Shadows of Legacy
Chapter One
The first light of dawn filtered through the heavy curtains in Izar Lestrange's bedroom at Malfoy Manor. The room was large and spacious, like all the rooms in the Manor, decorated with dark mahogany furniture and rich green accents to reflect the Malfoy family's link to Slytherin House. It was the place he had called home for most of his life, ever since his parents had been sent to Azkaban when he was a one-year-old. His Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius had raised him since then.
The young fifteen-year-old lay awake in his bed, his grey eyes staring up at the ceiling. His thoughts were a tangled mess of anticipation and anxiety. His mind was in overdrive as he thought about the year ahead, hoping it would not be as bad as last year, the Triwizard Tournament, the death of Cedric Diggory and the return of the Dark Lord was still fresh in his mind.
A soft knock on the door to his room broke the silence and Izar sat up in his bed, running his hands through his dark hair as the door to the room opened. His Aunt Narcissa stepped inside, her elegant features softened by a warm smile. "Good Morning Izar" she greeted, "It's time to get ready."
Izar nodded, forcing a small smile in return, "Good morning Aunt Narcissa" he replied and he slipped out of bed and stood up with a stretch as Narcissa flicked her wand towards the curtain, causing them to open slowly, letting the full sunlight pour into the room, but revealing the view of the expansive Malfoy Estate.
Narcissa looked at Izar for a moment, as if contemplating what to say. "I do hope you had an enjoyable summer," she said, "even given the circumstances". Narcissa had insisted that Draco and Izar spend the majority of their summer either out of the Manor or in each other's rooms, the Dark Lord seemed to have taken over much of the lower floors of the Manor for his own purposes. There had been comings and goings of several Death Eaters over the last few weeks.
Izar had taken to sitting in the bay window of his bedroom and watching the comings and goings of them, they had been appearing just outside the grounds and walking towards the manor. The floo network monitored the comings and goings, making it easy to track any excessive activity.
Izar nodded "It's been nice" he smiled, secretly he had no genuine interest in the Dark Lord, or what he was doing, the longer he spent thinking about it the more he was actually against him. He had never really understood the concept of hating muggles and muggle-borns, but he had learnt rather young in life that it was not wise to let options like that be said out loud, at least not in the Malfoy's social circle. So he had taken to remaining silent on the topic when it came up, not letting his opinion be known.
"Breakfast will be in half an hour" she said, "just make sure you have everything packed for school" she added before leaving the room and closing it with a click behind her. Izar let out a small breath as he walked over to his wardrobe and opened it, picking out the robes he would wear for the day, before stripping out of his pyjamas.
As Izar dressed in his smart robes for the train ride, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He frowned, tugging at the collar of his shirt. No matter how much he tried, he always felt like he was just slightly out of place, never quite fitting the mould that was expected of him. Next to Draco, with his perfect hair and confident smirk, Izar always felt like a shadow, someone who was almost good enough but not quite.
Izar had meticulously packed his belongings after their shopping trip to Dragon Alley for supplies, but there was one more item he needed to stash away. He hurried over to his bed and knelt down, lifting the mattress just enough to reach underneath. His fingers traced the familiar edges of the hidden magazines, and he carefully pulled them out, his eyes scanning the cover of the top one.
The headline read "Wizards Weekly: Magical Britain's Number One Gay Publication" accompanied by a photo of a shirtless Viktor Krum, the words "Bulgaria's Gay Ally" plastered over the page. As the moving picture showed Krum flexing his muscles and winking seductively, Izar's heart fluttered with excitement and fear.
He gazed at the magazine with conflicting emotions. A deep-seated fear always clouded the thrill of seeing representation and acceptance in a publication like this. What if someone found out? What if Draco or, gods forbid, Lucius discovered his secret? The mere thought made his stomach churn in dread. He knew all too well the consequences of being outed in a family like his - disownment, disgrace, or worse.
With a quick flick through the pages, Izar's eyes darted over articles and photos of attractive wizards alongside stories of others who had come out and faced both rejection and acceptance. He longed for that kind of freedom, to be able to live openly without fear. But it seemed like an unattainable dream from where he stood now.
As he looked at the smiling faces in the magazine, envy washed over him. These individuals had found the courage to embrace their identities and live proudly without hiding. Izar yearned for that same bravery, but each time he thought about coming out, he was reminded of his family's expectations, the weight of the Lestrange name, and the shadow cast by the Malfoys' influence. He had been raised to uphold the pureblood legacy, to reject anything different or 'unnatural,' and yet here he was, concealing his true self from the world.
With a sigh, he closed the magazine and stuffed the handful of magazines he had down the side of his trunk, quickly covering them with his robes. A wave of shame washed over him, not for who he was, but for having to hide it. For feeling scared of being himself. He despised how much control his family's beliefs held over him, forcing him to live a lie. It was exhausting, this constant facade, and he could only hope for the day when he could finally shed it and breathe freely. He just hoped that he would have the courage to be himself before his family forced him into a marriage with a woman, the thought of spending the rest of his life living a lie and pretending to be something he was not was not something he could bear thinking about.
Standing tall and taking a deep breath, Izar tried to push the weight of his thoughts aside. He had become adept at compartmentalising his emotions, tucking away his fears and doubts where they could not be seen. But as each day passed, the burden grew heavier, threatening to break through the carefully constructed walls he had built.
With a heavy sigh, Izar left his room and walked down the opulent halls of the manor, descending the grand marble staircase towards the dining room for breakfast. The table was already adorned with an array of delicious breakfast foods, courtesy of the hardworking house elves who always outdid themselves for special occasions. His Uncle Lucius sat at the head of the table, engrossed in his daily reading of the Daily Prophet. It was a habit he had maintained for as long as Izar could remember, often muttering under his breath about Dumbledore or Harry Potter, which never failed to amuse Izar. "Good morning, Uncle," he greeted as he took his seat at the table, helping himself to some food and transferring it onto his plate.
"Izar," his uncle returned stoically. It was clear that he only tolerated having Izar in his home because Narcissa insisted on taking him in after his parents were imprisoned. After all, he was the son of two known Death Eaters, while Lucius had distanced himself from such associations. "I trust you slept well? Are you prepared for your journey back to school?" Lucius asked, turning another page of the paper.
"Yes, thank you, Uncle," Izar replied politely. The relationship between the two had always been on the more formal side. "I'm looking forward to another year at Hogwarts and my O.W.L exams."
"Thank Merlin you chose electives that are useful," Lucius muttered, barely concealing his disdain for Divination - a subject Draco had chosen to study despite his father's disapproval. "Ancient Runes will be far more impressive for securing a job," he added, making a pointed jab at his son.
The room fell silent as Izar continued eating and Lucius continued reading. Until Draco entered the room with Narcissa. "Good morning, Father," he greeted with a confident smile. "And you too Izar," he added, turning towards his cousin. His chest was puffed out proudly, displaying the prefect badge pinned to his robes. Izar couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at the sight. He had wanted that badge and craved the recognition and authority that came with it. Perhaps if he had been made a prefect, he could have started to change the way people saw him. Maybe even prove to himself and others that he was more than just a Lestrange name.
The morning after receiving the letter announcing Draco's prefect status, Izar struggled to hide his mixed emotions. Though he was proud of his cousin, a twinge of envy gnawed at him. Draco seemed to relish in flaunting his new role, much to Izar's annoyance.
As they sat at the breakfast table, Draco continued to boast about his plans for the upcoming year - using his prefect privileges to get Harry Potter into trouble and winning every Quidditch game. Izar couldn't help but roll his eyes at his cousin's ambition. Quidditch was not something Izar tended to interest himself with. Whilst he enjoyed watching the sport when he had the chance, he wasn't skilled enough to play it himself. A childhood accident on a training broom had left him with a lingering fear of flying that had stopped him from ever fully giving it a go.
After breakfast, Narcissa ushered them into the foyer where a house-elf had already gathered their trunks. The elf efficiently loaded them into the back of their car while Lucius ranted about having to use a Muggle train station as the entrance to Platform 9 3/4. Izar had heard this complaint countless times before and tuned it out.
They climbed into the magically extended back seat of the car, with a hired driver in the front. The house-elf closed the boot with a snap of its fingers and soon they were making their way through the winding roads towards London.
The journey was relatively quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Occasionally, Draco would catch Izar's gaze before turning to look out the window at the passing scenery. After an hour and a half, they arrived at Kings Cross Station and began manoeuvring their way through the bustling crowd with trolleys carrying their trunks.
Lucius seemed visibly uncomfortable among so many Muggles, causing Izar to feel a sense of pity for his uncle's disdain towards non-magical folk. Locating the barrier was easy and one by one, they slipped through the barrier and onto platform 9 3/4. Izar took in the familiar site of the Hogwarts Express and smiled. There was a large crowd on the platform already, so they made their way down towards a less crowded section, where they said their last goodbyes to each other. Narcissa turned to Izar, her expression softening. "Take care of yourself," she said, pulling him into a brief, warm hug. "And remember, if you need anything, write to us."
Izar nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat. "I will," he promised. "Thank you, Aunt Narcissa."
Lucius gave him a curt nod, his eyes cold and distant. "Make us proud," was all he said before turning to Draco and discussing with him what his expectations were. "Let's find a compartment," Draco said, clapping Izar on the back and guiding him to the door of the train dragging their trunks behind them and climbing onboard. They made their way down the train and found an empty compartment to claim as their own. They lifted their trunk onto the overhead shelf and sat down to make themselves comfy. "Who do you reckon the new Defence teacher will be?" Draco asked, "Bet Dumbledore has made yet another stupid decision this year, wouldn't be surprised if we had some gay bloke who's half centaur or something," he said rolling his eyes. Izar laughed awkwardly, "I dunno, Moody was kind of good last year right" "He was mad! Are you forgetting he turned me into a ferret" Draco said, "He was a nutter!" Izar genuinely laughed at this the memory of Draco as a ferret played in his head over again, "I mean… it was funny." Draco glared at him causing Izar to quickly stop, "In all seriousness, word is that he was having so much trouble finding someone the ministry has passed a law saying they will appoint someone if it has not been filled" Draco said as he lounged back in his seat, "but I suppose we'll find out in a few hours".
It was a few minutes later when they were joined by Crabbe and Goyle, who tended not to be the most talkative, and when they were it was not the most interesting subjects, followed closely by Pansy Parkinson, Blaize Zabini and Theodore Nott, just before the whistle of the train went and the train started moving. Pansy took her place next to Draco, her arms wrapped tightly around his. The two of them had been dating since the Yule Ball, although Draco admitted to him over the summer that they were just together so he could "have a bit of fun". As the train made its way forward, there were a few stragglers who had not yet found a compartment, or their friends, still making their way down the corridor. One of the groups who went past was Harry, Ron and Hermione. Harry paused outside for a moment, looking in and scowling at Draco before making eye contact with Izar for a split second, a mixture of emotions on his face before continuing up the corridor.
"Did you see the way he looked at us?" Pansy scoffed, rolling her eyes. "He thinks he's so much better than everyone else, stupid Half-Blood. Should have been him that died last year, not that Diggory" she said, causing Izar to awkwardly look out the window to avoid getting involved in the conversation.
Blaise gave a small laugh as he shrugged his shoulders, a smirk playing on his lips. "He won't strutting around like he owns the place for long. Things are going to change this year, mark my words."
Draco leaned back in his seat, a smug expression on his face. "Let him think he's better than us," he drawled. "He'll see soon enough where his place is."
Izar listened quietly, his gaze stuck out the window. The scenery flashed by, blurring together in a wash of green and blue. A sense of unease settled over him, a familiar feeling that had grown stronger over the years. The surrounding conversations often left him feeling alienated, their pureblood ideals clashing with the doubts that had taken root in his heart.
As the conversation in the compartment turned to the usual pureblood rhetoric, Izar found himself tuning out more. When Draco and the others started mocking the Weasleys for their 'blood traitor' status, Izar stood up, mumbling something about needing to stretch his legs.
Izar excused himself and wandered the train's narrow corridors. The scent of the train—old leather mixed with the faint aroma of pumpkin pasties filled his nose. It was oddly comforting. As he passed each compartment, he glanced through the glass door, checking who was in each one. It was not until he spotted Harry, Ron, and Hermione seated inside one of the compartments that he paused. They were deep in conversation, their faces serious.
Harry looked up, and their eyes briefly met. There was a flicker of something in Harry's gaze, curiosity, perhaps, or caution. Ron's expression hardened with a frown, while Hermione's eyes darted between them nervously as if a duel was about to break out on the train. Izar hesitated, feeling a moment of awkwardness. He nodded slightly, offering a tentative smile, but the tension in the air was palpable. He continued down the corridor, deciding not to intrude.
As he moved past their compartment, he paused as he was out of sight of its occupants, the trio's voices still audible. Unable to resist, Izar stood in his place, straining to catch the words over the sound of the train. The door was slightly ajar, and their voices carried just enough for him to overhear.
"I hate that slimy snake," Ron was saying, his voice filled with disdain. "He always looks like he's hiding something."
"He's not as bad as Malfoy," Harry shrugged. "Lestrange tends to keep to himself. Have you ever seen him with Malfoy when he's bothering us? He tends to avoid any drama Malfoy stirs up"
Hermione chimed in, her tone thoughtful. "I will say, he's one of the few Slytherins I know who has never mentioned me being Muggle-born. He even looked uncomfortable when Malfoy called me a Mudblood in second year, remember?"
"Doesn't mean he doesn't think it," Ron frowned. "He's a Lestrange. His parents were Death Eaters, and he was raised by the Malfoy's. That kind of upbringing leaves a mark."
Harry's voice was more measured. "Sirius was raised in a family like that, and he turned out good, people can change."
"Yeah, but Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, wasn't he? He proved he was different from the start," Ron countered, "Lestrange is a snake through and through, they hat wouldn't have put him where it did otherwise, there's no trusting a Slytherin." He said matter-of-factly. "But people can change, Ron. Just because he was raised by the Malfoys doesn't mean he agrees with them. Maybe he's different." Hermione replied.
Ron snorted. "Different? I've never seen him stand up to any of the Slytherins when they're being cruel. He just sits there, like he's above it all like he's too important to get involved. Maybe he thinks he's better than them and us."
Harry let out a thoughtful hum before speaking. "Now that I think about it, he did seem a bit different during classes last year. I've not really seen him involved in all the bullying."
"Big deal," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Not bullying doesn't make him a saint. It's the bare minimum to be a nice person."
Izar felt a pang of discomfort as he listened. The familiar judgment in Ron's voice was a reminder of the stigma of his name that followed him everywhere. He had lost count of the number of people who reacted negatively when he used his last name. The unease in their voices, even Harry's, stung more than he cared to admit as well. It was difficult to hear what others truly thought. The conversation inside continued as they discussed him, but Izar ignored it as he made his way back to the compartment with Draco and sat in silent contemplation.
As the train sped toward Hogwarts, Izar settled back into his seat, staring out the window at the blur of green and blue. This year would be different. He wasn't sure how, or even if he was ready for it, but something had to change. He couldn't keep living this double life, constantly torn between the expectations of his family and the truth that burned inside him. Taking a deep breath, he mentally prepared himself for what lay ahead. One way or another, this year, he would find a way to be himself. And maybe, just maybe, he would start to see that reflection staring back at him in the mirror not the closeted son of Death Eaters, but Izar, just Izar.
After several hours, the train finally pulled into Hogsmeade Station, the last rays of the setting sun barely visible beyond the distant hills. The platform was bathed in the silvery light of the rising moon, casting long shadows across the ancient cobblestones.
As Izar stood and gathered his things, the familiar chill of the Scottish evening seeped through the train's windows, a sharp contrast to the warm, confined space of the compartment. The sounds of students chatting and laughing filled the air as they disembarked, but Izar lingered for a moment, taking in the scene. The sight of the old, weathered station always stirred something in him—an odd mix of nostalgia and nervousness. He hesitated, feeling the weight of the year ahead pressing down on him. Hogwarts had always been a refuge of sorts, but this year, it felt different. Darker. As if the shadows of his family's past were finally catching up to him.
With a deep breath, he stepped out onto the bustling platform, where the cool air hit him like a refreshing gust, reminding him that he was home, though he was never sure if that was a comforting thought. Their trunks would be brought up to their dorms later, likely by the unseen hands of the house elves that kept Hogwarts running so smoothly, and with that, he followed his companions toward the waiting carriages.
"I'm starving," Draco muttered as they navigated the throng of students, making their way towards the carriages that would carry them to the castle.
Izar's stomach rumbled in agreement. "I know what you mean. I love the Sorting Feast, but it's always torture waiting for the first years to be sorted before we can eat." He tried to keep his tone light, but there was an edge to his voice that he couldn't quite mask. As they waited for a carriage to become available, the group continued to chat, their conversation punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter. When an empty carriage finally pulled up, they clambered inside. To the untrained eye, it seemed as though the carriages were pulled by invisible forces. But Izar knew better—he'd read about the Thestrals, the skeletal winged horses that only those who had witnessed death could see. Izar was relieved that he still couldn't see them.
Crabbe and Goyle took their usual places in the carriage, with Pansy slipping in beside Draco, her arm looping possessively through his. Theo sat on Pansy's other side, while Blaise and Izar occupied the remaining seats. Izar leaned back into the corner, his gaze wandering through the window as the carriage began its journey up the path towards Hogwarts. The dark shapes of the Forbidden Forest loomed in the distance, their shadows long and twisted in the moonlight. The sight made his skin prickle. He tore his eyes away, focusing instead on the warm, golden lights of the castle that flickered invitingly through the trees.
As the castle came into view, Izar felt a familiar flutter in his chest, a small, almost involuntary smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Despite the expectations, the pressures, and the secrets he carried—Hogwarts had always held a certain charm for him. It was more than just a school; it was a sanctuary, a place where he could lose himself in books and spells and, even at times, forget the weight of his family name. The sight of its towering spires against the night sky was like a beacon, calling him home. But tonight, that light felt distant, like a dream he could no longer fully grasp.
The carriage came to a halt, and the group disembarked, making their way up the stone steps and into the Great Hall. The warmth of the castle embraced them as they entered, the air filled with the excited chatter of students reunited after the holidays.
Hundreds of candles floated above their heads, casting a soft glow over the long house tables, while the enchanted ceiling mirrored the night sky outside, clear and dotted with stars. The Great Hall was as grand and welcoming as ever.
As they took their seats at the Slytherin table, Theo nudged Izar and nodded towards the head table. "Looks like she's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor," he remarked, drawing their attention to a small, plump woman dressed in a pink cardigan. She wore a smug expression that immediately set Izar on edge.
"Delores Umbridge," Draco identified her with a slight sneer. "Under-Secretary to the Minister. What's she doing here? Giving up a cushy job like that to teach us?"
Izar hummed thoughtfully. "Probably keeping an eye on Dumbledore for the Ministry," he suggested. "Make sure he's not training us all up for war to overthrow them." He couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong with this appointment. The Ministry's influence at Hogwarts had always been present, but never this direct, this personal.
"Who doesn't want to keep an eye on him?" Draco huffed. "The man's mad. Spends more time fussing over Potter than actually running the school."
Izar gave a noncommittal nod, his mind already drifting away from the conversation. His gaze wandered down the length of the Slytherin table, past the familiar faces of his housemates, until it settled on Terrence Avery, a seventh-year student known for his imposing presence. Terrence was the kind of boy who drew attention effortlessly. He was tall, his muscular frame filling out his Slytherin robes in a way that made him look almost statuesque. Broad shoulders tapered down to a lean waist, and even seated, there was an undeniable strength about him that commanded respect or perhaps fear.
His short, jet-black hair was artfully tousled, giving him a slightly dishevelled yet deliberate look, as if he'd just come from some early-morning Quidditch practice. The beginnings of stubble shadowed his strong jawline, accentuating the sharp angles of his face, and giving him an air of rugged maturity that most boys his age had yet to acquire.
Izar couldn't help but find Terrence physically attractive. The boy was, by all accounts, exactly the kind of person who would turn heads, handsome in a way that seemed almost unfair. There was a magnetic pull that Izar felt whenever he saw him, an involuntary quickening of his pulse that made him acutely aware of the attraction he harboured.
But beneath that undeniable physical allure lay a personality as cold and cruel as any Slytherin stereotype. Terrence was a bully, plain and simple. He thrived on intimidation, taking perverse pleasure in making others feel small, whether through a cutting remark or a well-aimed jinx. He was relentless in his cruelty, particularly toward those he deemed weaker or less worthy. Even within the Slytherin house, where ruthlessness was often admired, Terrence's behaviour was viewed with a mix of fear and disdain.
Izar knew all too well that his attraction was a double-edged sword. He might find Terrence's looks appealing, but he also knew that the boy's handsome exterior was nothing more than a veneer, hiding a horrible personality. The thought of actually pursuing anything with Terrence was laughable. Even if, by some impossible chance, Terrence was to reciprocate his feelings, Izar knew he would never act on it. He had no interest in getting closer to someone who wore their malice as a badge of honour. Surrounding Terrence were his friends, fellow Slytherins who seem to fall on his every word, Miles Bletchley, Cassius Warrington and Adrian Percy. The four of them together would bully the younger years, and generally be rowdy teenage boys. Izar was lucky to have escaped their abuse in first year, his name offering some protection in that regard. With a small sigh, Izar tore his gaze away from Terrence and forced himself to focus on the conversation at hand with his friends. Who had moved on discussing Umbridge while he was lost in thought about Terrence and was now discussing the Quidditch matches for the year ahead?
Their conversation was interrupted as the doors to the Great Hall swung open and Professor McGonagall made her way down the centre aisle, a line of nervous first years trailing behind her like ducklings. The Sorting Ceremony was about to begin.
The ancient Sorting Hat, placed upon the stool at the front of the hall, came to life with its customary song—a cryptic verse that set the tone for the year ahead. Izar watched as the first years lined up, ready to be called up one by one as their names were called to be sorted into their houses. He spotted the nervous excitement in their eyes and wondered how many of them, like him, would end up in a house they didn't quite feel they belonged in.
As the first name, "Alderton, Maximilian," was called and a small, black-haired boy made his way up to the podium to be sorted, Izar's thoughts drifted back to his own Sorting four years ago…
The memory came flooding back as if it had only just happened. The Great Hall had been just as magnificent that day, its ceiling enchanted to show a perfect starry night. Eleven-year-old Izar had stood in line, his heart pounding as the older students watched with interest, their faces a blur of curiosity and judgment.
"Lestrange, Izar," Professor McGonagall's voice had echoed through the hall, drawing a hush from the crowd.
Izar had felt a thousand eyes on him as he made his way to the front, each step heavier than the last. When he reached the stool, he sat down, his legs trembling beneath him as the Sorting Hat was placed on his head. Its brim fell over his eyes, plunging him into darkness.
The voice that whispered in his ear was ancient, wise, and far too knowing.
"Ah... Lestrange," the Hat murmured, sifting through his thoughts. "You are not quite like mother and father, are you?"
Izar had frozen, his breath catching in his throat. The Hat seemed to peer into the deepest corners of his mind, touching on thoughts and fears he had never shared with anyone.
"I see compassion… a hint of bravery and…" the Hat paused for a moment. "A desire to prove yourself, but not in the way your family might expect. There's a strong sense of right and wrong in here, oh yes, a potential for greatness... but where to put you?"
Izar's heart had raced in his chest, his mind swirling with the expectations that had been drilled into him since birth.
Not Gryffindor, he had thought desperately. Please, not Gryffindor.
The Hat had chuckled softly. "Not Gryffindor, you say? Are you sure? You have the makings of a fine Gryffindor if only you let your nature come forward. Courage, a strong sense of justice... But I see there's more to it than that. There's a desire to please your family, perhaps? Or is it fear of what they might say if you speak your true thoughts and feelings? You fear abandonment. Well, you won't live up to your potential while trying to please others who are the contrast to you."
Izar had clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The Hat was too close to the truth, too close to the doubts he had never dared to voice.
Please, Izar had thought again, picturing his parents, his uncle, Draco—all of them waiting for the Sorting to confirm what they already believed about him. Please, Slytherin. I need to be in Slytherin.
The Hat had gone silent for a long, agonising moment, as though weighing his plea.
"Very well... if that's what you truly want," it had finally said, its tone tinged with something like regret. "But remember, young Lestrange, the path you choose now may not be the one you're destined to follow. The road ahead is full of twists and turns... and you may find that the destination you seek is not where you thought it would be."
And then, louder, "SLYTHERIN!"
The cheers from the Slytherin table had jolted Izar back to the present, where Draco and the others were grinning at him, their approval clear. Maximilian had been sorted into Slytherin. But as Izar clapped along with everyone else, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had every Sorting—that he had been placed in the wrong house four years ago.
The rest of the Sorting went rather quickly. There were no hat stalls or students that took especially long. As the final student was sorted, Dumbledore approached the lectern at the front of the hall, his presence commanding as ever.
"Well, what a wonderful start to another year," Dumbledore began, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "Welcome to all first years, and welcome back to everyone else. I would like to also give a warm welcome to Professor Umbridge, who has kindly taken the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor for the coming year. I am sure we would all like to give her a warm Hogwarts welcome." He gestured toward Umbridge, but the scattered applause was half-hearted at best.
"Now, I remind you that—"
"Hem-Hem," coughed Umbridge as she stood up, interrupting Dumbledore, much to Izar's shock and surprise. She made her way towards the lectern as Dumbledore stepped back to allow her room.
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," she said, addressing the hall. "And can I just say how lovely it is to see all your lovely faces smiling up at me?" Her voice was sickly sweet like she was talking to a group of toddlers rather than a hall full of students.
Izar scowled. What on earth was she doing?
"I would like to say that there will be some changes here this year," Umbridge began, her voice dripping with a false sweetness that set Izar's teeth on edge. "I have been directly appointed as professor by the Minister himself," she added, her words punctuated by a small, self-satisfied giggle that only intensified the unease creeping through the hall.
Around Izar, the reaction was mixed. Some students, particularly the Slytherins, exchanged curious glances, intrigued by the prospect of a Ministry official within their ranks. But others, those from houses like Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their faces reflecting the same apprehension that was building in Izar's chest. The undercurrent of tension was palpable, a silent acknowledgement that this year would be different, and not in a good way.
"The Ministry of Magic has been worried over the state of Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching for some time. Too often, there have been persons who seek to change the status quo put into positions of authority. We must see that progress for progress' sake is discouraged. We have tried and tested traditions here that have worked for centuries; let us move forward and improve things as needed, preserving what needs to be preserved, perfecting what should be perfected, and removing practices that should be prohibited." She finished with a small bow to the hall, which was met with only a handful of scattered applause.
Izar looked around in shock. This woman was clearly trying to push and enforce a political agenda, and it seemed most students were either oblivious or simply too preoccupied to care. He glanced toward the Gryffindor table and saw that Harry Potter was watching Umbridge with narrowed eyes, his expression mirroring the unease Izar felt.
"She sounds like she will be an absolute laugh," Draco said, rolling his eyes sarcastically.
"She's a ministry plant," Blaise said, his tone heavy with disdain. "Here to make sure we aren't being brainwashed."
"Good job she'll only be here a year," Izar said with a small laugh. "Nobody has lasted a year in the position in decades; I doubt she's going to break the curse."
Dumbledore approached the lectern again, his expression neutral as ever. "Thank you, Professor, for the...ravaging speech," he said dryly, causing a few stifled chuckles from the students. "Now, I don't want to keep you waiting any longer. Let the feast begin."
As soon as he raised his hands, the tables were filled with an array of delicious dishes.
Izar licked his lips as he grabbed some chicken and mashed potatoes and piled them onto his plate. "Finally," he said as he began eating. "Been waiting all day for this."
The conversation during the feast ranged from Umbridge to the year ahead, with Draco bragging about how this year he would win the Quidditch Cup and beat Gryffindor. Izar rolled his eyes, though he kept his thoughts to himself. As much as he wanted Draco and Slytherin to win, he had to admit, begrudgingly, that Potter was a brilliant player. Izar also knew that Lucius was still donating generously to the Slytherin team, ensuring Draco's place on it.
Izar himself had no interest in flying at all, ever since an accident with his child's broom when he was six. He had sworn off flying after that; sure, he had only fallen about three feet, but the fear had stuck with him ever since. The idea of being up in the air, out of control, filled him with a dread he could never quite shake.
He continued to eat and chat with the others for the rest of the meal, taking more food from the platters as the night went on. He was soon full after his second helping of sticky toffee pudding, and he decided to make his way down to the dorms with the others. Draco had to stay and help direct the first years to the common room, but he told Izar the password: "Salazar."
The walk to the dorms felt endless, each step heavier than the last, as the events of the day began to catch up with him. The excitement of returning to Hogwarts, the unease of seeing familiar faces, and the lingering doubts that had been his constant companions all summer weighed on him like a thick fog. By the time he finally reached the cool, dark sanctuary of the Slytherin common room, he was more than ready to collapse into bed.
As he pulled the heavy green curtains around his four-poster bed, shutting out the rest of the world, Izar let out a long, slow breath. His mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions: hope, fear, determination, and uncertainty, but for now, all he wanted was sleep. Tomorrow, the challenges of the new school year would begin in earnest, and Izar knew he would need all his strength to face them.