Chapter Three
Izar's heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. The cold stone wall pressed into his back, but the real chill came from the figures surrounding him. Terrence Avery stood directly in front of him, his expression a mix of annoyance, mockery, and something darker that made Izar's blood run cold. To his left, Miles Bletchley leaned casually against the wall, a smug grin plastered on his face. Cassius Warrington was on Izar's right, cracking his knuckles like he was ready for a fight, while Adrian Pucey hovered just behind Avery, arms crossed, eyes sharp. The dim light of the corridor cast shadows across their faces, adding to the menace.
"We need to have a little chat, Lestrange," Avery said, his voice low and deceptively calm. His hand shot out, grabbing Izar's shoulder and shoving him back against the wall. The others closed in, their presence suffocating.
Izar tried to keep his cool, squaring his shoulders and meeting Avery's gaze. His heart hammered in his chest, but he forced himself to keep his voice steady. "What's this about, Avery?" he asked, even though he already had a pretty good idea.
Avery's eyes narrowed, his smirk twisting into something more sinister. "Heard you had a bit of fun in Umbridge's class," he sneered. "Sticking up for Potter, are we? Feeling like a hero all of a sudden?" He leaned in closer, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Or just feeling stupid?"
Miles Bletchley chuckled, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. "What's the matter, Lestrange? Thought you were smarter than that. Sticking up for Blood Traitors. What were you thinking? You've got a name to live up to, after all."
Cassius Warrington cracked his knuckles louder, a warning in the sound. "We don't need any martyrs in Slytherin, mate. You know how it works around here."
Adrian Pucey, who had been watching the whole scene with a sort of lazy amusement, finally spoke up. "It's not a good look, Izar. Going soft on us now?" His tone was light, but the undertone was anything but.
Izar clenched his fists at his sides, trying to stay calm. "I'm not scared of you lot," he said, his voice firm but quieter than he'd like. "If you've got something to say, then say it."
Avery's smirk widened. "You should be scared," he said, almost cheerfully. "You seem to be getting a bit too comfortable, first, you mouth off to Umbridge, and now you think you can talk back to us? To me?" He scoffed, glancing at the others with a knowing look. "Looks like you've forgotten where you stand, Lestrange. We can't have that."
Izar's mind raced, knowing this was more than just a bit of roughhousing. It was a warning, a reminder to stay in line. But even with fear gnawing at him, he refused to back down. "I don't need to explain myself to you, Avery," he shot back. "What I did was right, and I'd do it again if I had to. Umbridge is out of order."
Avery's smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a dangerous gleam in his eyes. For a second, Izar thought he might hit him, but instead, Avery let go of his shoulders, stepping back with a casual air that was even more unnerving.
"Careful, Izar," Avery said, his voice eerily calm now. "You're stepping into dangerous territory. You might want to think twice before playing the hero again. Take my advice, Keep. Your. Head. Down. We wouldn't want to have to sort you out, would we?"
Avery snickered, looking Izar up and down and giving him a light shove. "Second chances don't come often, Lestrange. Don't blow it."
Cassius crossed his arms, his expression hard. "We're watching, mate. Don't do anything stupid. It'd be a shame if you ended up on the wrong side of things." "You've got potential, Lestrange. Don't waste it." Avery said staring at him. Izar's dark eyes locked onto Avery's, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to keep his nerves in check. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, lowering his gaze to avoid Avery's piercing look. The tension in the air was thick, and Izar knew this wasn't a fight he could win—not here, not now.
Avery gave him one last look, then turned and started down the corridor, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Miles, Cassius, and Adrian followed each casting Izar one last glance, their expressions a mix of warning and contempt.
Izar stayed against the wall, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. Avery's threat lingered in the back of his mind, making him second-guess his actions. But he knew he couldn't regret what he'd done. Someone had to stand up to Umbridge, and if it had to be him, so be it.
As he pushed off the wall and continued toward the Great Hall, Izar knew he'd made some powerful enemies. From now on, he'd have to be more careful, more strategic. Avery and his crew were not the kind of people you wanted against you, and Izar was smart enough to know it. By the time he reached the Great Hall, Izar had steeled himself once more. He knew he couldn't show any sign of weakness, especially in front of the other Slytherins. As he made his way to his usual seat, he could feel Avery's gaze burning into him, a silent reminder of their earlier confrontation. Izar kept his expression neutral, refusing to give Avery the satisfaction of seeing him rattled.
"Finally," Draco said as Izar sat down, his tone laced with impatience. "Where have you been?" he asked, a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice.
"I got held up," Izar replied smoothly, glancing briefly over at Avery before returning his gaze to Draco. "Needed to speak to Professor Babbling about a rune I found," he lied, hoping his voice sounded casual enough.
Draco narrowed his eyes slightly, as if trying to gauge whether Izar was telling the truth, but seemed to let it go. "We've got Care of Magical Creatures next," he said, taking a bite out of a ham sandwich. "Think you can get through this one without any trouble?"
Izar nodded, forcing a small smile. "Can't see myself arguing with Professor Hagrid, to be fair," he said with a shrug, though the unease from his encounter with Avery still lingered.
"Have you not heard? That oaf isn't here. We've got Grubbly-Plank instead. Heard she's a much better teacher," Draco remarked, clearly pleased with the change.
"We'll just have to see how it goes," Izar replied, his tone noncommittal as he picked up an apple from the table and took a bite. Despite the normalcy of the conversation, he couldn't shake the feeling that Avery's eyes were still on him, watching, waiting for him to make a mistake.
Izar pushed the lingering thoughts of Avery to the back of his mind as he focused on the day ahead. He couldn't afford to let himself get distracted, especially not with so many eyes on him. After finishing his apple, he gathered his things and followed Draco and the others out of the Great Hall, heading towards the grounds for Care of Magical Creatures.
As they made their way down the sloping lawns of Hogwarts, the brisk autumn air filled Izar's lungs, helping to clear his mind. The sun was shining, and the day was crisp. It was hard to stay tense in such a setting, but Izar couldn't fully shake the unease that had settled in his gut.
When they reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the class was already gathering. Professor Grubbly-Plank, a no-nonsense witch with a stern expression and a penchant for practical teaching, was setting up what appeared to be a large enclosure covered with a heavy tarp. The students began to murmur among themselves, speculating about what creature they'd be studying today. Izar spotter Potter and his friends on the other side of the group of students, Hermione spotted him and gave him a small smile which he returned. Before looking at the heavy tarp, wondering what was under it and what they would be studying.
Draco leaned over to Izar, a smirk on his face. "Bet it something interesting this time. None of Hagrid's ridiculous pets."
"Alright, settle down, everyone," Professor Grubbly-Plank called out, her voice carrying over the chatter. "Today, we'll be studying Bowtruckles. These creatures are tree guardians, and while they may seem harmless, they can be quite dangerous if provoked."
She pulled back the tarp, revealing a small, tree-like creature clinging to a branch inside the enclosure. The Bowtruckle had long, spindly fingers and a body that looked almost like a twig, with small, beady eyes that watched the students warily.
"Bowtruckles are usually found guarding wand-quality trees, such as those used to make wands," Grubbly-Plank explained. "Their natural habitat is the forest, and they are fiercely protective of their homes. If you try to take wood from their tree, they will attack, using their sharp fingers to gouge out the eyes of the intruder."
A few students gasped, and even Draco seemed intrigued. Izar, however, found his thoughts drifting again. He knew about Bowtruckles from his reading, but the information didn't seem to stick in his mind. It seemed like the information on them was something you would forget; you know until someone brought it up. He glanced around, noticing that everyone else was absorbed in the lesson while he was struggling to focus.
"Lestrange!" Grubbly-Plank's sharp voice snapped him back to attention. "Since you seem so preoccupied, why don't you come up and help me demonstrate how to handle a bowtruckle?"
Izar's heart skipped a beat. The last thing he wanted was to draw more attention to himself, especially after the morning he'd had. But he couldn't back down now. He walked up to the front, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on him.
Grubbly-Plank handed him a small leather glove. "Put this on," she instructed. "You'll need it to protect your hand when you offer the Bowtruckle some food. They're quite particular about who they trust."
Izar slipped on the glove, his hand shaking slightly. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and reached into the small pouch Grubbly-Plank offered, pulling out a few woodlice. The Bowtruckle's eyes followed his movements intently as he slowly extended his hand towards it.
For a moment, the creature hesitated, its tiny fingers twitching as if deciding whether to trust him. Then, cautiously, it reached out and took a woodlouse from his hand, nibbling on it delicately. A murmur of approval went through the class, and Izar felt a small sense of relief wash over him.
"Very good, Lestrange," Grubbly-Plank said with a nod. "You see, it's all about patience and respect. Bowtruckles are intelligent creatures, and they can sense fear or aggression. Approach them calmly, and you'll find they can be quite cooperative."
Izar smiled and stepped back, taking the glove off and giving it back to the professor. Returning to his spot beside Draco, he could feel the tension in his shoulders begin to ease, though the sense of unease from earlier still lingered in the back of his mind.
"Not bad," Draco whispered a rare note of approval in his voice. "I thought for sure you'd mess that up."
Izar managed a faint smile. "Guess I got lucky." As the class went on, Izar was finding himself less on edge enjoying the lesson and learning how to properly look after Bowtruckles. He was such he would never use this information in his life, but it was interesting to learn nonetheless.
The lesson ended, and the students began making their way back to the castle. Izar overheard Potter lingering behind, asking Professor Grubbly-Plank when Hagrid would be back. Izar strained to catch the professor's response but was pulled away by Draco, who was already heading up the path. With a last glance over his shoulder, Izar let the question go unanswered, following his cousin toward the castle.
That had been the last lesson of the day, which left Izar with a few hours to himself before his detention with Umbridge. The thought of spending time under her watchful eye made his stomach churn, but there was no avoiding it now. Still, he wasn't keen on running into anyone who might want to discuss the events of the day, especially after his encounter with Avery.
He decided it would be best to return to the Slytherin dormitory for now, a place where he could at least find some solitude. The common room would likely be busy with students unwinding after the day's classes, but his dorm room should be empty, offering him some much-needed peace.
As they entered the cool, dimly lit corridors of the dungeons, Draco slowed his pace to walk alongside Izar.
"Planning to hole up in the dorm all evening?" Draco asked, his tone casual, but with a hint of curiosity.
Izar shrugged, keeping his voice light. "Just going to get a head start on some of the reading for classes. Might as well make the most of the time before detention."
Draco smirked, clearly amused by Izar's dedication to his studies. "You're lucky you didn't get a worse punishment, you know. Umbridge is going to be out for blood after what you pulled."
Izar gave a noncommittal grunt in response, not wanting to delve into the topic further. As they approached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Draco seemed to sense Izar's reluctance to talk and didn't press the issue.
Once inside the common room, Izar quickly noted the usual clusters of students gathered around the fireplace and seated on the dark leather sofas. The atmosphere was relaxed, with murmurs of conversation filling the space. Without pausing, Izar made his way past them, nodding briefly to a few acquaintances but not stopping to engage. He headed straight for the boys' dormitory.
When he entered his dorm room, he was relieved to find it empty. The silence was a welcome change after the tension-filled day. Izar let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding as he sat down on his bed, pulling his bag closer to him.
Reaching into his bag, Izar pulled out the books he'd need for tomorrow's classes, deciding to start with the Potion's text. He flipped through the pages, trying to focus on the ingredients and their properties, but his mind kept wandering back to the events of the day. The confrontation with Avery, the tension in Umbridge's class, and the look Potter had given him in Defence Against the Dark Arts it was all swirling in his head.
Shaking his head, Izar decided that studying was not the best thing to be doing right now. He needed to keep his mind occupied, to push away the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. He made his way to his trunk at the foot of his bed and opened it, looking around, just to confirm what he already knew, that he was alone, he reached into the trunk and pulled out one of his hidden copies of Wizards Weekly. He made his way back to his bed and pulled his curtains around him for added additional privacy. He looked at the cover of the copy he had grabbed. This one had Oliver Wood on it. He remembered him as the Gryffindor Quidditch team Keeper and Captain during his first three years at Hogwarts. According to the front page, he had since gone on to play for Puddlemere United and come out as gay. He was posing topless, wearing just his Quidditch Keeper padding and his underwear, leading against his boom. He was smiling as the picture moved and swayed back and forth. Flicking through the magazine he glanced at the article titles, "The Top 10 Most Eligible Bachelors in the Wizarding World", "Breaking the Mold: Wizards Who Defy Traditional Gender Roles", "Magical Tattoos: The Latest Trend in Wizarding Body Art" and "Out of the Broom Closet: Coming Out Stories from the Wizarding World", the last one always interested him, there was a different persons story each week, this week focused on Oliver Woods coming out story. Izar crossed his legs on the bed as he read it.
Oliver Wood: Finding His True Goal Amid Hardships
Oliver Wood, the former Gryffindor Quidditch captain and current Puddlemere United Keeper, has always been known for his single-minded focus on the game. With a passion for Quidditch that rivals even the most dedicated players, Wood has led his teams to countless victories. But behind the determination and grit that fans see on the pitch, Wood was grappling with a different kind of challenge—one that had nothing to do with Bludgers, Quaffles, or the Golden Snitch.
"For most of my life, I kept my head down and focused on Quidditch," Wood begins, his Scottish accent adding a familiar warmth to his words. "I thought that if I just kept working harder, practising longer, I could push everything else aside. But there were parts of myself I couldn't ignore forever."
Wood, who recently came out as gay in an exclusive interview with Wizards Weekly, reveals that his journey to self-acceptance was not without its difficulties. "When you're in the public eye, especially as a Quidditch player, there's this expectation that you fit a certain mould. I didn't know how being gay would fit into that picture. So, I buried it. Deep."
Despite the support of his teammates and the camaraderie that comes with being part of a professional team, Wood admits that he often felt isolated. "It's hard to explain, but there was always this part of me that felt like it didn't belong. I was surrounded by people, but at the same time, I was completely alone with my secret."
The turning point for Wood came during a particularly difficult season with Puddlemere United. "We were in a slump, and I was pushing myself harder than ever. But no matter what I did, I couldn't shake this feeling that something was missing. That's when I realised—it wasn't just about Quidditch. I wasn't being honest with myself."
Coming out, Wood says, was both the scariest and most liberating thing he's ever done. But it wasn't without its consequences. "When I finally told my family, it didn't go as well as I'd hoped," Wood admits, his voice tinged with sadness. "My father... he didn't take it well. He said he couldn't accept it, that I was throwing away everything he'd taught me. In the end, he disowned me. Told me I was no longer his son."
The pain of that moment is still evident as Wood speaks, but there's a strength in his voice that wasn't there before. "It was devastating," he continues. "But I realised that I couldn't live my life for him or anyone else. I had to be true to myself, even if it meant losing people I cared about."
Wood's announcement was met with mixed reactions. While many fans and fellow players offered their support, some voiced their disapproval. "There were some harsh words, from fans and even a few teammates," he says. "But for every negative comment, there were ten more messages of love and support. That's what kept me going."
Throughout this journey, Wood has found solace and strength in his relationship with his boyfriend, Aidan. "Aidan's been my rock through all of this," Wood says, his expression softening. "He's the one who reminded me that it's okay to be vulnerable, that I don't have to carry everything on my own. Having him by my side made it easier to face the world, no matter how hard it got."
Despite the challenges, Wood remains optimistic. "Quidditch will always be my passion, but it's not the only thing that defines me. I've realised that being true to who I am is just as important as any game I'll ever play."
Wood's message to others struggling with their identity is simple but powerful: "You don't have to go through it alone. There's a whole world out there ready to support you, and you deserve to be happy—on and off the pitch."
As Oliver Wood continues to defend the hoops for Puddlemere United, he does so with a renewed sense of purpose and an open heart. In a world where bravery is often measured by physical feats, Wood reminds us that sometimes, the greatest courage lies in simply being yourself, even when the odds are against you.
Izar gave a small sigh as he read through the article about Oliver Wood. The bravery Wood had shown in coming out publicly was something Izar deeply admired but couldn't yet imagine for himself. The thought of making such a declaration filled him with equal parts hope and dread. He knew all too well that not everyone would accept him, and the fear of facing hostility, even from those closest to him, kept him silent. Flicking through the rest of the magazine, he found several pictures of very attractive men. But one, in particular, caught his attention, a chiselled wizard posing in tight underwear, his muscles glistening and taut. He couldn't tear his gaze away, feeling a primal urge surge through him, and several minutes later he let out a desperate cry of pleasure, followed quickly by a cleaning spell.
Noticing the time, Izar stood up from the bed, quickly tidying himself up before hastily stuffing the magazine back into his trunk. He would need to head up for dinner before his detention, and he was just glad he had managed to carve out a few moments of solitude. At Hogwarts, privacy was a rare luxury, and he cherished these brief escapes from the ever-watchful eyes of his peers.
Izar made his way out of the dormitory, the weight of the hidden magazine still fresh in his mind as he walked down the small hallway leading to the Slytherin common room. The flickering greenish light from the enchanted lamps cast shadows that danced along the walls. He quickly made his way out of the common room and up to the Great Hall.
Stepping into the Great Hall, Izar felt the usual buzz of activity as students from all houses settled in for the evening meal. He spotted Draco and the others at the Slytherin table and moved to join them, slipping back into the familiar routine of polite conversation and carefully chosen words. But despite the surrounding chatter, his mind was elsewhere, lingering on the upcoming detention with Umbridge. The minutes ticked by, and soon enough, dinner was drawing to a close. Izar found himself lingering at the table, picking at his food, trying to delay the inevitable. But when the plates finally cleared themselves and the students began to disperse, he knew it was time. Taking a deep breath, he excused himself and made his way out of the Great Hall, preparing himself for what lay ahead.
Izar made his way through the dimly lit corridors of the castle, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The few students he passed were either hurrying back to their common rooms or lingering in the Great Hall, unaware of the tension brewing inside him. As he approached Umbridge's office, he paused, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. This was not the first time he had faced punishment, but something about tonight felt different.
Knocking on the heavy door, he waited. "Enter," came the voice from within, sickly sweet and dripping with false kindness. Izar pushed the door open and stepped inside, the overwhelming pinkness of the room hitting him immediately. The walls were covered in garish pink wallpaper, adorned with decorative plates featuring kittens, all purring and playing in their frames. Frills and lace dominated the decor as if Umbridge had gone to great lengths to mask her venom with an overly feminine facade.
Umbridge sat behind her desk, her quill scratching away on a piece of parchment. She made no effort to acknowledge Izar immediately, letting him stand awkwardly in front of her desk for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she looked up, a tight smile on her lips.
"Ah, Mr. Lestrange," she said, her voice sickly sweet. "Here for your detention, I see. I do hope you've taken the day to reflect on your behaviour in my class."
"Yes, Professor," Izar replied, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.
"Good," she said, placing her quill down and folding her hands on the desk. "Once Mr. Potter arrives, we can begin. You'll be writing lines tonight, Mr. Lestrange. 'I must respect authority.' It's clear you need to learn that lesson, given your... outburst this morning."
Izar bit back a retort as she continued, her tone condescending. Umbridge wasn't finished though. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes glinting with something cruel. "Respect, Mr. Lestrange, is something that should be ingrained in every young witch and wizard. Unfortunately, it seems to be a quality lacking in some. Perhaps respect wasn't something instilled in you by your parents?" she asked, her smile widening as she saw the flicker of emotion cross his face.
Izar's blood ran cold at the mention of his parents. He knew she was baiting him, playing in the notoriety of his family. The forced smile on her face only deepened the anger boiling within him. Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.
"Funnily enough, they've been a bit too busy in Azkaban," he replied, his voice laced with bitterness.
Umbridge's eyes flashed with anger, but before she could respond, there was a knock at the door. "Enter," she snapped, her pleasant facade cracking momentarily. The door opened to reveal Harry Potter, his expression set in a determined frown.
Izar couldn't help but feel a flutter of something as Harry stepped into the room, his green eyes scanning the scene with that familiar intensity. He quickly pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the tension in the air.
"Just in time, Mr. Potter," Umbridge said, her voice oozing with false cheerfulness. "A minute later, and you would have been late. I was just explaining to Mr. Lestrange about your punishments. You'll be writing lines as well—'I must not tell lies.'" She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out two black quills, handing one to each of them, along with a sheet of parchment.
Izar's stomach twisted as he recognized the quill in his hand. He had encountered one like it before, a blood quill. The sharp, dark feather felt heavy in his grasp, and he couldn't believe that such an instrument was allowed at Hogwarts.
Umbridge waved them towards a small table on the opposite side of the room. "You may sit over there and begin," she instructed, her voice deceptively light.
Izar moved towards the table, but Harry remained standing, eyeing the quill in his hand with suspicion. "Professor, you haven't given us any ink," Harry said flatly.
Umbridge's sickly sweet laugh grated on Izar's nerves. "These are special quills, Mr. Potter," she explained, her eyes glinting with malice. "They don't require ink. You'll understand soon enough."
Izar took his seat, watching as Harry reluctantly joined him. As Harry turned the quill over in his hands, inspecting it, Izar leaned in and whispered, "It's a blood quill. It uses your own blood to write."
Harry's expression darkened as he processed the information. He glanced over at Umbridge, who was watching them with a satisfied smile. "Well, what are you both waiting for?" she asked, her tone laced with false patience. "Begin."
Izar gritted his teeth and set his parchment in front of him. As he began to write, he felt the sharp pain of the quill carving the words into the back of his hand; the letters appearing on the parchment in crimson. 'I must respect authority.' Each line burned into his skin, only to heal and reopen with every new stroke of the quill.
Harry hissed in pain across from him, the reality of the punishment setting in. Izar kept his head down, trying to block out the searing pain, the relentless scratching of the quill, and the smug satisfaction radiating from Umbridge. He focused on getting through the detention, one agonizing line at a time.
As the lines slowly filled the parchment in front of him, Izar's hand throbbed with pain, each letter feeling like a fresh wound. The words on the parchment blurred as his eyes stung with unshed tears of frustration and anger. He could feel Harry's presence across the table, equally tense and in pain, but there was an unspoken understanding between them now—neither would give Umbridge the satisfaction of seeing them break.
Umbridge continued to watch them from her desk, her expression one of twisted delight as she occasionally glanced up from her work to ensure they were suffering as intended. The room was suffocatingly quiet, save for the scratch of quills on parchment and the occasional hiss of pain from Harry. The pain was intense, but Izar refused to show it, instead channelling his anger into each stroke of the quill. Every word was an act of defiance, a reminder that he was enduring this punishment not out of submission, but out of principle.
As the minutes dragged on, Izar couldn't help but steal a glance at Harry. Despite the clear pain etched on his face, Harry's resolve was unwavering. There was a strength in him that Izar couldn't help but admire. It was the same strength that had led Harry to stand up to Umbridge in class, and it was that same strength that had driven Izar to join him, even knowing the consequences.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Umbridge's voice broke the silence. "That will be enough for tonight," she said, her voice as sweet as ever. "You may both leave."
Izar's hand throbbed as he set the quill down, his parchment filled with the repeated phrase 'I must respect authority.' He glanced at Harry's parchment, noticing the same crimson ink, a testament to the ordeal they had both just endured.
Umbridge's eyes followed them as they stood, her smile widening as she saw the raw, reddened skin on their hands. "I expect you both to be on time tomorrow night," she said, her tone almost gleeful. "And remember, Mr. Lestrange—respect is something one must earn."
Izar forced himself to nod, not trusting himself to speak without letting his anger slip. He turned and headed for the door, Harry following close behind. As soon as they were out of Umbridge's office and the door clicked shut behind them, Izar let out a shaky breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, as the two of them began making their way silently down the hallway.
Harry glanced over at him, his hand still bleeding slightly. "You okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
Izar nodded, though his hand still throbbed with pain. "I'll be fine," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "You?"
Harry gave a half-hearted shrug. "It's not the first time I've dealt with something like this," he admitted. "But it doesn't get any easier."
There was a moment of silence between them, the weight of their shared experience hanging in the air. Izar hesitated before speaking, feeling a strange connection to Harry that he hadn't expected. "What you did in class today," he began, his voice quieter now, "it was brave. Not many people would stand up in Umbridge like that."
Harry looked at him, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "You stood up too," he pointed out. "That took courage. I wasn't expecting it to come from you though, no offence"
Izar shrugged, glancing at the stone floor as they walked. "It's fine. I just couldn't sit there and do nothing," he admitted. "We need to learn how to defend ourselves. We can't let someone like her take that away from us. To be honest, you'd make a much better teacher than her," he added, a slight smile touching his lips. "I think I could learn a lot from you. I've heard so much about what you have done"
Harry let out a small, somewhat self-deprecating laugh. "Most of what I have done is just dumb luck. Not sure anyone else would agree with you," he said. "Yeah, we need to know how to defend ourselves, but I wouldn't be a good teacher. No one would listen to me." He hesitated, his expression turning more serious. "Why do you care so much about Defence Against the Dark Arts, anyway? With your family... Aren't they, well, you know...?"
Izar tensed at the question. It was rare for someone to confront him so directly about his family's dark reputation. He paused, carefully choosing his words. "Let's just say that I don't see eye to eye on everything my family believes," he replied, his voice measured. "I want to follow my own path, not theirs. I need to know how to defend myself if the time comes"
Harry nodded slowly, the tension easing slightly. They continued walking in silence, their injured hands a painful reminder of what they'd just endured. But there was also an unspoken bond between them now—a shared experience that had forged an unexpected connection.
As they reached the staircase that would take them to their respective common rooms, Harry paused, glancing at Izar. "See you tomorrow, then?" he asked, his tone lighter, as if trying to lift the mood.
Izar gave him a small, tired smile. "Yeah, see you tomorrow."
Harry nodded and turned to head up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower. Izar stayed for a moment, watching as the other boy left him before he turned and took the path down to the dungeons. As he walked, the pain in his hand still sharp, Izar couldn't shake the feeling that tonight had been a turning point.
Approaching the entrance to the Slytherin common room, he took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever lay ahead. He knew that standing up to people like Umbridge and even to some of his housemates would have consequences. But for the first time in a long while, Izar felt a sense of purpose that outweighed his fear.