Chapter Three - The Pink Witch

Draco

Longbottom stood outside the Great Hall on Wednesday. Who he was waiting for, Draco didn't know, but he wasn't about to wait around to figure out what sort of creature Longbottom thought he had a chance of seducing.

His feet made soft tromps on the stone floor as he foraged his way towards breakfast, but Longbottom was attentive. He spotted Draco scarcely ten seconds after Draco had detected him, and straightened up by the door. Draco was baffled.

"Wizards and Witches, surely this bumbling half-a-wizard doesn't think he can honestly stop Mr. Draco Malfoy?" His mental audience laughed. "At least he's finally starting to grow a pair – puberty must have forgotten about this one for a bit!"

As Draco made to enter the great hall, Longbottom stepped in front of him. He looked out of breath just from that effort. Big oaf. Draco could tell Longbottom was nervous beyond wit, but he still straightened up in front of Draco.

"Good morning, Malfoy," He said. "Did you… sleep well?"

Malfoy stared. "Why are you talking to me?" he snapped.

Longbottom quaked. His new herbology boots were too big for him and the sides of the shoes made a flapping sound as they hit Longbottom's legs – from the shaking. Or, at least, Malfoy hoped it was the boots he was hearing, not the excess fat on the pudgy boy's legs. "I was wondering where you were last night," he said.

Last night? It took a moment to connect the dots. Yesterday was Tuesday. He'd spent the evening narrating and re-narrating a letter to his mother, trying to get a feel for how tense things were at home. But then he recalled his anger and dismay, which he'd buried under a healthy amount of resent. The study group had met yesterday.

"I was busy," he lied.

"Well…" Longbottom took a deep breath. "Clear your schedule then! We need you."

Draco's shoulders fell in shock. His school bag fell right off his shoulders. "Excuse me?" he asked.

Longbottom set his lower lip in place. "We need you," he said. "I haven't learned as much about potions in four years as I did in five minutes when you were talking."

"Not my problem," Draco spat. "It's not my fault you're a big, bumbling-"

"Shove off, Malfoy," a voice came from behind them. Draco didn't need to turn around. He could smell Weasley from a distance, and where Weasley went, Potter went.

"It's fine, Harry," Longbottom said. "Look, Malfoy, I don't like you, you don't like me. But… you're a great teacher! Hermione… I mean, she's great. But… I mean…"

Weasley and Potter came into Draco's periphery as they took stances beside Longbottom. Weasley had been glaring daggers at Draco, but as Longbottom continued to talk, he stared at Longbottom, shocked. Finally, it was Potter – as it usually was – who broke in to finish the conflict.

"Hermione is smarter than you," Potter said. "But things really went to hell without you yesterday. She left after only twenty minutes."

Draco laughed. Twenty minutes? He had anticipated Granger quitting. But he had anticipated it would last at least two weeks without him mediating between her and the rest of the group. There was a reason she hadn't been drawn into ten other study groups as of yet. No one liked her and she thought everyone around her was an idiot. She didn't have the patience to explain anything. But still…

"Piss off," Draco said. "If you think I'm going to-"

"Either way, I owe you an apology," Potter interrupted, loudly. A couple other students passing by were startled, paused, and then stared - flabbergasted. Weasley looked shocked and furious, like he was about to change course and fist-fight Potter instead of Draco. The tips of Potter's ears turned pink, but he continued to speak in a louder-than-normal tone. "We took your parchment. We accused you. But there was nothing wrong with it. And we're sorry."

A couple students were poking their heads out of the great hall to witness Harry Potter apologising to Draco Malfoy. Draco didn't flinch. "We?" he asked softly.

Potter huffed. "I-"

"I can make my own apology, Harry," a voice said from the great hall entrance.

Granger's face had cleared up considerably. The cream that Madam Pomfrey had given her had seemingly gone the extra mile, and her skin was glowing. The only remnants of Malfoy's spell was a portion of "M" that had landed along her hairline and probably wasn't as easy to apply the cream to. She took a few steps forward. "I hit your hand with a book. I took your parchment. I didn't…" she stopped here, as if the words were bitter to taste. "… listen to you." The apology fell flat for a moment. Then she resumed. "I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

There was a very, very long pause. Draco could sense the waiting shock of the other students. His stomach growled. After several long seconds, there was a sound at the door.

"He-hem."

Draco turned towards the pink-robed teacher – Professor Umbridge – and nodded cordially to her. "Yes, professor?"

"What's going on here?" Umbridge asked in a sweet tone. "Why is everyone gathering outside the doors?"

"Because we're discussing a study group," Draco said. He glanced over to Longbottom, Granger, Potter, and Weasley. "Tuesdays, then?"

Longbottom gave a massive sigh of relief. "Oh, thank merlin."

Granger also looked relieved. "If you're not too busy-"

"I'm not half-stupid, Granger."

"Right."

"He-hem," Professor Umbridge said from the doors. Her smile had grown strained. "And, what exactly does this study group cover?"

"Transfiguration, Professor," Granger said. "And potions." She gestured to Draco. "Malfoy is a wonderful potions teacher."

"Is that so?"

Another person had materialised, walking from the direction of the dungeons. It was Professor Snape. Draco couldn't decide if he looked constipated, tired, hungry, confused, or angry. Hopefully not angry. Snape was his godfather. He could easily – though he hadn't, in years past – pass information on to his parents.

Snape stared into Draco's soul, squinting. "Perhaps Mr. Malfoy will be able to prevent your grandmother from having to purchase a ninth cauldron in five years, eh, Longbottom?"

Something reared up inside Draco. He was a perfectly competent teacher, thank-you-very-much, and if anyone could prevent Longbottom from being a dismal failure, it was probably him.

Snape's eyes suddenly flit to the left. "Professor Dumbledore," he said calmly. "It appears that an inter-house study group is forming."

Draco glanced to the left. Dumbledore was coming down the stairs, on his way to breakfast. His beard was plaited and a flower tucked into the end of it. "So I've heard," he said. "Good morning everyone."

Dumbledore paused by a second-year with very nice lilac robes on. "Ten points to Ravenclaw," he told her jovially. "For getting ready for the day at such an early hour. You can see, I've not quite accomplished the same." He lifted the end of his robes and revealed sock-clothed feet. "My shoes must have walked off by themselves because I can't find them."

The second-year giggled. Draco rolled his eyes. Dumbledore glanced over at them. "Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, five points to Gryffindor for displaying courage and bravery."

"Courage and bravery?" Snape snarled. His face was losing its pale demeanour and turning bright red.

"It is very easy to reconcile to a friend," Dumbledore said. "It is very difficult to reconcile to an enemy." He turned to Draco, hummed, and pulled his wand out of his pocket. With a flick, Draco's tie straightened itself. He hadn't even noticed it was crooked. "And twenty points to Slytherin," he said. "For a grand undertaking. I understand this idea was yours, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco could have blown steam out of his ears. So much for keeping his participation on the down-low. But he nodded stiffly.

"Thank you, Professor," Granger said.

Dumbledore nodded with a smile and continued into the great hall. Draco made to follow him, with only a short pause to nod again at Potter, Granger, and Longbottom. "Tuesdays."

Nott would not lay off of him all breakfast long. "What're you doing, studying with the enemy?" He snarled. "What happened to showing Potter and Weasley what's what?"

"Lay off, Nott," Draco snapped. He was tempted to say something cryptic, like "you have to know the enemy to take down the enemy", but knew that if word got back to Granger, Potter, Weasley, or anyone in the group, he'd be shunned and the entire thing would fall apart. This was as inside a job as he'd ever done before.

He worried that everyone would be talking about it all day but by the time lunch rolled around, there was a new hot topic around school. The Gryffindors had had a class with Professor Umbridge, and apparently it had turned into a dumpster fire. Harry Potter said You-Know-Who's name in the middle of class, the entirety of the Gryffindor fifth years had rebelled against the class objectives(with Hermione Granger leading) and Professor Umbridge had revealed that no one – no one – would be practicing magic in that class all year round.

Even the Slytherins were cautious. After all, they had to take the same OWLs as everyone else. But more than that, they were the ones who had to go home to dangerous places.

"Your study group is starting to make a lot more sense," Nott moaned when the Ravenclaws confirmed what had been heard from the Gryffindors. "I bet Potter could teach a hell of a Defence Against the Dark Arts Class."

Draco found himself nodding – along with Goyle, Zabini, and Daphne Greengrass. Pansy Parkinson made a face. "I'd rather dig my grave now than cast my lot with Potter."

Again, Draco found himself nodding along. Though, he reasoned, this stupid study group had done both for him in one go.

There was good news – the gameskeeper was gone and, if what he'd heard from his parents was true, getting beaten up by giants up north. The new teacher was far more competent and focused and Draco actually enjoyed learning about bowtruckles.

Other good news – Weasley was named Gryffindor keeper. Perfect. The moment he heard, Draco began writing words to a song for the Slytherins. Weasley will help us win? No… Weasley saves the day?

Both of those could be too easily sang by Gryffindors.

Then, Draco came up with the line "he always lets the Quaffle in" and the heavens began to open.

Tuesday came relatively quickly, and Draco made his way to the library. Since both the previous sessions had ended badly, Madam Pince was keeping a close eye on them. The study session had grown to include a few more Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs, and Blaise Zabini, which shocked Draco more than just about anything could.

At least, until he saw the back of Harry Potter's hand.

They all began by discussing moonstone properties. Granger gave a big, long list of them, and then they methodically broke them apart to talk about them. Potter was taking shaky, slow notes when Draco noticed the back of his hand. "Cut yourself, clumsy Potter?" he asked across the table.

Potter immediately hid his hand.

None of the other students were really… warm to Potter. Apparently Seamus Finnigan and he had had a falling out over Potter continuing to say that You-Know-Who was back. Draco appreciated the naivety of his classmates – he wished he could still have his. But anyway, despite so many having reservations about Potter, each of them turned with concern at his hand. "Shove off, Malfoy," Potter snapped.

"No, really, which broom cupboard did you slam it in this week? Were you with anyone?"

"Shove off, Malfoy," Weasley said. He had showed up for this session, hoping to glean some ideas for his essay. Thus far, he had two paragraphs, which was two more than Draco had expected him to have.

"Was it that crazy loony girl? Or was it Cedric Diggory's-"

Hermione Granger slammed her book of Potions down on the table. "You knock that off, right now!" she snapped. "Or you can leave!"

The threat was simple, but good. Draco quieted down. "Alright," he said, simply.

"He-hem."

The table turned as one and was dismayed as one to see Professor Umbridge. She wandered close to the table. "I was just popping over to see what you were studying."

There was a long pause. Draco remembered her question from last Wednesday, about what they were planning on studying. Odd that she just happened to be dropping in.

"Potions," he said. "And transfiguration. We're going to try and turn Potter into a competent student."

Despite the concern that had been on display less than a minute ago, most people around the table chuckled. Umbridge craned her neck over their papers and Draco felt the urge to cover up their work. Weasley actually did. "Good," she said, taking her finger and counting… students? Quills? All the way down the table. "Well, just remember that there is to be no spell-casting in the library."

She headed off, but not far enough off that she was out of earshot. A polite distance, Draco thought. Weasley leaned forward. "It's like she doesn't want us to learn defence at all."

Draco, still watching Umbridge, felt his lips move almost without his command. But another voice overlapped his at that moment. "She doesn't," he and Potter both said. Then, glancing across the table at each other, they mirrored frowns and scoffs before returning to what they were working on.

"Right… um… moonstone…" Hermione trailed off, unsure of how to handle the situation.

"Can we take a break on moonstone?" Zabini asked. "History of Magic is killing me. I keep thinking it'd be interesting with a different teacher and now that Granger's got a study group going, I want to use her."

Granger deadpanned. "Use me?" She asked, blandly. The group chuckled again and Draco found himself cracking a smile. With a roll of her eyes, she switched textbooks and began outlining a war that had been described earlier in class. Draco worried for a moment that everyone would lose attention, then remembered that was his job anyway. "This year, we get a bit of semi-modern history. We're talking about how the British Wizengamot's bribes to the Austrian Magical Government influenced the Napoleonic Wars in 1803."

"Was Napoleon a wizard?" Seamus Finnegan asked.

"I don't remember Napoleon being mentioned in class," Potter said, confused.

"Who's Napoleon?" Weasley asked.

"You were asleep," Granger told Potter and Weasley. Then, to Finnegan, "No, but once he became First Consul, he learned about the wizards and threatened to expose them if they didn't aide him in his battles."

"But we're focusing on the financial side of things," Blaise Zabini said. "The British didn't like Napoleon or the French, but being on an island made war difficult. So they paid Austria to do it for them."

"Austria had a treaty with Napoleon, promising to never fight him again," Granger said. "Some people theorise that, because of Wizarding bribes between British and Austrian Wizengamots, the Austrian magical government may have infiltrated the Austrian muggle government and convinced the King to declare war again, in violation of the agreement."

"But Austria hated France anyway," Zabini said. "So, who is to say?"

Draco's chest suddenly felt constricted. The tale felt as old as time. "Receipts," he said. "The Parkinson Family was tied up in it and they ended up running out of money for a time when the war turned unprofitable. Of course, there's privacy, but when you pledge your money to a bad cause and then that cause ends… it's all gone in a moment."

He felt as if he were foretelling the demise of his own family fortune. He tried to remind himself that connections could make up for it – the Parkinson family was well off again. But in his lifetime? Not a chance.

Potter was staring at him from underneath his hair fringe. When Draco caught him staring, he glared. But Potter didn't flinch.

They formed discussions, walking through the events, chatting, and then gradually a few got up to leave. Draco made to pack up, but Blaise nudged his arm and made a subtle gesture to Potter. Draco's eyebrows knit together. What was he on about?

Blaise attempted to mouth something. Draco continued to stare blankly. Blaise sighed and stood, gesturing for him to get up. As the two passed Granger, Potter, and Weasley, Blaise actually stopped to give each a cordial nod. Potter examined the two of them briefly, and Draco could tell his hand was on his wand, but neither moved or an attack or a dig at the other. He and Blaise headed for the exits. After two corners, Blaise leaned over. "I thought you should ask Potter about Defence."

Draco felt his face scrunch up. "Dealing with Granger without laying into her is hard enough." He yanked the strap on his bag and felt the contents hit his spine in an oddly-satisfying way. "Potter would drive me absolutely mad."

"Well, how else are we going to learn it? Professor Umbridge doesn't care and you have to go home to whatever's left…" Blaise looked at him meaningfully.

Draco was startled. "How do you know about that?" He asked.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Malfoy. We're not idiots. Half the house knows your father's sold his life away." Blaise dared a glance up and down the abandoned hallway. "He may be powerful, but being his servant is a death sentence – that much is clear."

Draco knew that Blaise wasn't talking about his father, Lucius. However, he was right. And the main class that could help him was almost certainly out of order.

He was between a rock and a hard place.

The headline the next morning ended up being the tipping point.

Ministry Seeks Educational Reform

Delores Umbridge Appointed First-Ever High Inquisitor

Draco read the headline over his bacon and eggs, then glanced over to the Gryffindor table, then down the Slytherin Table. Many Slytherins were opening the paper, whispering softly to one another. Lip-biting, hushed-gasping, hunched-shouldering over the words.

Draco met Blaise Zabini's eyes a few seats down by chance. His fellow classmate had looked at the headline, then down towards Draco, only a glance. As he turned towards his pumpkin juice, he muttered under his breath again, "I bet Potter could teach a hell of a defence class."

This time, no one bothered to stare in shock. Draco wondered how many of them were debating their chances of being able to join such a group, should Potter choose to do one.

The next chapter will be called More Important Than Homework