Chapter Four
The next few days went by rather quickly and were uneventful, given what had happened on the first day. He had finished his final detention with Umbridge, which he was glad of. He could still feel the pain in his hand from the Blood Quill. The words 'I must respect authority' were now faintly viable all the time. Izar hoped that it would eventually heal and disappear. One good thing to come from that week was that he and Harry Potter had to spend their evening walks back from Umbridge's office speaking to each other and the two realised that they had a lot more in common beyond their hatred of Umbridge.
It had been strange at first, talking to someone who, only a few months ago, he would have never spoken to. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, during their nightly after-detention walk, their interactions had shifted to genuine conversations as they shared their experiences, about their families, their struggles at Hogwarts, and their mutual disdain for Umbridge, Izar found himself growing more comfortable with Harry. They were now on friendly terms with each other, often silently acknowledging the other as they passed in the hallway.
Saturday morning brought with it relief and a bit of respite for classes while many other students were enjoying a much-needed lie-in. Izar was up along with Draco, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle, all three of which were on the Quidditch team, and today was their first practice session. While Izar didn't need to attend as he was not on the team, he found that it was interesting to watch how they train, it got him out of the castle for a bit as well, something that he found he often had to do. So he found himself sitting in the stands of the Quidditch pitch.
Izar wrapped his cloak tighter around himself as a cool breeze swept across the Quidditch pitch. The early morning air was crisp, biting at Izar's cheeks and sending a shiver down his spine. The pitch was otherwise deserted, save for the Slytherin team soaring through the air, their green and silver robes fluttering behind them.
From his vantage point in the stands, Izar watched as the captain of the team this year, Graham Montague, barked orders at the team, his voice carrying over the pitch. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle responded with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Izar had to admit, despite Draco's cocky attitude, he was a skilled flyer. He moved with a certain grace, executing tight turns and dives with precision.
As Izar watched Draco execute a perfect dive, a pang of envy hit him. Not for the Quidditch skill, he had long accepted he wasn't cut out for flying, but for Draco's unwavering confidence, his ability to navigate Slytherin's rigid hierarchy with ease. Izar wondered what it would be like if he had ever fit in seamlessly and if he had been what everyone's expectations of him were.
"Keeping yourself out of trouble, I hope, Lestrange," came the familiar drawl from behind, shattering the quiet Izar had been enjoying. He turned slowly, his heart sinking when he saw Avery making his way up the steps to the stands. Unlike the usual occasions, this time, Avery was alone—no posse of followers, no backup. That made Izar more nervous, not less.
Avery's sharp eyes locked onto Izar as he approached, a predatory gleam in them. "Not heard much more about you getting into trouble. I hope you've taken my advice?" His voice was casual, almost friendly, but the undertone was unmistakably dangerous. He sat down beside Izar, too close for comfort.
"Trying my best," Izar replied, forcing his voice to remain calm even as his anxiety spiked. His jaw tightened as he fought to keep his composure, not wanting to give Avery the satisfaction of seeing his nerves.
Avery smirked, leaning back in his seat and stretching his legs out in front of him like he owned the place. "Good boy," he said, nudging Izar with his elbow, his tone laced with mock camaraderie. "Always knew that little slip-up with Umbridge was just a hiccup. You know where you truly belong."
Izar felt the weight of Avery's presence like a shroud, suffocating and inescapable. He kept his gaze fixed on the Quidditch pitch, watching Draco execute another flawless manoeuvre, but his thoughts were consumed by the threat sitting beside him. Avery had always been a looming figure in Slytherin, and Izar knew better than to underestimate him.
"Enjoying watching them practice?" Avery asked, his voice deceptively light. "I don't understand why you aren't down there. Didn't fancy joining the team?"
Izar forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Quidditch was never my thing," he said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. "I'm better off watching. What about you? Why aren't you on the team?"
Avery chuckled darkly, moving his hands behind his head as if settling in for a long chat. "Got kicked off after my first match. Apparently, I'm too much of a liability. There's only so much you can get away with in school Quidditch matches," he said, the twisted humour in his voice sending a chill down Izar's spine. "Shame, really. We'd be winning every match if I were captain, and the other team would be in the hospital wing."
Izar nodded, though the unease in his stomach only grew. Avery's words were laced with a dark amusement that made it clear he was used to bending if not outright breaking, the rules. The kind of person who thrived on pushing boundaries, testing limits, and seeing how far he could go before anyone dared to stop him. It was people like him that usually went on to become Death Eaters.
"Anyway," Avery continued, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, "I much prefer to use my time where it matters. Quidditch is nice and all, but there are more important things to think about if you know what I mean."
Izar forced a tight smile, his mind racing as he tried to decipher the layers of meaning in Avery's words. It was clear that Avery wasn't just talking about school politics or house rivalries; he was hinting at something much darker, something that aligned with the path of those who followed the Dark Lord. Izar had seen enough of that world to recognise when someone was testing the waters, trying to gauge his interest—or his allegiance.
"Yeah," Izar replied cautiously, choosing his words with care. "I get what you mean. There's always something bigger than Quidditch going on."
Avery's smirk widened as if satisfied by Izar's response. He patted Izar on the back, but there was a possessive force behind the gesture as he wrapped his large arm around Izar's body, pulling him closer. The physical proximity made Izar's skin crawl, but he forced himself to remain still, not wanting to show any sign of weakness.
"Exactly," Avery said, his voice low and smooth. "You're not like the rest of the idiots around here, Lestrange. You're sharp, and that's why I want you to work with me. You've got potential—real potential," Avery continued, his grip on Izar tightening slightly. "But potential doesn't mean much if you don't know when to keep your head down. Make sure you're on the right side when it counts."
Izar nodded slowly, his mind reeling. He could feel the pressure mounting, the walls closing in. Avery was trying to pull him deeper into the fold, to see if he could be counted on when the time came. But Izar wasn't about to let himself be drawn into something he didn't believe in. He needed to find a way to navigate this without raising suspicion, without making enemies that could destroy him.
Avery leaned even closer, his voice a dangerous whisper. "I'm sure you've heard the whispers, right? Things are changing, Lestrange. Soon, the lines will be drawn, and those who stand on the right side will be rewarded. The others… well, you know what happens to those who don't."
Izar's stomach churned, but he kept his expression neutral. He knew that many in Slytherin house, especially the older students, were being recruited or at least groomed for recruitment. And Avery was making it clear that he was already on board.
"Yeah, I've heard," Izar replied, his voice hushed and steady despite the unease coiling inside him. "But it's hard to know who to trust these days. Everyone's got their own agenda."
Avery's eyes glinted with a mix of approval and warning. "Smart words, Lestrange," he said, ruffling Izar's hair in a way that made his skin crawl. "But that's why you need to be smart about where you place your trust. Stick with the right people, stick with me, and you'll be fine. Better than fine even."
Izar forced a tight smile, trying to keep his expression neutral, "I'll keep that in mind," he said, though the words felt heavy on his tongue.
With that, Avery removed his arm from around him, giving him a final nod as if sealing some unspoken agreement, and then stood up. "I'll see you around, Lestrange. Don't forget to keep your head down."
Izar watched as Avery descended the steps, his figure becoming smaller as he moved away, but the weight of his words still lingered, pressing down on Izar like a heavy cloak. The icy breeze that swept across the Quidditch pitch did little to ease the tension knotting in his stomach. He exhaled slowly, trying to steady his racing heart, but his thoughts refused to settle.
He knew what Avery was implying, knew that the time was coming when he would be forced to make a choice, a choice that could define not just his time at Hogwarts, but the rest of his life. The whispers in the Slytherin common room, the subtle glances, and the unspoken expectations all pointed toward one inevitable truth: the Dark Lord's influence was growing, and soon, his unspoken neutrality would no longer be an option.
Izar ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it further after Avery's unwanted touch. He hated feeling like this—trapped, cornered, with no obvious way out. He thought about his parents, their unwavering loyalty to Voldemort, and how that had led to their imprisonment. Everyone seemed to expect him to follow in their footsteps, for him to become unwaveringly loyal to the Dark Lord.
The idea made his skin crawl. He had never understood the blind hatred that fueled their cause, never felt the same burning desire to crush those who were different. And yet, the fear of being outed, of becoming a target for refusing to follow the path laid out for him, loomed over him like a dark shadow.
But now, with Avery's words echoing in his mind, Izar couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more at play. Something deeper. And whatever it was, it was only a matter of time before it came to light.
The sound of a particularly loud cheer from the pitch snapped him out of his thoughts. Draco had just caught the snitch, and the team was celebrating. Izar watched them, feeling a pang of envy not for their Quidditch skills, but for their certainty. They all seemed to know who they were, and where they stood. For them, life was a game with clear rules and a clear goal.
For Izar, everything seemed to be a minefield. No matter what he did, he would upset someone. No matter what option he had, he could not see an option for him to be his authentic self.
He stood up, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself. The chill in the air seemed to seep into his bones, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't just the weather, making him feel cold. With one last glance at the pitch, he turned and made his way back toward the castle, his mind already churning with plans on how to navigate the dangerous waters ahead.
As he walked, he couldn't help but think of Harry Potter. Their recent conversations had been unexpected, and yet, Izar found a strange sense of comfort in them. Harry was different from everyone else in his life, someone who had also been forced to carry the weight of expectations and yet had chosen to fight for what he believed in. Perhaps, in some way, Harry would understand the internal battle Izar was facing more than anyone else. But there was no way he could talk to the boy about it.
Izar's mind raced as he walked back towards the castle. The weight of Avery's words still lingered, pressing down on him like a heavy burden. The subtle yet undeniable pressure to choose a side was becoming suffocating, and the more he thought about it, the more he realised how trapped he truly was.
As Izar approached the entrance to the castle, his thoughts still tangled from his conversation with Avery, he spotted a familiar figure lingering near the doors of the Entrance Hall—Harry Potter. Izar hesitated, unsure if he should approach or simply slip past unnoticed. The sight of Harry standing there, casually leaning against the stone wall, caused a flicker of something unfamiliar to stir within him. It was a mixture of curiosity, admiration, and something he didn't quite want to name. He could feel his heart beat just a little faster as he considered his options.
But before he could decide, Harry noticed him and gave a small nod. Izar returned it, wondering if Harry had also been thinking about their recent conversations. The small sense of camaraderie they had started to build had been unexpected, but not unwelcome. Still, it left Izar feeling exposed in ways he wasn't used to. There was something about Harry—his quiet strength, the way he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders with a kind of quiet grace—that drew Izar in, despite himself.
As he drew closer, Harry spoke, his voice low but steady. "Everything alright, Lestrange?" Concern was evident on his face, his green eyes searching Izar's for answers. The intensity of Harry's gaze made Izar's pulse quicken, a warm flush creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with the cold air. He fought to keep his expression neutral, but he couldn't shake the awareness of how close they stood, the way Harry's green eyes seemed to see right through him, understanding more than Izar was willing to admit.
The question was simple, yet it carried a weight that caught Izar off guard. He could brush it off, give a nonchalant answer, and keep his distance. Or he could take a risk, opening up—even just a little—to someone who might understand more than he realized. The way Harry looked at him, with genuine concern, made him want to trust him, despite all the warnings he had received about the boy.
"Yeah," Izar replied after a pause, though he knew the lie was transparent. "Just… have a lot on my mind at the moment." He kept his tone casual, but there was a vulnerability in his words that he couldn't quite hide. And Harry, perceptive as always, seemed to pick up on it.
Harry nodded as if he understood that feeling all too well. There was a heaviness in the air between them, a shared burden that neither of them had fully acknowledged yet. They stood there in silence for a moment, the cool air from outside seeping into the entrance hall, swirling around them like the unspoken words that lingered between them. Izar found himself studying Harry's face, noticing the way the dim light caught the angles of his jaw, the way his messy hair fell into his eyes. He quickly looked away, feeling a strange sense of warmth spreading through him that he wasn't sure how to handle.
Izar shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing around the empty hall before finally speaking again. "Potter," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. He paused, checking once more to ensure no one else was near, then continued, "Have you ever felt like… like you're trapped between two choices, and no matter what you do, you're going to lose something important?"
Harry's eyes met his, and for a moment, the boy who had faced so much seemed to soften. There was a flicker of recognition in Harry's gaze, a shared understanding of the impossible choices that weighed on them both. "I have," Harry replied quietly. "More times than I'd like to admit. When you have a life like mine, you get used to making hard choices. Even now, I'm not sure I've made the right ones."
Izar nodded, digesting Harry's words. It wasn't exactly the answer he'd been looking for, but it did offer a strange sense of comfort. At least he wasn't alone in feeling this way, in struggling with the decisions that seemed to shape their futures. He found himself wanting to reach out, to close the small distance between them, but he kept his hands firmly at his sides.
He hesitated, feeling the urge to say more—to confide in Harry about the pressure he was under, about Avery's words, and his fear of following in his family's footsteps. But the walls of Hogwarts had ears, and he knew better than to voice such thoughts openly. Yet, being this close to Harry, seeing the understanding in his eyes, made Izar feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as alone as he thought.
"Sometimes," Harry continued, breaking the silence, "it feels like no matter what you choose, someone's going to be disappointed. Or worse. But… I guess the only thing we can do is try to make the choice that we can live with, even if it's not perfect."
Izar looked at Harry, surprised by the wisdom in his words. It was clear that Harry had thought about this a lot, and had faced these kinds of dilemmas before. And though he didn't have all the answers, there was a quiet resolve in his voice that made Izar feel a little less alone. There was something deeply reassuring about Harry's presence, something that made him want to stay and talk longer, even if just for a few more moments.
"Does it ever get easier?" Izar asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of hope and resignation. He found himself holding his breath, waiting for Harry's response as if it could somehow ease the turmoil inside him.
Harry shrugged, a small, sad smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I don't know. I'd like to think it does, but… I guess we just have to keep going. Keep making choices and hope that, in the end, they lead us somewhere better."
Izar nodded, absorbing Harry's words. They stood there in companionable silence for a moment longer, both lost in their thoughts. For the first time in a long while, Izar felt a connection with someone who understood—really understood—the weight of the decisions he faced. And he couldn't help but feel drawn to that connection, to the quiet strength that Harry seemed to embody.
Before he could say anything more, the sound of footsteps approaching echoed through the entrance hall. Both boys straightened up, the moment of vulnerability passing as quickly as it had come. Izar glanced over his shoulder and saw Draco approaching with the rest of the team, their post-practice swagger evident in their stride.
Draco's eyes narrowed as he spotted Izar and Harry together, suspicion flashing across his face. "Izar," Draco called out as he neared, his tone casual but laced with underlying tension. "What are you doing hanging around with Potter?"
The question was sharp, and Izar could feel the weight of Draco's gaze on him, scrutinising his every move. He forced a smirk, slipping back into the role he knew Draco expected of him. "Just passing by," he said with a shrug. "Wanted to let him know I wouldn't be joining in with any more class rebellions," he added with a laugh, trying to defuse the tension.
Harry shot him a glance but didn't say anything. Izar could tell that he understood the need to play along, at least for now.
"Come on," Draco said, walking over to them and clapping a hand on Izar's shoulder. "Let's get to the common room. The team and I were just talking about our next practice. Could use your input." He looked at Harry with a scowl as he led Izar away from the entrance hall.
Izar nodded and fell in step with them, casting one last glance at Harry before they walked away. Harry gave him a small nod, a silent acknowledgement of the unspoken conversation they'd just had. Izar felt a strange pang of disappointment as the distance between them grew, but he quickly pushed it aside, reminding himself of the delicate balance he needed to maintain.
As they made their way to the Slytherin common room, Izar's mind churned with thoughts. The choices he made in the coming days would shape his future, and navigating the delicate balance between loyalty and survival would be harder than ever. But perhaps, with a little caution and a little bravery, he could find a way to walk the line without falling off the edge.
For now, though, he would keep his head down, as Avery had advised. But he wouldn't forget Harry's words either—sometimes, you have to figure out what's worth fighting for. And maybe, just maybe, there was still time to figure that out.
The rest of the weekend passed rather quickly, with the shadow of Umbridge's new title looming over the castle. The announcement that she had been named Hogwarts' High Inquisitor sent a chill through the student body, and whispers filled the corridors as speculation about her new powers spread like wildfire. Izar could feel the tension in the air, a palpable sense of dread as everyone wondered what changes would come next. The thought of Umbridge with even more authority made his stomach churn. It was as though the entire school had been placed under a suffocating cloud, and no one knew when or how it would lift.
Monday morning arrived with a grim sense of inevitability. Izar trudged through his classes, doing his best to avoid drawing any attention to himself. The other Slytherins seemed more cautious than usual, their typical bravado tempered by the knowledge that Umbridge now had the power to monitor and punish not just students, but also the teachers. Even the more rebellious among them seemed to be keeping their heads down, aware that any misstep could result in harsher consequences than ever before.
After finishing his classes for the day, Izar found himself drifting towards the library, seeking refuge in the one place that still offered some semblance of peace. The library was quieter than usual, with many students opting to avoid the corridors altogether, afraid of being caught up in one of Umbridge's sudden inspections. As Izar stepped inside, the familiar scent of old parchment and ink filled his senses, and he let out a small sigh of relief. Here, at least, he could think without the constant weight of expectations pressing down on him.
He made his way to a secluded corner near the back of the library, where the dim light barely reached, casting long shadows over the rows of ancient tomes. The silence was comforting, a stark contrast to the chaos that had gripped the rest of the castle. Izar sat down at a small table, surrounded by towering shelves of books, and let himself relax for the first time that day.
For a while, he simply sat there, his thoughts drifting. He traced the spine of a book absentmindedly, his mind far away from the dusty pages and ink-stained parchment. Avery's words still echoed in his head, as did the unspoken conversation with Harry. The choices he faced seemed more complex than ever, and no matter how many times he replayed the different scenarios in his mind, every path seemed to lead him back to the same dark crossroads. He felt trapped, like a puppet whose strings were being pulled from every direction, and no matter how hard he tried to resist, he couldn't break free.
With a sigh, Izar leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting upwards to the tall shelves that towered over him. Books had always been a source of solace for him—a way to escape the harsh realities of his life, even if only for a little while. But today, even the comforting presence of the library couldn't fully quiet the turmoil within him.
Just as he reached for another book, hoping to distract himself from his spiraling thoughts, a flash of brown hair caught his eye from across the room. Hermione Granger was standing at the end of the row, her arms full of books as she scanned the titles on the shelf with her usual focused expression. Izar felt a pang of unease—he had yet to take Hermione up on her offer to study together for Ancient Runes. Every time he considered it, something held him back, a nagging fear of what might happen if he let his guard down around her.
He considered slipping away unnoticed, blending into the shadows as he so often did, but something made him stay. Maybe it was the curiosity that had been nagging at him ever since he and Harry had started talking. Or maybe it was the realization that, despite everything, he was tired of constantly being on guard, tired of hiding who he really was.
Hermione must have sensed someone watching her because she suddenly looked up, her eyes locking onto his. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, to Izar's surprise, Hermione didn't turn away. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her expression curious.
"Lestrange," she said quietly, her voice carrying across the stillness of the library. "I didn't expect to see you here."
Izar offered a small shrug, trying to appear nonchalant despite the unease twisting in his gut. "Just enjoying the silence," he replied, his tone casual. "The rest of the castle is… a bit chaotic at the moment."
Hermione's lips twitched into a small, almost amused smile as she approached his table. "Well, I think it may be getting a bit quieter soon, given the circumstances," she said, her voice laced with irony. "I have a feeling things will be getting more... structured."
Izar couldn't help but smirk at that. "Structured? Is that what we're calling it now?"
Hermione chuckled softly, setting her books down on the table and pulling out a chair. "I suppose it's one way to put it," she said. "But you're right—it's not like there's much we can do about it."
Izar's fingers traced over the scar on the back of his hand, the words 'I must respect authority' a constant reminder of Umbridge's cruelty. His tone grew more thoughtful as he responded. "No, I guess not. But that doesn't make it any easier to swallow."
"No, it doesn't," Hermione agreed, her gaze thoughtful as she studied him. There was something in her expression that Izar hadn't expected—empathy, maybe even understanding. He had anticipated judgment, suspicion, or perhaps even disdain. But instead, she seemed to be looking at him as if she saw something more than just a Slytherin student with a notorious family name.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them filled with unspoken thoughts. Izar found himself wondering what Harry had told Hermione about their conversations. Had he confided in her, or was she piecing things together on her own? Either way, she seemed to be gauging him, waiting for him to make the first move.
Finally, Hermione broke the silence. "I wanted to talk to you about something." She hesitated for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully. "I was talking to Harry about an idea, and, well… your name came up."
Izar's curiosity piqued, but he kept his expression neutral. "My name? What for?"
Hermione leaned in slightly, lowering her voice to ensure they wouldn't be overheard. "We're thinking of starting a club. A group where we can actually learn defensive magic—real spells, not the watered-down theory Umbridge is teaching. Harry's agreed to lead it, and, well, he seems to think you might be interested in joining us."
Izar blinked, taken aback by the suggestion. He hadn't expected this—hadn't anticipated that Harry would think of him to join something like this. A part of him felt flattered, but another part of him was wary. Joining a secret club, and learning defensive magic sounded dangerous, especially with Umbridge now holding even more power.
"When and where?" he asked cautiously.
Hermione glanced around the library before continuing in a hushed tone. "We're planning to meet with everyone interested during the first Hogsmeade weekend at the Hog's Head. It's… not the most glamorous place, but it's private enough and out of the way. We'll explain everything then, but I… we'd like you to be there."
Izar mulled over the invitation, feeling the weight of her words settle heavily on his shoulders. Joining a secret club—led by Harry Potter, no less—was the opposite of keeping his head down, Avery's warnings echos in his ears.
"I'll think about it," he said finally, not willing to commit fully without having time to think it over.
Hermione nodded and gave a determined smile as she stood up, gathering her books once more. "If you decide to come, we'll be at the Hog's Head on the Hogsmeade weekend. I hope to see you there."
Izar watched her walk away, her words lingering in his mind like a whisper of something forbidden. As she disappeared into the rows of bookshelves, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of relief. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as alone in this as he thought.
The library returned to its usual quiet after she left, but the silence now felt different—less oppressive, more like a space where possibilities could bloom. Izar leaned back in his chair, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty and anticipation. He had been careful, cautious, always walking the line between the expectations of his family and the demands of his own conscience. But now, with this invitation, he was being given a choice—a chance to do something that mattered, to take a stand against the tide of darkness that was creeping into the world.
He still didn't know what he would do, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he had options. And that, in itself, was a kind of freedom.
As the sun began to set outside, casting a warm glow through the library windows, Izar made his decision. Whatever happened next, he would be ready.