A complaint to McGonagall had managed to wrangle them out of detention with Umbridge, which gave Draco time to head out that evening for some pre-season quidditch practise. His broom, a Gadwall was still a thing of beauty, but even the excellence of the broom couldn't make up for its rider being of considerably poorer quality than his opponent- Harry was far out of Draco's league.

Draco kept trying, but every time Harry beat him to the snitch humiliatingly quickly. There was no chance he was going to make it in quidditch.

It was that night that Draco decided to give up quidditch - he could do no more than already he had, and what he had to give was not good enough. It did not signify- Draco had other things, academics, cricket, even though he was not heir to such a vast fortune as once he was, he was in line for a handsome sum to come his way, in the fullness of time. Draco really had nothing to worry about. Nothing at all, not even Umbridge who was easily overruled by McGonagall. Everything was fine as he prepared for his OWLs. Thankfully they were still a long way off-they needed to be with the huge gaps in everyone's knowledge. The gaps were particularly large when it came to Defence Against the Dark Arts as Umbridge claimed, they had only had one decent teacher in the past four years, and this year's one wasn't looking like she was going to be much better either. These thoughts came to the fore at breakfast the next morning. Draco had gotten up surprisingly early to get down for a really good breakfast, just the thing to cheer him up after the shock realisation that he was never going to be any good at quidditch. He started with two slices of thick toast, coated liberally with orange marmalade. As Draco bit into the crunchy strands that survived of the original orange, he couldn't help but feel a small thrill of excitement travel up his spine. The toast and marmalade soon gave way to the centrepiece of breakfast. Scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, black pudding, fried mushrooms, brown sauce, baked beans and a few more slices of toast to round it off. It was brilliant, from the indescribably wondrous taste of the black pudding, to the greasiness of the sausages and the acidity of the brown sauce cutting sharply through it. The pleasant cacophony of tastes mingled in Draco's mouth, there to remain throughout the day. Breakfast was drawing to a close when the morning paper arrived. A few knuts to the delivery owl and it was his to read. What was happening in the world? Crouch Appointed Head of Magical Law Enforcement the headline read. That was apparently in reaction to the Voldemort threat, the article explained, reasoning that only a major crisis, such as the emergence or even the return of a Dark Lord could induce the return of such a man, whose views were known to be harsh. Any man who would willingly send his own son to Azkaban was not the man for a peacetime ministry however the incorruptible titan was the perfect man for wartime, known for being unwilling to give anything to those who would threaten the peace and security of the realm.

Further in was an announcement that Draco felt was more significant. Hogwarts High Inquisitor Appointed. This was going to be interesting, what was that all about. Draco read on.

It was announced yesterday that due to the unsatisfactory standards at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that a Ministry approved figure would be appointed as High Inquisitor in an effort to halt falling results and reintroduce the high standards that our greatest school is known for. Speaking on the record, one ministry official observed that "question marks must hang over Albus Dumbledore's head if it cannot be shown that Voldemort has truly returned, question marks that can only be further entrenched by the facts of falling standards at Hogwarts." It is yet to be announced who the High Inquisitor will be, but betting firm Proctor, Spokes and Gambol have refused to take further bets on the issue, following a series of mass bets on current Hogwarts teacher Delores Umbridge, who has taken up the Defence Against Dark Arts post this year.

Draco looked up from the paper, shocked. He skipped through the rest of it, skimming through every section, even the sport and obituaries, dazed by the revelation. Her? As High Inquisitor? What would she do? Where would her powers end? Where, to that matter, would they begin? There was no way of telling, not to mention that her brief would almost certainly be changed as it went along, His father had told him about that, it was one of the many tricks that the government used, not to mention the civil service, of which his own father was head, in his role as permanent secretary to the minister for magic. Draco felt a small rush of anger fill him as he thought of his father, a father who had abandoned him to the world when he was sorted into Gryffindor, a father who had sought another heir, fully aware that it would kill his wife, and a father who had refused to invite his son to the funeral of his mother.

That last thought made the anger worse, Draco was sad that he had been unable to say goodbye to his mother and sub-consciously his soul ached for the catharsis that a funeral represents. Not even the final mouthful of breakfast could do anything to relieve the pain, the pain of a mother lost and an unknown sister never–to-be-gained. Not that there had been any hope of that. Nothing would ever fill the hole in Draco's heart that had been left behind. It was without cheer that he went about the rest of the day and everywhere he saw things that made him think of his mother. Every time he did, he would give out a little inaudible sigh and carry on, forcing back the sadness that had for months now been threatening to overwhelm him. Try as he might, he couldn't get over the sadness, not without saying goodbye. The only time Draco wasn't feeling low was when he was working, then he was distracted by the work enough that he didn't feel sad, but by no means was he happy, save for occasional flashes where his friends, unbeknownst to them, managed to cheer him up. Even these joyous heights only served to make the dark so very much deeper, a deep dark that slowly consumed Draco even as he laboured to keep it hidden from those about him.

By the time of the first Hogsmeade weekend there was little that Draco wanted to do. Where was the fun in Hogsmeade now? What joys could it present him? The sweets of Honeydukes were nice, but really sweets were a childish delight that no longer had any pleasure for Draco, well, not that much. The pubs he couldn't drink in yet, save for butterbeer and as for Madame Puddifoot's, that place could only
emphasize his loneliness, what with all the couples populating its tables. He was at length persuaded to go after much badgering by Hermione, who told him there would be a meeting in the Hog's Head, which might be to his benefit to attend.

Finding himself in the pub therefore, he sat and waited. He had arrived much earlier than the others somehow. The landlord was looking at him peculiarly, the older man caught Draco's eye, he looked very familiar from somewhere, but Draco couldn't quite put his finger on it. Who did the man look like? Draco didn't have time to work it out as before long his quiet thoughts were suppressed by the entrance of Hermione and a mob of students. What was this going to be about? Hermione soon explained.

'Well, I expect many of you are wondering why I asked you here today.' She began. This was greeted with nods of agreement throughout the group, including from Draco. What were they doing there?

'We are all in agreement that our preparation in Defence lessons has been woeful and that without drastic changes we simply shall not pass come the summer. I would therefore like to invite you to join a society where we shall work on both the theoretical and practical aspects of defensive magic, to be taught by none other than Harry, here.'

A startled Harry, got up, tried to say that he was lucky each time, but his hungry audience would have none of it. Soon Harry was forced to admit that he did have some skill in that area and agreed to lead what was to be named the Defence Association and Hermione had them all ready to sign a charter.

'We'll sign.' Fred began, 'but don't you think we could have a better name. One that doesn't make us sound like a cartful of geriatrics discussing how to beat off petty thieves with our walking sticks.' This proved a popular notion, and soon they were Dumbledore's Army. As the ink of his signature dried on the parchment Draco felt a thrill - this was definitely not something they were supposed to be doing. After he had signed, Draco hung back to talk with Hermione, as had Ron, Harry, Fred , and George. A quick round of butterbeers on Draco preceded the walk back to the castle.

'You know, Hermione, I never had you pegged for a troublemaker.' George said.

'Well, sometimes, I think there are things more important than school rules.'

'Could have fooled me.' Draco quipped, deadpanning for mere seconds before a big smile filled his face, a smile of genuine amusement.

'That's not hard.' Hermione jibed back. Draco just smiled more widely. It was nice to be having fun with his friends again. After all, what were friends for if not to laugh at and be laughed at in turn? It had been agreed that the first meeting wouldn't be for several weeks yet, as there was the problem of finding a suitable meeting room. A problem that was only intensified when the High Inquisitor banned all student societies and meetings of more than four persons. Whilst quidditch clubs and other, small scale, student activities were soon given special permission to reform, the DA could hardly do so- their very existence had broken half a dozen school rules before this, and Umbridge would hardly welcome her special strategy to prevent students learning any defensive magic being so simply circumvented. The room that they would meet in would have to be more secret than any they could think of. The Chamber of Secrets was dismissed as being too small, unstable and difficult to access to be of any possible use and nowhere else could they guarantee that Umbridge couldn't find them. It was a knotty problem. Very knotty. A problem that occupied the four friends' every waking thought. And it was Draco who discovered the answer.

Whilst pacing along the seventh floor corridor, wishing that he could find somewhere for the DA to hold their meetings when a door suddenly appeared. He stuck his head inside. This was perfect, right opposite that tapestry. Draco ran back to the common room to find someone to tell. Hermione was there, and he dragged her out to the seventh floor.

'The door's just opposite that tapestry.'

'This one?'

'Yup.'

'Draco, there's no door.'

'What do you mean, it was there just fifteen minutes ago, how can it have disappeared?'

'I don't know, you tell me. But there is definitely no door there now.'

Hermione walked off, and Draco felt rather a fool. How could he explain it? Where had the door gone? He walked past the tapestry again, wishing that the room would come back, and then there was the door. Perhaps you had to be alone. Or maybe you just needed to wish the room to appear? Delighted by his discovery, he ran off after Hermione to share the good news.