CHAPTER 76: Irreconcilable Differences (Part 8)

Azkaban Prison

March 18th, 1996

10:30 p.m.

Azkaban prison was a cold and humid place. The floor was covered in small puddles of water that would reform only minutes after they were vanished away, and the dementor's presence made the iciness in the air resistant to any magic a wizard could use to dispel it. It could barely be described as a liveable environment, much less one where he was expected to work for hours on end with only the Dark Lord and Circe as company. Unfortunately, there was no other choice. The Dark Lord had been unwilling to allow anything concerning their Dementor project to leave the shores of the island. And if it hadn't been for the important role he played in the Department of Mysteries, Bedivere was sure the Dark Lord would command him to remain inside the tower as well.

It was only natural. More than the necessity of obtaining results from the dementor treatment as soon as possible, it was a breakthrough that shouldn't be awarded to anyone outside their circle. With the Seal of Solomon, the Dark Lord wanted to use his army of Dementors efficiently. Their impact on the war would be wholly cheapened if their enemies had access to their project. If it wasn't for the members of his inner circle that had gone mad from the dementor's effect, Bedivere was quite sure the Dark Lord would eliminate any witch or wizard who even dared to begin thinking of dementors.

But as unpleasant as the island was as a whole, he was also in a hurry for any semblance of a result. And Parkinson Palace had ceased to be an option ever since Elijah Montague had shown up the previous night.

Bedivere had been expecting the visit, so he was prepared for Montague's questioning as his men had gone about searching the manor. Having strangers scouring his home and making a mess was not something he'd been particularly fond of, but he had allowed it after the threat of going to the Dark Lord with the fact that he had been harbouring Potter all along. It had been impressive work on Montague's part to trace back the ownership of 37 Castle Hill Road back to the Parkinson family. Bedivere had no doubt that Montague had been forced to pull a few strings both within the Knights and with Ministry officials. In the end, it proved to be more efficient for both parties that Bedivere simply allow Montague's men inside and answer their questions. There wouldn't be a difference, he had made sure they wouldn't find anything of value long before Montague had even set his sights on Bedivere's family.

What had proved worrying, if only slightly, had been Harry's absence throughout all of this. The boy hadn't shown up later that night and hadn't been sighted for the entire day. Montague wouldn't have barged into Parkinson Palace if he didn't believe Potter was still alive. Regardless of his concern, Bedivere was sure the boy would manage on his own. He had to if they were to win this war.

And though Bedivere doubted Elijah would bring the subject to the Dark Lord after he returned from his time abroad - having left nearly a month ago after most of his work on the potion had been completed - he had had Kieran take care of Parkinson Palace, as well as any of the other properties Montague might decide to visit, and spent the entire day at Azkaban attempting to complete his work on the potion. Circe had been there for a few hours in the early morning, tending to the potion as Bedivere used the Dark Lord's books to further his research on the subject. And when Circe had left the island and returned to his responsibilities at Hogwarts, Bedivere had taken over the work on the potion.

They'd been working on it for the past three months, with many of their attempts failing at different stages. The process of creating a new potion from one's own wits rather than following the processes in a book was tedious and long. It tested the potion-maker's patience and challenged their knowledge as they were forced to figure out where they had gone wrong and how they could fix it. The last few dozen trials had ended poorly; the potions had exploded and expanded, they had melted through the cauldron and evaporated. Some of their shortcomings had come out of a fault in Severus' predictions, others due to a calculation that proved to be too little or too great. And given how this brew was one that was meant to span a full fortnight, relying on more complex equations as well as more volatile and dangerous ingredients, any small mistake could lead to a catastrophic result.

This had been their best attempt so far. It was the first one to reach the fifteenth day. And though that was an uplifting achievement, it also meant he was drifting into unknown waters on his own. The fifteenth day had almost as many steps as the other fourteen days combined as it was where the whole process came together. Their final product was actually a combination of six different potions, one of which they had to create on their own while others they had to modify from existing potions.

The first thing they did was create a modified version of the Forgetfulness Potion in the hopes of merely targeting traumatic events. Using his knowledge of the obliviation charms he strengthened the potion from its original state. Only instead of attempting to erase the individual's trauma from their memories, the potion would instead block the emotional hold it might have over a person. It had been important to the Dark Lord for his followers to remember what the Wizarding World had done to them, but erasing any emotional aspect of the memories would diminish the impact they could have on the inmates. After that they worked on the Wit-Sharpening potion, making it strong enough and focused on clearing the emotional impact that heavy psychological trauma has on an individual's brain. It would essentially reshape it in an effort to return it to its natural state before the person's trauma rewrote it. They also brewed an extremely potent Calming Draught to pacify the subject as well as an altered version of an Invigoration Draught, more powerful and focused on aiding in healing the dementor's effect on the body. And finally, there was the Everlasting Elixir, one which would make sure the effects of these potions didn't fade over time, only strengthening with every dose of the treatment.

But the key to the entire potion had been their new creation, one that had taken the combined effort of the Dark Lord, Circe and himself. Many restless nights, as well as many more meetings and time spent inside Azkaban prison. See, the conglomeration of the other potions would be powerful enough to treat someone with a severe case of PTSD or some other substantial emotional trauma. But for the prisoners, a large part of the trauma came from the dementor's effects. And they were powered by magic that they did not yet understand. Fortunately for them, they didn't need to understand their magic to target it. The Seal of Solomon had proved itself to be the missing link in the creation of a dementor treatment. After weeks of studying them intently, analysing their magic, and finding it still within their victims, the three of them managed to create a brew that would target their specific magic. It would purge it from the victims in a long, gruelling process that could take months to complete. And though it wouldn't be a tasteful solution to their problem, it should be enough to work.

The problem was blending all these disparate brews together. That was what the fifteenth day of the process consisted of. All of these potions were extremely dangerous and powerful, and there were several steps that they needed to perform between two brews before they could combine them. A process that had to be repeated for the number of potions they had. And that had been exactly what Bedivere worked on for the day. Potion after potion, he'd gone through them all as he combined them into their final result. He followed every step with a methodical approach, cross-checking Circe's notes to the colour, sound and texture the brew should have as potion after potion was merged into one.

It was a precise science, one that took all his concentration and effort to avoid any missteps. And in the end, after a tiring day that left his face covered in sweat, his hands shaking, and his eyes bloodshot, the potion was complete. The exact shade they had theorised. Everything down to the way it nearly seemed to move on its own, all but vibrating from within the cauldron. A small smile spread across his face before he pulled out a crystal vial, one spelled to handle the potion, and gently dipped it into the cauldron. The sample he took was insignificant compared to the size of the cauldron, no one would notice its absence.

Pulling at the sleeve of his cloak, Bedivere uncovered his arm and willed his Dark Mark to appear before him. Pressing his wand to the head of the snake, Bedivere called for the Dark Lord as had been ordered of him. It would bring him back from his travels, but given the distance, he still had enough time. And before Circe returned, as he usually did around midnight, Bedivere used the portkey he had kept inside his pocket and disappeared with no sound to betray him to anyone who may be listening outside.

He landed at the entrance of Parkinson Palace and walked two steps towards the door before the tall figure of Corban Yaxley surged from within the shadows.

"Took you long enough," he said as he reached his side and entered the manor with him. "I've been standing there for the past three hours."

"I didn't realise we had scheduled a meeting, Corban," Bedivere said airily, completely disregarding the man as he kept walking through the house and headed for the dungeons. "Mister Montague has paid you a visit, hasn't he?"

"Not so much of a visit. He burned down my house with me still inside. Fortunately, I managed to escape, even with the wards the bastard put around the place-"

"And the Horcrux?"

"It's at my workshop," Corban said crisply as if insulted by the mere question. "My research. Everything is hidden and in perfect condition."

"For now." Bedivere opened the door to the dungeons before descending the stairs with Corban in tow.

"We still have a problem. Elijah warned the Knights of my treachery. I've been locked out of the Purple Room."

Bedivere stopped mid-step, his mind working furiously for a moment. "A situation you have my full confidence you'll resolve."

"It's not that easy. As far as the Knights are concerned, I am now persona non grata. And while they might not start sending people to kill me quite yet, they won't aid or aim to solve this conflict."

"Indeed. But your treachery was not to the Knights as a whole but to Mister Montague. If the Knights of Walpurgis are in any way similar to the Death Eaters then that isn't an unforgivable crime. It just turns Mister Montague into a bigger nuisance than he previously was."

"Look," Corban grabbed Bedivere's shoulder and pulled him to face him. His grip was desperate, and there was a glint of fear in his eyes. "You're not involved with the Knights, so you might not see this matter as urgent as it really is. We cannot afford to be enemies of the Knights of Walpurgis. Fine, you're right, the situation will be solved when the Montague brat dies. But he can do a whole lot more damage while he still has the Knights on his side. My connection to them is the very reason you need me for this fight. This is a situation we need to solve now."

Corban stared at him, waiting for an answer, but when Bedivere turned to his still-held shoulder the man's eyes slightly widened before he let Bedivere go. Taking his time, Bedivere fixed the wrinkles on his cloak before finally addressing Corban with a cold edge to his voice that cowed the man in front of him. "I'm afraid it's really you who is not seeing things properly, Mister Yaxley. I allowed you to have your fun with Montague, sending Potter as your personal mercenary to take care of the fools loyal to the Montague family instead of your own and even murdering that Slytherin boy that had approached Mister Montague - yes, I do know about that. And now that it is you who is being toyed with, I'm not so eager to drop all my duties to simply bail you out. The reason I hired you was never because of your position within the Knights, but your expertise in Dark Magic. And because of that, in a show of good faith, I will help you reclaim your position and eradicate the Montagues once and for all. But make this the last time you think you're in any position to order me around. You're as replaceable as they come, Mister Yaxley. Do not forget your place."

Corban gulped, looking away as he gave a slight bow. "Understood, Director Parkinson. I'm grateful for your assistance with the matter."

Bedivere looked him over for a few seconds before nodding and continuing down the stairs.

"I do have some good news for you, Corban. Something that will lift your spirits while you wait for this situation with the Knights to blow over." Stepping across the room and opening the empty cell, Bedivere walked a few paces. Tracing a complex figure across the wall, a small basin sprung out. Without thinking twice about it, Bedivere slashed his wand in the air and cut the palm of his hand. Blood dripped, some falling to the floor but most being caught by the basin. The wall faded until it was intangible. Bedivere stepped forward, pleased that Corban had followed behind him, before entering the hidden room where he'd moved the beast that Augustus Rookwood had become.

The man was muttering rapidly, running around his cell in a frenzy as he acted just as madly as the other inmates in Azkaban. Bedivere pulled out the small vial from his cloaks before petrifying Rookwood. He turned towards Corban. "I think it's time to test what effects our little brew has on Mister Rookwood."

Corban nodded, still unwilling to meet his eyes as he grabbed the vial from Bedivere's hands and stepped forward. He unlocked the cell and stepped inside, eyeing the Death Eater warily before he forced Rookwood's throat open with a spell and poured out the vial. And, as if afraid the man would suddenly explode, Corban quickly exited the cell and shut the door behind him.

Immediately, Bedivere felt a much fiercer fight to his petrifying charm, and when he let it go and Rookwood recovered full control of his body, the man threw himself to the ground and began to convulse and scream. He dug his fingers into the ground and scratched at the floor, shaking uncontrollably. His mind and body both rejected the potion that had been delivered to him. Bedivere turned towards Corban, who was looking at the scene with the most minor semblance of pity, before walking over to him as he began to cast diagnosis charms on the mindless beast.

Regardless of the results shown, this was progress. The potion should be completed soon enough. In less than a month's time, a viable treatment against dementors should be ready to be used. Bedivere only hoped the potion would be as invaluable to his cause as it was to the Dark Lord's.

The Great Hall

March 19th, 1996

9:05 a.m.

There was almost something nostalgic about it. After all, hadn't the six of them spent nearly two months meeting like this during every meal, plotting and scheming about what to do about Umbridge and how they were going to outsmart the idiotic Gryffindors? Granted, Potter's absence left a void in the group. After all, he was the loudest. The one with the most colourful language and prone to violence. It was hard to ignore that given how much colder these meetings felt, or at least more boring than they used to be. Something that was in big part due to Nott.

Draco was not shy in admitting that he had forgotten just how determined and ruthless Nott could be. It was a side of himself he rarely showed nowadays as he left it behind when he turned soft in how he treated the people around him. But the moment Potter had been revealed as missing, that side of him had surged and taken control of not just Nott, but their entire group. It was slightly unsettling, though he never quite reached just how scary Potter could be in those moments when he'd look at you like he was contemplating how he'd go about murdering you. But still, Nott took control of the group faster than Draco had thought possible, even pushing Daphne aside without the girl saying anything about it.

With Potter, Daphne, and now Nott earning the respect he'd always craved in such a seamless manner, Draco had spent this time wondering what he had been doing wrong. It wasn't even a year ago that he had thought himself to be at the top of the Slytherin food chain, and now he had been discarded and pushed aside as if he was no better than any idiotic second-year. And while not reaching the level of ridicule Davis had faced, he was still far from being in a favourable position.

He couldn't help but wonder if his father had been wrong about him all along. Compared to those three, how was Draco in any way meant to be a leader of his generation? What was it that made him so special his father had never stopped repeating it to him? Sure, he was smart. He was a Slytherin in his great ambitions… but that was just it, wasn't it? He had ambitions, but they… they had the means to achieve those ambitions.

It had taken him a few months before he could even admit it to himself, much less to the others. And though he had constantly heard his classmates mocking and belittling him, it had never affected him. Draco had always managed to convince himself that they were wrong somehow. That they were judging him without knowing the full story. That they didn't know what he was capable of. But they did. Better than he ever did, apparently. It was discouraging and embarrassing, but eventually, those emotions faded away.

He didn't want to remain the fraud he was. Draco Malfoy wouldn't be one to be discarded so easily, would no longer allow people to walk over him and laugh as he made a fool of himself on a daily basis. He was a fifth-year, for crying out loud. Nearly an adult. It was past time he started acting like one. Draco doubted the great Lucius Malfoy was ever one to be stepped over his classmates at this age, or any age for that matter. It was time to prove to his parents that they hadn't been wrong, that he was someone worthy of the Malfoy name.

It was time to prove it to himself.

"Quiet," Nott suddenly barked, bringing Draco out of his thoughts as everyone abruptly turned towards him. "I heard them say something about Harry."

It had been nearly a month since they had planted that cursed book in Longbottom's bag, an activity he had rather enjoyed even if Longbottom had managed to get a good punch in. He would never forget the sniggers from his friends as they lead him to the infirmary, Nott already using the book to listen in to Longbottom's conversation. Draco had felt useful. Smart. It had brought a sense of pride in him that was almost as intoxicating as whenever he caught the snitch in a Quidditch game. More than that, it was one of the few times he didn't feel lesser than the other Slytherins since Potter had trampled all over him.

Some nights, he even dared say that Potter would have laughed a little at his performance.

It was a weird sensation to feel such a debt towards Potter, so much that he had asked his father about life debts in one of his letters back home. Fortunately, it didn't appear he actually owed a life debt to Potter for choosing Davis over him. But at the same time, he couldn't help but feel the need to somehow repay Potter for his mercy. He had promised he'd be his slave for life, after all, and though he had no intentions of that he wanted to be on his good side.

For all that the others mocked him for his continuous devotion to Potter, even if the likes of Greengrass and Zabini saw it as him licking Potter's boots, Draco couldn't deny that he felt he had something to prove to Potter as well. It was an emotion he hated but couldn't escape. But as time went on, he was more convinced he didn't need to. After Halloween, any notion that Potter might not succeed in whatever he attempted flew out the window for him. There were even times when he thought the Dark Lord himself wouldn't be able to outmatch Potter's raw hatred that seemed to drive him. And someone who would not fail was a good friend to have.

Nott pulled out his wand and amplified the noise from the twin book that had been used for the ritual. Longbottom's voice came out loud and clear for the five of them to hear. "I'm telling you, Hermione. It was Potter."

"And how do you know?" She asked shrilly. "Neville you can't expect us to believe you about something like that without any evidence."

"Is five years of friendship not enough evidence for you?" Longbottom gritted out.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it, Neville. Your feelings towards Harry-"

"Oh, he's Harry now?"

"Your feelings towards Potter are no secret. So excuse me for not believing you when you say that Harry suddenly is this pub serial killer when he doesn't even have a wand!"

"What does she mean Potter doesn't have a wand?" Blaise whispered. "Did they take it from him or-"

Nott shushed the boy and focused back on the Gryffindors.

"I don't have evidence with me, but Eli told me. Potter's been hunting him! The other night he went to his house and tried to kill him. He killed some of Eli's friends, Hermione."

"Eli? Who's Eli?"

"Nev…"

"Quiet Ron," Granger snapped.

"Elijah Montague, alright?"

"Montague?" Granger's voice came out strangled. "As in Graham Montague's brother?"

"What of it?"

"You have to stay away from him."

"Since when do you get to tell me who I can be friends with?"

"Since now." Granger snapped before pausing for a moment. "Listen, Neville… I just… I don't know, I don't trust him."

"You haven't even met him!" Longbottom whined

"I don't trust the Montagues in general. It's just… I think I may have been wrong. I'm not sure if Graham was so innocent anymore."

"Well he's a Slytherin," Weasley said. "He was never going to be a perfect little angel, was he?"

"I'm serious, Ron."

"Why this sudden change?" Longbottom snapped. "Are you… have you been talking to Potter?"

"What!? No! I'm not. But-"

"Then why are you suddenly acting like he's a fucking victim here? The bastard's out there, murdering as many people as he pleases, trying to kill Graham's brother, and you've been trying to talk me and Ron out of hating him. I want to know how come."

"I can't say, okay!" Granger snarled. "But you're wrong about Harry. You both are."

"How about you give us some of that evidence you were so ready to ask for before, Hermione?" Weasley said, somewhat condescendingly.

"I don't have any. Not yet. But I'm… I'm getting it. Soon. You just have to-"

"Trust you?" Longbottom laugh. "Ironic, isn't it?"

"Neville-"

"No, Hermione," he growled. "I've listened enough. You would have me to sit here and feel for Potter on some bullshit I'll-tell-you-later reason while he's out there butchering people left and right. While he's trying to murder a friend of mine."

"We don't even know if it's him, Neville-"

"We know he's the one who killed Graham. We know he murdered those people at the Three Broomsticks. How is murdering a bunch of random people in pubs any different from this?"

"Because the things we actually know he did were in self-defence!" Granger cried out.

"And what that excuses it?" Longbottom shouted it so hard, Draco almost heard it from the Gryffindor table before he did from the book. "Someone fired the first curse, so now Potter gets free rein to torture and murder people? Before anyone fires at him, he's already savouring it, Hermione! He's a killer. Much worse than that, in case you don't remember just how he leaves his victims. People can't murder someone else and get away with it. It doesn't matter if it's Harry fucking Potter or the Minister for Magic himself. No murderer should go unpunished. You used to know that as well."

"I don't know what I know anymore," Granger said quietly. "But with everything that's coming, I just can't sit by and pretend we can still see things in black and white. There was a time when you didn't either."

"Yeah, well, I guess we both changed," Longbottom said snidely. "But that doesn't change anything about Potter. And if he really is the one that has been killing all those people. If he really tried to kill my friend the other night, may Magic be my witness, I will make sure Eli catches him. I'm going to make sure Potter gets what he deserves."

From the corner of his eye, Draco watched as Longbottom slung his bag over his arm as he stood up and began walking away from the Gryffindor table. And as his gaze followed the boy, it quickly shifted as he realised none of the other Slytherins were staring at Longbottom anymore. Nott was deadly silent, his face pale as he stared at the book in his hand with a most unnerving expression on his face. And for a moment, he saw just a spark of the hatred Potter constantly carried with him behind Nott's eyes.

"Theo, don't!" Pansy urged, but the words fell on deaf ears as Theo immediately stood up and began trailing behind Longbottom. "For fuck's sake," Pansy hissed as she stood up, as did the rest of the Slytherins.

And in that split second, time almost seemed to slow down as he watch the four of them immediately stand to go after Nott. He quickly pondered his choices and ran through any actions and reactions that might come from them. If Potter was there, Draco had no doubt he would have jumped at the opportunity. But he had nothing to gain out of it now. Potter wouldn't see it, and unlike the last time, Draco didn't get the feeling this would end well for anyone involved. He understood why Nott and Parkinson were going, Zabini as well to an extent. It was Greengrass' inclusion in the group that raised his eyebrows. Either she had an angle she was playing or she was just doing it out of Slytherin solidarity.

Slytherin solidarity… it had been amazing how far that had led Nott in such a short amount of time. Parkinson seemed to have a reason as to why she befriended Potter before the Halloween incident. But Nott hadn't. He really seemed to have done it without expecting anything to come from it.

"Yeah, genuine, you know? When you actually give a shit about someone rather than just looking to survive or take advantage of a situation."

Oh, what the fuck? Draco thought to himself before standing up and following the others. If the past five years had shown him anything, it was that it didn't matter if he tried to think of angles and schemes and all the Slytherin shit he was meant to think. He still didn't end up as the leader of his year group. What's the worst that would come of this new, reckless, idiotic, completely dimwitted approach?

The four Slytherins hurried after Nott, who had managed to catch up to Longbottom in the hallway just outside the Great Hall. "Longbottom!" Nott shouted, causing Parkinson and the rest of them to break onto a run.

Longbottom turned around, and to his credit didn't seem the least bit scared at the five Slytherins that were currently running his way. Just the opposite. He was pissed. Magic almost seemed to be bursting from his body, sending electrical shocks to everything around him. Not that it stopped Nott as the boy strode across the hallway before stopping just a few inches away from Longbottom's face.

"What?" Longbottom uttered the word as if it took all his restraint to not do anything other than that.

"This… friendship," Nott spat with vile straight from his soul. "You have with Elijah Montague… it stops now."

"Pardon?"

"You're staying the fuck away from Montague, and you're staying the fuck away from Harry. You're messing with shit you don't understand. Your idiocy is going to get my friend killed."

"Potter is the murderer here. He killed Graham Montague in this very castle already, and now he's going after Eli. So no. I'm not going to stop. Not until I make sure he pays for what he did."

"Messrs Longbottom and Nott!" A sharp voice called out from behind them, and Draco didn't have to fully turn for him to see the crowd that had gathered behind them. "That's enough."

"You dare call Harry a murderer… you don't even know who you're hanging around with, do you? Merlin, you're pathetic."

"Not… another… word."

"It's ironic, isn't it? Harry saves your life, and now you want to get him thrown in Azkaban or worse. Do you know what I think, Longbottom? I think you're just jealous that Harry Potter would have made for a much more effective Boy Who Lived than you ever will. He actually manages to save people… you just get them killed."

A pulse of raw magic emanated from Longbottom, his eyes almost flashing with magic, before he pulled out his wand. "DEPULSO!" Nott managed to raise a shield, but it was immediately shattered by Longbottom's spell before Nott was brusquely launched across the hall. His body hit the ground, and Draco could have sworn he heard a bone or two crack as he continued backwards into the opposite wall, his head hitting the hard stone. Nott went limp.

"Neville, no!" Draco heard Granger scream, and Draco turned just in time to see Umbridge step forward just before raising a large shield that covered the entire hallway, separating the students from Longbottom and the Slytherins.

"That's enough, Mister Longbottom!" Umbridge's voice shook slightly, but she kept walking forward. Longbottom ignored her, instead gearing his attention towards the Slytherins. Towards Draco. So this was why he usually avoided doing something stupid.

"STUPEFY!"

Learning from Nott's mistake, Draco didn't attempt to shield and instead used his seeker reflexes to dodge the spell. Parkinson, Zabini, and Greengrass quickly pulled out their wands and tried to attack Longbottom, but the boy managed to evade and block their spells before launching two disarming charms at Parkinson and Greengrass. Greengrass was hit, the spell so strong it also slammed her against the wall and knocked her cold. Parkinson, on the other hand, managed to dodge as well.

Draco and Zabini sent a barrage of spells at Longbottom, trying to hit the boy with tripping jinxes and leg-locker curses. But they all hit Longbottom's shield without as much as denting it. And once again, Draco managed to dodge the incoming spells but watched futilely as Zabini was hit with a stunning charm that Draco was sure would have knocked out a giant.

Heart pounding with his brow covered in sweat, Draco got into position again as he prepared to launch or dodge before Longbottom's wand suddenly flew out of his hand. The boy stared agape as it fell a few feet away from Dumbledore, who had crossed the shield placed by Umbridge and was calmly walking towards Neville.

"Neville… I believe we've had enough excitement for the day."

Longbottom's face twisted into a snarl, and just as he seemed he was going to rush the Headmaster, Dumbledore moved his wand quickly. The barrier protecting Longbottom quickly melted into itself, and before Longbottom could react he was stunned and gently laid on the floor by a combination of spells from Dumbledore.

Draco immediately threw his wand on the ground and lifted his hands, staring frightfully at Dumbledore while ignoring how Parkinson shook her head in exasperation at his action. But Dumbledore didn't even spare him a glass as he picked up Longbottom's wand before going to the boy's side.

"Dumbledore," Umbridge's voice shook with barely restrained anger. "My office."

"Just a second, Dolores. Let me tend to young Neville for a moment and take him to his dormitory-"

"No," Umbridge forced out, and when Draco turned to look at her, he saw her face was bright purple and was staring at Dumbledore with a murderous expression. "Now."

Quickly turning towards Pansy, Draco saw in her face just what he was suspecting. This could very well be the incident Umbridge would use to take Dumbledore's place.

That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!

Next chapter Harry wakes up. Be excited!

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