over her shoulder and declaring, “Well, best get to History of Magic then. Draco, have fun with the new Professor.” She nodded to the staff table, though as the pale blonde's eyes shifted to it he had to notice Umbridge was notably absent, which was highly unusual as every professor came to breakfast unless they were ill or injured, even the new ones.
“Yes, I suppose I’ll try.” He and the two other boys stood as well, and with a curt nod and brush of his hand against Harry’s arm, Draco turned and left towards the group of Slytherins already making their way out the doors and towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, a group of Hufflepuff’s following close behind.
As the group in green cloaks traveled up the stairs Draco slid between them to reach a pair of family burly bodies, settling himself in comfortably between Crabbe and Goyle just as the latter was pondering aloud what the upcoming class would be like. The two quickly noticed his presence--a feat for their thick minds, Draco had to admit--and nodded, Vincent sending a smile, while Gregory quickly focused over on Pansy tossing her head back to call out a response to the very clearly rhetorical question.
“I’m sure it’ll be quite a bore, and we all know not to get used to them by now, don’t we, so who really cares?” By ‘them’ she clearly meant their annually changing DADA Professor’s, but Draco had to note, in the back of his mind, while the front formed a more complete rebuttal, that the jab was rather weak and poorly thought out. Then again, Pansy had never gotten the handle of being quite the bully he had been last year, so why would that change over a summer of being out of practice?
“From what I’ve heard from my father, he’s quite fond of her, so actually I’m looking forward to it. If anything, this will surely prove to be an interesting class. The Ministry interfering at Hogwarts… Never happened before, at least not like this, has it?”
Draco had to pat himself on the back invisibly with how intelligent that sounded, before realizing with a start how Granger it sounded as well, right down to the interfering bit. Not that the other Slytherins seemed to notice, instead stiffening and glancing at each other, Pansy, instead of looking beaten, as she should have, tightening her blood red lips to a smirk and turning her back on him once more with a flurry of bobbed black hair. It was a long moment before he realized why everyone's mood had shifted so quickly, in which he took notice of even Vincent and Gregory’s ignoring of him, before he realized his slip up within his first sentence.
My father.
His one shield, his defense mechanism, his go-to rebuttal, the source of nearly every quip he makes within these schools walls has officially been declared obsolete. No longer can he run to a metaphorical man's side. No longer can he raise that shield of pure gold from Gringotts deepest vaults and laugh well being well protected with all his fellow mates beside him. Pansy’s right, he might as well be a Gryffindor now, because that’s where his mates lie, besides the ever loyal Crabbe and Goyle, who, at the end of the day, would be too scared to flee from the still well shielded Slytherin crowd. His final traitorous act, and biggest yet, had been giving up Malfoy Manor, in doing so giving up a reputation who knows how many years long.
And with that realization came the brick wall that nearly smacked him off his feet, of what his father must think. His mother, ‘ever the worrier’, as Sirius Black had once told him a year ago, would never leave his side. Would always coddle, would always kiss his cheeks, because Narcissa Malfoy had no one but her two blonde boys left. But his father? To his father, if he didn’t have that perfect pureblood heir, with the high chin and the pompous swagger and the crisp green robes, then what was left for him? Reputation, above all else, was of utmost importance to the Malfoy line. Narcissa had long turned her back on reputation when it devoured her sister but Lucius would always refuse to. Lucius was a man who would cling to the thing that gave the most security and power and reputation was the king of it.
But what would he do when his shining, blonde, pureblooded, one and only heir stole that all away?
Draco pushed through the crowd of people he could never call friends again as fast as he could, jogging up the steps to the class while trying to make his steps as loud as possible, if only to block out the giggles of Pansy Parkinson, but he knew it was futile.
It wasn’t until he had pushed open the doors to Defense Against the Dark Arts and laid his eyes on the fluffy pink cardigan wearing toad did he find the answer to his question quite clear.
Voldemort.
Professor Umbridge remained silently staring at him and the other students--including the Hufflepuff’s, coming from a separate staircase as the Slytherins had traveled up, no doubt missing the first as it moved--once they reached the class a minute after him, as they found their seats, which was all too ominous, as the questioning of what sort of teacher she’d be was already thick in the air and apprehension didn't need to mix with it. The tight lipped smile didn’t help it at all either.
Vincent sat beside Draco at the front of the room and Gregory sat directly behind his best friend, Theodore sitting behind Draco while Pansy and Blaise slid into seats at the table beside him, the former sending him that same smirk, though he refused to look at it directly, only chancing a glance with his peripherals.
“Well, good afternoon!” Professor Umbridge exclaimed as the final straggler, Millicent Bulstrode, struggling to find an empty seat in the back, was forced to trudge up to sit in the third empty table at the front. She mumbled back a ‘good afternoon’ reply along with the whole rest of the class, except Pansy, who yelped it rather forcibly with too wide a smile. That seemed to please Umbridge, however, as she gave her a nod, but shook her head at the rest of the class. “Tut, tut. Now that just won’t do! And from my own house no less…”
The most prideful of the Slytherin class, including Draco himself, straightened in their seats, as Slytherins were never one to take being rude to their own kind kindly, unless it was him, he supposed. But, considering how ‘disgraceful’ he had been last year, he supposed that had to be warranted.
“You were a Slytherin?” Daphne inquired from somewhere behind Draco, and he turned, just in curiosity, as he was wondering how she was getting along without Pansy constantly at her side, but saw she was sitting with Tracey Davis and Lydia Moon and supposed that made sense. “Or were you a Hufflpuff?”
Professor Umbridge beamed, now very pleased with the girls of the class. “A Slytherin, and I still am, of course, Miss…?” “Greengrass.” “Oh! I know your mother! She works in the Department of Mysteries and has a spot in the Wizengamot, is that correct?” Daphne shook her head, pushing back a strand of hair which had sprung free of her headband, a nervous habit, no doubt, and said, “No, she’s still an Unspeakable, but she recently lost her spot to Tess Whitlock.” Umbridge nodded, lips forming an ‘o’. “Pity… Well, I’ll be sure to let her know I'm teaching her daughter.” Daphne smiled prettily, but once Umbridge had shifted her gaze to the rest of the class, it left her face in a second.
“Now, let’s try that again, shall we? I would like you, please, to reply, ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge’. One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!”
“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” they chanted back at her, though notably half-heartedly still.
“There, now,” said Professor Umbridge sweetly. “Was that so hard? I would like you to put your wand away and quill out, please.”
Draco closed his eyes tight and sighed as the others around him groaned slightly, having to admit to himself that that request never followed with an interesting lesson and Professor Umbridge certainly wasn’t setting herself up to be a teacher anyone enjoyed, but obeyed the command eventually, tucking his wand into his robes and pulling out an inkwell and quill. When he looked up he saw that Professor Umbridge had risen from her seat, not gaining much height at all, just as she had in the Great Hall the night before, and tapped the blackboard, words forming magically upon it.
Defense Against the Dark Arts ~ A Return to Basic Principles
“It has come to my attention, regrettably, that your teaching in this subject has been rather uneven, hasn’t it?” The Professor asked, though it was more of a statement than a question, as she turned and placed her hands together neatly in front of her, smiling at them all. “What with all those alternating teachers who, it seems to me, struggled to follow even the simplest of curriculum criteria. Now, with your O.W.L’s just around the corner, I find myself worried you all won’t be prepared. So, you will be pleased to know that I am here to guide you along a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.”
Once again she tapped the blackboard with an unusually short wand, and the words reshaped themselves across it to form a list of, ‘Course Aims.’
Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.
Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.
Draco blinked, squinted at the board, then looked around in confusion. On either side of him, Vincent and Gregory were stuck blinking at it stupidly, before hurriedly scratching it onto their parchment scrolls. He looked behind him and saw most of the Slytherins were doing the same, with only a couple Hufflepuff’s still left confused, Ernie Macmillan holding his scroll up and looking from it to the board, dumbfounded by his own writing, clearly.
“Does everybody have with them a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?” A dull murmur of assent spread across the room as kids reached for the book in their bags, but Professor Umbridge was shaking her head, rapping her wand lightly on the board. “No, no, that won’t do. When I ask you a question, I would like you to reply, ‘Yes, Professor Umbridge’, or ‘No, Professor Umbridge’. So: has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?”
“Yes, Professor Umbridge,” rang through the room, and Draco could hear snorting in the back as Wayne Hopkins told his buddy Morag Macdougal a joke in the back row, no doubt about the toad, who blinked as if she hadn’t heard a thing.
“Good. I would like you to turn to page five and read ‘Chapter One, Basics for Beginners’. I expect silence as you read, talking won’t be necessary.” She turned back to her chair and sat down in it then, observing them all close while they opened up their books and read.
Draco was struck, all at once, with how similar the book was to her speech the night before, in that they were both unbelievably boring, but only had fast reading to thank for getting through even the first paragraph, before a shaky voice from behind interrupted all their concentrations, which were weak to begin with, based upon how boring the passage was.
“Professor Umbridge?” Draco looked up to see the woman before him had narrowed her pudgy eyes onto a boy in the back row, and he turned, and saw all the other kids had done the same, to look upon Macmillan with his hand raised high, prefect’s badge gleaming as if to remind the new Professor of his newly gained status. “Professor Umbridge?” He repeated, now that all eyes were on him, and Draco looked back around and found she had widened her eyes slightly, thoroughly surprised by his nerve, now.
“Students will wait to be addressed while their hand is raised before speaking, Mr-?”
“Macmillan, Professor.” He opened his mouth to continue speaking but she was clearly having none of that, continuing to speak swiftly. “Well, Mr. Macmillan, do you want to ask something about the chapter, then?” He shook his head quickly, opening his mouth once more, and getting cut off, once more. “Then it shall wait. We’re reading just now, if you have other queries we may deal with them after the reading and discussion. Now then, continue--”
“But the course aims, Professor!” He exclaimed, clearly not a Hufflepuff willing to back down that quickly. Professor Umbridge looked stricken, as if offended he’d dare interrupt her, or astounded by the fact that she even had been interrupted, this soon in her teaching.
“What’s wrong with my course aims?”
“Well they don’t make sense!” Professor Umbridge blinked, looked around at the blackboard, then back at Macmillan, and spread her lips in a look of determined sweetness, her voice carrying on that tone as she said, “They seem very clear to me. Read through them once more, and maybe you’ll understand. Your other classmates seem to just fine, as they all have continued on with the reading,”
“I don’t understand either.” A muscle in Professor Umbridge’s temple twitched as Susan Bones exclaimed this, but she flinched in no other way from her facade of sweetness as she instead turned her smile towards the blonde girl sitting primly beside her ginger boyfriend Morag Macdougal, who was squinting at his parchment scroll, as if confused what the others saw so wrong with the course aims.
“Students must raise their hands when wanting to ask questions or give comments, dear. I thought I made that point clear but I can forgive you if you did not hear it. Now, what is the matter with my course aims, exactly?” Bones’s eyebrows pulled down in a confused expression, and she gestured a hand to the board, proclaiming, “It doesn’t say a word about using defensive spells.”
It was as if a puzzle piece had been clicked in his mind, and Draco looked back down to his scroll then up at the board and saw clearly, just as Bones had, what was so very strange about those course aims. In a class meant to teach you how to defend yourself against evil, it didn’t mention a word about actually doing so.
Professor Umbridge looked on the verge of laughing, but instead she stepped forwards down the space between desks until she reached Bones and Macdougal’s, and looked her close in the eye to ask, “What is your name?” Bones was pale now, white as a sheet, but she still swallowed hard and said clearly, “Susan Bones, ma’am.” Professor Umbridge’s pink lips twisted in a smirk, no doubt delighted to hear the girl before her was related to a member of the Ministry, meaning she would be that much less eager to express ill-will in regards to them. “And why, Miss Bones, would you ever believe you might need to use these defensive spells in my class?” She glanced down at her parchment, up at the board, then settled back on looking into the Professor’s eyes to say, “Well, a student was killed here last year. Some of us, some of our parents… we’re frightened.”
And Professor Umbridge’s smile grew at the mention of the parents she worked with, and she cocked the head to the side. “And I am here to make sure you all remain quite safe within your Headmaster’s walls.” Her grin now revealed her little pointed teeth, and Bones forced a smile back, exhaling and almost wincing with the effort to look happy towards the woman in pink. She was saved, thankfully, by Blaise shooting his hand up at the front of the class, and Umbridge turning to him with an eyebrow raised.
“Yes, Mr-?”
“Zabini.”
“What’s your query?” Pansy stifled a laugh beside him by pressing her knuckles against her lips and clearing her throat, but Blaise didn’t resist the urge to grin, looking across the students around him for support as he said, “My ‘query’ is why we won’t be using magic at a magic school.” He straightened in his seat, eyebrows raised. “We are wizards and witches, aren’t we?”
“Yes, and my colleagues at the Ministry are wizards and witches as well, aren’t they?”
“Well, yeah but--”
“Then you and I are in agreement that they should know full well what is best for you and your fellow classmates, is that correct, Mr. Zabini?” Blaise liked his lips, and nodded firmly. “Yes.” “Yes, Professor Umbridge.” Again he glanced around at the class, only to find most were now staring intently at their books, some looking a bit red in the ears. “Yes… Professor Umbridge.” He groaned and she straightened, smiling. “Thank you.”
She started to walk back to her desk, but Draco grabbed the cover of his book and shut it firmly, turning his chair and jutting his hand up in the air, jaw tight. She froze, lowered her eyes onto him, and he could’ve sworn he saw a hint of a smile twitching at the corners of her lips as their eyes met and she took in the air, the pointed features, the gray eyes, all the things that no doubt immediately gave away his name.
“Mr. Malfoy?”
“Professor,” He lowered his hand, straightening himself in his seat to appear as formal and in control of both the situation and what he said as he could, as if that would make her see they all weren’t some naive children. It was worth a try, at least. “If one of us were to get attacked, and you, under the Ministry’s… programs… hadn’t prepared us to protect ourselves, then how would that reflect on the Ministry?”
Beside him, Vincent sucked in a breath and Gregory turned sharply in his seat from surprise, and he was almost positive he could hear Sally Smith at the back of the class going, “Ooh…” under her breath. But he hardly cared, though he did notice. He was focused only on the Professor before him, who didn’t look like she was smiling one bit, and whose tiny eyes had dulled with cold anger.
“Who, Mr. Malfoy, could you possibly imagine walking into this school, and wanting to attack you children?” Draco swallowed firmly, and found himself unaware of how to answer. Voldemort’s name was on the tip of his tongue, and it wasn’t an inability to speak it, but the inability to state he was back. Would that be what Dumbledore would’ve wanted? Did Umbridge know that was what the headmaster had told them at the end of last year?
He had to say something.
“The same man who killed Viktor Krum.”
“And who was that man?” The whole class seemed to be leaning towards Draco and Umbridge in their seats. No one had heard from either he or Harry, the only ones to come back from the graveyard alive, what happened in it. All they had were the words of their headmaster as to who killed Viktor, but the word of Draco himself…
He sucked in a deep breath. There was no going back now.
“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”
A couple people gasped, a couple quills dropped, and a few chairs squeaked as people shifted in their seats from surprise. Draco took no notice still, eyes concentrated on Umbridge, whose own were twitching just slightly. She looked out around at the rest of the class slowly, all watching intently, and sighed, shaking her head down at the Malfoy boy.
“I haven’t been given official permission to tell you all this,” She slowly began to walk back towards her desk, “But under the conditions I believe it is now necessary. At the end of your fourth year your Headmaster informed you that it was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who had a hand in the tragic death of Viktor Krum, is that correct?” She swept around her desk, placing her hands on it and shaking her head. “This is a lie.”
“In actuality, and that fact has been proven clearly by the confession of the newly convicted Bartemius Crouch Jr while under a highly effective veritaserum that it was a group of Death Eater’s making a fools attempt at resurrecting their old master that night, and Viktor Krum was killed by horrific chance. This fact was even confirmed by your father, Mr. Malfoy, who we have deduced to have been under the Imperius curse for all of it.”
There was a great deal of muttering across the classroom after these words, and Draco found himself frozen stiff in shock at those words. Shocked by how she had managed to state a lie so clearly and as if it was a truth she believed by heart. A lie she had memorized by heart. An awful lie, which even pulled his own father into it.
His father. He thought, briefly, whether his father had encouraged or even helped make these ridiculous cover up, but that thought was short lived as he caught the way Umbridge’s eyes fell on his, as if attempting to say something silently to him, and he realized, with a jolt, and this could only mean she knew the truth. She knew Voldmeort was really back, which meant Fudge’s whole inner circle knew, and if the inner circle knew, then who would they tell? What counts as an ‘inner circle’? Was this all against Dumbledore's wishes, or along with them?
His head hurt, and he lowered it, rubbing his temple and deciding, firmly, that they--he and the rest of the Quartet--needed to send a letter to Percy immediately.
Professor Umbridge’s eyes lifted from him and to the rest of the class, the smile with her tiny pointed teeth now returning. “And now, you all will kindly continue your reading. Page five, ‘Basics for Beginners.’”
And so the rest of the class did, but Draco didn’t. Draco remained stiff and staring, straight ahead, at Umbridge. Even as she opened a drawer and read some letters and documents. Even as she glanced briefly at him and tore out a copy of the Daily Prophet from her desk drawer and opened it up before her, blocking her toad-like face from his view. He still didn’t stop staring.
His mind was working a mile a minute to the bell rang for break, and as he stood up and kicked his chair in, tucking the ridiculous book into his sack and slinging it over his shoulder he noticed his hands had started to shake not unlike Harry’s so often did these days, but steadied them by clenching his fists, waving off Vincent and Gregory before they could ask what he was doing and instead walking around his desk and towards the new Ministry-approved Professor.
He flipped his scroll with the course aims on it over onto the blank side and picked a quill off her own desk, scribbling a quick message on it, then sliding it under the still open Daily Prophet article before her.
Did the Minister tell you the truth?
She waited until the entire class had left the room--even Pansy, waiting herself, glaring at the back of Draco’s head--before sliding the note back across to him.
Yes.
He pushed it back.
Do you believe him?
She folded up the newspaper, placed it down neatly before her on top of the note, and smiled in the way that rather quickly, in just one class in fact, had gotten far too old and annoyed Draco near to his limit.
“Nothing has been proven nor has it been disproven, Mr. Malfoy, not unlike your father, hm?” Her eyes were narrowed, and Draco felt slightly in danger under that gaze, though he didn’t know why. She was a teacher, after all, and was so adamant about students not being attacked in her class. He should have felt very safe, right? “I believe we are in agreement that your teaching on this subject has been very undesirable, especially considering one of your teachers was a half breed. And it has come to my attention you have a second half breed for a teacher as well, is that correct?”
She leaned in closer to him, her eyes practically twinkling with sadistic pleasure. “You’ll find my teaching should align with something just your style, and, if you cooperate, soon you may not have to worry about half breed teachers any longer.”
Draco blinked at her, felt his lip curl in a sneer and began to shake his head, stepping back away from her. “You… But…” He shook his head, straightened, and readjusted his satchel. “I think I’m more worried about being murdered like my friend, Professor, than the blood of the people meant to teach me how to protect myself. Good day.” He nodded to her curtly and, with that, spun on his heel, marching out of the classroom.
He was stunned and horror struck by that whole lesson. By Professor Umbridge’s audacity, denial, and clear blood supremacist tendencies, which he had tried so hard to discard in an attempt to reshape how the world saw him, but she had just assumed, on the spot, that he shared those same beliefs.
But you do, don’t you? His brain dared to ask as he stepped out into the misty morning and peered down the flat hill of the Hogwarts grounds to the familiar form of the Half-Giant Hagrid’s home, who he had not so long ago harbored such a deep hatred for. You used to always say how lower that oaf is to your purity. How could he ever be considered a wizard, with all that Giant in his veins. Why, he’s as dirty as--
“Draco!” He was thoroughly grateful to be interrupted from his thoughts by his friends, no matter how much of a bad mood he was in or how strong the need to be alone could be, and even more relieved to see the trio of Gryffindors had huddled together on the grass beneath a balcony, safe from the cold wind and light rain. “Over here!”
He followed Hermione’s voice hurriedly and sat himself down beside Harry with a sigh, declaring, rather loudly, “It’s official; that woman is the worst Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve had yet.” Hermione raised her eyebrows high, lips tight. “Oh.”
“You sure?” Ron asked, jolting straight from where he had relaxed against the stone wall behind them. “Keep in mind we had a Death Eater.” “And literal Voldemort.” Harry stated, though Hermione waved a hand, shrugging. “Technically.” Harry sent her a look. “He was on the back of his head…” “But he wasn’t teaching, was he?” “Could’ve been telling him what to say…”
“Don’t talk about him around her though, oh no!” Draco shook his head, driving his fist into the mud then picking at the grass, biting his bottom lip. “Admits she knows he’s back, but only barely… Tries to fool the class into thinking Death Eater’s killed Viktor. ‘I’m not supposed to be telling you this!’ Well then don’t say it you slag!” He shook his head, ripping a clump of grass from the ground and tossing it aside. “She’s a right Daft Cow, that’s what she is.”
“Sounds lovely.” Harry said dully while Ron groaned. “Great! And right after Divination too… Can’t have a single good thing today, can we, Harry?” He bumped his friend's shoulder, but Harry had suddenly become very distracted by something behind them, and the group turned to see a stunning girl with a shining sheet of black hair, practically sparkling from the droplets of rain dotting it, poking her head around a corner and beaming at them.
“Hello, Harry!”
The Gryffindor grinned dazedly, cheeks flushing all at once. “Hi…”
“You got that stuff off, then?” Cho stepped closer towards them, hands folded behind her, bobbing on her heels almost awkwardly, though Cho Chang was never the type to be awkward. “Yeah,” said Harry, nodding and trying to morph his grin of amazement into one that was reminiscing a funny memory. “So, did you… er… have a good summer?”
She smiled sweetly, waving a hand. “It was all right, but, you know, I was wondering… Do you still keep in touch with Cedric at all?”
Harry’s grin got wiped off his face in a minute at the mention of her very real boyfriend, and he frowned. “No.” He said, at the same time Draco opened his mouth to say yes but was stopped by a tug on the sleeve by Hermione and a quick shake of her head.
“Oh… Well, I was just wondering since…” She sighed rather heavily, then dropped to her knees before them, eyes wide. “He’s been very distant lately! Ever since King’s Cross, he hasn’t been himself at all. No one else is picking up on it, just me, so I’m worried… Does he not like me anymore? Should we break up? He didn’t really keep that close in contact with me over the summer, I didn’t even know was out of his wheelchair, much less walking fully again! And I keep telling myself, ‘Cho, he’s older than you, he’s taking N.E.W.T’s now, he’s a great Seeker, he could even continue Quidditch for a career but his dad wants him in the Ministry. He has a lot on his mind and doesn’t need a girlfriend bugging him.’ So I’ve kept quiet, but I think that’s only distancing us more, and now I feel I hardly know him, and just today, he was so awfully rude. I don’t want to break up with him, but if he breaks up with me… Well it would be better if I did it myself, wouldn't it? It would hurt less on my terms? What do you think, Harry? What should I do?”
Harry had stiffened and frozen, mouth gaping in surprise, having expected a simple chat maybe related to the Tornadoes badge on her chest because he hadn’t had a proper Quidditch discussion in months, but not her lamenting about a failing relationship which only lit a candle of hope in his heart that he still had a chance. But that couldn’t be what he said to her could it? Not when her eyes were shining and she looked this desperate for good advice.
“Break up with him.”
But Hermione Granger certainly could do it for him.
“What?” Cho wiped her eyes, frowning at the Gryffindor who shrugged her shoulders and got to her feet nonchalantly. “It’s obvious this relationship isn’t healthy anymore, and if it fails over the short long distance of summer, how can it possibly keep going? Besides, from my point of view, it’s obvious you have feelings for someone else.” The bell rang through the air and Cho blinked, stunned, and Harry whipped his head around to stare at Hermione as well, stunned.
“I agree,” He whipped it back to stare at Draco, who had also risen to his feet, adjusting his bag and frowning deeply at something far away from them, though his eyes revealed he wasn’t focused on that thing, more dazed. “It’s not fair to you or to Cedric to keep a relationship going when you like someone else.” He turned and walked away, Hermione hurrying after him, and Ron, eager to get out of this conversation, jumped to his feet and started off for Snape’s as well.
“Oh… well I suppose that’s true…” Cho got to her feet, brushed off her skirt of dewy grass and gave Harry a quick half hearted smile. “It was nice talking to you, Harry!” And with that she turned and left, leaving Harry only to blink dumbly at her running form, calling out, “See you later!” Before she completely disappeared around a corner. After that he sighed and got to his feet, running over to his three friends waiting for him at the castle doors.
“You're welcome.” Hermione said before turning and pushing the doors open. Harry cracked a little smirk at that, nodding. “Yeah, thanks.” But he was more focused on Draco, who was pointedly avoiding looking at him, instead leading the pack down the dungeon steps to Potions, a cold expression on his face. For a moment, Harry thought he could be jealous, but pushed the thought away quickly because after all he’s had to put up with this summer, didn’t he deserve to get the girl he liked?
But he’s had to put up with a lot too, remember.
The door creaked open, the Gryffindors and Slytherins filed inside, and the Quartet found their usual sweats at the back table.
“Settle down,” said Snape coldly as he shut the door once everyone had found their seats, though there was no need, since the Potions master’s presence had always shut every kid up as soon as they stepped into the door. “Before we begin today’s lesson I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an ‘Acceptable’ in your OWL, or suffer my… displeasure.” His gaze lingered this time on Neville, who gulped. “After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me. I take only the very best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye.”
His gaze now lingered on Harry, who glared at him, reveling in the idea of finally being able to give up Potions after fifth year, though he did notice how Snape’s eyes briefly flicked to Draco, and something of regret flashed across his face. No doubt he was still disappointed by the Slytherin’s change in crowd.
“But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell. So, whether or not you are intending to attempt NEWT, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students. Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: if you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing. The ingredients and method-” Snape flicked his wand, “--are on the blackboard--” (they appeared there) “--you will find everything you need--” he flicked his wand again, “in the store cupboard--” (the door of said cupboard sprang open) “--you have an hour and a half… start.”
Almost instantly, Draco ripped a sheet of parchment out of his satchel and a quill, scribbling something down to the confusion of Hermione and Harry, as Ron hopped off his chair and hurried to gather the ingredients for everybody.
“What are you doing?” Hermione hissed, leaning over to see what he was writing, but Draco was already sliding it across the table to Harry, who looked down, confused, to see the list of ingredients. “Why…”
“Remember last year? Harry, you’re always not reading things right in this class with that terrible eyesight of yours. Now, make sure you get this right. It’s the first day, prove Snape wrong.” He gave him an encouraging grin and wink, then began readying his cauldron for the potion. Harry found himself grinning as well, looking over at Hermione, who was shaking her head, a hint of a smile on her lips.
The potion turned out being incredibly difficult to brew, but when Snape began sweeping his way across the lines of students with their different steaming potions, declaring, “A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion,” Harry looked down and was taken aback, astounded, to see that exact thing had indeed occurred. He looked up, saw that Draco and Hermione both had the same, and found himself grinning, and even Ron, whose own concoction was now spouting out green sparks, punched him in the shoulder and nodded as if to say, ‘good job’ silently.
Snape came to their table, nodded approvingly at Draco's perfect potion, staying stone silent when seeing that Hermione had nothing to criticize, as usual, but when he looked over at Harry, he stopped abruptly, and Harry found himself straightening, smiling with pride.
He bent down close to it. Drew out a spoon and stirred it. Lifted a small bubble of the contents with his wand and eyed it, before dropping it back into Harry’s cauldron and frowning at Harry as if he believed he was playing a sick joke. At this point, all the Slytherins at the front of the class had turned and were listening closely, surprised as well at how picture perfect Harry’s draught appeared.
Without a further word in regards to Harry’s potion, Snape stepped away from the table and turned to the rest of the class. “I want all of you to fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name and bring it up to my desk for testing. Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.”
Smirking at Draco who hissed, “I told you so,” back, Harry happily filled up his flask and headed towards Snape’s desk to present it with the others, observing with a sense of pride how few other people had managed to make a potion that even faintly resembled the Draught of Peace. All in all, the Quartet left their first Potions class pleasantly surprised by how well it had gone, though they did have Draco to thank for that, and Harry was surprised in himself, too, that he had the basic skill to be good at Potions, Snape had just managed to find every way to target the subject against him. But now he held in his hand a flask with an ‘EE’ taped to it, so even Snape’s best efforts couldn’t make him fail.
With those thoughts in mind, the group ate their lunch contently and were happy with their first day, so much so that Draco even forgot to give his friends a final warning for Umbridge, knowing he wouldn’t see them again before they had their first class with her. He was too caught up in being relieved to see Harry happy again, able to silence the pesky voices in his head from the night before, and heading to Arithmancy with Hermione without a second thought to the awful toad that still awaited his friend.
-*-*-*-
However he remembered it the second he stepped into the Great Hall for dinner and caught sight of the familiar look of anger on Harry Potter’s face as he glared down at his empty golden plate. Evidently, the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws first class with Umbridge had not gone any better than the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs. This was further proven by how while he walked down the rows of tables to his empty seat beside Harry he could clearly hear the murmurs and whispers of the gossiping students he passed.
“He says he saw Viktor Krum murdered…”
“He didn’t come back with the body…”
“We all know who really did it…”
“Come off it…”
“He reckons he dueled with You-Know-Who…”
“Who does he think he’s kidding?”
“Puh-lease…”
“Told you she’s a riot,” Draco said, sliding into his seat beside Harry and shaking his head as he took in the grim faces of the Gryffindors around him. “A real joy. You should’ve kept your head down, Harry--”
“Yeah I know what I should’ve!” The boy whipped his head around to glare at him. “I’ve heard it from enough people by now. But you didn’t hear what she was saying, how she was talking about it… It’s like Viktor died for nothing.” Across them, Hermione’s hand tightened around her fork, and she bit her bottom lip tight, and Draco raised an eyebrow at her, curious now. “Don’t tell me you started a fight too, Granger?”
Hermione licked her lips, swallowed, and now Draco could pick up on the whispering of different students at the Gryffindor table.
“Lost it, that girl…”
“I’ve never seen Granger that angry…”
“He’s been dead for months…”
“Can’t she get over herself?”
The brightest witch of her age, now shaking with a shimmer of tears on her eyes, shook her head and fumbled with her hands, as if unaware what to do with them. “I… She didn’t give me detention but… Well Harry was much worse…”
Draco leaned in closer, eyebrows pulled down in a tight expression of concern, because whether he liked it or not she was his friend now and he knew how Umbridge was. She was a pureblood supremacist, and the last thing any of them needed was to get the muggleborn Hermione Granger on her bad side. “Granger, what did you do?”
She looked him in the eye, her shaking finally subsiding though he noted that was only because Ron had gently placed his hand over hers, and said, “I may have… Called her a liar…” Draco raised his eyebrows, and she swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut than saying, “I screamed it at her, actually.”
There was a pause, then Draco threw his head back and laughed, rather loudly, shaking his head, rubbing his forehead with a hand before dropping it into a fist onto the table with a bang, glaring at the girl across from her. “What in Merlin’s name were you thinking?” He shook his head in disbelief, speaking in a hissing whisper now, “It’s one thing to go all Granger Danger on a student but on a teacher--on Umbridge!”
“You didn’t hear what she was saying, Malfoy.” Ron said and Draco sent him a quick glare for good measure. “I heard what she said in my class and managed to hold my tongue.” He looked back closely at Hermione. “We have to tread carefully here, do you understand? We can’t add any fuel to her fire or one of us, or more importantly, Dumbledore, could get into more trouble than they already are.”
“You sound like McGonagall.” Harry commented, taking a swig from his goblet then slamming it down and getting to his feet. “We should leave, before she breaks,” He whispered into Draco’s ear, nodding to Hermione, whose eyes had glazed over as she no doubt slipped into listening to the whispering around them, her grip on Ron seeming to be the only thing grounding her from crying in front of all these people. Draco nodded then, standing and Ron seemed to understand the memo as he didn’t give his pie a second glance, standing and helping Hermione to her feet as well, following his friends out of the Great Hall and whispering for her to ignore the staring faces they passed.
They walked and they walked until they reached the library, where they found a secluded corner with couches in front of a warm fire and sat Hermione down on it, Draco hurrying off to find a book she might like while Ron sat beside her and squeezed her hand. Harry was left to stare at his best friend in stunment, as her walls which she had meticulously built to shield her true trauma after Viktor’s death from him finally broke down before him.
It was one of the most frightening experiences of his life having to watch her sit there, frozen stiff without a single sign of movement or acknowledgement of where she was, or the people talking to her. Eyes glazed over both with the glistening of silent tears and complete vacantness. It was as if Hermione wasn’t even in the room at all.
But, Harry had to notice as his voice broke over the sound of the raging thoughts inside his head, Ron wasn’t frozen stiff from surprise as he was, or whatever Hermione had blacked out for, but reacting as if he knew exactly what to do. As if this had happened before.
“Hermione? Hey… hey… it’s me, it’s Ron.” Her eyes blinked once, snapping out of their revere while the rest of her body did not, and slowly scanned around the room, falling finally on Ron and widening. Her first movement was to tear her hand out of his grip. “Ron!” “Hi…” He nodded, smiling, and Harry was surprised to see he didn’t reach out to grab her again, as he was sure that must be what to do. “Hey, it’s me! How can I help you?”
Hermione looked around at the surroundings again, this time more closely, for they were no doubt surprising her because they had moved her out of the Great Hall and she hadn’t been very conscious throughout any of that. She looked back at Ron and swallowed heavily, opening her mouth to speak, then wincing and pressing her hand to her forehead, as if a headache had suddenly sprung up, which Harry somewhat hoped for, because at least he could relate to that. Ron seemed to understand exactly what she meant,--however--and needed,--again--as he nodded and sat himself down properly beside her, saying closely, “Alright, what are three things you can see?”
She glanced around and said, very slowly, “Books… Harry… Fire…” Ron nodded as she focused solely on the fire then asked, “What are three things you hear?” Another swallow, and when she spoke again, her voice was just a bit less shaky. “The fire crackling… Birds, outside… I can’t hear a third--” “What can you feel?” Their fingers brushed each other briefly, and Hermione’s head snapped around and Harry watched as her eyes widened, her hand sprung back to grab her arm, and she said his name again, “Ron?”
“I’m right here, ‘Mione. I’m right here.” Her bottom lip was trembling with the potential of tears, and her mouth moved a mile a minute trying to form words before asking, “Are you... Are you gonna leave me?” He shook his head, hand slowly reaching out for hers. “I’m not going anywhere.” She swallowed. “Viktor… He died…” “I won’t die.”
He took her hand in his, slowly bringing it to his chest, then held it there, smiling comfortingly. “Do you feel that?” She nodded. “It’s my heartbeat. Focus on that. You’re safe. It’s just the thought that’s causing you pain, remember that. I’m right beside you. I’m not going anywhere.”
And Harry watched as slowly, as if by some miraculous magic he hadn’t been taught yet, Hermione’s stiffness crumbled away as her chest began to rise and fall with breathing as normal, and the panic in her eyes all but got wiped away entirely when she focused only on Ron’s heartbeat, until after a few minutes she fell forwards into his arms, and he made no moves to hug or embrace her, instead letting her rest her head against his chest and close her eyes until her breathing steadied completely, to which she wiped her face and laid backward onto the couch.
Beside Harry, Draco moved forward, even though he hadn’t even noticed him reappearing, and held a book out towards the girl, who slowly raised a hand to take it, read the title, then smiled warmly at him, and opened it up. It was the book she had lent him over the summer, on animagi, that she had reread for whatever reason and Draco had assumed, correctly, was because she adored it, and she clearly did.
Ron smiled fondly as she flipped through the pages, her eyes darting across the lines of text at a mad pace, then shifted and sighed, leaning against the back of the couch to watch the flames of the fire intently.
Harry stood and sat beside him, then whispered in his ear, so only the two of them could hear, “How did you know to do that?” Ron frowned, no doubt remembering something dark inside his head. “I’ve seen Mom and Dad do them a lot, after everything that happened to Ginny with the Chamber of Secrets especially. She kept getting these ‘night terror’ things, and all of us heard her being calmed down. Took almost an hour the first year, but she’s gotten better. When Hermione first got the Grimmauld Place, she was a mess, and got these things, these panic attacks, about once a day. But when Tess arrived she had a really bad one too, and I saw Percy calm her down quickly, so I asked him how he learned, and he told me Mom taught him. I went to my mom, and she told me what to do, and I’ve learned what works best for Hermione. It usually takes longer than that, but I knew with the change of scenery she’d need the sensory thing, and listening to my heartbeat always calms her like that, dunno why. S’pose it has to do with Krum dying, right? I guess she’s afraid I’ll die too.”
He looked over at their best friend, their Hermione, who had always held them together so tightly, and who they’d crumble to bits without, probably, and that fond smile grew even more genuine, a tinge of pink to his cheeks now accompanying it. “I just wish she’d see how I wouldn’t ever die if it meant I’d be leaving her alone.” He looked over at Harry, and a silent understanding was passed between them with those words.
Harry knew, he had always known, deep down, that this was true. That his two best friends would one day come to see it and come together in a world ending--or saving--kiss, and it would be a shining light through all this pain and darkness. So he only nodded with a smirk, shaking his head at Draco, who looked on the verge of bursting out into laughs, but restrained himself, instead standing at nodding to the three Gryffindors.
“I’ll be taking my leave for the night. Try to get some good sleep, Grange.” He said to Hermione, the nickname rolling off his tongue subconsciously, and she nodded back at him, though she was too encompassed in her book to actually look at him.
“Good night, Draco.” Harry said and the two boys lingered on each other's eyes for a moment, before Draco pursed his lips together and waved a hand. “Night.” And with that he turned on his heel and disappeared around a bookshelf. Harry sighed and shook his head after that, turning to focus on his two friends, who had now entwined fingers, getting Hermione to finally look up from her book and smile at Ron, blushing herself.
He had to remind himself he was lucky they had even reached this point, or he might start screaming at them to just kiss already, and he knew the still recovering Hermione didn’t need him yelling at her to kiss a boy when she was just grieving over her dead boyfriend. Recovering is hard.