Chapter Two
The sound of an alarm clock woke Izar from his sleep and he let out a small groan as he opened his eyes and stretched his arms out. He spent a few moments getting his bearings, realising that he was back at Hogwarts and not in his bed back at Malfoy Manor took a day or two to get used to. Sitting up, he opened the green curtains of his four-poster-bed and sat with his legs over the edge for a moment, looking around the room as the other boys began to wake up as well.
He slipped out of bed quietly, grabbing his towel and making his way to the communal shower room. The dungeon floors were like ice against his bare feet, and he moved quickly, his breath visible in the morning chill air. He always tried to be the first in the shower, to avoid the awkwardness that came with sharing the space with his dorm mates. It wasn't that he was interested in any of them, Merlin, no, but he couldn't risk any accidental slip-ups. His body had a way of betraying him at the most inconvenient times, and the last thing he needed was for someone like Draco or Blaise to notice anything odd.
Stripping down, he placed his clothes into the hamper, reading for the house elves to collect while they were in lessons, and hung up his towel on the hood on the wall. He turned the shower on and let it warm up for a few moments before stepping under the falling water, letting the water make its way down his body. It felt nice to freshen up and clean himself. He spent a minute or so just enjoying the refreshing water before beginning to wash himself.
Steam billowed around Izar, the hot mist sticking to his skin as he frantically scrubbed at his hair as when Blaise and Draco walked in. Izar turned himself towards the wall, not wanting to fully expose himself to the other boys. "Morning," he said, putting on a smile, trying to act calm.
"Morning," Draco said with a yawn," Why is it always so bloody cold in here? You'd think with all the magic in this place, in this place, they could at least warm up the floors." He said as started to strip off of his pyjamas.
Blaise gave a small laugh as he shrugged off his underwear, having slept in just them, "Morning Izar" Blaise said, his eyes scanning Izar's body before settling on his backside. "Mate, you have an amazing arse," he yelled. Causing Draco to give a small laugh and Izar to blush he quickly finished rinsing his hair turned the shower off and wrapped the towel around himself.
"Thanks, I guess," Izar said, suddenly feeling very insecure about his backside, as he made his way over to pick up his towel, "I guess I don't really think about it a lot" he lied, knowing full well that for the past year he had been diligently doing some exercises he had found in a copy of Wizards Weekly, meant to enhance his butt. He wrapped the towel around his waist, hiding his modesty.
"Trust you to notice my cousin's arse," Draco said as he turned on his shower, wincing as he stepped under and the water slowly heated up, "want to make out with him too?" he asked with a small hint of disgust in his voice.
"I don't have to be a faggot to know the boy's got a good arse," Blaise said, holding his hands top in mock surrender as he started his shower. Blaise's words hit Izar like a slap, the slur cutting deep. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment and anger, but he quickly masked it with a forced smile. "I would kill for an arse like that, mines flat as fuck" Blaise continued as he turned and flashed the two of them his bare backside, causing Izar to blush again and quickly divert his eyes. From the quick glimpse he caught, he could confirm that Blaise's statement about his own arse was true - it was flat as a board.
"What can I say," Izar said with a small shrug, feeling a bit more comfortable now that he had the protection of the towel around him, "heard girls like an arse on a man so been working it out" he hoped his words sounded nonchalant enough, but inside he was cringing at having to play this straight persona yet again. But around their peers, it was necessary for survival. Blaise just laughed and mentioned that he might ask Izar for some tips.
Izar had become used to pretending to be straight in situations such as this. It was a form of protection for him, a way to hide his secret and keep him safe. Over the years, when the other boys were talking about girls he had often found himself forced to join in, and so had developed a 'straight persona' for these situations, acting like he liked girls romantically and around them attractive, he did find it quite easy.
But there were times when it was more difficult, like when Crabbe had snuck in some adult reading material and proudly showed it off to their shared dorm room. Izar had felt incredibly uncomfortable pretending to be attracted to the naked witch on the page he was looking at. But somehow, he managed to keep up the façade without anyone suspecting his genuine desires. It was exhausting but necessary.
Leaving Blaise and Draco to shower, he walked back into the dorm room as the other boys were getting out of bed and making their own way into the shower room. Leaving Izar alone again in the room as he began to get dressed in his uniform.
Once dressed, Izar exited the dormitory, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet corridor. The Slytherin common room was, as he remembered, grand, yet imposing, with its high ceilings and deep, shadowy corners. The walls were adorned with dark tapestries and ancient portraits, their subjects observing the room with disdainful eyes. The emerald-green and silver decor gave the space a cold feel, which was only amplified by the flickering light of the chandeliers overhead.
A few early risers were already gathered, some lounging on the black leather sofas, others gazing out the enchanted windows at the murky depths of the Black Lake. The water outside cast rippling patterns of light and shadow across the stone floor, adding to the room's eerie atmosphere. Izar took a seat near the fireplace, its warmth a welcome contrast to the chill that pervaded the rest of the dungeon. As he waited for Draco and the others, he found his gaze drifting to a group of first-years huddled near the windows, their faces pressed against the glass as they looked out. One of the older students must have told them if they looked hard enough, they would be able to spot a mermaid or the giant squid. He gave a small laugh to himself, remembering feeling just as small and out of place during his first year, though he'd quickly learned to hide it.
Izar remained seated by the fire, enjoying its warmth as he waited for Draco and the others. The flickering flames reflected in his grey eyes He could hear the whispers of the seventh years in the corner, he could just make out their conversation, it was about the Dark Lord'ss return, and a few were discussing in hushed voices whether to join him or not. Terrence Avery was among them, along with his friends and fellow bullies, Miles Bletchley, Cassius Warrington and Adrian Percy.
A few times Izar felt the group's eyes look over at him before quickly looking away. He couldn't really blame them. The Dark Lord has spent most of his time at Malfoy Manor over the summer, visited by many of his followers, some of which were most likely the parents of the seventh years that were talking. So he was sure that many of them would assume with that information, and that he was a Lestrange, whose mother was said to be fanatically loyal to the Dark Lord, that he would also be. It wouldn't surprise him if many thought he was already a Death Eater.
Several more minutes passed before Draco emerged from the boys' dormitory, followed closely by the other boys. Theo was in the middle of a story about his summer holiday, Izar half-listened as he recounted some extravagant trip his mother had taken him on.
"Ready to head up?" Draco asked, interrupting Izar's thoughts.
Izar nodded, pushing himself up from the comfortable chair. "Yeah, let's go."
They made their way up the winding staircase and out of the common room, joining the flow of students heading towards the Great Hall for breakfast. The corridors of Hogwarts were already alive with the sounds of chattering students, their voices echoing off the stone walls. Izar fell into step beside Draco. His mind drifted back to the conversation with Blaise in the shower this morning, and he gave a small smile, proud that his hard work was getting some attention, even if it was by a straight boy.
As they approached the entrance to the Great Hall, Izar noticed a group of Gryffindors lingering near the doors, laughing and joking loudly. Among them, Harry Potter stood out like a beacon, his unruly black hair and bright green eyes unmistakable. For a brief moment, Izar's gaze met Harry's, and he glanced away, his heart skipping a beat.
"Urg, Potter thinks he's so great," Draco scoffed as they entered the hall. "Did you see him with everyone gathered around him? Bet he thinks he's Mr Popular."
"You need to get over your obsession with Potter," Theo said as they sat down at the table. "anyone else would think you have a crush on him."
"Potter wishes he could have me," Draco said, "would surprise me if he was a fairy, that's what hanging about with mudblood gets you," he scowled.
Izar inwardly winced at Draco's words, pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice from the pitch on the table. "Just ignore him Draco" Izar said, "the rest of us don't pay him much attention". He sipped from his glass. It wasn't exactly a lie. He didn't think about Harry Potter much. His eyes glanced over to Potter, still surrounded by his friends, his head looked much better than it did last year, it was now shorter and styled simply, which made him look rather attractive, Izar quickly looked away from him realising where his thoughts were going.
As breakfast continued, Izar found himself having to force himself not to look at Harry Potter. He was fed up with being attracted to straight guys, and while he had never seen Potter date anyone, he was sure that the boy-who-lived would be as straight as an arrow.
As they had finished eating, the heads of houses distributed the timetables. Professor Snape, with his usual icy demeanour, handed out the schedules to the Slytherins. Izar glanced at him, noting that his first lesson was Potions, followed by Defence Against the Dark Arts—both with the Gryffindors.
"Two double lessons with Gryffindor today," Draco sneered, reading his own schedule. "Great, more time with Saint Potter and his band of misfits."
Izar kept his thoughts to himself as they made their way back down to the dungeons to collect their books for the day ahead from their dorm before making the short walk to the Potions classroom.
Professor Snape's classroom was as dark and foreboding as ever, the air thick with the smell of various ingredients simmering in cauldrons around the side of the room. They took their usual seats at the front of the room, the Gryffindors filing in shortly after, filling in the back.
The lesson began as expected, with Snape's sharp voice cutting through the room as he delivered instructions on how to correctly brew the Draught of Peace, a potion that required meticulous attention to detail. The air was thick with the scent of powdered moonstone and syrup of hellebore, ingredients that would soothe the mind and ease anxiety if prepared correctly—but could cause a disastrous explosion if mishandled.
Izar's hands moved automatically, measuring and mixing ingredients with practised precision. Potions had always been one of his best subjects, a place where he could lose himself in the precise, methodical work and let his mind find a rare sense of calm. There was something almost therapeutic about the way the ingredients came together, forming something greater than the sum of their parts.
As he worked, Izar couldn't help but notice Snape's frequent jabs at the Gryffindors, particularly Harry. Each sneer and sarcastic comment was met with varying degrees of annoyance or defiance from the Gryffindor side of the room. Harry, in particular, seemed to bear the brunt of Snape's disdain, his shoulders tensing slightly each time the professor passed by. Izar kept his head down, focusing on his potion, willing himself not to be distracted by the tension that seemed to radiate from the back of the room.
Snape's footsteps echoed across the cold stone floor as he made his rounds, his black robes billowing behind him like ominous storm clouds. When he finally came to a stop in front of Izar's cauldron, he paused, peering into the simmering liquid with a critical eye. The entire class seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Snape's judgment.
After a moment, Snape nodded in approval. "An excellent Draught of Peace, Mr. Lestrange," he said, his voice devoid of its usual scorn. "Ten points to Slytherin."
"Thank you, Professor," Izar replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The words of praise felt like a rare, cool drink of water in a desert. Potions had always been one of his best subjects, along with Transfiguration, where he consistently attained top marks. In contrast, Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts were more challenging for him; he struggled to cast spells with the same ease as his peers, often needing to concentrate harder to achieve the desired effects.
As Snape moved on to the next student, Izar allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction before returning to his work. The Draught of Peace was a difficult potion, even for more experienced students, and his success in brewing it filled him with a sense of quiet pride.
The class soon came to an end, the room buzzing with the sound of cauldrons being emptied and books being packed away. Izar cleared up his desk and cauldron meticulously, not wanting to leave any traces of the delicate ingredients behind. As the students filed out of the classroom, their footsteps echoing down the stone corridors, Izar found himself walking alongside Draco and Blaise, who were deep in conversation about the upcoming Quidditch season.
As they arrived at the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, they found the door already open, revealing rows of desks arranged neatly in front of the blackboard. The classroom, unlike the Potion's dungeon, was brightly lit by large windows that overlooked the Hogwarts grounds. The sunlight streaming in seemed almost out of place, given the subject matter.
Professor Umbridge stood at the front of the room, her short, squat figure clad in a pink cardigan that looked as if it belonged in a nursery rather than a classroom. Her expression was as sweet as the floral teacups she was holding in her hand as she sipped from it, watching the class file in.
"Good morning, students," she said in her high, girlish voice as they filed in and took their seats. Izar settled into a desk near the middle of the room, Draco and Blaise on either side of him. He couldn't help but feel a sense of unease, the light-hearted banter of moments ago now fading into the background as the class prepared for what he knew would be an unusual lesson.
Once everyone was seated, Professor Umbridge cleared her throat delicately and began to speak.
"Welcome to your Defence Against the Dark Arts class," she said, her voice saccharine-sweet. "I know that in the past, this subject may have been approached in a rather... confrontational manner, but this year, we will be taking a more measured and Ministry-approved approach."
She turned to the blackboard, waving her wand as a piece of chalk rose up and began writing in large, looping letters: Defence Against the Dark Arts–A Return to Basic Principles.
"Our focus will be on the theoretical foundations of Defence Against the Dark Arts," Umbridge continued, forcing an emphasis on theoretical as she turned to face the class. "You will be studying and understanding the principles behind defensive magic, rather than engaging in any unnecessary or dangerous practical activities."
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the room. Izar's heart sank as he exchanged a quick glance with Draco, who looked equally dismayed. This was not what Defence class was meant to be. Even though Izar struggled with Defence, he knew that learning the practical application of spells was essential.
At the back of the room, Harry Potter raised his hand.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge said, her smile tightening slightly.
"Professor," Harry began, his voice steady but tinged with frustration, "how are we supposed to defend ourselves if we don't learn how to actually use the spells? What good is theory if we can't put it into practice?"
A hush fell over the room as all eyes turned to Harry. Umbridge's smile widened, but it was devoid of any warmth.
"There is no need for you to learn how to use these spells in practice, Mr. Potter," she said in a condescending tone. "The Ministry believes that you are all quite safe within the walls of Hogwarts. The theoretical knowledge will suffice for your examinations and any future situations you may encounter."
Harry didn't back down. "But that's not true! The world is dangerous outside of Hogwarts. What if we're attacked? How will we protect ourselves?"
Umbridge's expression darkened, and her voice took on a steely edge. "I don't know who you think may attack you, Mr. Potter, but I feel like I must be the one to tell you that you have been fed lies and misinformation. There is no need to panic your classmates by spreading unfounded rumours. If you continue to disrupt this class with such nonsense, you will find yourself in detention."
The class held its collective breath as Harry glared at her, his fists clenched at his sides. "Oh, I don't know. Who could attack us?" Harry asked mockingly, "How about Lord Voldemort?" he said bluntly, causing a collective gasp around the room, including from Izar himself. There were not many people who used the Dark Lord's actual name.
Umbridges face tightened, anger evident in her face, "You may have been fed lies that you-know-who is back Mr Potter, but I will not allow you to spread those lies in my classroom" she said.
"It's not a lie" Harry yelled angrily, "I saw him, I fought him, and he killed Cedric"
"Detention, Mr. Potter. My office, 8 p.m. for a week," she said sharply, the thin veneer of fake happiness faltering, "and to correct another lie of yours Mr Diggory died of unfortunate circumstances in a very dangerous competition."
Before Harry could respond, Izar felt a surge of determination rise within him. Something about this was triggering him, setting his mind into anger. He wrestled with himself for a moment, his heart pounding. What am I doing? But the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
Izar raised his hand to get Umbridge's attention. She looked at him, her fake sweet smile back in place. "Yes, Mister?" she asked, her voice dripping with syrupy politeness.
"Lestrange," Izar said, his voice clear and firm. The moment the name left his lips, he saw the flicker of recognition in Umbridge's eyes. Her smile froze, and for just an instant, a shadow of fear passed over her face. Her eyes widened slightly, and she took an almost imperceptible step back as if the name itself held power over her.
"Lestrange?" she repeated, her voice wavering for the briefest moment before she quickly composed herself. The sickly sweet smile returned, but there was a tightness around her eyes, a nervous tension that hadn't been there before. "Ah, yes, of course. Mr. Lestrange," she said, "what do you have to ask?"
"Professor Umbridge," Izar started, his voice gaining strength as he continued. "With all due respect, I think we all know the world is a dangerous place. There is no need to sugar-coat it. We all understand the importance of being prepared. I don't think theory alone will protect us. We need to learn how to defend ourselves properly."
Umbridge's eyes snapped to Izar, her smile now a thin, brittle line. "Mr. Lestrange, I suggest you sit down and keep your opinions to yourself unless you wish to join Mr. Potter in detention. The Ministry is quite clear on this. You will be taught all you need in this class."
Izar didn't waver, although his legs were shaking. "If there are no practical lessons and no thought for us as students, I'll take the detention," he replied, his gaze unwavering.
The room was silent, every student holding their breath in anticipation of Umbridge's reaction. Draco hit him in his side, urging him to sit back down and apologise. The tension within the room was palpable as if the air had thickened with the weight of Izar's words.
Umbridge's eyes narrowed, and her hand twitched slightly as if she were restraining herself from doing something more severe. But she seemed to think better of escalating the situation further. "Very well," she said coolly. "Mr. Potter and Mr. Lestrange, you will both serve a week's detention, starting tonight, at 8 p.m. sharp. And I suggest the rest of you take note—any further disruptions will be dealt with severely."
With that, she turned back to the blackboard and continued her lecture as if nothing had happened, her voice once again syrupy and false. Izar slowly sat down, feeling the weight of the room's gaze on him. He had no idea where that outburst had come from or why he had done it. It just felt like the right thing to do at the time.
"What the fuck was that?" Draco hissed, anger and confusion evident in his voice.
Izar just shook his head as he tried to clear his thoughts. "I had to say something," he muttered, his voice shaky.
"You're making yourself look like a fool, Izar, allying with Potter, of all people," Blaise whispered harshly. "It's not right."
"I'm sorry," Izar said, barely able to meet their eyes. "I just..."
"Hemhem," Umbridge cleared her throat, her eyes piercing through Izar like daggers. "I would suggest you pay attention, Mr. Lestrange, or it will be another week of detention for you."
Izar nodded silently, accepting his fate, and began to copy down what Umbridge was writing on the board about how to correctly hold your wand in a duel. The words blurred slightly as he wrote, his mind racing with the implications of what had just happened. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were being treated like first years again, learning the basics. She was treating them as if they were stupid.
He wasn't looking forward to the lessons being like this. As much as he struggled with this class, he did enjoy it. And while a theory-only curriculum would mean he had a better chance of passing, he wanted to learn actual useful magic.
As the lesson neared its end, Umbridge's voice droned on, but Izar's focus was elsewhere. He kept glancing at Harry, who was furiously scribbling notes, his brow furrowed in concentration. Izar's quill hovered over his parchment, his thoughts a tangled mess of anger and confusion.
Without warning, Umbridge clapped her hands, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. "That will be all for today. I expect you all to complete the assigned readings and be ready to discuss the finer points of defensive theory in our next lesson." She looked around the room, her gaze settling on Harry for a fraction of a second longer than anyone else. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Lestrange, a reminder about your detentions. My office at eight."
Izar felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The reality of what he'd done was beginning to sink in. Detention with Harry Potter—and for what? Standing up to a woman who didn't care about their safety, who would rather see them all docile and unprepared than truly ready to defend themselves.
As the students began to pack away their things, Harry caught Izar's eye. There was no animosity there, no trace of the rivalry that usually characterised their interactions. Instead, Harry nodded at him as small as it was enough to make Izar's heart pound in his chest.
As he slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out of the room in silence, Izar felt a tap on his arm. He turned to see Draco, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration.
"So are you going to tell me what that was?" He asked. "Why did you have to go and get yourself involved?"
"Someone had to," Izar said. "Can you honestly tell me you enjoyed that lesson just being theory?"
Draco faulted for a moment before shaking his head, looking Izar in the eyes "It doesn't matter Izar, you're starting something you don't know the consequences of, there is no need to rock the boat".
Izar met Draco's eyes, a small hint of determination in his voice. "It's a good job it won't happen again then isn't it" Izar said with a small smirk. "First detention I've actually got myself to blame for…" he said, with a raised eyebrow at Draco, his first and so far only other detention was in their first year when Draco had convinced him to sneak out and see what Potter was getting up to.
They ending up spending the detention searching the Forbidden Forest for a unicorn. Harry, Draco and Izar were teamed up, finding the unicorn dead with a dark figure drinking its blood. Draco had run away in fear, but both Harry and Izar stood their ground and were about to be attacked by the figure, only to be saved by a centaur.
With that said, Izar turned and walked away from Draco before he could respond. His mind was already on his next class: Ancient Runes. He was the only Slytherin in that class, a fact that had always made him feel somewhat isolated in the past, but now he appreciated that solitude it would have afforded him.
As he walked through the corridors, the chatter of students gradually faded into the background. Ancient Runes was held in a smaller, quieter part of the castle, far from the bustling halls filled with the rest of the student body. The distance gave Izar time to reflect, his thoughts swirling with everything that had happened.
Why had he spoken up? He'd never been one to draw attention to himself, especially in a way that could lead to punishment. But something about Umbridge's dismissive attitude, her refusal to acknowledge the dangers they all knew were real, had struck a nerve deep within him. He had spent so much of his life hiding his true feelings—about his family, about himself—but today, it had been different. It was as if a dam had broken, and the words had spilled out before he could stop them.
Reaching the classroom, Izar pushed open the heavy oak door and slipped inside. The room was small and lined with shelves filled with ancient texts and scrolls. Professor Babbling, the Ancient Runes teacher, was already at her desk, meticulously arranging her notes.
Izar nodded politely to her before taking his usual seat near the window. From here, he could see the Hogwarts grounds stretching out below, the landscape bathed in the soft autumn light. The peaceful view was a stark contrast to the turmoil that had been brewing inside him all morning.
The rest of the class soon filled in. It was mostly Ravenclaw's, with two Hufflepuffs and Hermione Granger from Gryffindor. As she entered, she looked around. Spotting Izar sitting alone, she made a beeline for him, taking the empty seat next to him.
Izar looked at her with an expression of amusement. For the past two years, the two of them had sat separately. Now she wanted to sit next to him.
"Can I help you, Granger?" He asked as he took out his ancient ruined textbook and placed it on the desk, storing his bag under his chair.
She looked hesitant for a moment as if contemplating what to say. "I just want to say what you did was really brave," she said, her voice showing her nerves. "I still quite can't believe you did it."
"Well, I did," Izar said with a small chuckle, "got a nice week of detention with Potter to prove it," he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, he could sense Hermione was hesitating again, he shook his head and turned to her, "but honestly, I don't regret it."
Hermione nodded quickly, "Good" she said as Professor Babbling stood up ready to start the lesson, "you should feel proud" she said in a whisper and with a smile.
"Welcome back Fifth Years," the professor said. "I do hope you all had a lovely summer and kept up with the reading assigned," she said, looking over the class with a watchful eye. "Mr. Lestrange," she called out, "Would you care to explain the significance of the Ehwaz rune in relation to travel and partnership?"
Izar blinked. He knew this; he remembered reading it a few days ago. "Ehwaz," he began, his voice steady, "symbolises a horse, which in ancient times was a symbol of trust and partnership, particularly in journeys. It represents movement, progress, and the necessity of cooperation to achieve one's goals."
Professor Babbling smiled approvingly. "Exactly. Well done, Mr. Lestrange." She turned her attention to Hermione next to him. "Miss Granger, how would you explain, Fehu?"
Hermione did not miss a beat in answering "Fehu is symbolised by cattle," she said, "It's used to denote wealth, but is mainly used for Gold. In writing it must be used in motion. If it is still, it becomes a symbol for hoarding, like a dragon hoarding gold."
Professor Babbling nodded in approval at Hermione's response, her eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of a well-prepared student. "Very good, Miss Granger. Fehu indeed represents wealth and abundance, and its use in motion signifies the flow of resources, whether it be cattle in ancient times or gold in today's context. This rune teaches us that wealth is not just about accumulation, but also about the wise use of resources."
As the professor continued her lecture, explaining the various applications of Fehu and its significance in different runic texts, Izar allowed his thoughts to drift slightly. Hermione's presence next to him was a bit of a surprise. She had always been diligent, of course, but they had never really interacted much in this class. The fact that she had chosen to sit next to him today, after his outburst in Defence Against the Dark Arts, made him wonder what she was thinking.
Professor Babbling's voice cut through his thoughts. "Now, let's move on to Isa," she announced, turning back to the board. "Can anyone tell me what Isa represents?"
Several hands shot up Hermione's among them. Izar, feeling a sudden urge to contribute again, raised his hand as well. The professor scanned the room before nodding towards Terry Boot.
"Isa," Terry began confidently, "is the rune of ice. It symbolises stillness, stasis, and, in some contexts, the need for patience. It can represent obstacles or delays, but also the preservation of something valuable."
"Excellent, Mr Boot," Professor Babbling praised. "Isa teaches us that sometimes, the best course of action is to wait, to be still, and to allow things to unfold naturally."
Izar found himself nodding along. Isa had always intrigued him with its quiet power, its ability to freeze and protect, to hold something in place until the time was right. It resonated with him, especially after everything that had happened that morning.
As the lesson continued, Izar and Hermione exchanged notes and comments, their initial awkwardness fading into a comfortable rhythm. By the time the class ended, Izar found himself strangely at ease. Hermione gathered her things quickly, and as she stood to leave, she gave Izar a small, encouraging smile.
"I meant what I said earlier," she whispered, leaning in slightly so only he could hear. "It was brave, what you did. If you want to work on our essays for this class together, I would be more than happy to study with you."
Izar felt a warmth in his chest at her words, a kind of solidarity he hadn't expected. He nodded, returning her smile with one of his own. "Thanks, Granger. I'll keep that in mind."
As she turned to leave, Izar stayed back for a moment, packing his things slowly. The classroom emptied around him, but he didn't rush. The encounter with Hermione had left him with a lot to think about, and he wasn't in a hurry to face whatever came next.
Eventually, with his bag slung over his shoulder, Izar made his way out of the classroom and back into the corridors of Hogwarts. It was lunchtime now and Izar slowly made his way through the castle towards the Great Hall, a smile on his face as he walked down the hallway.
The corridor was unusually quiet as he made his way down a long hallway that would lead him to the Grand Staircase. The echo of his footsteps seemed to bounce off the cold stone walls, and a chill ran down his spine. He was almost at the end of the hallway when he felt a hand gripping his shoulder, hard and unyielding. Before he could react, he was slammed against the wall; the breath knocked out of him. The world spun for a moment as he tried to regain his bearings.
"We need to talk, Lestrange," came a familiar, menacing voice.