Monday, 11th September

Unfortunately, they didn't get to see Umbridge be eviscerated by Snape's snarkiness during their Monday morning class, nor had she been in their History of Magic class.

Harry had another challenging wand movement session with McGonagall, although he did feel like he was at least better at it now than he had been the Monday previous, and they all had a peaceful lunch too.

Ron had caught his arm as he'd been leaving with Theo and Greengrass for Arithmancy and quietly told him that Fred and George had told him that Umbridge had been in their Charms class that morning and had hinted at "dropping in" on a few of the fifth year classes this afternoon. Harry appreciated the warning, even though there was very little he could do about it.

He sat with Hermione again for Arithmancy, although this time Theo sat on his other side, and Greengrass sat next to him. Harry was still no closer to figuring out if his theory surrounding magically powerful numbers and spell energy was true, but he was too worried about Umbridge popping up at any minute to make further progress on it.

It was with heavy, reluctant steps that he made his way to Defence Against the Dark Arts afterwards.

Umbridge was already waiting for them, humming and smiling to herself when they entered the room. Blaise made a subtle yet frantic movement at them and Harry slid into his usual seat next to the boy with a frown.

"What is it?"

Blaise glanced towards the teacher's desk and then lowered his voice. "Umbridge inspected our Divination class!"

"With Trelawney?" Theo hissed, honey-brown eyes wide, "What happened?!"

"It was brutal! Umbridge told her to predict something and, of course, we all know what Trelawney likes to predict".

Blaise rolled his eyes and the other boy winced although Harry was somewhat confused.

"What does she like to predict?" he whispered, "Can she actually predict things? She is an actual Seer, right?"

"She likes to think so" Blaise replied, "Her favourite party trick is telling you you're about to die a painful and gruesome death - you can tell why she loves me so much since all of my stepfathers' death predictions actually do come true".

"Mr Potter!"

The three boys jumped and turned only to find Umbridge standing in front of them, giving them that sickly sweet smile of hers, although her gaze remained firmly locked on Harry.

"I already told you during our first session that I expect no talking in my class" she said happily, "Detention, Mr Potter".

"But he wasn't even talking; I was!" Blaise protested, and Harry immediately stamped down on his foot to shut him up.

"Do you wish to join him, Mr Zabini?"

Harry pressed down harder until the boy visibly winced.

"No ma'am".

"Good" she replied, still smiling that dreadful smile, "My office tonight, Mr Potter. The usual time".

As she toddled back to her desk, Blaise gave him a miserable look. "I'm sorry".

"Don't worry about it" Harry whispered back.

"Make that two detentions, Mr Potter!"

He barely refrained from cursing the blasted woman.

Tuesday, 12th September

The cut on the back of Harry's hand had barely healed and by the following morning, it was bleeding again. He hadn't complained during the evening's detention; he was determined not to give Umbridge the satisfaction; over and over again he wrote I must not tell lies and not a sound escaped his lips, though the cut deepened with every letter.

Honestly, the pain he could get over, and the humiliation of it all too. The worst part was telling Montague he'd be missing the Slytherin Quidditch team's first training session tonight.

"You're what" he said flatly.

Harry had managed to stop the boy outside the Great Hall before going in for breakfast. He hadn't wanted to do it in front of the crowd inside, nor did he want to risk getting hexed if he told him in the seclusion of their common room.

"Umbridge's given me detention tonight" Harry repeated, "It starts at five, and it usually doesn't end until after curfew, so I'm going to miss training".

"Your first training" Montague said.

"Yeah. I'm sorry".

"Sorry? You're sorry?!" he hissed, leaning close, and Harry was suddenly reminded of just how muscular a guy he was, "Sorry isn't going to win us the Quidditch Cup, Potter!"

"I know it isn't, but Umbridge has it in for me, alright?! I can't control whatever stupid bloody excuses she comes up with to ruin my evenings!"

"It's our first training session!"

"Montague! Potter!" said a sharp voice, "What on earth is going on here?"

The older boy immediately took a step back and plastered a surprisingly believable smile on his face.

"Nothing at all, professor. Harry here got a bit lost so I was just bringing him to the Great Hall for breakfast".

McGonagall eyed the boy, and it was honestly fifty-fifty whether or not she believed him. "Very well, then in you go, Montague. Not you, Potter - I'd like to have a quick word".

With another subtle glare sent his way, the captain of the Quidditch team stalked into the Great Hall, leaving Harry alone with a sterner-looking-than-usual McGonagall.

"Was he telling me the truth?" she asked calmly, her dark gaze piercing.

"... No" Harry admitted, albeit reluctantly, "He's just pissed off cause I'm missing our training session tonight".

"Language, Potter!" she scolded, although her tone remained mild, "And just why are you missing your Quidditch training session tonight? Congratulations for making the team, by the way".

He snorted. "Thanks, professor… I, uh… I've got detention… again".

Her expression remained severe, but something strange flickered in her eyes.

"With Professor Umbridge, I presume?"

"Yes ma'am".

"And what did you do this time, Potter?"

She was still sounding as calm as ever, but Harry wasn't sure if that was necessarily a good thing or not. One of the boys at St Brutus had been like that - perfectly calm and pleasant and nice, until suddenly, he wasn't.

"Well, last week I was apparently smirking" he replied, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice, "And yesterday, I made the dreadful mistake of listening to what my friend was whispering before the bell even rang - apparently, that meant I was guilty of disrupting her class".

McGonagall pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. For a moment, Harry was certain she was going to reprimand him or tell him off for his "tone", but then she let out a slow sigh and her gaze softened.

"I see" she said quietly, "It appears you've become a... particular focus of Professor Umbridge's attention".

"You could say that, yeah".

McGonagall leaned in slightly, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. "I will not sugarcoat this, Potter: you must tread carefully with Professor Umbridge. Her authority is backed by the Ministry, and she will not hesitate to use it against you - or anyone else she considers an obstacle".

He immediately opened his mouth to protest, but McGonagall held up a hand to stop him.

"However" she continued, her tone hardening, "I will not stand by and allow any student to be treated unfairly. You are a member of this school, and your well-being falls under my purview - even if you do wear green instead of red".

Harry blinked, startled by the unexpected declaration.

"If you believe Professor Umbridge's detentions are excessive or unreasonable, you will inform either myself or Professor Snape immediately" McGonagall added, her gaze sharp and unwavering, "Do you understand me, Potter?"

"Yes ma'am" he replied quietly, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and guilt. He didn't want to tell McGonagall about the words carving themselves into the back of his hand - at least not yet. If Umbridge did something worse, then perhaps he would, but for now… Well. Harry always had been self-sufficient and he knew a thing or two about waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

She gave him a long, assessing look before straightening. "Good. Now, off to breakfast with you. And do try to avoid any more detentions, Potter - it's becoming quite the bad habit".

He nodded quickly and hurried into the Great Hall. As he sat down, Blaise gave him a curious look.

"Where were you until now?"

"Just in the corridor" he replied lightly, reaching for a slice of toast, "I had to tell Montague that I'll be missing our training session tonight".

"Yikes". He winced. "How did that go?"

"Not well, to say the least".

"Still though" Blaise countered, "At least he didn't hex you".

"No" Harry agreed, grabbing a butter knife, "There were far too many witnesses for that".

The owl post brought with it another letter from Lady Malfoy, which brightened his morning just a little - especially given the face Draco made when he realised who it was from.

Dear Lord Gloucester,

Allow me to begin by offering my heartfelt congratulations on your recent appointment as the seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team. Such an accomplishment is no small feat, especially considering the competitive nature of House rivalries and the weight of expectation placed upon your shoulders. I trust you will represent Slytherin well.

In relation to my son, I cannot imagine him being overly gracious regarding this development. Do not let it trouble you too much - he has been accustomed to having things go his way for far too long. A touch of humility will serve him well, and I rather suspect that this small upset may teach him a lesson he is in dire need of learning. If it is any consolation, the idea of him sulking over something so trivial as Quidditch has brought a smile to my face, and I imagine it might do the same for you.

On a more serious note, Draco has informed me of an altercation between yourself and another of your housemates. While he was light on specifics, his concern was evident, which in turn has left me somewhat concerned as well. I trust you have not been too adversely affected? Should there be anything troubling you that you feel unable to discuss with others, please know that I am more than willing to lend an ear.

Turning to the matter of your legislative ambitions, I must commend you on your resolve. Drafting a bill regarding the rights of magical beings is a noble pursuit, and one I would be delighted to assist with, if I may. My experience in this arena is considerable; I have spent much of my marriage aiding Lucius with such endeavours, albeit from a more Conservative perspective. Regardless of one's personal stance, the mechanics of legislation remain constant, and I would be honoured to share what knowledge I can.

I must confess - your words regarding the legacy of the Black and Potter families moved me. The House of Black, for all its flaws, has always prided itself on its resilience, and it pleases me to see you embracing both tradition and progress in equal measure. That said, I wonder what your godfather has taught you about the responsibilities that come with your title and station.

Forgive me for being forthright, but I find it unlikely that Sirius has provided you with the type of instruction befitting a young lord, let alone a future duke. Regardless of his stance on blood purity or tradition, the reality of your position necessitates a certain level of preparation. Making your formal debut at seventeen will demand poise, command, and a thorough understanding of noble etiquette. These skills are not mere trifles; they are tools that will ensure you navigate the often treacherous waters of society with confidence and credibility.

If you wish, I could offer guidance in this area. My own upbringing, as well as my experience in mentoring Draco, has given me some expertise. Should you decide to accept, I will, of course, defer to your comfort and preferences.

On that note, I was intrigued by your mention of French. It is heartening to know that my dear cousin Sirius has not entirely abandoned all Black traditions. Language, after all, is a gateway to diplomacy, and fluency in French will serve you well in future endeavours. If I may, I would encourage you to explore other aspects of your heritage as well - it is rich, multifaceted, and, I suspect, holds far more value than Sirius is willing to admit.

I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

Warm regards,

Narcissa Malfoy

Duchess of Wilshire

Harry wondered what else Draco had told her, although admittedly him mentioning Pucey's mock duel to his mother would only benefit Harry in the long run - at the very least, it proved to Lady Malfoy that he was worth her time.

He was glad that she'd picked up on his brief mention of Sirius teaching him French too. It wasn't much of an olive branch, all things considered, but it was a step in the right direction.

Harry folded the letter and slipped it into his robes to reply to later. No matter how miserable Umbridge intended to make him, at least he knew he had allies both inside and outside the castle.

Unfortunately, Umbridge chose to inspect some of their classes that day. Fortunately, however, she foolishly chose to inspect McGonagall's class first. As they walked into the Transfiguration room, Harry immediately spied Umbridge and her clipboard sitting in a corner, waiting for the class to begin.

"Excellent" Blaise whispered, as they sat down in their usual seats, "I'd have preferred Snape, but McGonagall's a close second. Let's see Umbridge finally get what she deserves".

Professor McGonagall marched into the room without giving the slightest indication that she knew the toad of a woman was there.

"That will do" she said and silence fell immediately, "Mr Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework. Miss Brown, please take this box of mice - don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you - and hand one to each student".

"Hem, hem" Umbridge said, employing the same silly little cough she had used to interrupt Dumbledore on the first night of term. Professor McGonagall ignored her. Finnigan handed back Harry's essay; he took it without looking at him and then saw, to his relief, that he had managed to get an EE.

"Right then, everyone, listen closely - Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention! - most of you have now successfully vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have the gist of the spell. Today we shall be-"

"Hem, hem".

"Yes?" McGonagall asked, turning round, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line.

"I was just wondering, professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec-"

"Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom" she said, turning her back firmly on Umbridge. Many of the students exchanged looks of glee. "As I was saying, today we shall be practising the altogether more difficult vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing spell-"

"Hem, hem".

"I wonder" McGonagall said in cold fury, turning on Umbridge, "how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking".

Professor Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped in the face. She did not speak but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously. Looking supremely unconcerned, McGonagall addressed the class once more.

"As I was saying, the Vanishing spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to be vanished - the mouse, as a mammal, offers a much greater challenge than the snail. This is not, therefore, magic you can accomplish with your mind on your dinner. So - you know the incantation, let me see what you can do".

Umbridge did not follow McGonagall around the class as Blaise said she'd followed Professor Trelawney; perhaps she thought that McGonagall would not permit it. She did, however, take many more notes while she sat in her corner, evidently believing that the fear of receiving a bad report would be revenge enough.

"Well, it's a start, Potter" McGonagall said, studying his wriggling mouse who was now missing a tail.

Harry grimaced and nodded. From the corner, Umbridge cleared her throat. They both ignored her. He'd only managed to successfully vanish his very judgmental snail during their extra class on Monday morning, so the fact that he was only capable of vanishing part of his mouse was irritating, yes, but also somewhat of a relief.

"Show me your wand movement".

Harry pointed his wand at the mouse, gave a swish, and clearly said, "Evanesco!"

There was another cough from Umbridge.

"Hmm". McGonagall eyed the mouse critically, which had appeared to have lost its whiskers. "Make your flick sharper at the end and try again".

Professor Umbridge gave her most pronounced cough yet.

"May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?" McGonagall asked curtly, without looking at Professor Umbridge.

"Oh no, thank you very much" she replied, with that simpering laugh Harry hated so much, "I just wondered whether I could make the teensiest interruption, Minerva?"

"I daresay you'll find you can" McGonagall said through tightly gritted teeth.

By now, the rest of the class had fallen quiet, and aside from the occasional squeaking from a mouse, the room was silent.

"I was just wondering whether Mr Potter here should really be in this class?" Umbridge asked, her voice as pleasant and sickeningly sweet as always, "I mean, after all, he has four years' worth of education to catch up on - or, so the Headmaster says".

Professor McGonagall's expression hardened, her mouth forming a thin line as she turned fully to face Umbridge. The room, already silent, seemed to hold its breath.

"Mr Potter" McGonagall began, her voice sharp with authority, "has proven himself entirely capable of excelling in this class despite what you insinuate. However, if you feel the need to discuss his prior education, I would suggest a private meeting in my office, rather than subjecting him to public scrutiny".

Umbridge's smile faltered slightly, though it quickly returned in full force.

"Oh, it's not scrutiny, Minerva, dear" she said with a saccharine laugh, "It's merely a matter of understanding. You see, the Ministry has some… concerns and it is my job as the High Inquisitor to put these concerns to rest. After all, a young man of Mr Potter's unique circumstances could be seen as a… curiosity".

Harry's stomach sank. He knew exactly what she was getting at - Rita Skeeter had plastered it all over the Daily Prophet only two weeks before - and from the sharp, calculating look in McGonagall's eyes, so did she.

"Mr Potter is a student at this school, just like any other" she replied, her voice deceptively mild, "Surely, Dolores, you would not suggest that the Minister is in the habit of singling out individual children for… special attention?"

"Of course not!" Umbridge exclaimed, her cheeks flushed a faint pink, "But one cannot deny that Mr Potter's sudden appearance at Hogwarts - after such a prolonged absence - raises some very important questions".

Her eyes flicked to Harry, brimming with false kindness. "Surely you understand, my dear boy. The Ministry simply wishes to ensure that your previous education was… properly supervised".

Harry clenched his jaw, feeling that familiar burning itch thrumming through his veins, but before he could retort, McGonagall stepped in with the precision of a striking hawk.

"Properly supervised?" she echoed, her voice now cold and cutting, "I assure you, Professor Umbridge, Mr Potter's education has been perfectly sufficient for him to meet the challenges of a Hogwarts curriculum. If you are implying otherwise, I would advise caution. Discussing such matters in this setting is wholly inappropriate and risks making baseless accusations".

"I would never!" Umbridge said, clutching her clipboard tighter, "But you must admit, Minerva, it is rather convenient that Mr Potter arrives now, just as tensions between the Ministry and certain… factions, shall we say, within this school are at their highest".

Harry felt a wave of anger surge within him, but McGonagall's next words cut through the room like a blade.

"Convenient?" she repeated icily, "Mr Potter is a fifteen-year-old boy - a student seeking an education. To suggest that his enrollment at this institution is part of some grand conspiracy is, quite frankly, absurd! Or have we reached a point, Dolores, where the Minister suspects children of insurgency?"

A ripple of murmurs passed through the class. Even the mice, now largely ignored, seemed to sense the tension in the air. Umbridge's smile faltered again, her beady little eyes losing all traces of their previous warmth.

"I'm sure you understand, Minerva" she said, her voice trembling slightly despite her attempt to sound calm, "that the Ministry has a duty to investigate potential irregularities. We must ensure that there is no undue influence shaping the minds of our students".

"And I'm sure you understand, Dolores, that Hogwarts is under the jurisdiction of its Headmaster and its staff - not the Ministry! Unless you have concrete evidence of any wrongdoing, I suggest you refrain from making such insinuations. Do not presume that you can bring politics into my classroom without redress!"

Umbridge opened her mouth to respond, but McGonagall held up a hand. She had promised to be in Harry's corner, and by god was she delivering.

"Furthermore" she continued, her voice rising slightly, "Mr Potter's achievements speak for themselves. He has earned his place in this class through effort and ability - and not through the indulgence of conspiracy theorists!"

The room erupted in muffled laughter, and Harry caught Blaise biting his lip to keep from grinning. Even Hermione, sitting on the edge of her seat, looked both furious and amused. Umbridge's face turned a blotchy shade of red, but she forced a thin smile.

"I see" she said tightly, "Well, I suppose that clears things up… for now".

"Indeed" McGonagall replied briskly, "Now, if there are no further interruptions, I suggest we return to the lesson. Potter, the Vanishing spell?"

Harry, his cheeks still burning, raised his wand, pointed it at the mouse, and directed all of his rage and indignation and disbelief and embarrassment and pure and utter fury into it.

"Evanesco!"

The mouse vanished.

"Excellent, Mr Potter" McGonagall said, a small, smug smile tugging at her lips, "Ten points to Slytherin".

From the corner, Umbridge scribbled furiously on her clipboard, her lips pressed into a thin line. But for all her efforts to hide it, Harry could tell she was seething - and that was almost as satisfying as seeing the mouse disappear.

Harry's detention with Umbridge that night was the worst one yet - but given the events of the day, he wished that he could say he was surprised.

At five o'clock that evening he knocked on her office door for what he sincerely hoped would be the last and final time, was told to enter and did so. The blank parchment lay ready for him on the lace-covered table, the pointed black quill beside it.

"You know what to do, Mr Potter" Umbridge said, smiling sweetly at him.

Harry picked up the quill and began to write. The cut in the back of his right hand opened and began to bleed afresh. I must not tell lies. The cut dug deeper, stinging and smarting. I must not tell lies. Blood trickled down his wrist. I must not tell lies. The parchment was dotted with blood. I must not tell lies. He could hear the scratching of Umbridge's quill every few minutes, and occasionally the sound was joined by the opening of a desk drawer. Outside, the sky was darkening. When Harry next looked up, night had fallen.

"Let's see if you've gotten the message yet, shall we?" Umbridge's soft voice said half an hour later.

She moved toward him, stretching out her short-ringed fingers for his arm. As she took hold of him to examine the words now cut into his skin, her nails dug in deep and pain seared across the back of his hand.

Umbridge looked at him, a smile stretching her wide, slack mouth. "Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?"

Harry didn't answer, afraid that if he did, a curse would come out instead. Her stubby fingers continued to grip his wrist, the pain in his hand now eclipsed by the searing anger boiling in his chest. She leaned in closer, her sickly sweet breath hot against his face, her eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction.

"You may have fooled the rest of the school, Potter" she whispered, her voice oozing triumph, "Even some of the staff, it seems. But not me. Oh no, I see right through you. You and Dumbledore have been scheming, plotting to overthrow the Minister. Don't try to deny it - I know the truth".

Harry stared at her, his mouth slightly open, utterly incredulous. His exhaustion and the lingering pain in his hand did nothing to temper the flood of rage and disbelief that surged within him. The locket beneath his robes burned and he only just resisted the urge to clutch onto it.

"You're insane" he said, his voice low and dangerous. Umbridge's smile widened, but there was a twitch at the corner of her mouth, betraying her fragile veneer of confidence.

"Oh, poor little Potter" she cooed, her tone condescending, "You really think you're clever, don't you? But I know what you're up to. The Minister has been most explicit about the lengths Dumbledore might go to in his quest for power".

"You think Dumbledore wants power?" Harry spat, pulling his hand from her grip so forcefully that her nails scratched him. He ignored the sharp sting and instead leapt to his feet. "You've got it completely wrong! He doesn't care about power-"

"Of course he does!" she snapped, "I know all about the two of you. Dumbledore pulled you out of whatever hole he's been hiding you in for years just to use you as a pawn! He's always craved power, always sought to undermine the Ministry, and you - oh, you're his golden ticket, aren't you? The Boy Who Lived, the tragic hero. You'll march into the Wizengamot, spouting tales of conspiracy and treachery, and the next thing we know, Dumbledore's sitting in the Minister's chair!"

"That's just- just absolutely ridiculous!" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You truly are beyond stupid if you honestly think that-"

"Watch your tone, Potter!" she said sharply, her face darkening and the smugness slipping away, "Your loyalty to that old fool is touching but it will not protect you from the consequences of your actions. Do not think for a moment that I will hesitate to act. I know exactly what you are-"

"You don't know anything" Harry said coldly, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside him, "You think you're so clever, but you're not. You've spent so much time trying to sniff out imaginary plots that could harm the Minister that you've missed the real threat!"

Umbridge stiffened, her beady eyes narrowing. "And what threat would that be, Mr Potter?"

Harry hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he was treading in dangerous waters, but he couldn't stop himself.

"Voldemort" he said, the word carrying through the room like a cannon blast.

Umbridge flinched at the name, her face twisting in disgust.

"How dare you speak that name in my presence!" she hissed, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and fury, "There is no evidence that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned! The Minister has made that perfectly clear, and the Ministry has found no proof to support such wild, baseless claims!"

Harry took another step forward, his green eyes blazing with defiance. "Of course you haven't found proof, because you're too busy going after the wrong people! You're so busy persecuting me and Dumbledore that you've actually somehow missed the fact that the Minister's new best friend is Lord Voldemort!"

"I am- I mean, that's not- He isn't- The Minister has me and-"

"Oh, so that's what this is about" Harry interrupted, with a derisive laugh, "Lord Slytherin has kicked you out of the picture, huh? The Minister's found new playmates to have lunch with, and you're so furious and so- so bloody terrified that you're about to be replaced that you've started a bloody witch hunt at Hogwarts just to try and prove yourself to him-"

"ENOUGH!" Umbridge shrieked, her face now a blotchy, angry red, "You will not spread your lies in this castle, Potter! You will not undermine the authority of the Ministry! Do you hear me?!"

"I hear you loud and clear" Harry said, his voice perfectly level, "You're terrified of the truth. And that's why you'll lose. Because you'd rather bury your head in the sand than face reality".

The sudden silence was suffocating, the tension so thick it felt like it might shatter the air itself. Umbridge's mouth curled, her eyes narrowing into slits.

"You are just like him!" she hissed finally, her voice venomous, "Arrogant, defiant, and wild! But you'll see, Mr Potter. The Ministry always wins!"

She straightened, her beady eyes bulging, her lips quivering.

"You may leave" she snapped, "But mark my words, Potter - your defiance will not go unpunished!"

Harry didn't need telling twice. He grabbed his bag, stuffed the parchment dripping with his blood into it, and then turned on his heel and stormed out of the office. As soon as he was out of sight, he yanked at the chain around his neck until he could grip the locket tightly, feeling its soothing warmth rush through him like a wave.

His heart was hammering in his chest and his hand still stung like hell - but he couldn't bring himself to care. For all of her threats, all of her cruelty, all of her insanity, one thing was certain: Umbridge didn't know anything. And Harry had long since learned that the best enemy to have was the one stupid enough to think themselves invincible.

Friday, 15th September

The letter from the Magical Child Protection Services arrived on Friday morning.

Umbridge had completely ignored him in the fifth-year DADA class yesterday, and his lack of detention meant he could attend the Slytherin Quidditch team training session last night too. Theo had idly commented on Umbridge's sudden change of heart, but Harry wasn't so sure there was reason to celebrate just yet.

Her warning about his argument with her not going unpunished plagued his mind every time he felt her pouchy eyes on him. He didn't think she'd given up on making him suffer in the slightest - Harry thought she was merely biding her time while planning something truly awful to spring on him as soon as he let his guard down. It's what he would do, after all.

At least the cuts on the back of his hand had started to fade. Snape's tutoring of Vulnera Sanentur hadn't gone to waste, and although he'd had to return the man's vial of Dittany a few days before to avoid suspicion, the scars on his hand would be faint once they finally healed - invisible, almost, unless you looked closer.

The sound of rustling paper and clinking cutlery filled the Great Hall as Harry sat at the Slytherin table, absently picking at his breakfast. Blaise, Theo and Greengrass were deep in a hushed discussion about some assignment for Ancient Runes, while Draco sat downing multiple mugs of coffee, fully engrossed in the latest Daily Prophet despite Parkinson's best attempts at drawing him into conservation. Tracey and Millicent were chatting animatedly, and for once, everything felt... normal.

That was, until a sleek Ministry owl swooped down, a letter tied securely to its leg. It landed directly in front of Harry, who stared at it for a moment before hesitantly untying the envelope. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the official seal of the Ministry on the back.

"What's that?" Malfoy demanded, his sharp gaze catching the tension in Harry's face.

"Nothing" he said quickly, pulling off the seal and slipping it into his robes, "Just a letter from the bank, that's all".

Draco narrowed his eyes at him but didn't press further, instead turning back to his paper, much to Parkinson's chagrin. Harry barely registered her glare; his pulse was pounding loudly in his ears though he was careful to keep his expression neutral.

Pulling out the letter, he took a deep breath and then slowly unfolded it.

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that your temporary guardianship under Lord Sirius Orion Black, Duke of London, has been officially granted as per the guidelines of the Ministry of Magic's Custodial Act.

As part of the adoption process, representatives from the Magical Child Protection Services will conduct standard evaluations over the coming months to ensure the well-being of all parties involved.

Should you have any questions or concerns, do not hesitate to contact our office at the Ministry.

Sincerely,

Meredith Gladhill

Head of the Magical Child Protection Services

Harry read the letter twice, then a third time, his heart racing with a strange mix of relief and disbelief. It was real. This wasn't just Sirius making bold declarations or trying to cheer him up. The Ministry had officially recognized him as his temporary guardian.

He wasn't going back to St Brutus. And he wasn't going back to the Dursleys. Ever.

A small, shaky smile tugged at his lips. For the first time in his life, Harry felt a profound, almost giddy sense of security. He had a home - an actual home - with people who cared about him, people who would fight for him. It was almost too good to be true.

Harry folded the letter carefully, sliding it into his robes as if afraid it might vanish if he didn't guard it. He glanced around, checking to see if anyone had noticed his reaction. Blaise was now gesturing animatedly about runes, and Theo was laughing quietly. Even Malfoy seemed oblivious, still absorbed in his paper.

But then, Draco turned to Harry, eyes sharp. "Whatever that 'bank letter' was has you grinning like an idiot. What, did Gringotts give you a vault upgrade or something?"

Harry schooled his expression into neutrality, though the corners of his mouth twitched. "Something like that" he replied lightly.

"Hmm" Malfoy said, narrowing his eyes again, but before he could press further, Parkinson waved her hand in front of his face to get his attention. "Draco, I've been trying to talk to you for ten minutes! What did you write about for our Charms homework?"

"Ugh! For the last time, Pansy-"

Harry let out a breath, turning his attention back to his plate as he worked to keep the growing smile off his face. For once, something had gone right. Sure, this was only a temporary guardianship, but he couldn't foresee any reason why the MCPS wouldn't make it official after they checked all the right boxes.

The point was, he wasn't alone anymore. And no matter what Umbridge or the Ministry tried to throw at him, Harry knew he had people in his corner. That thought brought yet another small, determined smile to his face.

Let them come, he thought somewhat viciously, he'd be ready.