The school year had just begun and Slytherin common room was quiet and dimly lit, the greenish glow from the enchanted windows casting shadows across the walls. Hermione sat curled up in a leather armchair near the fireplace, her books and parchment spread out around her as she reviewed her Potions notes. She had chosen a quiet corner where she could work undisturbed, enjoying the rare moment of peace in an otherwise hectic term.

She was just about to jot down a note when she heard quick footsteps behind her. Before she could look up, Draco flopped onto the arm of her chair, his face bright with barely contained laughter.

"You're not going to believe what just happened on the Quidditch pitch," he said, practically bouncing with glee.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, closing her Potions book and setting it aside. "I take it this has something to do with the Gryffindor tryouts?"

"Oh, it has everything to do with the Gryffindor tryouts," Draco said, grinning from ear to ear. "Guess who decided to try out for Keeper this year?"

She blinked, confused. "Well, Harry's already Seeker, and the Weasley twins play Beater, so…"

"Weasley!" Draco burst out, unable to keep a straight face any longer. "Ron Weasley thought he'd try his hand at Keeper, and let's just say it was… not exactly successful."

Hermione bit her lip, trying to hide a smile as she imagined Ron—tall, lanky, and famously awkward—trying to block the Quaffle. "Oh no," she murmured, though there was a trace of amusement in her voice. "Was it really that bad?"

Draco chuckled. "Bad doesn't even begin to cover it. He practically knocked himself off his broom in the first five minutes. By the end of it, I swear he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world." He shook his head, clearly reliving the memory. "I thought Potter was going to lose his mind, but he kept it together… mostly. The other Gryffindors, though, they were all whispering, and it was just… painful to watch."

Hermione couldn't help a small laugh. "Poor Ron. Was all of Gryffindor watching?"

"Oh, they were watching, alright," Draco said, still smirking. "The Weasley twins were trying to be supportive, but even they couldn't hold back their laughs. They were practically falling off their brooms, cheering him on with lines like 'Great form, Ron!' and 'Almost had that one!' It was brutal."

Hermione covered her mouth, half-horrified and half-amused. "It's not easy putting yourself out there in front of everyone like that."

"Maybe not, but it doesn't stop it from being hilarious," Draco said, his eyes gleaming with mirth. "He's got guts, I'll give him that, but I think he'll need a bit more than that to make the team."

Hermione sighed, giving him a look. "Draco, I know you enjoy mocking Ron, but can't you give him credit for trying?"

Draco rolled his eyes but softened his tone slightly. "Alright, maybe he does get some points for effort. But still… did you honestly think I'd let this opportunity go by without telling you? I mean, come on, even you have to admit it's funny."

Hermione pressed her lips together, suppressing a smile. "Well… I suppose it is a little funny. You know you don't have to mock him for it to his face right? Telling me all about it could be enough."

Draco feigned innocence, clutching his chest in mock offense. "Why, Hermione, I'm shocked you'd think so little of me! I'm perfectly capable of showing restraint."

She shot him a skeptical look, crossing her arms. "Right. You, showing restraint. That's new."

Draco chuckled, leaning back in his seat, clearly pleased with himself. "Alright, I'll behave. For now, anyway. But if I catch him stumbling around the pitch during the first game… no promises."

Hermione shook her head, unable to keep herself from smiling. Despite Draco's teasing, she could see the humor in the situation, and she couldn't help but think of Ron's determination and his frequent mishaps. Maybe it was endearing in its own way.

"Now," Draco said, nudging her pile of notes with a playful nudge, "tell me what's so interesting here that you'd rather be buried in books than out in the sunshine?"

Hermione smirked, arching an eyebrow. "Some of us actually like studying, you know. Not everything's about Quidditch."

Draco huffed, pretending to be scandalized. "Careful, Granger, or people might start thinking you're a Ravenclaw."

She laughed, playfully nudging him in return. "Or you a Gryffindor. All that talk about bravery."

Hermione sat alone in a quiet corner of the library, her books spread around her in a haphazard semicircle. She was pouring over a particularly thick volume on defensive spells, carefully tracing each wand movement diagram with her finger, committing it to memory. Ever since Professor Umbridge had taken over Defense Against the Dark Arts, Hermione felt as though she'd learned nothing worthwhile. Umbridge's "lessons" were nothing but thinly veiled Ministry propaganda, and her refusal to teach practical magic left Hermione infuriated—and deeply concerned. Hermione knew the world outside Hogwarts was dangerous, and she couldn't afford to sit back and pretend everything was fine just because the Ministry said so. As she scanned the page on Shield Charms, her frustration fed into determination. She would just have to teacher herself the Year 5 material apparently.

She looked up as someone approached her table.

"Hey," Harry said softly, sliding into the chair across from her.

"Hey," Hermione replied, setting down her quill. "What's wrong?"

Harry hesitated, eyes darting around the room as if checking for eavesdroppers. His face was paler than usual, and his eyes held a tightness that made Hermione's heart drop.

"Umbridge," he muttered, leaning closer. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as if saying her name too loudly might summon the woman herself. "Her detentions."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "What about them?" she asked, dreading his answer.

Harry fidgeted with the edge of his robe, his fingers white-knuckled. He seemed to struggle with the words, the emotions tangled up with them. Finally, he took a deep breath, his jaw clenched. "It's not normal detention," he said, barely above a whisper. "She… she makes me write lines, but the quill—" He paused, glancing down at his hand. "It cuts the words into my skin."

Hermione felt the floor drop out from under her. "It what?" she asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and horror.

Harry clenched his fist and slowly showed her the back of his hand. Her breath caught as she saw the angry, red scars spelling out "I must not tell lies". The skin was raw and irritated, as if the words had been carved over and over again.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered, her heart aching. She reached out instinctively, wanting to do something—anything—to make it better. "This is—this is torture."

"It's fine," Harry said quickly, pulling his hand away and shoving it into his robe pocket. But his voice betrayed him, heavy with bitterness. "It hurts, but… it's not like I can do anything about it, can I? If I complain, no one's going to believe me—not with her working for the Ministry."

Hermione felt anger boiling up inside her, hot and fierce. She knew Umbridge was a useless teacher, but this was beyond anything she could have ever imagined. But beneath her fury, something else lingered—an insistent, uncomfortable truth she hadn't fully faced. Dumbledore knew about Umbridge's appointment, and he was doing nothing. It was like he'd left them all to fend for themselves. What kind of headmaster allowed this to happen? How was this for "the Greater Good"? She took a steadying breath, struggling to keep her voice even. "Harry, this isn't just wrong—it's illegal. What she's doing, it's—it's barbaric," she said fiercely, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"What am I supposed to do?" Harry asked, his voice rising in frustration. "Go to Dumbledore? He won't even look at me anymore! Or McGonagall? She's got to be careful herself—she's already on Umbridge's radar."

"But Harry," she said, her voice firm and steady, "you're a student. You're a child. What she's doing to you—it's not your job to endure it or figure it out alone. We have to find a way to stop her."

Harry shook his head, looking down at the table. "She's working for the Ministry. Who's going to believe me over them?"

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. They couldn't go to Dumbledore, not when he was so distant and unreachable. She hated that she couldn't bring herself to trust him, hated the quiet resentment simmering beneath her skin. But she couldn't tell Harry that.

"Listen," she said, choosing her words carefully, "I'm going to help you, Harry. You can't go through this alone." She glanced at Harry, knowing her next words might not sit well with him. "I think... maybe we should consider speaking with Lucius. He stepped in when Draco got hurt in Care of Magical Creatures third year. Maybe he can do something about Umbridge now."

"Lucius Malfoy? Look, Hermione, I know he's great to you and all but he's still a Death Eater."

"WAS a Death Eater. And I know it sounds—" Hermione paused, searching for the right word. "Unusual," she admitted, "but hear me out. He's not the Ministry, but he has influence there, and he's certainly not Dumbledore."

Harry frowned, clearly struggling to reconcile the idea. "He's still—" he started, the unspoken 'a Malfoy' hanging heavily in the air between them.

"I know," Hermione cut in, her voice firm but not harsh. "But right now, the Ministry is ignoring the truth, and Dumbledore isn't exactly being forthright with us either." She didn't want to acknowledge her deepening mistrust of the Headmaster out loud—especially not to Harry, who was still grappling with his own feelings of abandonment—but they both knew Dumbledore was keeping him in the dark.

"Lucius, for all his faults, understands how the Ministry works. He knows their weak spots, the people pulling the strings. And," she added quietly, leaning in, "he's actively chosen not to return to Voldemort's side. That could mean he's more willing to help than we think."

Harry was silent for a moment, eyes narrowed as if weighing the risks. Hermione could almost see the objections running through his mind, but she pressed on before he could voice them. "I'm not saying you have to trust him completely. Just… consider the possibility that he might have information—about the Ministry, about Voldemort's return—that could help you. And he's certainly in a position to get answers we can't."

Harry's jaw tightened, and she could see him struggling with the idea. Lucius Malfoy had never been a friend, and trusting someone so closely tied to the old pure-blood ideals wasn't an easy leap to make. But desperate times called for unexpected alliances, Harry must understand that. And Harry was a child, he should not be expected to deal with any of this.

"I just… I think there aren't a lot of options," she said softly. "And right now, we need every advantage we can get."

It was late afternoon at the Ministry of Magic, and the hallways buzzed with the usual bureaucratic clamor. Lucius Malfoy swept through the corridors with a sense of purpose, his silver-topped cane tapping rhythmically against the polished floors. His expression was carefully composed, but a tension tightened his jaw.

He arrived at the large double doors of the Wizarding Education Board meeting room, Lucius knocked sharply and entered, his presence commanding immediate attention. Inside, the room was filled with members of the school board, along with a few Ministry officials overseeing educational affairs. The chair of the board, a stern-looking wizard with a graying beard, looked up as Lucius stepped forward.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," the chair greeted, though his voice held a note of reluctance. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Lucius inclined his head gracefully, but his eyes were sharp. "I have urgent concerns to bring to your attention regarding the new Defense of the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts, Dolores Umbridge."

There were murmurs of surprise from the members of the board. Umbridge had been appointed with the full backing of the Ministry, and any dissent against her methods had so far been quickly squashed but Lucius Malfoy was not going to be an errant parent that could be placated.

"I assume you're aware of the disciplinary measures she's implemented at the school?" Lucius continued, his voice carrying a cold edge.

One of the board members, a middle-aged witch with spectacles, raised an eyebrow. "What measures are you referring to, Mr. Malfoy?"

Lucius took a step forward, his grip on his cane tightening slightly. "I refer to the cruel, excessive punishments she is inflicting upon students—particularly the use of enchanted quills that leave physical scars. I have learned that several students, including my son, have been subjected to this form of torture."

He let that word hang in the air—torture. It was deliberate, spoken with enough force to make the members shift uncomfortably in their seats.

The chair of the board cleared his throat. "Mr. Malfoy, surely you exaggerate. Professor Umbridge is a valued representative of the Ministry and—"

"I do not exaggerate," Lucius interrupted smoothly, but his eyes flashed with anger. "I may no longer serve certain… interests, but I still value the safety and well-being of the students at Hogwarts. And I do not take kindly to any witch or wizard inflicting harm on my son or his peers."

"And what proof do you offer of these claims?" another board member asked, a note of skepticism in his voice.

Lucius drew himself up, exuding an air of practiced confidence. "I have testimonies from multiple students, including Slytherins who, as you know, are traditionally wary of expressing grievances. And if that is insufficient, I am willing to provide evidence of the physical marks left on my son's hand after these so-called detentions.

"This matter cannot be ignored," Lucius pressed on, his voice lowering to a dangerous calm. "As members of this board, you have a responsibility to ensure the safety of the students entrusted to Hogwarts' care. I demand that an inquiry be launched into Professor Umbridge's conduct immediately. Her actions are not only illegal but reflect poorly on this board and the Ministry as a whole."

A murmur of agreement spread through the room. The chair of the board looked distinctly uncomfortable but could not dismiss Lucius's words outright.

"We will… review the matter and conduct a formal inquiry," the chair finally said, clearly aware that opposing Lucius in this instance could have serious repercussions.

"See that you do," Lucius replied coldly, his eyes narrowing. "Because if I find that this matter is swept under the rug, rest assured that I will bring it before the Wizengamot."

The threat was clear, and the board members exchanged uneasy glances. Lucius was not bluffing; his influence, though waning in some circles, still held considerable weight in others. And while he had once played the game of alliances and manipulations, this time he was acting purely out of concern for his family—and for those innocents caught in the crossfire of Umbridge's tyranny.

Lucius gave a curt nod, turned on his heel, and swept out of the room, leaving a tense silence in his wake. He had done what needed to be done. Now, all he could do was wait and ensure that his actions carried enough force to make a difference.