Chapter Nine: The Question of Taking Sides
It was nearly three in the morning on a Monday, and I had yet to perform a successful stunning spell. Blaise, Nott, and I were in an abandoned classroom on the third floor and had been there since ten that evening, attempting to learn the spells required for our Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL. Tracey had been with us originally, but she'd figured out the spell somewhere around midnight and decided she wanted some sleep before classes. Blaise had also managed to cast the spell properly, but he remained behind to put out any fires I started.
We had no fear of being caught at least since Pansy and Draco were the prefects on duty tonight. As much as Draco despised me, he would never turn in his fellow Slytherins for being in a classroom after curfew.
"It's really not that hard," said Nott after I completely missed the ball I was supposed to be targeting and hit a desk instead, leaving a dark scorch mark on the wood.
With a flick of his wand, Blaise made the mark disappear. "On the bright side," he said, "I'm going to ace my Charms OWL."
"You and Hannah both," I muttered.
"I see you two in Charms class," said Nott. "Abbott is good at putting out fires—maybe we should recruit her for these lessons."
"She already helps me with the Charms spellwork," I said. I didn't add that she was involved in the student rebellion against Umbridge and probably didn't want to start meeting Slytherins in the middle of the night. It wouldn't be good for her reputation.
Since no one trusted me to practice on them, Nott had spent the night rolling a rubber ball across the floor, while I attempted to stop it. I wasn't even sure how I'd managed to leave scorch marks on the desks—the stunning spell was supposed to knock a living creature unconscious or stop an object in motion, not create fire. My ability to mess up wandwork astounded even me sometimes.
"I wonder how people are going to do on our Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL," said Blaise, absentmindedly spinning his wand on the desk. "I heard Macmillan talking about getting the older students, who have already passed their OWLs, to teach the fifth-year Hufflepuffs."
"Ravenclaws are usually smart enough to manage on their own," said Nott. "They probably have a study group."
"That's what Sue and Stephen told me." I raised my wand and pointed it at the ball. "Stupefy."
The ball shot across the floor, gaining speed rather than stopping.
"Raise your wand more at the end," said Nott.
"Why do I bother?" I asked. "Can I just get a Troll on my OWL and be done with it?"
"You'll do better than a Troll," said Blaise. "I've never seen you get more than two questions wrong on the written portion of a test."
"Theory is easy," I said as Nott rolled the ball again. "Stupefy." The ball at least slowed this time. "If I got an Outstanding on my written and a Troll on my wandwork, do you think I could at least get an Acceptable overall?"
"Aim for a Dreadful on the wandwork at least," said Blaise.
Nott rolled the ball across the floor again and I raised my wand. "Stupefy." The ball slowed.
"Well," said Nott. "This is at least closer to the ideal result."
"I'm improving?" I asked, incredulous.
Nott's mouth twitched into a half-smile. "Yes, Daph, you're improving."
I glanced down at the cedar wand in my hand and then back up at my friends. "I'm improving." I could hardly believe it myself.
"Congratulations," said Blaise. "But can we call it quits for the night? We all have to wake up in four hours for breakfast."
Nott nodded. Shadows were already forming under his eyes. I was sure I looked no better—I felt like I was going to collapse from exhaustion. We picked up our belongings and put the desks back in order before beginning our stealth mission back to the Slytherin dungeon. And by "stealth mission", I mean that we stumbled through the hallways, trying not to fall asleep before we got back to our beds.
We were on the first floor, heading to the stone wall where the entrance to the Slytherin common room was located, when a drawling voice came from behind us, "What's this? Students out of bed."
I didn't have to see to know who it was, but I still turned to look at Draco, his green and silver prefect's badge glimmering on his chest. He wore his usual smug smile as he looked over us.
"I could give you a detention for this," said Draco.
"Come on," I said, fighting back a yawn. "We're all tired."
"I'm obligated to report this," said Draco, not listening.
Did I really believe that Draco would report us? No. He cared too much about our house to risk Slytherin losing points over this. However, I hated that he was keeping us from our nice, warm beds and I snapped, "Come on, Draco—"
"Nott was teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts spells," said Blaise, cutting across me, "since Daphne is terrible, and Umbridge won't let us practice in class."
I expected Draco to sneer about how bad I was at wandwork, but instead, Draco blinked in surprise. "You lot teach each other spells?"
"Yeah," I grumbled, too tired to come up with a scathing remark. "We've been doing it since second year. Nott's really good at Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Through half-open eyes, I watched a smile form on Draco's face, and then he said, proudly, "We Slytherins should help each other out. My father teaches me Dark Arts spells when he can, and I try help Crabbe and Goyle." He frowned. "They're not very good students though."
I opened and closed my mouth. Through the five years that I had known Draco Malfoy, I had never known that he taught Crabbe and Goyle spells for class. And he was doing that between prefect duties and Quidditch practice. It was so out of character for him—at least out of character for how I thought of him—and I had no idea what to do with that information. Finally, I murmured, "Yeah, I can imagine."
"Umbridge is a cow," said Draco, apparently not noticing my confusion. "She makes me miss the werewolf, if you can believe it. But at least she's taking this school out of Dumbledore's influence. At some point, we're going to have to take sides." He glanced at Nott, and there was something in his gaze that was supposed to be for just them, the sons of Death Eaters.
Whatever Draco expected from Nott, I don't think he got it, because Draco scowled and Nott said, "We should get to bed. We're all about to collapse."
Draco nodded but didn't say anything.
"Say hi to Pansy for us when you see her," I said.
Blaise gave the password, and the wall slid aside to let us inside the Slytherin dungeon. It was only when the door was firmly closed behind us that Blaise said, "That was odd."
I glanced over my shoulder. When I was certain that Draco wasn't eavesdropping through the stone wall, I asked, "Did either of you know that Draco actually spent time helping Crabbe and Goyle with classwork?"
Both Blaise and Nott shook their heads.
"You learn new things every day," said Nott.
"Some new things I don't want to learn," I muttered.
Blaise patted the top of my head. "That's because you don't like being wrong."
"That's like the pot calling the kettle black," I said, shoving Blaise's hand away. "You don't like being wrong any more than I do." I glanced at Nott. "What did Draco mean about taking sides?"
"It's a mystery to me," said Nott with a shrug of his left shoulder.
"It probably has to do with their fathers being Death Eaters," said Blaise with an apologetic look in Nott's direction. "Draco likes to act as if he's in the know. He probably assumes Nott's the same way."
"I was thinking it was like Dumbledore's army versus Umbridge's army," I said. "Eventually we'll have to choose a side."
Blaise snorted. "Does your brain have an 'off' switch?"
"I'm just saying," I said. "There's a student movement against Umbridge brewing, and I wouldn't be surprised if Umbridge rallied together the students who support the ministry soon. You know Malfoy would join a group like that in a heartbeat."
"A student movement?" asked Nott.
"I'd tell you, but then I'd owe you a sickle," I said. "Blaise can explain."
Blaise yawned. "As fascinating as your mind is Daph, I need to sleep."
He started towards the staircase, and after a quick goodnight to me, Nott followed him. I watched the two of them climb the staircases to the boys' dormitories before turning away and heading to my own dorm. Even after I had changed into my pajamas and curled up in bed, I still couldn't shake the odd feeling that had settled in my stomach. Not about the student movement and choosing sides. No, it was Draco Malfoy who had me lying awake in bed. I never would have thought that Draco would teach his friends wandwork to help them pass Defense Against the Dark Arts. It didn't seem Draco's style at all. He was a petty, selfish, arrogant ferret.
Blaise was right; I didn't like being wrong about people.
But I also didn't think I was wrong about Draco. I'd been in the same house as him for over four years, and I'd seen how he'd used Pansy's feelings towards him. I rolled over in bed. He was an arsehole, and no matter how much he helped Crabbe and Goyle pass their classes, he wasn't going to be any less of an arsehole.
And with that settled, I could sleep easy again.
"Hagrid is teaching Care of Magical Creatures again," said Pansy as she slid into the seat next to mine at lunch a few days later. "And the High Inquisitor was there."
Blaise and I had gotten out of Arithmancy early, so we'd gone down to the Great Hall on our own. We were both almost finished with our lunches and planned to head to the library afterwards to get a head start on our Transfiguration homework; however, Pansy's announcement instantly put a hold on those plans. I always made time for gossip.
"How'd it go?" I asked Nott as he sat on my other side.
Nott, for some reason, kept his head down, and it was Tracey who answered my question. She dished some pasta onto her plate, saying, "It was a good lesson. Better than I expected. Honestly, Umbridge shouldn't find anything to fault him on, other than that, according to her, thestrals are classified by the Ministry as 'dangerous'."
"Thestrals are dangerous?" asked Blaise. "Don't they pull the carriages to the school? Shouldn't that be illegal if they're dangerous?"
I glanced over at Nott. "You learned about thestrals in Care of Magical Creatures?"
He nodded. His silence made sense now. If they'd studied thestrals, it no doubt came up that only people who had seen death could see them. Nott hated sharing personal information about himself—it was hard work for us to get him to talk to us about his mother, and it'd probably been torture for him to admit in front of his classmates that he had seen someone die.
I wanted to do something, or at least see how he was feeling, but Pansy was recounting how she'd told Umbridge that she couldn't understand what Hagrid said when he spoke, making it impossible to say anything to Nott right then.
"Hagrid isn't that hard to understand," said Tracey.
"Don't you want Grubbly-Plank back?" asked Pansy. "She's such a better teacher—you know it, I know it, all of Slytherin knows it. It's just because Dumbledore has a soft spot for that half-giant that he's still here."
Tracey bit her bottom lip. "Well, yes…"
"Hopefully Umbridge will fire him," said Pansy. "Then we can say some good has come of the High Inquisitor."
Blaise scowled. "Nothing good will ever come of having Umbridge here."
Rather than get into that argument, I stole a piece of roasted potato from Nott's plate. When he stared at me, I asked, "You want to talk about it?"
Nott's eyes narrowed, and then he turned back to his plate. "Not especially."
"If you ever want to, you know we're here." I stole another piece of potato and then said loudly, "You know Umbridge wants to fire Hagrid, because he's loyal to Dumbledore. Whether he's a good or bad teacher has nothing to do with it. I bet he'll be gone before the holidays."
"She has to put him on probation first," said Blaise. "There's a system to these things."
"Well, I hope she puts him on probation before break," said Pansy. "I miss Grubbly-Plank already."
"What's everyone doing for the holidays?" asked Tracey loudly, trying to change the subject.
"Visiting Dad," I said, quickly. I really didn't want to get into an argument with Pansy about Umbridge's presence at Hogwarts. From the sound of things, Pansy had been spending too much time around Draco.
"Going to Italy," said Pansy. Her parents traveled every year; they hated being home for the holidays, and over the past four years, they'd been to Greece, Australia, Mexico, and Fiji, in that order. Pansy rarely stayed for the holidays, preferring to travel with them. Then she would come back after break was over and lord it over us that she'd seen more of the world than we had.
Tracey pulled a face. "I'm jealous. Italy sounds warm. We're going to London to visit my mum's family."
"A muggle Christmas?" asked Pansy. There was a slight sneer to her voice that none of us missed.
Tracey chose to ignore it. "My grandparents are rich, and they like spending money on the grandchildren they rarely see."
"We're staying in Number Six's mansion in Scotland over the holidays," said Blaise.
We all turned to Nott, who had just taken a huge bite of potatoes. He looked around at the rest of us, gulped, and said, "It's the same as every year."
"Just make sure you give us all the updates on the Dark Lord when we get back," I said.
"At least you enjoy hearing what my father has to say," muttered Nott.
"Whenever home feels unbearable," I said, "remember that you're doing it for us."
Nott shot me an annoyed stare and then said, "I'll report back to you, but it comes at a price. No more stealing my potatoes."
My jaw dropped. "You snitch—"
"Stealing his potatoes?" cried Pansy, rounding on me. "What happened to our carbs rule, Daph? Don't tell me you've been breaking our diet again! I was going to let you go easy over winter break, but now I'm going to have to make tables of what you can and can't eat…"
I tuned Pansy out. Instead, I glowered at Nott, who was staring down at his plate and solemnly eating the rest of his roasted potatoes. Nott was usually my trustworthy friend, the one who would never rat me out to Pansy, but apparently Care of Magical Creatures had upset him more than he wanted to let on. I was dying to know what he was thinking, get him to explain what was going on in that head of his; however, if Nott didn't want to say something then the Dark Lord himself couldn't get the information out of him.
A week later, with the arrival of the crisp December snows, Slytherin flattened Hufflepuff on the Quidditch pitch. Adrian Pucey's goals had equaled all of the other team's combined, Crabbe had managed to send one of the Hufflepuff Chasers to the Hospital Wing, and Draco had caught the Snitch from right under Summerby's nose. All of which meant, of course, that our house had to celebrate.
The Slytherin common room was decorated with green and silver banners, and the prefects had procured extra chairs for people to sit on. A long table was decorated with fake serpents and held plates of desserts. I loved free food, and our group of friends spent the afternoon in the common room. The problem with parties, however, was that people who didn't usually dwell in the common room were now there. Our spot was occupied by some sixth years (and because they were older, we couldn't kick them out), so we were forced to stand by the entryway. The Slytherin Quidditch team and their admirers hung out not far from us, enthusiastically recounting the day's match. And some giggling first years stood on our other side, the girls casting admiring glances at Blaise.
After an hour, however, we managed to claim our usual spot by the fire from the sixth years. Nott took the armchair and Blaise and I sat in front of the fireplace, while Tracey and Pansy went to get some more snacks (though I wouldn't be surprised if Pansy got sidetracked, listening to Draco brag about his miraculous catch—he calls it skill, I call it getting lucky).
"It's a shame they can't serve butterbeer at these parties," I said, stretching my legs out in front of me. "But the professors don't want the ickle first years to get their hands on it."
"The Quidditch players smuggled some butterbeer into their dorm room," said Blaise. "They're charging five knuts to anyone that wants some."
"What a rip off," I muttered.
"I heard they also have some firewhiskey," said Nott. "But that's for team members only."
"Of course. I expect nothing less of those pricks."
Nott glanced down at me, eyebrows raised. "You could probably convince Adrian Pucey to give you some."
That made Blaise laugh. My eyes narrowed as I looked between the two boys. They'd been like this at the Quidditch game too. It started with Pansy and Tracey snickering when I'd cheered for Adrian's goal. Their laughter got to the point where I was wondering if they were conspiring with Astoria behind my back. Blaise and Nott must have asked them what was going on, because soon all four of my friends were enjoying some inside joke at my expense. I wasn't a complete idiot though. If my friends were laughing whenever I cheered for a bloke, it meant they thought there was something going on between me and said bloke. Since there definitely wasn't anything on my end other than me objectively thinking Adrian Pucey was fit and wanting to be friends with him, then it had to be that Adrian Pucey fancied me.
Well, hippogriff shite.
"I'm not asking Adrian Pucey for anything," I said, folding my arms across my chest. "So you lot can stop giggling like first years."
That shut Blaise and Nott up, at least.
"Besides," I said, "what's so funny about Adrian Pucey fancying me?"
"His taste for one thing," said Blaise, not missing a beat.
I elbowed Blaise in the ribs. Nott was sitting in the armchair, out of reach of my elbows, so unfortunately, I had to settle for glaring. "Anyone would be lucky to fancy me, you gits."
"You mean unlucky," muttered Blaise. This time he was ready for my attack and blocked my elbow with the palm of his right hand.
"And we feel sorry for the poor bloke who ends up dating you," said Nott.
That hurt. It surprised me how much that statement hurt. I was fine with the joking and all the talk about fancying people right up until they actually talked about dating. Because, in the end, I knew they were right. I felt sorry for the poor bloke who ended up dating me too. He'd probably end up dating someone who traveled to get away from him or clung to him as if he were a floatation device, because I didn't know a damn thing about relationships—
"Daph." Blaise placed a hand on my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts. He was looking at me with concern in his dark eyes.
"I'm fine," I said, shaking the negative thoughts away.
Nott leaned forward in the armchair, saying, "Sorry, Daph. I didn't mean it anything serious."
"Right. Yeah, I know." I didn't blame him. I knew it was just some playful joking.
The three of us sat in silence for a minute. Me, wallowing in self-loathing. Blaise, wallowing in worry. And Nott, wallowing in regret. We must have looked like a pitiful group, but thankfully, Tracey arrived right then with éclairs and cream puffs to heal all our wounds.
"I made it!" said Tracey, taking a seat at the foot of the armchair. She placed the plate of desserts in front of her for us to share, saying, "Pansy made us watch Draco reenact his catch. He had Goyle playing Summerby. You should have seen Goyle trying to act. I think he even went cross-eyed at one point."
"Is that where Pansy is?" I asked. I took a chocolate éclair from the plate even though food was the last thing on my mind. Eating at least gave me something to do.
Tracey nodded solemnly. "I tried to save her, but you know Pansy. She has a one-track mind. In the end, I made the hard choice between Pansy and getting the last of the cream puffs."
"You made the right choice," said Blaise.
I looked over at Nott, expecting him to make an obligatory comment about how there was no saving Pansy from Draco, but Nott's brow was still furrowed, deep in thought. No doubt he was eating himself up over his thoughtless comment.
I listened half-heartedly as Tracey shared some gossip she'd heard about Harry Potter and Cho Chang fancying each other. Blaise didn't care about the school's dating gossip, but he enjoyed tormenting me and taking some of my money, so they continued on the subject of whether Potter and Chang would officially get together for some time. Then, Tracey started complaining about the amount of homework fifth years were given and how she couldn't believe how fast the final tests before the holidays were approaching. And at that thought, Blaise decided he needed some butterbeer from the sixth years. Tracey went with him, wondering if she could wheedle some firewhiskey out of them, which left me alone with Nott.
He glanced sideways at me, his hazel eyes narrowed, but after a moment, he seemed to think better of whatever he'd been planning to say and looked away. Perhaps, I realized, Nott had also been wanting to talk to me all this time. But before I could get my mouth open to ask what was going on, Nott said, "I shouldn't have said it, about you being bad at relationships. You know I don't really believe that."
I tried to smile at him, but I think it turned out more of a grimace. "It's fine."
"I'm sorry."
"I know you didn't mean it," I said. "We all say stupid things when joking around. You know how many times I've insulted people while joking around?"
"You call people 'mudbloods' as a joke," pointed out Nott.
I sighed. "I've told you a thousand times that I say 'mudbloods' as a way of criticizing the stereotype of Slytherins as future Death Eaters."
"By fulfilling said stereotype?"
"It's a work in progress," I muttered. "I should probably revise my methods." I leaned back, stretching my legs out in front of me. "You shouldn't feel all guilty over a stupid comment. I'm fine. Or as fine as a nutcase like me can be." I grinned. "What about you? How you doing? The holidays aren't far away."
Nott scowled. "I sent my father a letter asking to be allowed to stay here."
"What'd he say?" I asked.
"Never going to happen," said Nott. "Travers and Avery are going to be there, and my father wants to introduce me."
Judging by Nott's grim expression, this wasn't good news. I bit the insides of my cheeks, hesitating, before saying, "They're Death Eaters, I take it."
Nott nodded.
"You know all that stuff I say…" I took a deep breath. "About wanting you to keep us informed and all that. Don't take it seriously. It's just me saying stupid stuff. You know me."
"I know," said Nott. "I never take anything you say seriously."
"Hey!" I kicked his shin lightly.
He smiled down at me. "Kidding."
"Write to me," I said, "over the holidays. You can complain to me about your dad and his pixie-shite friends. You know I'm always in the mood for a good rant."
"I always write to you over the holidays," pointed out Nott.
"And your letters are always so sort! Tracey always fills out a good roll of parchment, telling me about every mundane thing her family did. Pansy, as you know, sends me well over that, detailing eating regimes and her new plan to get Draco's attention. Even Blaise manages multiple paragraphs telling me about the goings on in Zabini household. But you!" I sent Nott a ferocious glare. "You never write to me first, and when you do write, it's about three sentences, saying 'All's good' and 'Happy holidays'."
Rather than look ashamed like I'd intended, Nott only said, "But you ask us all to recount everything that happened over the holidays when we get back to Hogwarts anyways. There doesn't seem much point in writing a full letter."
I glowered at him.
Nott smiled. "I'll try better this time. I promise."
"Daphne!"
Tracey's slightly shrill voice broke our conversation short, and we turned to see her and Blaise standing together, looking over at the far end of the common room where a crowd had gathered. Tracey was nervous, her fingers knotted together as she kept glancing to us and back to the across the hall. Blaise only looked straight ahead, his brow furrowed and his eyes intense.
Nott and I exchanged puzzled glances before we got to our feet and went to see what had our friends so worked up. As I walked past the clusters of other Slytherins, I realized that while Nott and I had been talking, a sort of hush had fallen over the common room, and everyone had slowly started to pay attention to this group of people standing underneath the tapestry of a great green serpent.
"What's going on?" I asked Tracey in a whisper.
"Listen!" She grabbed my arm and turned me so that I was facing the crowd.
Graham Monatgue, the captain of the Quidditch team, seemed to have had a bit too much firewhiskey. His cheeks were a little red as he stood at the front of the crowd, speaking in a booming voice. "What has Dumbledore ever done for us? If you think that old man gives a rat's arse about us Slytherins, then you're in the wrong common room."
"You tell him, Graham!" shouted a seventh year from across the common room.
I frowned, standing on tiptoe to see who Montague was talking to. Blaise tapped my shoulder, and I leaned back so that he could whisper, "Some fourth year named Harper told Montague that Dumbledore wasn't 'all that bad', and Montague started yelling at him about how Dumbledore's a 'bloody bastard'—his words not mine."
"When has Dumbledore ever stopped the other houses from treating us like shit?" continued Montague, his voice filling the common room, reaching every Slytherin even if they didn't want to hear him. "You've heard the Ravenclaws whispering that we're all future Death Eaters. You've heard the Gryffindors saying they should just throw us all in Azkaban as soon as the Sorting Hat declares us Slytherins. I'm not joining up with You-Know-Who. None of us are! But does that stop those pricks from saying so? And has Dumbledore, that bloody bastard, done anything to stop the other houses from saying stuff like that about us?"
I winced with each word that Montague said, because at some point, I had said them too—though maybe not in the same way. I hated hearing my own words come out of the mouth of someone I despised.
The poor fourth year just stood in front of Montague, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. Montague was right—Dumbledore didn't care about Slytherin—but he didn't need to yell all this at the boy.
"Someone should stop him," said Tracey. "Harper was just stating his opinion."
However, no one was making a move to end Montague's rant. Most of the older students remained in their seats, watching Montague yell with vague expressions of annoyance and curiosity. I could see Draco, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle on the far side of the room. Draco seemed faintly amused by Montague, and I wondered if this was a conversation they'd had at Quidditch practice. On either side of Montague, Cassius Warrington and Miles Bletchley were grinning at the poor fourth year, enjoying his discomfort. And the crowd that surrounded Montague, which looked to be mainly third and fourth years who were still young enough to idolize the Quidditch team, were almost all cheering in support of his words.
I glanced back at Blaise, and he shrugged. Should we do something? Or should we let Montague blow off steam? He'd probably get tired soon enough and return to bragging about the Quidditch match.
It was Nott, actually, who started moving forward, but before he could take more than two steps, a clear voice from the crowd said, "Graham, stop. You've made your point." Adrian Pucey stood a little behind his captain, frowning.
I blinked in surprise. I knew Adrian Pucey was an all right bloke, but I didn't expect him to speak out against his friend.
However, Montague wasn't done yet. His voice filled the common room as he rounded on Adrian. "Right. I forgot that we have a Dumbledore supporter in our midst."
"Graham," said Adrian, his voice tense with impatience. "You know that's not true. You've had too much—"
"I've told you over and over again," said Montague. "The Ministry's finally taking action. They've realized they can't let a crackpot like Dumbledore keep running our school. That's why they've brought Umbridge in—"
"So you want to replace Dumbledore who favors Gryffindor with Umbridge who favors Slytherin?" snapped Adrian. After a second, he seemed to think better of himself and he said, pleading, "Come on, Graham. Let's call it a night."
For a moment, Montague looked like he was about to agree with Adrian. His eyes were drowsy from the firewhiskey, and he sort of staggered forward, nodding ever so slightly. But then—then, some idiot red-haired girl in the crowd cried, "At least with Umbridge, the rest of the school will know how we feel!"
With those words of support, Montague lifted his head, and all the anger came rushing back. "The Ministry will set Hogwarts right again!"
The third and fourth years around Montague were nodding and voicing their agreement. One of the even said, "Umbridge for Headmistress!"—which is something no sane person would wish upon this school. Harper had fled as soon as Montague's attention was on someone else, but Adrian remained, his arms folded over his chest and a stiff expression on his face as he listened to what the crowd had to say.
"Montague's had too much to drink," said some seventh-year girl from one of the armchairs. "Sure, Dumbledore's not perfect, but anyone's better than Umbridge."
One of the boys sitting next to her shrugged. "But the Ministry might manage to straighten out some of the backwards rules in this place. Maybe Potter will stop being rewarded for his rule-breaking, and Gryffindors will have to remember that they're on the same level as the rest of us."
The girl groaned. "Don't tell me you're on Montague's side."
"I'm not on Montague's side," said the boy.
"Well that's what it sure sounds like!"
I didn't want to listen to any more of their fight, but as I looked around the common room, it seemed that a handful of similar conversations were taking place among the older students. Slytherin house was divided, it seemed. Half the students wanted Dumbledore to remain, preferring a wizard who actually cared about our education even if he favored Gryffindor house. Slytherins had endured the other students' dislike of them for years before now; what wasn't acceptable was a professor who refused to teach us magic. The other half of the students were ready for the Ministry's interference. While no one else had mentioned wanting Umbridge as headmistress (thankfully), they certainly didn't seem to mind the idea of Dumbledore being replaced. Equality among the houses, seemed to be the general thought. I heard a couple pureblood elitists saying that the Ministry would set Hogwarts straight, but for most part, those people were ignored.
"I hate to say it," said Blaise, "but it looks like Draco was right."
I groaned, and Nott looked repulsed at the idea of Draco being right about anything.
"Right about what?" asked Tracey.
Blaise nodded in the direction of the crowd. "We might have to end up taking sides."
"Just let me know what side Draco's on," I muttered. "I'll be on the opposite."
