It didn't take long for everyone to notice.
At first, it was nothing more than a flicker at the edge of awareness—a shift in behavior so subtle that most might have dismissed it. A glance too frequent. A presence where there had been none before.
But this was Slytherin.
And Slytherin noticed everything.
Daphne Greengrass was acting… differently.
Desperately.
The change crept in like a fracture beneath ice—silent at first, hidden beneath a flawless surface. But once it began, it spread.
At first, it was small things.
She arrived earlier than usual, slipping into classrooms before most students had even considered leaving their common room. She would take the seat next to Helios Black without hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world—though everyone knew it wasn't.
She lingered after lessons.
Long after others had gathered their things and left.
Always just within reach of him.
Always just close enough to speak.
And yet—
Never quite close enough to succeed.
In the corridors, she would "accidentally" cross his path. Once might have been coincidence. Twice, perhaps. But again and again?
No one in Slytherin believed in coincidence.
And Slytherin did not tolerate desperation.
"Greengrass is losing control."
"The Ice Queen… chasing someone?"
"How embarrassing."
The words spread like poison, slipping through the halls, curling into conversations, embedding themselves into every glance cast her way.
Tracey Davis watched it all unfold with thinly veiled amusement.
At first, she had smirked.
Because Daphne—the Daphne Greengrass—reduced to this?
It was almost unbelievable.
But as the days passed, even Tracey's amusement dimmed, replaced by something sharper.
Concern.
Because this wasn't like Daphne.
Daphne had built herself carefully over the years, layer by layer, expression by expression. Every word measured. Every reaction controlled.
Cold.
Distant.
Unreachable.
An Ice Queen in truth, not merely in title.
Now—
That image was cracking.
And everyone could see it.
Helios noticed too.
He noticed everything.
He noticed the way Daphne lingered after classes, her steps slowing as others moved past her.
He noticed the deliberate paths she chose through the corridors, routes that intersected with his just a little too perfectly.
Daphne Greengrass was many things—intelligent, composed, ambitious—but she was also, at this moment, a distraction.
And Helios Black did not indulge in distractions.
Every time she tried to approach him, something intervened.
A Slytherin would step in, calling her name with just enough urgency to pull her away.
A prefect would appear, assigning her some minor responsibility that could not be ignored.
Or, more subtly, her own house would close ranks around her—silent, watchful, disapproving.
Control yourself.
The message was clear, even if it was never spoken aloud.
Slytherin valued ambition.
It respected cunning.
It admired power.
But it despised desperation.
Helios had far more important matters to consider.
The moment his eyes fell upon the staff table that morning, he knew.
Even before she spoke.
Even before she smiled.
Dolores Umbridge.
Pink.
Soft-voiced.
Helios leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze resting on her with quiet, calculating interest.
Memories surfaced.
He remembered exactly what she was.
Cruel.
Petty.
Power-hungry.
Under-qualified.
And perhaps most dangerous of all—
Convinced of her own righteousness.
That was what set her apart.
Death Eaters thrived on fear. They knew they were monsters, and they embraced it.
Umbridge, however—
She believed she was justice.
And that made her far more insidious.
Helios tapped his fingers lightly against the table, his expression calm, almost bored.
"She's worse than I remember."
And from the very first class, that assessment was proven correct.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom felt… wrong.
Gone were the signs of real teaching—no scorched marks from spells, no remnants of practical exercises, no lingering traces of magic in the air.
Instead, there were rows of perfectly aligned desks.
A pristine chalkboard.
And a stack of Ministry-approved textbooks placed neatly at the front.
Lifeless.
Umbridge stood before them, hands clasped, her smile unwavering.
Always smiling.
"Good morning, class."
Her voice was sweet.
Sickeningly so.
Helios didn't bother opening his book.
He leaned back slightly, observing.
Around him, students shifted in their seats.
Rose sat rigidly, her posture tense.
Hermione's lips had already pressed into a thin line of displeasure.
Ron looked as though he were still trying to understand what was happening.
Umbridge continued, her tone gentle, almost indulgent.
"You will find that this year, your education will take a more… structured approach."
A pause.
"There will be no need for unnecessary spell casting."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"No practical work."
And then—
"You will learn theory."
Silence filled the room.
Helios exhaled slowly, resting his chin against his hand.
Completely useless.
He watched her carefully, dissecting every word, every movement, every subtle inflection in her tone.
She was exactly what he had expected.
Predictable.
Blind to her own limitations.
And most importantly—
Easy.
Easy to provoke.
Rose raised her hand.
The movement was sharp.
Umbridge's smile widened as she turned toward her.
"Yes, Miss Potter?"
Her voice remained pleasant.
But beneath it—
There was steel.
Rose spoke carefully, choosing her words with precision.
"How are we supposed to defend ourselves without practicing?"
The question hung in the air.
The entire class seemed to hold its breath.
Umbridge's smile didn't falter.
"You will be perfectly safe," she replied smoothly.
"There is no need for such… alarmist thinking."
For a moment—
Helios almost laughed.
He turned his head slightly, his gaze flicking toward Rose.
She didn't look convinced.
Helios leaned back in his chair, posture relaxed, eyes half-lidded with quiet amusement.
Let's see how long you last.
Because this time—
Dolores Umbridge had no idea what she had just walked into.
The tension in the classroom had already begun to rise.
Rose's hand moved.
It shot upward halfway, her posture rigid, her expression sharpened into something fierce and unyielding. There was anger there—clear, burning, and entirely unapologetic. She was ready to challenge, ready to push back against the suffocating sweetness that filled the room.
Helios saw it immediately.
Too predictable.
Before she could speak, his own hand rose.
The movement was effortless, almost lazy in its execution, and yet it carried a weight that pulled attention toward it as surely as gravity.
Every head turned.
Even Dolores Umbridge paused mid-sentence.
Her voice cut off smoothly, as though she had chosen the moment herself, though the brief flicker in her eyes betrayed the truth. Her gaze settled on him, and in that instant, her expression shifted.
"Yes, Mr. Black," she said, her tone dripping with false warmth, each word wrapped in syrupy politeness. "Do you have a question?"
Helios returned her smile.
Perfectly measured.
And beneath it—
Something unsettling.
"Yes, Professor Umbridge," he said smoothly, his voice even and composed, carrying just enough respect to be undeniable, yet lacking any real submission. "You mentioned there will be no wand work in this class."
She inclined her head, pleased, perhaps, that he had chosen to engage in what she assumed would be a harmless inquiry.
"That is correct."
Helios tilted his head slightly, as though considering her words with genuine interest.
"Then I have a small concern."
The class leaned forward.
Because something in his tone suggested that this would not be small at all.
"If you are not teaching us practical magic…" he began, his voice steady, unhurried, each word placed with deliberate care.
He paused.
"…would you be willing to provide a written statement confirming that our Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations will also contain no practical exams?"
Umbridge blinked.
Once.
Then again.
Her smile did vanished —
Froze in place like a mask that had suddenly become too rigid to wear.
Because everyone in that room understood.
The Ministry did not control O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. examinations.
They were governed independently, structured beyond the reach of a single undersecretary's influence.
Which meant—
She could not promise that.
And if she could not promise that—
Then her entire method of teaching collapsed beneath its own weight.
The question lingered in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating, refusing to disperse.
Students began glancing at one another.
At first, uncertain.
Then—
Understanding dawned.
Helios did not give her time to recover.
"We are, after all, paying for an education," he continued, his voice as calm as ever, devoid of urgency, devoid of strain.
But not devoid of intent.
"And Defense Against the Dark Arts is a core subject."
He leaned back slightly in his chair, the movement relaxed, almost casual, as though this were nothing more than an academic discussion.
"If practical application is removed entirely…"
A small pause.
"…are you suggesting you have the authority to decide what we are or are not required to learn for our examinations?"
Umbridge straightened.
Her smile sharpened, edges forming where softness had once been.
"You will find, Mr. Black," she replied, her tone cooling just enough to reveal the steel beneath, "that the Ministry has very clear expectations regarding—"
"Of course."
Helios interrupted gently.
"But you are an Undersecretary."
The title hung in the air, stripped of its grandeur, reduced to its truth.
Not an examiner.
Not an authority on curriculum.
"You serve under the current Minister," he continued, his voice smooth, almost conversational.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes resting on her with quiet clarity.
"Who may or may not remain in that position next term."
A ripple passed through the class.
The kind of ripple that came not from shock, but from realization.
"And," Helios went on, his tone lowering just enough to draw every ear closer, "if I'm not mistaken…"
His gaze met hers fully now.
Unflinching.
"…Defense Against the Dark Arts professors have a rather… short tenure at this school."
A few students shifted.
Some suppressed smiles.
Others looked down, unwilling to meet anyone's eyes.
The curse was no secret.
Umbridge's eyes hardened.
But Helios was not finished.
"So I must ask—"
His voice sharpened, just slightly.
Just enough.
"Is the current ministry of magic restructuring our education…"
A breath.
"…or sabotaging it?"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Even Hermione, who rarely allowed herself to be impressed, stared at him with open admiration.
Ron looked as though his thoughts had entirely abandoned him.
Neville blinked rapidly, as if trying to catch up with something moving far too fast.
Rose did not move at all.
Helios pressed forward.
Because now—
Now she was off balance.
"We have already observed," he continued calmly, "during Miss Potter's hearing…"
He did not look at Rose.
Everyone knew.
"…that the Ministry is attempting to control narratives."
A pause.
Long enough for the weight of the statement to settle.
"Now it appears you intend to control education as well."
Umbridge opened her mouth.
But Helios did not allow her the opportunity to speak.
"Which raises another question."
His tone softened again.
"May I ask what grade you achieved in your N.E.W.T.-level Defense Against the Dark Arts examination?"
This was personal.
Helios watched her carefully.
Measured every flicker in her expression.
Because he already knew the answer.
She did not have one.
No N.E.W.T.
Only an O.W.L.
And not an impressive one.
"If Hogwarts is accepting tuition fees," Helios added, his voice steady, unrelenting in its calmness, "it is reasonable for students to expect qualified instruction."
He tilted his head slightly.
A small, almost curious gesture.
"Or is that expectation… unrealistic?"
For the first time—
Her smile cracked.
Not entirely.
Her eyes flickered.
Anger.
Humiliation.
And beneath it—
Control slipping.
"Mr. Black," she said, and now the sweetness was gone, stripped away to reveal something colder, sharper, "you will find that questioning authority—"
Helios smiled again.
And this time—
There was nothing pleasant about it.
"Authority," he said quietly, his voice cutting through the room with quiet certainty, "can disappear overnight."
Whatever patience she possessed had already begun to fracture.
"Mr. Black."
Her voice cut cleanly through the room.
Helios looked up from his seat as though he had been only half-paying attention, his expression calm, almost idle.
"Yes, Professor?"
"You will serve detention."
A pause.
"Six o'clock. My office."
Her smile returned, but there was no warmth in it now—only intent.
"We shall begin correcting your… attitude."
For a moment, the class seemed to hold its breath again.
Helios smiled faintly.
"Of course."
The lesson resumed.
Or rather—
The performance of one.
Students sat in stiff rows, flipping through Ministry-approved textbooks that explained nothing, taught nothing, and demanded everything.
Umbridge paced slowly between the desks, her steps measured, her presence suffocating.
She did not teach.
She did not explain.
Helios didn't bother opening the book.
He had already learned everything he needed from that lesson.
And none of it had come from the pages.
That evening, the corridors of Hogwarts were unusually quiet.
The fading light of dusk stretched long shadows across the stone floor, and the usual noise of students had thinned into distant echoes, leaving behind an almost unnatural stillness.
Helios stood outside her office door.
He lifted his hand and knocked once.
"Enter."
The voice came immediately.
Helios pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was exactly as he remembered.
Pink.
Overdecorated.
Smothered beneath layers of artificial cheerfulness that felt more oppressive than comforting.
Every surface gleamed.
Every object was arranged with deliberate precision.
And the walls—
The walls were lined with portraits of cats.
Dozens of them.
Each frame held a different feline, each one alive in its own way—blinking, stretching, watching.
Watching.
Helios stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him with a quiet click.
He did not look impressed.
"So," he said calmly, his gaze settling on Umbridge without the slightest hint of deference. "What do you want me to do?"
Umbridge smiled.
"You will be writing lines."
Helios raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Lines?"
She reached into her desk and withdrew a quill and placed it neatly on the table in front of him.
Helios looked at it.
Then at her.
"Where's the ink?"
Her smile widened, satisfaction flickering beneath the sweetness.
"Oh, you won't need any."
Of course not.
Helios already knew.
He had known the moment she assigned detention.
But he asked anyway.
"And what am I writing?"
Umbridge leaned forward slightly, her hands folding atop the desk.
"I will respect authority."
The words were soft.
Helios tilted his head, studying her.
"How many times?"
Her eyes gleamed.
"Until it is… engraved."
There it was.
The truth beneath the performance.
The cruelty beneath the sugar.
Helios reached for the quill.
Turning it between his fingers as though examining a curious object rather than a weapon.
Blood quill.
Illegal.
Dark.
Painful.
A tool designed to write legal documents.
Helios almost smiled.
You really chose the wrong student.
Without drawing attention.
Magic moved.
It flowed through his fingers and into the quill, slipping into its enchantment like a whisper into a crowded room.
He did not break the spell.
That would have been crude.
Obvious.
No—
He refined it.
Redirected its anchor.
The quill's magic, once bound solely to the one who held it, loosened… and then reattached.
Helios lowered the tip of the quill toward the parchment.
And in that brief moment—
A knock interrupted the room.
Sharp.
Unexpected.
Umbridge frowned, irritation flashing across her features before she smoothed it away.
"Who is it?"
The door opened without waiting for permission.
Two figures stood in the doorway.
One carried quiet authority.
The other—
Something heavier.
Julian Greengrass.
And Albus Dumbledore.
Umbridge's smile tightened instantly.
"Headmaster."
Dumbledore stepped inside with his usual calm, as though nothing about the situation were unusual.
"I require Mr. Black's presence for a brief matter."
His tone was gentle.
But firm.
Umbridge's gaze flicked to Helios, then back to Dumbledore.
"He is currently serving detention."
Dumbledore's smile did not waver.
"And I am sure the detention can continue afterward."
Behind him, Julian Greengrass remained silent.
His presence alone carried weight.
Influence.
Authority.
Umbridge hesitated but she reluctantly stepped back.
"Very well."
Helios rose smoothly from his chair.
He picked up the quill.
And the parchment.
Holding them up casually, almost as though they were of no consequence.
"I'll complete this in the common room," he said lightly.
His tone was polite.
"And return it to you in the morning."
Umbridge opened her mouth—
Ready to object.
Ready to reassert control.
"Of course," she said finally.
The words tasted wrong even as she spoke them.
Helios inclined his head in a small nod.
Then he walked past her.
Out into the corridor beyond.
The door closed behind them with a quiet finality.
Author's Note:
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