Harry eyed the tall, fuzzy walls around him and tried to guess how long this hallway was.



It seemed to stretch on for ages, though only in one direction.



While he couldn’t quite tell his feet from his hands, he knew he should try reaching out and explore what doors or windows might’ve existed in the narrow space. A piece of him thought he might have better luck trying to find someone and follow them to wherever he needed to go, but despite his hopes, no one seemed willing to give him any directions.



In fact, Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone in the long hallway before. He couldn’t say why he felt that, as he’d only just stepped into it a few moments ago and he was sure he’d never been in it before. Perhaps he’d seen photos of it in a book or on the Telly, but he truly didn’t know.



He twisted and thought about going back the way he came, but found the hallway behind him had disappeared at some point.



There wasn’t much to do except move forward.



A faint light brightened at the far end of the hallway and Harry excitedly made his way closer to it. The dull grey walls smoked around him, and felt hardly corporeal compared to moments earlier.



Not that Harry’s tried to touch them, he could smell them well enough from where he was.



They stank of disdain, though Harry didn’t know how he knew that. He swallowed back a fierce wave of bitterness as it rushed through him.



It was certainly some kind of perfume, one Harry knew well, but struggled to guess until he realized it was actually a flower. He could remember having planted something similarly smelling in Aunt Petunia’s flower beds for the neighborhood garden tour one spring, but he couldn’t think of which flower it’d been. He trailed curiously through the smokey walls as he debated and shuddered again as the smell overwhelmed him.



He wasn’t sure why he despised the smell so much. He’d disliked caring for Aunt Petunia’s flowerbeds, but he’d never disliked flowers as a whole.



As it would happen, he rather liked them, given that his mum’s name was Lily. He used to wish Aunt Petunia would bring lilies home for arrangements, but she could hardly bring herself to look at them in the store.



She far preferred daffodils.



Harry neared the steadily brightening light and passed a thick cloud of the perfume. He whirled around and hissed an echoey sound before a shout jolted him upright in bed.



“Harry!” Ron shoved Harry’s bed curtains aside.



Harry clapped a hand against his throbbing scar and blinked one eye open.



Ron’s shoulders flew up to his quickly reddening ears and he whispered a quiet apology. “Just hadn’t seen you come in mate,” He said softly. “Hermione and I went looking for you after you didn’t show up for dinner, it took her a while to come around to what you’d said about Skeeter—”



“Ron,” Harry started as he held a hand up. “Two seconds.” He added before trying to breathe deeply and clear his mind.



“Right, right.” Ron nodded and spun on his heel.



Harry tried to slowly sort through his thoughts and put his mind somewhere more helpful than a bleak grey hallway. He’d had a tremendously stressful day yesterday, and waking up with pain never bode well for him, but he was determined to put it behind him.



He scratched idly at his wrists and tried to think of Germany and the calm, relaxed few weeks they’d spent there.



While he wasn't pleased to be back at Hogwarts, where Dumbledore, Umbridge, Malfoy and the rest of the school waited to torment him, he could say he was pleased to have slept.



Sleep often eluded him when he felt stressed



Ron kicked at Neville’s dirty socks and poked at the spiny cactus-like plant in the pot. The plant twisted in it’s pot and tried to poke Ron back, but wound up nearly splattering him in the same sap that Harry’d been coated in on the train ride at the beginning of term.



The pain in Harry’s scar subsided to something a fair bit more manageable and he found himself wondering again what it was he’d felt so strongly about in his dream.



He still couldn’t think of what the smell was, or which flower it belonged to.



It made less sense when he considered that he’d had dreams on the long hallway for weeks, and this was the first time he’d encountered something other than the grey walls leading to, presumably, a door.



Harry’d had yet to open the door, but he felt that was the only suitable answer for what lay at the end of a hallway.



He shook his head and quickly joined Ron in dressing and getting ready for the day.



“So, like I was saying, Hermione’s come around, though she still feels we have to do something—”



“I know,” Harry said with a grimace. He thought back to yesterday afternoon and wished he hadn’t snapped quite so much at her, as it’d only led to his unsettling use of parseltongue in Snape’s office. “We do, in her defense. I’m not letting Skeeter write anything though.” He said in a firm voice. “I won’t.”



Ron herded him out of the portrait hole and down the several flights of stairs. “I’m not saying we should, it could turn out as rotten as the rest of what she wrote—”



“It will turn out rotten.” Harry said. “She can’t keep herself from writing something sensationalizing.”



“You know Hermione though, she’s got Skeeter on a leash.”



“People don’t generally like being on leashes, Ron.” Harry said uncomfortably. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the way Dumbledore held himself, Snape, Sirius and Lupin, and likely countless others in tight leashes.



They passed a large group of Hufflepuffs and Harry tried to give them a polite smile, but they turned away without a response.



“People on leashes fight back.” Harry said as he wrinkled his nose.



“That’s what the leash is for.” Ron nodded, though he didn’t seem to have come to the same conclusion as Harry. “Keeps her from getting out of hand.”



Harry shook his head and made his way toward Hermione, who had an empty plate and a thick stack of books to her right. He silently tried to compose an apology, and swallowed thickly when he saw most of the books were the ones they’d checked out earlier.



“Hi.” He started awkwardly.



Hermione blinked up at him and coloured faintly as she tugged her stack closer so they could sit down.



Ron didn’t seem aware of any awkwardness, but Harry wondered if that had more to do with how many fights he and his siblings got into, and how often he’d have sat next to them while they’d fought.



“I’m sorry I tried to push you into the article.” Hermione said when Harry neglected to speak. “I know Skeeter treated you horribly, and I should’ve expected that you’d react angrily, but I had to ask.”



Harry nodded and dragged a plate of sausage rolls closer to himself. “I can’t talk with her,” He said before swallowing dryly. There was no way he could consider Skeeter prodding and poking and asking questions. What if she spoke with Malfoy again and learnt about Harry’s summer? What if she spoke with Umbridge and the two conspired to broadcast Harry’s entire life? “She’s vile.”



Hermione gave him a sympathetic sigh.



“But,” Harry started quickly. “But maybe there’s another way we could go,” He said. “We could try something through Ginny’s friend?”



“Lovegood?” Ron asked around a mouthful of bacon. “No one reads her dad’s paper.”



“They’d read it if Harry gave an interview.” Hermione said.



Harry grimaced.



“The only problem is that it won’t reach as many people if Mr Lovegood is the one writing it.” Hermione eyed a folded copy of the Daily Prophet on her right and sniffed. “I’ve been exploring options and I read through a few of his articles in the Quibbler.”



Ron looked upwards and gave her a shocked look.



Hermione rolled her eyes and whispered about exploring all of their options before she sat back. “He tends to drag.”



“That’s kind of you.” Ron said.



“What did you want me to say? That he’s barmy?” Hermione asked. “Or that he writes like a half cracked researcher whose evidence is entirely conjecture?”



“Better not let Loony hear that.” Ron said with a pair of raised eyebrows.



Harry nodded and tossed a careful look toward where Luna often sat, though he thankfully didn’t see her. He wasn’t sure if Luna’s dad truly did write half cracked articles, but Luna seemed to enjoy them.



It wouldn’t help his cause if someone equally cracked wrote an article for him though.



“We can try searching around for other reporters then?” Ron said. “Maybe someone who will do it for free, because of how everyone feels about Harry right now?”



Harry shook his head ‘no’ and shoved a sausage roll in his mouth.



Hermione gritted her teeth and looked equally displeased as she glanced toward the book before her. Harry could almost hear her thoughts. She likely believed it’d be wildly improbable that any reporter would listen to Harry, given the current public opinion.



He hated the thought of speaking to reporters anyway, but he couldn’t just do nothing. He wished someone else had been targeted, rather than him. It reminded him distantly of the way Snape remained in the sitting room with Sirius and Lupin last night, while Harry’d hidden in the bathroom. Snape had tolerated quite a bit for Harry in the last few months.



He might not be pleased to hear of Harry giving an interview.



“Not to change the subject,” Harry started as his eye caught one of the titles in Hermione’s stack. “But I talked with Sirius and Lupin about Umbridge and the ribbons last night.” He said.



“How?” Hermione asked.



“Fire call I’d bet.” Ron said through another mouthful.



“What?” Hermione asked as she turned to Ron.



Ron began to explain a complicated process involving quite a bit of kneeling and floo powder as Harry debated how much to tell them.



He couldn’t decide if he should tell them about his accidental use of parseltongue. There was a chance Hermione might push Harry to ask Dumbledore about it as well, but she’d been far more reserved about requesting his help in the last few months. He thought it might be better to keep quiet about it until absolutely necessary as the thought of scaring them into thinking he was possessed by Voldemort, like Dumbledore’d believed, left him with a foul taste in his mouth.



“That’s curious.” Hermione said with a pinched look. “Why is it always fire?” She asked herself before turning back to Harry and gesturing for him to relay what’d been uncovered about his gagging curse.



“She’s a bloody psychopath!” Ron hissed after Harry finished. He began helping Hermione who’d stood so quickly the table had begun to rock.



She quickly tried to shove her stack of books into her bag, but struggled with her furious pace. They grabbed several of her books and tucked them away in their own bags.



“Who gags a student!?” Ron asked before plucking an apple from it’s bowl and throwing it toward Harry.



“That must go against fifty odd Ministry laws” Hermione added fiercely beneath her breath before waving her wand and whispering a spell to keep her coffee much warm. “The hypocrite! As if she ever cared about rules!”



“The jokes on her—” Ron started as Hermione led them at a quick pace out of the Great Hall.



“It’s just as Ruffles said, that sort of magic leaves evidence,” Hermione added with a firm point toward Harry. “All she’s done is call loud attention toward herself!”



“Hardly just that!” Ron said as they chased Hermione up the stairs. “She’ll go to Azkaban for it!”



“If we can prove she did it.” Harry said darkly. “Ruffles said it’s common for those sorts of crimes to go unpunished.” He tossed a careful look around them as they rushed toward a near empty hallway.



“Well they’d know, wouldn’t they?” Hermione said as she led them into a dusty classroom. “With their background being what it was.”



He wondered idly if she preferred unused classrooms because of the dirty looks Harry received in the library, and thanked her silently for choosing a safer feeling place.



“I dunno,” Ron said as he dropped his heavy bag by the door and whispered a few silencing charms. “They’re on the opposite side of things, I don’t think they’d have much experience with how the Ministry covered—” A look of understanding dawned over his face and he shut his mouth.



Harry didn’t need to ask to know Snape had likely attempted to bring charges against other Ministry employees, only to find out they’d already covered their tracks.



“They’d probably be very knowledgeable about the subject.” Hermione said quietly.



“Ruffles said they wouldn’t get in a fight with Umbridge because they think Umbridge wants their help.” Harry said after remembering the first night he’d turned six. He took a bite of his apple and tried to consider how best to phrase his opinion. “Umbridge thinks that since Ruffles knows Lucius Malfoy, and Malfoy is her friend in the Ministry,” He began as a slow, bubbling anger trickled through him. He struggled to ignore it. “That Ruffles will support whatever she tries to do.”



“Well we’re doubly lucky they’re on our side, either way,” Hermione said before tugging a thick, tattered book from her bag. “Even if they don’t fight her openly, they’ll be a great help at sabotaging her when it comes to it!”



Harry wasn’t sure if he felt quite the same way about Snape. He wasn’t sure how much spying and sabotage a person could do before they were ultimately caught, though Snape hadn’t been found out yet. However, there was quite a difference between sabotaging Umbridge opposed to Voldemort, and Harry couldn’t say if he felt pleased for Snape’s role in either position.



Getting in the Ministry’s way could be deadly, though maybe it’d be less painful than getting Voldemort’s way.



“Regardless, we have a direction to go in now, we might not be able to get rid of it,” Hermione’s eyes flashed to Harry and he wondered if she thought about their conversation on Snape’s inclusion in their research. “But we can stall it. I’m positive.” She said before flipping through the pages until she came to a series of charms.



“There are some minor counter-curses in some of these too,” Ron said as he dug through his own bag of books. “Will they help?”



“I don’t think so.” Harry said as he dropped his apple core in a bin and began to pull books free with Ron. “Curses are more specific, minor counter-curses won’t help the original curse.”



Ron hummed. “What about major counter-curses?”



“Not unless it’s the direct counter.” Harry said. “Because curses generally cause more than one problem.” He sniffed and looked toward Ron and Hermione. “Like,” He paused and tried to find the right way to describe it. “Like if someone casts a body-bind you aren’t sure of, and you try to release them with the counter for ‘ petrificus totalus ’, that won’t release them, because the body-bind your opponent used might be resistant. They have different theoretical properties, because they have different wand movements, theory, incantation and the sort.”



Hermione blinked slowly at Harry before turning the page.



“It might even make it worse.” Harry added uncomfortably. “If your opponent thought you might try to help yourself with that counter.”



“So,” Ron started. “Well, maybe that’s something someone should’ve mentioned before?” He said in a high voice. “That sounds like an accident waiting to happen!”



“Did you learn that from—from Crouch Jr?” Hermione asked weakly.



“From Ruffles.” Harry answered. He thought fondly of the small bubble animals that Snape had made for him on more than one occasion. “Over the summer. They’d make a good defense professor, and Lupin even mentioned that yesterday, but again, I don’t think they’ll openly go against Umbridge.”



“Do you think Umbridge would’ve prepared her curse against charms?” Hermione asked. “In that she may have anticipated them?”



Harry shrugged. “I’m not sure, Lupin thinks she may be skilled in curses alone, but neither Ruffles or Snuffles seemed to agree.”



They sorted through their books for several hours, and nearly missed lunch, though both Harry and Hermione offered to continue studying. It quickly became their obsession, and almost distracted Hermione from her own homework.



Ron soon found a passion for taking walks to the library and returning or checking out new books throughout the day.



It finally felt as if they’d found a bit of control against Umbridge, despite what sort of power she seemed to exude. It reminded Harry oddly of how Ms Eileen spoke about Dumbledore and his need to be in control.



Which only reminded Harry of Snape and his discussion about Voldemort and control. Umbridge appeared to be in control, but it may have been only that.



An appearance.



It was just the same as Harry’s mad escape from Privet Drive over the summer. Dumbledore had appeared to be in absolute control, but Harry’d found that wasn’t actually the case. He had more options than he even knew of, and Dumbledore, while displeased and certainly intent on returning Harry to Surrey, had to agree that Harry would choose instead to stay in Germany.



Lupin had probably been right to bring up Umbridge’s potential skill in curses, or at least any sort of revenge she might enact, if Harry broke free of her curse, but he was now all the more determined to undermine her.



It took them hiding in the classroom for the rest of the day and into the following evening before Hermione finally shouted and slammed her palm onto her book.



Harry and Ron both jerked to look toward her.



Hermione tossed several loose curls over her shoulder and read a paragraph aloud. “Though healers have historically struggled with the range of magical attacks on the pulmonary system,” Her eyes flickered toward Harry and Ron, “Lungs and air and that,” She said after a moment, leading Harry to wonder if they’d both given her confused looks. “Many have found a useful transitory charm for immediate relief.”



Harry stood and rushed to her side to read over the paragraph. A brief tingle of nausea cramped in his stomach, though he ignored just as he had with the rest of them.



What he found upon looking over Hermione’s shoulder was an endlessly complicated looking charm that functioned more through an understanding of anatomy than any basic charm background.



“It looks, erm” Hermione started as she slowly bit her thumb nail. “Difficult. It also states that it isn’t for prolonged results either.”



The three of them each took a turn reading over the spellwork and trying to pick through the description, though none of them were successful. Harry tried to internally remind himself that failing to learn a spell after the first time he tried it, didn’t mean much of anything. He’d practiced ‘Accio’ with Hermione for months before it’d worked for him.



“Difficult or not, we can give it a go.” Ron said. “Maybe we can force Fred and George to help us, or Ruffles even!” His eyes lit up and he looked toward Harry. “You don’t think they’d try it for us, do you?”



Harry felt his own eyes widen as he looked toward Ron. Something perilously warm hummed through his chest at the thought of Ron coming around to Snape, and he wondered if he might become even more welcoming to Snape as time went on.



“I can ask.” Harry said as he looked toward the clock. The tell-tale nausea of his mismade potion had slowly begun to creep in throughout their studying. He now knew better than to eat for several hours before he could take the antidote, as that was the only thing that abated his sicking up in toilets, but it didn’t help with the nausea. He wasn’t sure what the full time limit was before his antidote gave out, but the first time it’d happened, it’d been late in the evening, hadn’t it?



That had more to do with when he’d initial taken the antidote. Snape had said he’d send for Harry around when he’d need to retake, so Harry put the worry from his mind.



Hermione nodded. “It feels odd, doesn’t it?” She said as they picked up their small collection of books. “To be going to a teacher for help again.”



“I can see the appeal,” Ron shrugged. “Iit makes sense in this case, doesn’t it?” He said. “I mean,we might be able to ask Pomfrey, because this charm might be a bit beyond any of us either way.” He stretched his arms upwards and cracked his back in a long movement. “Maybe we could’ve found a seventh year, but even then—”



“I’m sure Pomfrey’d help us if we asked, we’d just need to be careful.” Hermione chimed in.



They made their way through the winding hallways until coming out in a busy corridor. Harry silently sent a thank you to both Ron and Hermione for spending the weekend with him, in a peaceful, safe classroom.



“Really careful.” Ron said.



Harry grimaced at the thought of involving the Hospital Wing in his ribbon problem. He’d briefly thought of what might happen if he’d gone to her when he’d first learnt the extent of Umbridge’s ribbons, but he didn’t fancy being unable to explain his problem. What if Pomfrey thought he’d gone mad?



It may have been worse if she’d believed him. What if she’d opened a case, one which Harry still had no clear evidence in addition to accusing a professor.



Perhaps Umbridge had hoped for that outcome.



“We probably could’ve bugged Snuffles or Lupin too,” Harry said. “They might still know something help—”



“Oi, Ron!” Lee Jordan shouted from far behind them.



Ron twisted and looked curiously over his shoulder. “You don’t think Fred and George have gotten into a fight do you?” He asked. “Lee doesn’t usually look for me.”



Hermione shrugged.



Lee shouted again and struggled to step around the wide swathes of students. Most of the students chattered excitedly as he passed them by, asking about Fred and George’s new products, or upcoming homework, and any number of things he seemed to have in common with them.



Harry half debated just leaving Ron to handle it, given how uncomfortable being around his classmates made him, but Lee reached them before he could slip away.



“Blimey,” He said when he finally closed in on them. His eyes brightened when he spotted Harry and he tugged a small crumpled note from his pocket. “I’ve been looking for you three for a while, I’ve a note for Harry.” He added before passing it over.



Harry briefly worried about how much time Lee had meant by ‘a while’, given that nausea was a poor gauge for how much more time Harry had before he’d turn six. The idea of spending the evening as a child wasn’t broadly appealing, but Snape had ensured Harry understood why his next dosage time was important. He quickly unfolded the parchment and found Snape’s skinny handwriting stating that Harry should meet with him to discuss remedial lessons.



He put on a suitable looking grimace and passed the note to Ron and Hermione who each gave theatrically gloomy sighs.



“Stick with Ron more often,” Lee huffed at Harry and Hermione. “He sticks out in a crowd, you two don’t.” He gave them each a fake disappointed look, before laughing and disappearing back into the crowd.



“You don’t think we should’ve been a bit more present lately, do you?” Hermione asked as she bit her lip. “I worry about the issue with Malfoy, what if we looked guilty?”



“I dunno,” Ron said as he shouldered through several more throngs of students and led them to the Grand Staircase. “Maybe we did, but that makes me wonder how professors find anyone without the map. Do they just assume students will bump into each other?” He asked before muttering about Dumbledore’s eerie innate knowledge of his student's locations.



“Why is Snape giving you remedial lessons, by the way?” Hermione asked.



It took Harry a second to work out that she’d asked why he’d changed their meeting time, and he realized again that he probably ought to tell them what’d happened in Snape’s office. He’d kept Sirius and Lupin in the dark too much lately, but how many people should really know about Harry’s apparent madness?



A blonde girl with a thick plait hissed about Cedric before shoving past the three of them and sending Hermione tripping over her robe and nearly crashing to the ground. Several of her books spilled out before Harry snagged her elbow and helped pull her upright.



“Mr Potter!”



Harry flinched as Umbridge’s girlish voice cut over the crowd. He swallowed back a faint bubble of nausea.



“Bloody hell,” Ron whispered as he and Harry collected Hermione’s books. “That’s just what we need. Slip away or something, maybe see if you can hide with Lee?”



Hermione muttered a foul word beneath her breath and eyed the tear in her robes and frantically searched over shoulder for Lee. Neither Harry nor Hermione could spy him though.



“Well,” Umbridge said with a fussy huff as she caught up to them. She paused and gave Hermione a distasteful side eye after noticing the muggle jeans beneath her robes. “Miss Granger, this school requires pressed robes and a neat uniform when you’re out of your Common Room.”



Hermione gave Umbridge a dull look. “I fell.”



Umbridge stared for a moment before pulling out a thin roll of pale pink parchment and a fluffy quill. “I’m going to give you a warning then, dear, be glad it isn’t a detention.”



“I fell.” Hermione said again in a firm voice. “I didn’t just leave like this!”



Umbridge waved a hand at Hermione’s answer and scribbled a note before passing it over. “Be that as it may, there are spells that will prevent robes from tearing and not revealing quite as much of our inappropriate clothing choices.”



Hermione flushed. “They’re just jeans—”



“Off you go then, you two,” Umbridge said in a clear dismissal. “Mr Potter and I have some—”



“I have to go too, Professor.” Harry said quickly. He held the note up and swallowed back a trickle of worry at the sharp look in Umbridge’s eyes. He was reminded once more of the way she’d crept around her desk in his memory, and even more so of Aragog and the way he crawled atop his nest.



Umbridge’s lips pinched and twisted into her horrible small smile.



“I’ll let him know you’ll be late.” She said before her heels cracked down the stairs and she flicked a finger at Harry, gesturing for him to follow her.



A resounding sense of horror cracked over him as he realized she truly meant to ignore Snape’s note.



“Harry,” Hermione whispered nervously behind him. “We'll, we’ll get erm,” She glanced at Ron who looked equally worried. “We’ll get McGonagall?”



“What if she poisons you again!” Ron hissed nervously.



“Then Ruffles will have something to work with.” Harry hissed back. “I need them though, please.” He added as his stomach slipped into a knot. “I need—”



“Mr Potter, now please.” Umbridge called.



Harry felt an invisible tug on his navel and he lurched forward before nearly tripping down several steps. He twisted over his shoulder and tried to silently mouth the words ‘Avery’ and ‘Potion’, but neither seemed to understand. It wouldn’t make much of a difference why they got Snape anyway, as Snape would hopefully move fast upon hearing Harry might potentially be poisoned again.



The two rushed down the corridor they’d come from, hopefully bent on taking a faster route to Snape. He almost wished Ron would run to the Common Room and get the map, as that was truly the fastest way to find someone.



Harry tripped down several more stairs before catching up and trailing behind Umbridge until they made their way to her office. His mum’s necklace flared to life as Umbridge flicked her wand and unlocked the door.



Hives burst over his skin as he looked around her office, though he tried to act unbothered. Despite the nausea he felt, he tried to keep a constant guard up, and not let her confund him again. Umbridge’s China plates and taffy pink ribbons hadn’t changed and Harry rubbed a hand over his throat as he remembered the last time he’d been in here.



“Now, I’m sure you don’t need me to impress upon you the seriousness of which I’ve brought you to my office today.” Umbridge began as she settled into her chair. She gave Harry a firm look and held her hand out to the same overstuffed pink armchair Harry’d sat in during his first meeting with Umbridge. “Sit.”



“I think I should go to my lesson with Professor Snape.” Harry said again.



“I think you should take a seat,” Umbridge said as her small smile thinned. “Because we have a very serious matter to discuss, as I said.”



Harry’s throat dried up in seconds and he wondered if he might just try to run away. Snape had made it seem as if running away was a reasonable response, though one that should be more calculated than the last spur of the moment decision. He tried to guess at how long it would take Ron and Hermione to get to the dungeons, pull Snape aside and bring him back up to Umbridge’s office.



“Sit.” Umbridge said in an overly sweet voice. “When a seat is offered, Mr Potter, we sit.”



Harry’s legs felt as if they’d been made of wood, though he forced himself to walk closer and sit on the edge of the seat.



“Now, would you like to tell me your side of the story first?” She asked before tilting her horrible small smile at him once more and folding her hands atop her desk. “Do try to remember what I told you on your first night of term, I want you to feel comfortable around me.”



“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Harry said. He truly didn’t know, how could he? She’d given him no background into what she was talking about, and if she wanted for Harry to tell her every ‘bad’ thing he’d done then she ought to have tried a little harder. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had loved to ask Harry to explain himself before they told him why he was in trouble, they were able to add anything they’d missed to their list of crimes against him while he willingly confessed. That trick had stopped working around Harry’s fifth birthday, though they still tried it every now and then.



“Come now,” Umbridge said sweetly. “There’s no sense in denying it, there were several witnesses.” She added before pulling a few rolls of parchment from a pile on her desk. “You cursed Mr Malfoy.”



Harry blinked stupidly for a moment and tried to guess at why Umbridge would be the one to question him on Malfoy, and not Snape or McGonagall.



Even Dumbledore would have made more sense than Umbridge.



She set the parchment aside and folded her hands once more. “Do you admit to it?”



Harry couldn’t think of what Snape or Ms Eileen would do in this instance, nor could he seem to push past his fear of being gagged, poisoned or otherwise hurt by Umbridge. He couldn’t tell if the nausea building through him related more to his fear or his mismade potion, and he wished for the first time that he kept the antidote on hand, rather than in his trunk, where he could easily take it in the morning, or in Snape’s Chambers. He despised himself for having left the antidote there this morning.



“I didn’t cast anything.” Harry said. Neither Snape nor Dumbledore knew where the spell came from, and frankly, that alarmed Harry more.



Umbridge gave him a flat look, though her smile remained taught. “I should think that if you’re trying out secret curses, ones that are of a significantly darker nature than those found in Hogwarts library books, you’d have utilized your resources sooner.”



Harry shook his head ‘no’ and immediately regretted it, as the room spun into a blurry mess of pink. An unsettling worry sprang over him, and he dreaded again how long Lee had meant when he’d said ‘a while’. He hadn’t kept track of his potion since he’d been forcibly transfigured by Dumbledore two days ago. It was the weekend and he’d had a plan to visit Snape.



He’d let it go too long.



“I am a resource, Mr Potter.” Umbridge said in a whisper. “I am your professor, much as you seem to dislike it. I am here to help regulate your defense education, for your benefit.”



A faint burning began to grow in Harry’s chest when he realized that she’d cornered him because of what Snape had brought up several days ago. She worried someone was teaching them defensive magic and was raising her ridiculous student army. She probably thought he’d learnt a dark curse for the fun of it and wanted to try it out on the first person he hated.



“I didn’t curse anyone.” Harry said through his climbing nausea. How long had the two of them been in her office for? Had it been long enough to expect Snape to come through the door?



“Do you know, I knew you’d be trouble,” Umbridge said with an overly sweet laugh. “Ever since the beginning of the term, when I graciously opened my door to you, and yet, here you are, cursing innocent students—”



“Not all of us curse people to prove a point.” Harry snapped.



Umbridge’s face soured and twisted into a foul look as her brown eyes darkened. The taffy pink bow on her head was almost too bright to look at, and Harry struggled to keep his eyes on open and cautious, for fear of Umbridge doing something terrible the moment he looked away.



“I beg your pardon, Mr Potter?” She asked after a moment. Her eyes brightened as if she’d won something as she looked down at Harry, despite being shorter than him. “That’s a serious accusation, one I would intend to see through personally.”



Harry swallowed heavily and shuddered as it came back up.



“If you believe yourself, or someone else has been cursed, as your defense professor, I would expect you to inform me.” She said with a pointed finger at Harry. “Anything less would be reckless, Mr Potter, though that wouldn’t be the first time we’ve experienced recklessness from you before, would it?”



Sweat dripped down Harry’s back and he wished desperately for Snape or anyone to throw the door open and help him.



“I feel sick.” Harry said as his nerves raced over his skin. “May I be excused until tomorrow?”



“So you can confer with whomever it was who taught you the curse, certainly not.” Umbridge said with an unkind laugh. “Goodness, I shall have to impart upon you the severity with which I’m speaking today, you, Mr Potter—”



Harry shook his head again before remembering that it was a dreadful idea.The room rocked and he sicked up on the floor before he could stop himself.



“Mr Potter!” Umbridge blanched and her coiffed hair fell into her eyes as she flinched backwards.



“I’m sick, professor,” Harry said thickly. He flicked his wand and cast a scouring charm. A bitter, but pleased feeling trickled through him at the thought of ruining the floor in her office. He needed to leave quickly though, or else Umbridge would find out everything and Harry'd be in far worse trouble for it. “I don’t feel well, I—”



“You were sick last time as well, Mr Potter,” Umbridge said in an overly caring voice. “Perhaps you are sick to your stomach because you know deep down that you’re actually guilty.” She said. “Guilty of lying to the public for attention, guilty of cursing your classmates when they rightfully don’t believe you, and guilty of lying to me.”



“I’m not!” Harry half shouted. His mouth watered again and he dreaded how much longer Umbridge would keep him.



An oddly muffled sound echoed from somewhere around the room and Harry blinked at the sound. He scratched at his knuckles and couldn’t help but worry that the sound was actually muffled buzzing, like he’d heard in his memory and his first experience in Umbridge’s office had returned.



“Professor,” Harry started thickly. “I really am sick and I don’t feel well.” He inhaled slowly and tried to soothe his pounding heart. An uncomfortably thick feeling came over him, and he tried to push past it to continue speaking, but found his voice slipping higher around him. The only time Harry’d been awake during his transformation in age had been when Snape gave him the antidote, and Harry remembered it well enough to recognize the feeling again.



He flicked his wand and tried to shrink his clothes in the same way Snape had done in Dumbledore’s office, and he mildly succeeded, though he found they were all far too large and baggy.



Terror engulfed him and Harry shuddered beneath the weight of it as Umbridge’s eyes widened.