He’d never felt that well after a detention with this woman, but this was just ridiculous.

As each day progressed, Harry found himself feeling worse and worse. Now, by the end of week, his head constantly pounded. It took all his energy to avoid coughing into a fit. When he knew no one could hear him, he let it out – terrible skills he had learned, the hard way, from the Dursleys, mainly from Uncle Vernon.

He could hide very well. He avoided bringing any attention to himself, no matter how much his lungs and throat burned. He was pleasant as much as possible around Snape, but he didn’t pursue the subject of Lily any more – not enough energy. He had to save it right now.

This was between him and her.

But something was different this time.

Harry wasn’t sure why he wasn’t telling anyone. He’d gone the entire week without mentioning it. In a way, he wasn’t sure why Snape didn’t already know about it – the man seemed to know everything, after all. Maybe he did know, but didn’t think anything of it. Or maybe he didn’t know and would be furious at Harry again for getting detention with the toad.

Whatever it was, the woman managed to find Harry at the perfect times and in the perfect location – perfect for her, that is. Harry could’ve gone an entire five lifetimes without seeing Umbridge. Unfortunately, that wasn’t his luck.

Every time he came into the classroom she had prepared for him, she made it sound as if she were taking this time out of her ‘busy’ schedule to spend this time with him – like she was opening the back of his hand out of the goodness of her heart. After the fourth day of detention, Harry’s hand wouldn’t stop bleeding; he had to wrap it in a bandage, making sure his sleeves were longer than normal to hide the evidence. The words carved there had begun to carve their way into his mind: I must not tell lies.

Oh, but he was. Whenever she asked if he were understanding her lesson, understanding her reasoning for her ‘discipline,’ Harry would nod and reply in that perfectly submissive tone of his, “Yes, Professor. I understand.”

What a lie that was.

No, he didn’t understand. No, he couldn’t understand why she was targeting him. Yes, he knew the Ministry had it out for him, but he honestly couldn’t understand why Umbridge would go out of her way to do this. It was like she truly believed she was doing him a favor, like she was doing him with every cutting line he scratched into the back of his hand.

Snape would be so disappointed in him if he knew Harry had gotten so much detention. What if he got so unhappy with Harry that he stopped helping him with his classes? What if he cancelled the Apprenticeship? The one thing Harry wanted would be gone. The one thing Harry felt excited for and had a passion for – that wasn’t Quidditch – would be snatched from his dreams.

He had something to look forward to; he had something to work for – he had a future.

He couldn’t risk that.

Thus, he bore the weight on his own. He kept his mouth shut. He nodded when expected; he gave verbal answers when expected; but in his heart he never yielded. He would never yield to this woman. However, by Friday, when Umbridge had come up with another excuse to give him yet another week of detention, he almost cried – truly, he almost cried. But he held back.

The exhaustion was getting to him. Maybe it was the blood loss; Harry wasn’t sure. That heavy workload he’d taken on was getting harder, as well. If this kept up, he wouldn’t be able to keep up with it. Friday morning, it had gotten so bad, Harry didn’t even want to get out of bed. His skin felt overheated; his chest seized up in pain; his head pounded strangely with a newfound underlining wave of nausea.

It was going to be a long day.

At breakfast, he got a note from Umbridge, telling him to meet her immediately after for his detention. He had no appetite, but still attempted to appear to be eating. He didn’t talk much with Ron and Hermione, which, blessedly, they were too wrapped up in the latest argument – the usual topic of Ron eating too much – to notice his silence.

Thus, as Snape got ready for his next class, Harry removed himself under the excuse of needing to study by himself – a lie at its best. It seemed to work, though, and Harry couldn’t shake off the terrible feeling that he was lying to Snape. But there was no helping it now.

As Harry walked down the hallway, taking a deep breath in preparation for what he would have to endure, he suddenly came face to face with Cho, of all people.

Oh, why hadn’t he just stayed in bed today?

“Hi, Cho,” said Harry weakly. Oh, what terrible timing. If he waited too long, he would be late for his detention. He hoped the girl was in a better mood now. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it if Cho broke down and started crying on him again. He didn’t have the energy to deal with it.

“Hello, Harry,” said Cho, giving him a gentle smile.

On any other day, Harry would’ve noticed that awkward silence again.

“How’s… everything?” asked Cho tentatively.

“Good.”

They both nodded with those awkward smiles on their faces.

Oh, look. There it was again.

Why was it so hard to talk to her? Harry didn’t even know what to say. Maybe it just wasn’t a good time. Maybe it was because he was sick. On a different day, surely there would be something to talk about, right? Well, whatever the problem was, Harry couldn’t help but notice the uncomfortable atmosphere between them.

“So… What’s up?” asked Harry, trying to break the awkward silence.

“Oh… uh…” Cho bit her lip. “Well, I was hoping to talk to you about something… You have time, right?”

Not really…

“Uh… sure.”

If Harry hoped strong enough, would it be possible that Cho wanted to talk about something lighthearted, like say Quidditch? Or even better, the price of tea in China? He would’ve talked about anything, even girl problems or whatever – just not about him.

“It’s about Cedric…” she whispered.

His wishes were never strong enough.

“You know, Cho, why don’t we talk about something else?” said Harry, desperately trying to avoid the ‘Cedric’ topic. “I mean, it’s a hard subject. Let’s talk about something… happy. How’s Quidditch going for you? I haven’t been able to play, you know.”

Once again, apparently, Harry was bad at picking subjects.

“But I thought you’d understand!” cried Cho, tears flooding into the edges of her eyes. “You wouldn’t talk about it last time and I need someone who understands. How can you keep it all bottled up inside? Doesn’t that make you sick?”

“I’m not keeping it bottled up inside,” said Harry, feeling confused by the thought. “I’ve talked about it.”

A little bit…

“But not with me!” cried Cho, the tears now flooding down her face. “I thought, you of all people, would understand how I feel.”

Harry just stood there, trying to formulate a response in his head. It was too jumbled, though. Thus, nothing came out. He couldn’t understand Cho’s incessant need to talk about Cedric. Yes, he understood that it was hard for her. Yes, he knew girls liked to talk about this kind of stuff; Hermione had given him good practice to know how to deal with some of it. And while Harry had only lost a classmate – even though witnessing the murder firsthand – Cho had lost a boyfriend. She had been closer to Cedric than Harry had been.

All affection Harry had had for the girl ended.

So, yes, it had to be hard for her. But Harry didn’t want to talk about the death which haunted his nights. He didn’t want to so easily express those things to this girl. Even talking to Snape had been easier than talking with Cho. If Harry had to pick someone to talk about such personal, deep feelings, Harry probably would’ve chosen Luna, of all people.

At least Luna would know when not to push him.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” asked Cho. She looked so torn and desperate.

It was just bad timing on her part and Harry couldn’t blame the girl. After everything that had happened, he had some empathy for her. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let himself open that tender part of his heart to her. It was too much to ask of him.

“I’m sorry, Cho,” said Harry, his tone hollow. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He nicely kept off the ending ‘with you’ for her sake.

More tears flooded down her cheeks. Harry felt bad, but not bad enough to change his mind.

“Right,” said Cho, looking down. She nodded, agony in her tone. “Right, I’ll leave you alone, then.”

She whirled around, hair whipping through the air, and rushed off, leaving him alone in the corridor. Harry stood there, watching her disappearing form with no emotion in his heart. He knew he should feel disappointed. Going after her would be the ‘manly’ thing to do, wouldn’t it? But that required a lot of effort and that wasn’t happening. He did like her, didn’t he? She was pretty, wasn’t she?

But those reasons seemed meaningless now. If he couldn’t feel comfortable talking with her, then why did he like her? Just for her looks? Why had he liked her in the first place? She’d been good at Quidditch. Other than that, he knew little about her.

Harry sighed.

Well, his first crush had ended pretty badly.

And Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t have time for this, anyway. Cho soon left his thoughts completely, as a more pressing problem was at hand.

One more detention this week. Saturday and Sunday I won’t have to see her. Two days to rest. After next week, she won’t find another excuse to give me more. Right? I’ve been perfect in her sessions. Every last one of them. She has nothing to go on.

It is too much to hope that she’ll leave me alone now?

Yeah, it was too much hope, wasn’t it? The woman would torture him for hours. She would delight in his pain. She would make him etch those horrible words into his hand yet again. Yup, fantastic. Girl problems seemed like a thing of the past. What he’d give to go back to that simple life.

Harry pushed forward, walking down the deserted corridor. His thoughts were oddly silent now. It took him a few minutes to reach the classroom, mainly because he was walking so slowly. Finally, when he reached the assigned room, Harry didn’t bother to knock. He simply entered and closed the door behind himself.

Umbridge had set out a table, along with an annoyingly pink tablecloth.

“Ah, Mr. Potter, I was wondering if I would see you,” said Umbridge, simpering lightly at the end. She set her teacup down on her saucer. Harry just stood there, unable to figure out what she meant by that. Why wouldn’t she see him?

“I’m here at the right time, right, Professor?” asked Harry, glancing at the clock in worry. It was a minute over the assigned time. Ah, well.

Umbridge laughed that high pitched, annoying laugh – that one which grated on the nerves worse than nails on a chalkboard.

“You are late,” she said, smiling. Harry wasn’t comforted. “But that’s not what I’m referring to; no, I’ve noticed something in your recent behavior.”

Harry didn’t have the energy to give her an incredulous expression.

“What’s that?”

“You are still missing all your classes, except Potions and Charms,” said Umbridge, shaking her head. “I thought I made it clear that you missing classes is not acceptable behavior. You can’t pick and choose what you want to attend, you know. Thus, such actions warrant severe punishment.”

Harry could only stare at her. Did she really not get it? Or was she purposely trying to hurt him? The crack in his heart widened. Something slumped in his shoulders.

I don’t get it any more.

Why do I even bother?

“I have discussed this with Cornelius, the Minister, about your expulsion from this school,” said Umbridge, smiling sadly. It didn’t look at all sad. “You have made it more than clear that you do not care to attend your classes; therefore, there is no reason to keep you here at the school. He agrees with me on this matter and respects my judgment.”

Expulsion.

It seemed like an eternity as Harry’s mind tried to wrap around that statement. It was the most painful thing he could comprehend.

They were finally kicking him out.

He would have to go back to the Dursleys.

He wouldn’t get his mastery. He wouldn’t graduate. They would snap his wand in half. He would never perform magic again. They would take his inheritance away. The last connection he had to his parents would be gone. He would be vulnerable to Voldemort’s attack and he would never be able to defeat him – not without this wand.

Why were so many people in his life so determined to make his life miserable?

Who had he offended? What had he done wrong?

He was numb. Harry had no idea how to respond. A part of his heart knew that this couldn’t happen – he could still remember Snape lamenting that he didn’t have the ‘happy power’ to expel him in Harry’s second year. Only the Headmaster had that power. But with the Ministry interfering with Hogwarts as it had the past month, it was only a matter of time.

If Umbridge was determined to get rid of him, she would do it and Harry had no power to stop her. Dumbledore had no power. Snape had no power.

“When… do I pack my things?” whispered Harry, his voice hollow, unable to think of anything else to say. Umbridge swelled with pleasure. She nodded briskly.

“See, you are learning to control yourself.”

Harry only nodded weakly.

“I would say by Sunday evening. You will go to the station and await a Ministry official to take you to the Ministry.”

Harry opened his mouth, surprised. “Won’t I be going home to the Dursleys?”

The woman smiled even more.

“Oh, no, Mr. Potter. I have discussed this in great length with Cornelius and we both agree that your home life is not what it should be – considering the way you’re allowed to run rampant through this school, saying all sorts of lies. No, what you need is stability. You’ll be a ward of the Ministry, specifically beneath the care of Cornelius and myself.”

Harry felt faint, the pure fear rising in his chest. It would’ve been better to spend the rest of his life with the Dursleys, than a week with Umbridge. By the end of next week, he would be dead. If Voldemort didn’t capture him by then, Umbridge would kill him first.

“Don’t you worry, Harry,” said Umbridge, her voice coaxingly so gently, it sounded like a mother with her child – but there was something cold like ice in her tone. “I’ll be sure to give you the stability that you so desperately need.”

Well, it was all over now. Who needed Voldemort when there was someone like her?

***

Severus stood outside his classroom, looking up and down the corridor. He frowned, feeling a little frustrated. He knew Potter couldn’t have gone far, due to the spell, but the boy was nowhere to be found.

“Potter? Are you around here?” said Severus, calling out. No answer came. Severus folded his arms, becoming more annoyed by the minute. His foot tapped against the stone flooring.

It would be unwise to go looking for the boy, since once they got out of a range, they would be slammed back together again – and that was one headache inducing incident that Severus could do without at the moment. Of course, that was the fastest way possible in finding the boy.

Something strange was going on with Potter and Severus couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Over the past week, Potter talked less – which was odd, indeed, in Potter’s case. That light of happiness after Severus suggested the Apprenticeship had dimmed. It almost seemed as if the boy didn’t want it any more.

While Severus was apt to think that, it just didn’t seem like it. There was something more, but with classes and grading and Head of House duties and so much more, Severus didn’t have time to address it. In fact, it seemed as if he were getting used to the boy’s presence in his quarters.

This weekend would be the perfect time to figure out what was going on with the boy. Maybe the workload was harder than Potter had originally thought. If that were the case, then something would have to be done. Perhaps a slower pace – after all, it didn’t matter if Potter took a little longer to catch up.

But where was he anyway?

Just as Severus’ patience ran out, he heard the soft shuffling of feet. Severus unfolded his arms and put his hands onto his hips, ready to scold the boy for disappearing for so long.

But as the boy came into sight around the corridor corner, something inside Severus’ heart chilled.

Potter did not look well – at all.

His face was pale, nearly deathly white. He seemed to struggle just to stay on his feet. There was a perpetual pained expression on his countenance. Then, the boy swayed slightly as he walked forward. Severus frowned, coming up to Potter. The boy put a hand on the wall, resting for a moment. Severus reached out and lifted the boy’s chin up. Faded emerald green eyes looked up at him through those black glasses.

“Potter, you are unwell. What is the matter?”

“Don’t feel so good,” murmured Potter with a shrug. He favored his right hand, which was tucked against his chest.

“Explain yourself.”

But the boy never managed it. Somehow, it seemed as if he had no more strength left in his legs. Potter swayed even more dangerously now. Without realizing it, Severus grasped the boy by the shoulders to steady him.

“Potter, are you experiencing symptoms of a cold?”

“Mmm…”

There was another shrug; it was weak.

“Potter, what in Merlin’s name—”

Suddenly, the boy’s legs gave out from beneath him. Those dull green eyes rolled into the back of his head as the boy began to collapse to the floor. Shock and panic flooded through Severus’ heart as he watched the child fall limply into his arms, and he couldn’t stop the terrified cry that left his lips.

“Harry!”