Not long thereafter, a tired and happy Harry retransfigured the various cleaning supplies into their usual mundane states and shrugged back into his robes. “That was really great, Professor!” he told his Head of House with an enthusiasm he usually reserved for Quidditch discussions.

“I hope, Mr Potter, that you are astute enough to realize that this was not a typical detention. Any future detentions with me are unlikely to meet with similar approval,” she warned sternly.

“Yes, Professor,” he agreed, even as he mentally rolled his eyes. Merlin, how dumb does she think I am?

“Very well, then, Mr Potter. Off to bed with you.”

“G’night, Professor,” he said happily, giving her a quick hug and running off before she had recovered from her astonishment.

Minerva straightened her robes and cleared her throat in some embarrassment. Harry did seem to have a habit of … adopting… people. She began to understand why Severus seemed so worried about the boy’s effect on his Evil Bat reputation. The instant a Weasely calls me “Aunt Minerva”, she vowed to herself, I am obliviating the entire school.

Harry reached the Gryffindor tower shortly before curfew, and the Common Room was crowded when he slipped through the portrait hole. His sodden and grubby appearance had the effect of stopping all conversation.

“Merlin, Harry!” Ron exclaimed in astonishment. “What’d she do to you?”

“Oh, Harry, are you all right?” Hermione asked worriedly, while the rest of the Tower clustered around.

Harry’s blossoming Slytherin nature again asserted itself. He sighed heavily and told the absolute truth. “Professor McGonagall handed me a toothbrush an’ had me scrub the whole Great Hall!”

“Merlin’s shorts! Even we –“

“ – never got anything like that!” the twins exclaimed.

“Sure, we’ve had to scrub the – “

“ – trophy room and help Hagrid – “

“ – clean up the grounds, but scrub –“

“ – the Great Hall with a toothbrush? That’s –“

“ – a new record, Harry!”

“Well, at least he didn’t get away with it this time,” Lavender whispered to Parvati, a bit too loudly.

“And what exactly do you think he’s ‘gotten away with’?” Hermione rounded on the other girls like an avenging fury.

They squeaked and cowered back. Nobody messed with Granger. “We didn’t mean anything!” Parvati hurriedly backpedaled.

“It’s just that Professor Umbridge was saying that he…” Lavender’s voice trailed off at Hermione’s expression.

“You should know better than to listen to Umbitch,” Neville said reproachfully. “She’s had it in for Harry from the start.”

“But he has done a lot of stuff. I mean, like the troll and flying around in the castle,” one of the upper years protested.

“What’s the matter with you, Spencer?” Oliver Wood demanded angrily. “Didn’t you see the whack Snape gave him for that stunt? And that was just what he got in public! Or d’you think old Snape just let him off with a warning? You think he’s a soft touch, do you? Maybe you’d like Snape to be your guardian?”

“What’s wrong with you people?” Ron demanded. “It’s not like Harry’s the only one that Umbitch is nasty to! Why are you listening to her all of a sudden?  She’s an awful teacher and tells a bunch of lies to boot. Even my brother Bill says that he’s had to use DADA spells, and he’s not an Auror or anything.”

“Well, yeah…” The other Gryffindors were starting to look a little guilty and embarrassed.

“It’s okay,” Harry was feeling a little embarrassed too. He wasn’t used to having people defend him or take his side. “She’s just trying to make trouble for us.”

“And we’re letting her!” Katie Bell wasn’t in a conciliatory mood. “We should be rallying behind Harry and the other lions that she’s insulting, not believing her lies. She’s a toad and should be stepped on!”

An evil grin stole over Hermione’s face. “Splat the toad!” she exclaimed suddenly.

“Huh?” Ron asked.

“I think we should have a student movement,” she announced. “Splat the toad! We can spell our shirts to say it and put up signs and that will help all of us remember that she’s an awful person that we shouldn’t believe!”

“Oooh, we could have special colors to wear to show our support!” Lavender exclaimed.

“And we could wear buttons!” Parvati was getting excited too.

“It’s like a whole underground movement,” Oliver grinned.

“We know where we can get a few – “

“ – harmless pranks that would help!” the twins volunteered.

“Good thing Percy’s out with Jones,” Ron grinned, nudging Harry. “This way he doesn’t have to hurt his neck looking the other way!”

By the next morning, the faculty were bemused to see many of the students sporting flashing “STT!” buttons. Initially they appeared limited to Gryffindors, but at breakfast, as the other students demanded to know what they were, the numbers increased exponentially, and by lunchtime, students in every house were sporting buttons, affixing banners to their book bags, or otherwise declaring their allegiance to the odd movement. Whenever a teacher would inquire as to the meaning, the students only mumbled vaguely about something to improve school spirit.

Snape had been as puzzled as the rest, but unlike the other faculty, he had no scruples about eavesdropping on his House, and within a few hours, he was happily sharing the secret with Minerva. The witch laughed so hard her hair nearly escaped its bun. “Oh, my! Those clever students. No wonder they all seem in such high spirits!”

Whether Umbridge ever realized the hidden meaning of the buttons, no one knew, but she definitely was displeased to realize that her campaign against Harry had been derailed. The sidelong looks and disgruntled mutterings that she had begun to hear abated, and instead the students seemed to be discussing nothing but this “STT” nonsense.

The combination of Umbridge’s discontent and Harry’s giddy relief that the rest of the school had stopped hating him was a dangerous one, and Umbridge finally got the opening she’d been waiting for about a week later.

They were reading the chapter in the textbook that dealt with poltergeists, ghosts and other spiritual phenomena, and Harry was too curious to restrain himself. “Professor,” he asked politely, raising his hand, “is there a spell to banish evil spirits? Y’know, like Voldesnort?”

Half the class gasped at The Boy Who Lived’s daring in so referring to the Dark Lord, while the other half laughed themselves sick at the term.

“That will be five points from Gryffindor for speaking out in class, Mr Potter, and another fifteen for asking silly questions,” Umbridge snapped. “If you haven’t anything sensible to say, you will keep your mouth shut.”

“That was sensible!” Harry protested indignantly. “When we killed Professor Quirrel, old Voldesnort turned back into a floaty spirit-thing. I just wanted to know if there were any spells that can hurt him when he’s like that, before he comes back and tries to hurt us again.”

“That’s enough of your wild stories, young man!” Umbridge said angrily. “Minister Fudge,” she paused long enough to glance fondly at the Minister’s portrait which hung over her desk, surrounded by smaller pictures of kittens and puppies, “has told the Daily Prophet that there is nothing to fear from You Know Who. You are just a silly little boy trying to attract attention with your wicked lies!”

Harry surged upright in outrage. “That’s not true! I’m not telling lies! All the real professors saw him. And Voldesnort is dangerous. The Headmaster said that –“

“The Headmaster says a great many things, but the Minister is the one to whom we must all listen,” Umbridge shot back. “He says there is no danger, and saying otherwise is a wicked lie.”

“So if he says the sky is green, we can’t say it’s blue?” Harry demanded incredulously. “Just because Minister Fudge is wrong –“

“Don’t you dare say another word, you horrible child!” Umbridge’s eyes were practically popping out of her head. “That’s another twenty points from Gryffindor and a week of detention with me for such positively seditious statements.”

Harry reluctantly subsided, mostly because he had no idea what “seditious” meant but also because he was reluctant to lose more House points.

Umbridge smoothed her hair and resumed her seat. “You can all thank Mr Potter for tonight’s extra assignment: a two foot essay on why our system of government, including our dear Minister, is the finest in the Wizarding world.”

She was heartened by the annoyed looks that were directed at Potter, but then the little Malfoy boy – such a bright child, as she regularly informed his father – coughed, though the noise sounded oddly like “Splat!” and the rest of the class dissolved in sniggers and mutters and the only angry looks were now targeted at her. She glared at Harry and decided it was high time to use the special punishment on the little troublemaker.

After dinner that night, Harry morosely got ready for his detention. He wasn’t looking forward to whatever that horrible woman would make him do, but he vowed to do what he was told and keep his mouth shut, lest he lose more House points.

“I still think you should have told Professor Snape or Professor McGonagall,” Hermione fretted. “Then they could have taken over your detention from Her.”

He shook his head. “Nah, I can’t go running to them every time I’ve got a problem,” he argued. “And I mean, she’s a teacher. What’s the worst she can do? Yell at me? Have me kiss her portrait of Fudge?”

“Well, just be sure you’re wearin’ your ‘Splat the Toad!’ button,” Ron advised, fastening one on his robe. “That way you know that you’ve got the last laugh.”

“If you’re not back by curfew, I’m going to Professor McGonagall,” Hermione promised.

“ ‘Kay,” Harry agreed. “Wish me luck!”

He came to a halt outside Umbridge’s classroom door and took a deep breath. Just grit your teeth and take it, Harry, he told himself. Whatever she says or does, you’ve lived through worse, so don’t let her get to you. He knew his da and Head were working hard to figure out who was causing all the problems for him, and he hadn’t wanted to disturb them. Umbitch was just a horrible, mean, nasty teacher, and he wasn’t some little baby who couldn’t take care of himself. So what if he had a week of detention with her? She’d probably just have him write lines until his hand fell off or dust her stupid china kitten collection or something. There was no reason to bother anyone over such a stupid thing as that.

He knocked and entered. “I’m here for my detention,” he said, trying not to sound too sulky.

Umbridge smirked at him. “And you’re late, Mr Potter. Let’s add another two days of detention for that, shall we?”

He spun to check the clock and even as he watched, he saw the hands leap forward by five minutes. Cheating old witch! He fumed, but he remembered his determination not to let her see that he cared. “Yes, ma’am,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Sit down. By the end of all these detentions, I promise that you’re going to be a very sorry and respectful little boy,” she gloated, clearly relishing her power over him.

Harry just bit his tongue and kept his head down, staring at the “STT!” button as it cheekily flashed at him.

“Here.” She placed a quill and parchment in front of him. “You will write, “I must not tell lies” until you have learned to show the proper respect to adults who know much more than you, you silly child.”

If you mean bloody idiots like Fudge and you, then I guess I’ll be here ‘til Doomsday, Harry thought rebelliously.

He picked up the quill, which looked kind of weird. “Erm, Professor, you didn’t give me any ink,” he pointed out.

Umbridge just smiled nastily at him. “Just start writing, Mr Potter. The quill will provide its own ink.”

Crazy old bat. Harry shrugged mentally and started to write. He couldn’t care less if he didn’t actually write anything. An instant later, he gasped in pain as bloody lines appeared on the back of his hand, mirroring the letters he’d just written on the parchment. The red letters. Blood red letters.

He stared at the quill in horror. That thing was using his own blood! It was like a scalpel, gouging out words on the back of his hand. He rubbed his hand, wincing. The cuts weren’t deep, but they certainly were painful.

“Keep writing, Mr Potter. After a few hundred lines, that temper of yours might just start to cool down.”

“Y-you can’t do this!” Harry protested.

“Oh yes, I can,” she countered, smirking. “The Headmaster may have decided to prohibit the use of the cane, but the Blood Quill is perfectly appropriate. Now keep writing or you’ll find what else I can do.”

Harry gulped and looked down at his parchment. For a moment, the scroll blurred, but he fought back the tears. He wasn’t going to show the toad how much the quill hurt. Hesitatingly, he picked up the pen and started writing.

By the time he’d completed two full lines, the back of his hand was stinging fiercely and the words were clearly visible in angry red letters against his skin. He kept his head down, knowing that the toad was watching closely, enjoying his misery.

He bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood, as he started writing a third line. He really hoped his da might have a potion or balm that would help soothe his hand when he was finished. He’d almost rather have gotten the cane – as much as it hurt, the bum just wasn’t as sensitive as the thin skin on the back of the hand! He wondered if he was allowed to ask for something to heal himself after a punishment, or whether he’d just have to wait for his hand to get better on its own.

He guessed he’d better at least ask his da. Snape would get grumpy if he thought Harry was keeping things from him, though he couldn’t imagine his da would be pleased with Umbridge either. Hadn’t he told Harry that –

Harry sat bolt upright. His da had told him that no one, not even another teacher, had the right to hit him. Well, Umbridge wasn’t exactly hitting him, but she was making him do something that hurt an awful lot. Wasn’t that almost the same thing? And if it was, then did that mean that Harry could refuse?

He thought hard. His da hadn’t interfered when Umbitch had punished him for losing his homework, but that had just been a regular essay. And when Sirius told the story of how he and Harry’s dad – his first dad – had gotten thrashed for flying their brooms into the Forbidden Forest, hadn’t his da said that if Harry ever got into trouble, then he knew he was supposed to come to him and talk about it?

Harry swallowed hard and made his decision. Maybe his da would be mad at him, but he still thought it was better to talk to him first, before Umbitch made him carve words into his own skin. If she was telling the truth and she was allowed to do it, then maybe he could still get his da to take over his detention. Or even Professor McGonagall. He was pretty sure she didn’t use this quill in her detentions. After all, the twins, who’d had plenty of detentions with her, didn’t have words scarred on the backs of their hands.

He stood up, still clutching the quill in his hand. “Professor, I’m not going to do any more,” he announced bravely, though his wavering voice made it clear that he wasn’t feeling very brave.

Umbridge’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not going to write any more lines with this quill,” Harry repeated stubbornly. “Not until I talk to my da, and he says I have to.”

Umbridge snorted. “Do you truly imagine he’ll rescue you, you foolish boy? You’ll just be right back here, only then you’ll have to write your lines while sitting on a striped backside!”

Harry glared at her. “No, I won’t!”

“Sit down and do as you’re told, brat!” Umbridge’s brittle calm was cracking as she rose to her feet.

“I won’t!” Harry started to back away. The teacher was short and fat, but she was still bigger than he was.

“Obey me!” she said shrilly, grabbing for him.

Harry, his reflexes honed by Harry-hunting and Quidditch-seeking, easily evaded her grip and bolted for the door. He had made it into the hallway before she managed to grab a fistful of his robe and jerked him to a halt.

Umbridge struggled to hang onto him with one hand while trying to get out her wand with the other. “Get back in here!” she shrieked at him.

“NO!” Harry wiggled and squirmed, reaching up to undo his robe in the hopes of leaving it – and her – behind.

“What on earth --?” A new voice caused the combatants to halt in surprise, and both Harry and Umbridge turned to find a startled Davidella Jones staring at them.

“Aha! Miss Jones, kindly help me restrain Mr Potter,” Umbridge recovered herself first and finally managed to drag out her wand. “He was trying to leave detention early. Let’s see if being stuck to your chair teaches you not to try such things in future, Mr Potter,” she smirked at him. “And perhaps a heating charm on the seat will help sear the lesson into your memory.”

Harry’s heart raced. He had little doubt that once back in the classroom, he wouldn’t leave it again without burns on his bum and scars on his hand. “No!” he snarled, backing away. A flick of his wrist and his own wand was in his hand.

Umbridge raised her eyebrows. “Threatening a professor, Potter? And in front of a prefect, no less? You are in need of some discipline.”

Jones was looking from one to the other in confusion. On the one hand, Umbridge was a teacher and therefore to be obeyed. On the other hand, Harry wasn’t really the troublemaking sort. There had to be some reason for him to be acting so out of character.

“What’s going on, Harry?” she asked, her own wand out but still pointing to the floor.

“There is no need to talk to him, Miss Jones! Kindly do as you are told and petrify him so that I can continue his detention!” When Jones still hesitated, uncertain as to what to do, Umbridge huffed. “Useless! This is why you people don’t belong here!”

Jones’ eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, Professor? Which ‘you people’ would you be meaning?”

Umbridge swept the girl with a disdainful glance. “You island people. You should have stayed there under your coconut trees and stuck to your hoo doo and all that nonsense, rather than coming here and taking spots away from real British witches and wizards.”

Uh oh. Even Harry was appalled. “I was born in Brighton,” Jones said evenly, but now her wand was up and pointing at Umbridge.

“Then you should understand enough English to do as you’re told,” the professor snapped back. “Petrify Potter, you stupid – ack!” Whatever epithet Umbridge had been planning to use was swallowed as Jones’ temper finally exploded and a ruby bolt shot out of her wand.

Umbridge managed to get up enough of a Protego that the bolt was deflected into the nearby wall where it caused a minor explosion and sent stone chips rattling to the floor. An instant later, both Jones and Harry were locked in a duel with Umbridge, spells flying thick and fast across the corridor.

Umbridge was, despite her faculty role, hardly a good duelist, but she did have the advantage of experience on her side. Moreover, Jones was struggling to reach Harry, so as to better protect the firstie from some of the nastier hexes Umbridge was sending his way.

Jones made it to Harry’s side as he blocked a painful Furnunculus, then she cast a powerful shield over both of them.

“I’ll see you deported for this!” Umbridge yelled at her. “Right back to wherever you came from.”

“I WAS BORN IN BRIGHTON!” Jones snarled. Behind her, Harry marveled at how well she maintained her shield, despite being more annoyed than he had ever seen her.

Just then, a loud shout of “Stupefy!” rang out, and a bolt of magic slammed into Umbridge from behind, throwing her against the far wall. As the short witch collapsed to the ground, Jones and Harry were startled to find Percy hurrying down the hall towards them.

“Are you all right?” he asked worriedly, reaching out to enfold Jones in a hug while catching Harry by the shoulder with his free hand. “What happened?”

“Wow, Percy!” Harry stared at the unconscious woman with awe. “You hexed a professor!”

“Wow indeed,” Jones said admiringly. “That was some stunner, big fella.”

“Well, erm,” Percy colored. “I was looking for you – to patrol!” he added hastily, recalling Harry’s presence. “When I turned the corner and saw that woman trying to hex you, what else was I to do?”

“I’m thinking you might be having a bit of trouble landing that Ministry job you were hoping for,” Jones observed, nudging Umbridge with her toe – none too gently. “The little toad is the Minister’s lackey, after all.”

Percy huffed. “As if I’d work for someone stupid enough to hire that,” he nodded contemptuously at Umbridge. “I was thinking that I might be better suited to working with the goblins anyway. I can owl Bill about it.”

“Goblins, hmm?” Jones asked, taking Percy by the tie and drawing him close. “It takes a dangerous kind of man to work with goblins…” She gave him a kiss. “Did you know I like dangerous?”

Percy’s color rose even higher, but that didn’t stop him from returning her kiss with enthusiasm. Harry groaned and looked away.

“WHAT IN MERLIN’S NAME IS GOING ON HERE?” Upon first turning the corner and beholding the spectacle that confronted her, Professor McGonagall had wondered if she had finally lost her mind. Seeing two prefects snogging over the inert form of the DADA professor while The Boy Who Lived stood to one side looking bored, she had wondered if she would need to consult Poppy.

But no, at her words the two prefects jumped apart, and Harry started in surprise. “Professor!” he yelped. “What’re you doing here?”

“I think the proper question is what on earth are YOU doing, Mr Potter? And you, Miss Jones, Mr Weasley? Ignoring for the moment that public displays of affection are hardly appropriate for prefects, why are you not summoning assistance for poor Professor Umbridge?”

“Erm…” Percy began to stutter while Jones quickly tapped her prefect badge with her wand.

“What happened to her anyway?” McGonagall demanded, stooping over the groaning witch who was beginning to come around.

“Ah, it was, uh, a, er, Stupefy,” Percy admitted.

Minerva’s wand was out. “From who?” Could Death Eaters have infiltrated the castle?

“Erm, me actually,” Percy admitted.

“What!!” Once again, Minerva wondered if she were hallucinating. “You stunned a professor?”

“She was attacking us!” Jones put in. “Percy saved us.”

“Miss Jones, I find this entire story difficult to believe! Are you aware that attacking a faculty member is grounds for automatic suspension, if not expulsion? At the very least, you will both lose your prefect badges and – “

“What is going on here?” Snape swooped around the corner, wand out and looking ferocious.

“Da!” Harry yelled in relief and charged towards the man.

Snape caught him by the shoulders. “Are you all right?” He scanned the little knot of people. Umbridge unconscious; Minerva looking uncharacteristically flustered; Weasley his usual stammering self around Jones; Jones, in turn, tight-lipped with anxiety.

“Da, you should’ve seen it! Percy was great! He saved Jones an’ me!” Harry exclaimed.

“What?” Snape’s eyes widened. Percy had saved Jones? Now that was unexpected. And where did Umbridge fit in? Had someone attacked the students and she had been injured trying to protect them?

“ ‘Save’ is hardly the term I would use,” Minerva interjected tartly. “ ‘Attack’ appears more appropriate.” At Snape’s look of incomprehension, she explained, “Apparently Mr Weasley stunned Professor Umbridge when Miss Jones and Mr Potter were unable to do so.”

“WHAT?!” Jones took an involuntary step back at the expression on her Head of House’s face, but Harry just shivered a bit and clung closer to his guardian.

“What. Exactly. Happened. Here?” Snape said, his voice very low and very menacing. The three students all quivered, while behind them, McGonagall helped a groggy Umbridge to her feet.

“Erm, I just saw Professor Umbridge firing spells at Davidella and Harry,” Percy said, his face now very pale. “So I – I hexed her.”

“And why was Professor Umbridge attacking you, Miss Jones?” Snape asked silkily.

“Because I was helping Harry.” Jones appeared composed, but there was a slight tremor in her voice which revealed how much such a calm exterior was costing her. “He was trying to leave her classroom, and she was trying to make him stay. They were struggling with each other when I came up.”

Now everyone was looking at Harry. “And why were you struggling against Professor Umbridge?” Snape demanded.

It was Harry’s turn to flush. But his da had said he could always tell him the truth, so he did. “ ‘Cause I wouldn’t do my detention.”

Snape’s eyebrows drew together. “And just what was this detention?” he pressed.

“Lines.”

Jones and Percy exchanged a horrified glance. Had they just gotten themselves expelled because The Boy Who Lived had decided he was too good to write lines?

“With this,” Harry added, holding up the quill that he somehow – despite everything – still clutched in his hand.

McGonagall’s gasp echoed throughout the hallway, and all three children drew back in fear at the expression on Snape’s face. Then they caught sight of McGonagall’s, and they decided Snape wasn’t so scary after all.

“You have a BLOOD QUILL at my school?” Minerva spun on the shorter witch.

Umbridge struggled to stand upright and brushed herself off fussily. “It’s entirely official, I assure you,” she snapped. “I am a Ministry official, you know.”

Jones marveled at the woman’s lack of self-preservation. If Professor McGonagall had been looking at her with that expression, she would have been fleeing for her life, not arguing about government regulations.

“What on earth are you talking about?” McGonagall breathed. “Corporal punishment –“

“I discussed this at length with the Minister before coming here,” Umbridge retorted. “Canings have been prohibited by the current headmaster, along with curses, but other forms of chastisement are, in special cases, still acceptable. I was sent here by the Minister to scotch the irresponsible rumors that the Potter child keeps spouting and to ensure that no one pays further attention to his wild claims. The Minister has no time to deal with public unrest that such ridiculous stories cause, to say nothing of the undermining effect it has on his administration, making the Minister look weak and ineffective. The Minister himself assured me that the Blood Quill was fully authorized if lesser measures didn’t work to make Mr Potter recant his statements. I’m certain that a few more lines would have shown that boy the error of his ways. Imagine, thinking that he could contradict the Minister of Magic!” Umbridge scoffed.

“A few – more – lines?” Snape echoed, his voice shaking with rage. He snatched Harry’s hands up, ignoring the boy’s startled yelp, and at the sight of the bloody letters, he grabbed Umbridge by the throat. “YOU WOULD DARE TO USE THIS ON MY CHILD?” he roared, shaking the quill in one hand and the witch in the other.

Minerva managed to drag her homicidal colleague off of the gasping witch and held him at wandpoint. “Severus! Control yourself!” she ordered.

Umbridge’s eyes were wide as she clutched her bruised throat. “I hardly expected you to object after you caned the boy for cheating!” she protested. “I was doing you a favor by helping to discipline your ward. Obviously you’re well aware that it takes stern measures to get through to such a sinful child!”

Percy and Jones each hung onto an arm, while Harry clung to his da’s legs, and they managed – barely – to keep him from assaulting Umbridge again.

“Severus! Severus!” Minerva finally managed to get his attention. “Enough! Take Harry and the others to Poppy to be checked and treated. I will take This Woman to the Headmaster. Meet us at Albus’ office.”

Snape allowed himself to be pulled away by the children, still fulminating with rage. The students exchanged wide eyed stares, but knew better than to try to speak to the Potion Master when he was in this state.

Snape finally calmed down enough to think rationally. “Did she hurt you anywhere else?” he demanded of Harry.

“I don’t think so,” he replied, rubbing his hand. “She tried to grab me an’ all, but mostly she just got my robe.”

“And you, Miss Jones?”

“No, Professor,” she answered. “None of her spells made it through our shields.”

“Hmf. You’ll still be checked over,” Snape ordered and no one was brave enough to protest.

“H-how’d you know we were in trouble?” Harry asked timidly, looking up at his da.

“Miss Jones summoned me,” he replied.

“You did?” Percy asked in surprise.

She nodded. “Every Slytherin prefect’s badge can summon the professor. You just need to tap it with your wand, and he knows there’s an emergency and he’s needed. Doesn’t yours work the same way?”

“Erm, no. But I’ll talk to Professor McGonagall about it,” Percy said feelingly.

Jones looked at him with even more admiration. “Really? I thought you’d summoned her before you attacked Umbridge, but you didn’t even know that help was on the way? You just jumped in to save us?”

“Typical Gryffindor!” Snape snapped, but the glint in Jones’ eye was anything but disapproving.

Poppy was initially surprised by how meekly all three children submitted to her examination, but that surprise was overtaken by shock and outrage when she saw Harry’s hand. “Who is using a Blood Quill?” she demanded furiously.

“Umbridge,” Snape spat. “McGonagall is taking her to Dumbledore’s office. Do you have this under control? I want to be there when he hears what she’s been doing.”

Poppy snorted. “You’d better hurry. I don’t imagine there’ll be much left of her once Albus learns of this!” she lifted Harry’s hand meaningfully.

Snape hesitated. “You can heal him?” he asked, suddenly apprehensive. “Without scarring, I mean?” The boy had too many scars as it was, on his skin and on his soul.

Poppy looked insulted. “Of course I can! Off with you, Severus. I’ll fix this up in no time, and Mr Weasley and Miss Jones can escort Harry back to his dorm.”

Snape nodded once and swept out. Oh, when he told the Marauders what that Pink Toad Bitch Witch From Hell had done to Harry… He suspected that the Dursleys’ suffering would pale by comparison to what Sirius Black would do to the woman who had dared to use a Dark artifact on his godson.

He arrived at Albus’ office and the look on his face scared the gargoyle so much that it fled before he could offer the password. Dumbledore looked up in surprise as the Potion Master marched in.

“Why, what an unexpected pleasure, my boy! Lemon drop? Or will you join me in a cup of tea?”

Snape frowned. “Minerva isn’t here yet?” he asked, surprised. Surely the witch should have arrived before him.

“No,” Albus was beginning to look concerned. “Is something wrong?”

“You could say that.” At Dumbledore’s look, Snape continued, “Dolores Umbridge attempted to use a Blood Quill on Harry Potter tonight.”

“WHAT!” Fawkes let out a screech from his perch as the portraits on the walls rattled in response to Albus Dumbledore’s fury.

Even knowing that the wizard’s rage was – this time – not directed at him, Snape still cowered back.

“She would dare to use that medieval instrument of torture at my school? On one of my students?” Dumbledore raged, the shelves vibrating as he stormed past them. “On Harry?” He spun to where Snape was hiding behind Fawkes. “Where is she?”

Snape had to swallow before he could speak. Even Voldemort in a full-out frenzy had never generated as much magical power as was currently making the air crackle like ozone, and that was just the spill-over energy that had escaped Albus’ control.

“Minerva is bringing her,” he managed to squeak. “Calming draught?” he offered, fumbling in his pocket.

Dumbledore gazed at him, eyes narrowed behind his half-moon spectacles, and for a heart-stopping moment Snape wondered if the older wizard’s temper would be unleashed upon him. But then Albus took a deep breath and the shelves stopped rattling. Fawkes stopped squawking and Snape thought it was safe to breathe again.

“You know, that might be rather a good idea,” the headmaster said quietly, accepting the vial.

The two men sat in silence for several minutes. Snape because he was still a bit too intimidated to speak, and Albus because he was planning how to handle the situation.

Finally, at long last, McGonagall arrived, alone. “Where is she?” both wizards cried.

“Dolores Umbridge has vanished,” Minerva informed the men calmly.

“What! How could she have escaped?” Snape demanded hotly.

“She obviously decided it was safer to disappear rather than face the Headmaster’s wrath, not to mention Aurors, inquiries, and Azkaban.” She regarded the men’s angry and frustrated faces, then said matter-of-factly, “Let’s have some tea.”

“I shall still have to make a full report to the Ministry,” Dumbledore frowned. “I hope Poppy thought to take pictures of Harry’s injuries.”

“There are always Pensieved memories,” McGonagall pointed out. “And the instrument itself,” she added, laying the evil quill down on the Headmaster’s desk.

Dumbledore’s face was like thunder. “That unspeakable object!” he swore, his tone making the words into an epithet.

“What is more, Umbridge’s own words make it clear that Fudge colluded in the Blood Quill’s use. She was specifically sent here to discredit Harry, lest he pose any threat to Fudge’s authority or competence.”

“Hmmmm.” Albus’ brow creased. “I shall have to take steps to point out the error of his ways to Cornelius.”

Snape rolled his eyes. How like Albus to try to rehabilitate the man. Snape had no such goals. He was now determined to get rid of Fudge once and for all. He had been willing to tolerate an incompetent Minister, even one who listened to the likes of Lucius Malfoy, but now Fudge had gone too far. By deliberately targeting Harry, he had just signed his own death warrant. Or at least ensured that he would need to be removed from office, Snape didn’t really care which.

While Dumbledore was lost in thought about how to deal with Fudge, Snape leaned over to McGonagall. “How did that idiot get away? I thought you had her under control?”

McGonagall shrugged. “She was a slippery little thing.”

Snape gave her a sharp look. The deputy headmistress was alarmingly blasé about having let Umbridge slip through her fingers. He would have expected her to be livid at the Pink Toad’s escape from justice.

Abruptly Minerva let out a loud belch. “Oh my, excuse me!” she exclaimed, patting her chest. Then she locked eyes with Severus who was just lifting his teacup to his lips. “It must have been something I ate,” she said, very deliberately.

Snape promptly spit his mouthful of tea all over Fawkes, who screeched in protest and huffily vanished in a burst of flame.

Snape stared at Minerva, who gazed placidly back. Surely she hadn’t meant…!

His mind worked busily, considering Minerva’s absolute devotion to her students, her well-hidden Slytherin tendencies, and her uncharacteristic lack of concern over Umbridge’s potential for future harm.

Snape gulped as he realized that one seriously enraged Transfiguration teacher who is also a cat animagus plus one minimally powerful toadlike witch who has done the enraging equaled… one partially digested threat to Hogwarts’ children.

“I – er – have a potion for indigestion,” he offered, trying not to sound as terrified as he felt. Suddenly Albus was no longer the scariest person in the room.

“That would be very kind,” she said, giving him an approving smile.

Snape decided then and there that enlisting Minerva’s support might well have been one of his smarter moves. That and never mortally offending any carnivorous animagi.