Harry was exhausted that night. He ate a big dinner and dragged himself up to the common room. The potions and candy Snape had given him worked and he barely felt any pain in his backside now. Hermione unloaded her bag on the table. “Come do homework with me.” She said. Ron groaned and grabbed his bag before upturning it on the table across from her.
Harry made a face. “I’m really tired, I’ll do homework tomorrow.”
Hermione gave him a searching look. “Okay.”
Harry turned away, feeling a bit guilty. He wasn’t entirely on top of all his studies. He reasoned he deserved a bit of a break. Getting whacked by Snape qualified him for an extra summer vacation as far as he was concerned. He had everything he needed to do written down and besides, it was almost the weekend and he could just catch up then. He wanted to save his energy for quidditch practice tomorrow.
Harry was about to go up to his dorm but then Fred and George showed up and started loudly reenacting the hex mess from earlier for anyone who had missed it, complete with impressions and sound effects. Harry completely forgot about how tired he was, instead staying up late with his fellow Gryffindors.
The weekend came all too soon and Harry forced himself to take his backpack to the library after breakfast. Hermione happily came along and a very reluctant Ron followed.
“Are you almost done with McGonagall’s essay?” Hermione asked Ron.
“Yeah, I just need about two more inches.”
Harry frowned and slowly emptied his bag. McGonagall assigned us an essay?
“I have to catch up on the History of Magic reading.” Hermione shook her head. “I hope I can remember everything for the test.”
There’s a test in History of Magic? Harry gulped.
“Did you start that chart thing for Herbology?” Ron asked Harry.
“No, not yet.” He said. That he remembered. They were supposed to chart the growth of the Syrup Seed pods they’d harvested.
They worked together for a couple hours. Harry got a start on his Herbology chart, but he’d completely forgotten about the Divination predictions.
“Just make it up.” Ron suggested.
“Yeah. Maybe I dreamt that I ran into a troll in Diagon Alley. What would that mean?”
“You’re gonna meet a really ugly bloke outside Flourish and Blott’s.” Ron said.
“Oh yeah, that’s a good one…” Harry jotted notes down, doing the bare minimum of work to fill the parchment space. He meant to do the History of Magic reading. He meant to start McGonagall’s essay. But when Ginny came into the library looking for them and suggested a game of quidditch, his focus vanished under the siren song pull of his broomstick. Also, Ginny looked really cute today. The trio packed up. Ron and Harry were going to play. Ron wanted to get in as much practice as possible before the looming tryouts. Hermione was going to finish reading in the bleachers. She read as they walked in the sunshine.
“Does anyone know anyone who got the new Moonshot?” Ginny asked.
Ron moaned softly. “It’s so pretty…”
“No.” Harry said.
“Wish I could get one.” Ron said.
Ginny scoffed. “Mum and dad would have to sell Percy to afford it.”
Ron brightened. “I could live with that.”
Harry grinned. “Think Angelina could convince Dumbledore to outfit all the teams?” He smiled as he said it so they’d know he was kidding.
“Psh!” Ron shoved him. “Dream on! I’ll have to settle for visiting the one in Hogsmeade.”
“There’s one in Hogsmeade?” Harry said.
“Yeah. They’re gonna allow test flights!”
Harry couldn’t wait for the Hogsmeade weekend. Amidst homework and studying and dealing with Umbridge’s decrees and the horrible situation with Snape, the Hogsmeade weekend was a shining beacon in the distance.
They went to the pitch and Harry retrieved his Firebolt, still in the changing room from yesterday’s practice. The Firebolt was perfectly good. There was nothing wrong with it at all but the Moonshot was so much faster. He wished he could get his hands on one before their match with the Slytherins in a few weeks. He’d love to rub Malfoy’s annoying face in a new broom. A few of the other Gryffindors were around but not George and Fred.
“Where are they?” Ron asked.
Katie Bell shrugged. “Haven’t seen them.”
Harry only meant to play for a bit before joining Hermione on the bleachers, he really did, but the sun was so warm and the cold air felt amazing on his face. Why would he do homework when he could play quidditch? He still had tomorrow to finish everything up anyway. Hermione ended up going back to the castle after a while, saying she was cold. They played until dinner, where Harry loaded up on shepherd’s pie and hot cocoa and nearly passed out in front of the fire in the common room. Another stellar Saturday.
He woke up early Sunday and dragged all his books to the table in the common room. For real this time, he was going to do some homework. He decided to make a list of all the things he still had to do. He could tell Hermione about it later and she’d be so pleased with him. He checked his notes and made a big ‘To Do’ list on a piece of parchment. He added McGonagall’s essay, the Herbology chart (that he was nearly done with), the Divination predictions he’d started, the History of Magic reading, the DADA reading. He checked his notes some more. Oh right, there were two essays for Transfiguration, not one, plus some reading and answering questions. He had three short essays for Potions. Trelawny wanted them to, in addition to the predictions, make a star chart. Right, he’d forgotten all about that and it was already past due. He saw his notes for History of Magic and genuine panic zinged through his chest. He thought he only had to read fifty pages, but he actually had to read one hundred fifty since he’d been blowing it off. He rubbed his hands through his hair when he realized he also had to do a Herbology write-up in addition to the chart….damn. He had a lot more work than he’d thought. He shoved down the sensation of being completely overwhelmed before starting on the star chart. It was already overdue, and he could bullshit his way through it.
Two hours later, Hermione had joined him. Ron had gone to breakfast with Ginny, promising to bring them food back. “Harry.” she said when they were alone. “Ron and I were talking, and…”
Oh Merlin, what now? Harry gripped his quill very tight and braced himself.
“He said he has feelings for me.” She bit her lip and looked at him.
Harry realized she was waiting for a response and he said, “I know.”
“Oh! I didn’t know he said anything to you!”
“Are you guys dating now?” Harry asked.
She blushed and nodded.
Harry grinned. “Good for you both. I’m happy for you.” He truly was.
“You’re not upset?”
“Will this change our friendship?”
“No!”
“Then why would I be upset?”
Hermione relaxed. “Oh Harry, I didn’t know what you’d say, if things would be weird.”
“No, no. But, uh…” he glanced around. They were alone. “Can I tell you something? You have to promise not to tell anyone, even Ron.”
“Okay…” She said.
“I have a crush on Ginny.”
Hermione put her hands on her mouth in delighted shock. “Harry! For how long?”
“Not too long.” He shrugged. “She’s just, really funny and smart. She’s cute.”
“You guys would be really good together.”
“Thanks. I don’t know how she feels about me.”
Hermione shrugged, but inside she was screeching. Ginny had just said the other day how handsome Harry looked up on his broom in his quidditch gear. Hermione shrugged, nonchalant. “Ask her out.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Harry turned back to his homework. “If I don’t get buried under this mountain of homework first…”
Ron and Ginny came back, laden with food, and Harry and Hermione exchanged a grin.
“Oof!” Ron dropped the napkins stuffed with food onto the table and began pulling pastries out of his pockets. Ginny followed suit and Harry and Hermione dug in.
“What’cha working on?” Ginny said through a mouthful of banana.
“Star charts for Divination.” Harry said. “It’s taking longer than I thought.”
Hermione gave Ron a quick kiss and his ears went red.
“They both know.” Hermione said.
“Congratulations.” Harry said.
Ron beamed.
On Monday, Defense Against the Dark Arts started bad and got worse. Umbridge made a comment about how Voldemort was gone and Harry couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
“He killed Cedric!” He said hotly.
“Mr. Potter, enough foolishness! Do you want detention?”
“I want everyone to know the truth.” He said.
“The truth, Mr. Potter, is that you-know-who has not returned.”
“I saw him.” Harry growled. “He tried to kill me!”
She chortled. “If he wanted you dead, boy, you’d be dead.”
“Well he’s failed before!” Harry reminded her.
“Mr. Potter if you don’t sit down and be quiet, I shall be forced to give you detention. Now, did you see him return?”
The whole class was silent, glancing between Harry and Umbridge.
“Yes.” He hissed.
“Detention, then. Five days, I think.”
The class let out cries of dismay.
“Five days?” Harry breathed.
“Five days of detention, starting tonight.”
“There’s quidditch tryouts tomorrow.” He said.
“You should have thought of that before you lied to me and your classmates. Sit.”
Harry sat, feeling numb. Hermione patted his arm. Umbridge set them with more reading and Harry stared at his book, too angry to take in the dry text.
He told Angelina that afternoon in the common room that he wouldn’t be able to make the evening’s final practice before tryouts.
“You’re the seeker! How are we supposed to practice without our seeker?”
“I’m sorry, Angelina. You know how Umbridge is.”
“Ulgh! Harry! Control your temper around her. The team needs you!”
“It’s not like I want to spend my evenings with that hag!” He said hotly. “I’d much rather play quidditch with you lot!”
She scoffed but then softened. “Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend or do you have detention that day too?” She asked, changing the subject.
“I’m going.”
“Good. I wanted to tell you, Spintwitches has the new Moonshot.”
“Yeah, I know. They’re allowing test flights.” Harry added.
“Right. I managed to book a few time slots.”
Harry’s jaw dropped.
“They made some special allowance for the teams so we can all get a go. You should try it out. Here.”
Harry was already nodding halfway through her sentence and he grabbed the small piece of parchment she’d held out to him. It was a timeslot reservation to ride the new Moonshot Silver.
“Thanks Angelina, you’re a star!”
“Yeah, well, make it up to me by not missing more practice, yeah?”
“Angelina!” Fred was calling her from the other side of the room.
“Don’t piss off more teachers.” Angelina walked away.
Harry was excited. He was actually going to fly on the Moonshot! Excitement bubbled in his chest. Who cared about five nights of detention with the hag? He was going to fly the Moonshot! He wondered what she’d have him do. The trophies were all nice and polished. Cleaning bed pans? Dusting off furniture? Something horrible, no doubt.
He stepped into her office that evening, stuffed with chicken and potatoes and pudding from dinner. The room was shocking in it’s pink glory. Every surface was pink or flowered. Her desk chair was an ugly awful rose color. The desk itself was a pale pink. Decorative dishes lined the walls, each one bearing an image of a squeaking kitten. Fussy floral curtains covered the windows. Even the walls in here were pink.
She’s mental. Harry tried to find something to look at that wasn’t awful and came up empty.
“Good evening, Mr. Potter.” She said sweetly.
“Professor Umbridge.” He said with a nod.
“Have a seat.” She nodded to a small table holding a sheet of parchment, an ugly doily, and a black and red quill. “I’m going to have you write some lines.”
Lines. Lines were dull but as far as detentions went, it was a simple punishment. He half expected the old toad to make him do something really foul like scrub all the Hogwarts toilets by hand. He went to the table and sat. He picked up the quill. “What should I write?”
“I must not tell lies.” She said.
Harry wanted to refuse out of spite but better sense prevailed and he picked up the quill. It was heavier than a normal quill and the tip was very sharp.
“How many times?” He asked.
“As long as it take for the message to sink in.”
That was strange, but okay.
“You haven’t given me any ink.” He said to her.
“Oh, you won’t need any.” She gave him a smile that could almost be called motherly. Harry didn’t know what she was on about, but he put the quill’s tip to the parchment and wrote: I must not tell lies. No ink flowed onto the page and he thought this whole thing was a joke until the back of his left hand seared in pain. He looked at the skin that was morphing into an angry red-pink color and saw the words he’d just written in his own handwriting carve themselves into his flesh. He watched, eyes wide, as the sentence formed on his hand. His own glistening red blood appeared on the paper and the cuts faded away and left a patch of clear skin behind.
He looked up at her, horrified. She smiled at him. “Something you want to say, Mr. Potter?”
You ’re a bloody barmy sadist!
“Nothing.” He said. He turned his attention to the page and wrote again. She flipped an hourglass that was on her desk and the sand (also pink) slowly trickled down. For hours he carved those words into his own skin and each time it hurt badly. From his position next the office window, he could just barely see the quidditch pitch. He saw the flashes of Gryffindor red darting around. Ron was out there trying to make the team and Harry hated that he wasn’t out there with him and was angry all over again that he had this stupid detention. The sand in the glass ran out when it was pitch black outside.
“You may stop, Mr. Potter. Return tomorrow at the same time and we’ll pick up where we left off.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Harry stood up, grabbed his bag, and left. He waited until he was far away from her office to cradle his hand. It was healing up slowly but the words were still visible, thin and slowly fading. His entire hand ached from fingertip to wrist. The bruise cream was unfortunately gone but he still had some of the chilling cream Snape gave him and he knew that would help alleviate the soreness. He got back to the common room and found Hermione and Ron at the table. It was pushing eleven at night.
“Harry, there you are!” Hermione said. “Was it awful?”
“It wasn’t fun.” He said dryly. He looked to Ron. “Did you make it? On the team?”
Ron grinned and nodded.
“Yes!” Harry slapped his back. “Well done, mate. It’ll be great having you.”
Ron grinned. “I can’t wait. Everyone else was really crap so Angelina had no choice but to pick me. Hey, what’s this?” Ron asked, noticing Harry tucking his hand into his sleeve. “What do you have?”
“Nothing.”
Hermione glanced at his hand and her eyes bulged. “You’re bleeding!”
She took his arm and looked. Harry sighed.
“Oh, Harry.” She said sadly. Ron came over and saw the cut skin, the red blood.
“That’s not on, mate.” He shook his head. “That’s fucked. Go to Dumbledore.”
“No way that’s exactly what she wants me to do.”
“What a bitch.” Hermione said. “Did she carve it herself?”
Harry told them about the quill.
“Those are illegal!” Hermione said.
“Yeah, tell her that. I have some stuff to put on it. It’ll be fine, it heals on its own.” Harry went upstairs and wondered how he was going to do four more nights of this.
Harry dutifully showed up to Umbridge’s office for the next three nights. Each night she greeted him in that high, sweet voice of hers before instructing him to sit and write. Harry said nothing beyond “Good evening, Professor,” and, “Good night, Professor.” Sometimes she’d sit at her desk, grading papers with a pink quill. Other times she’d stand behind him, watching I must not tell lies carve into his skin again, and again, and again. Harry hated when she watched him. He could feel her eyes boring into him. One time he swore he heard her giggle as his flesh ripped open. After three nights of this treatment, his skin was having trouble healing up properly. The first night the skin had knit together by morning without a trace of the quill’s tender touch. On the morning after the second night, the words were still there, thin and red and scabbed.
“Fuck.” Harry muttered as Hermione pulled away the bowl of Essence of Murtlap to change out the water. She’d taken more supplies from Snape’s cabinet during their class today and had made more healing potion for him in addition to the Essence of Murtlap. The water in the bowl was pleasantly warm and it caused the scabs to run, staining the water pink. “That’s not helping it go away.” Harry said, frustrated.
“Go to Dumbledore, Harry.” Hermione said sadly.
“No. Not yet. I still have that cream from Snape that might help.” Harry went to his trunk and pulled out the pot of chilling cream. He’d gone to Snape yesterday and asked for more and the man had rolled his eyes and given him a fresh container. That was nearly empty because Harry had been smearing the stuff across his inflamed hand all the time. Harry spread the last of it on the back of his hand. It cooled the skin but the cuts remained. Harry stared at his hand, his mouth twisted into a worried frown. What if it never healed? What if this would be scarred onto his flesh forever? He had enough unwanted scars, thanks. He went back downstairs to have another go with the Murtlap Essence. Maybe the cream plus Hermione’s treatments would help.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione darted into the Potions classroom. Snape glanced up as they crossed the threshold just as the bell tolled and he shook his head. They dropped to their usual table and Harry began taking out his notes and a quill.
“Everyone, pass your essays to the end of your table and then up to the front.” Snape commanded.
Harry looked up, shocked, as everyone else rummaged in their bags.
“Essay?” He said, looking at Ron and Hermione.
His stomach dropped straight through the floor when he saw them each produce four feet of parchment filled with dense writing.
“What?!” He breathed.
“Harry, did you do it?” Hermione asked.
Harry’s eyes were wide. “No—what essay is this?” He looked at the title of Ron’s, called: An Analytical Approach to the Rights of Werewolves: Can their symptoms really be controlled with potions?
“What the hell?” Harry said.
“Hermione came up with the title…” Ron said, almost defensively.
“I don’t even remember him assigning this. When did you guys do it?”
“A couple days ago?” Hermione said, thinking. “This whole last week.” Harry glanced at her parchment. Hers looked to be about giants and calming potions.
“Ooohhh,” Ron said, realization dawning. “We did them while you were in detention.” Ron’s face was pinched with guilt.
“Quickly!” Snape barked at the room in general. “We have lots to do today!” Pages shuffled.
“Oh great!” Harry hissed.
“Take mine!” Ron said.
Harry said, “What?” at the same time Hermione hissed, “Ron, no!”
“Yeah!” Ron insisted. “Put your name on mine. If you don’t turn something in, you’ll catch it from him, right?” Ron nodded at Snape.
“Well, yeah.”
“Harry, no!” Hermione whispered. “It’s cheating!”
“So?” Ron said to her, “you wrote like half of mine. Here, Harry.” Ron vanished his name at the top of the parchment and wrote Harry’s in its place. He passed the essay up to the front before anyone could stop him. Hermione was shaking her head.
“But, Ron, now you don’t have one.” Harry said, feeling uneasy.
“So?” He shrugged. “I won’t get smacked if I don’t turn one in. You will.”
Ron had a point. Harry didn’t like the point, but what was he to do? Ron had insisted. He’d put his name on the essay before Harry could say a thing and turned it in.
“Thanks, mate.” Harry said with a relieved grin. “I owe you.”
Ron laughed before Snape silenced the room with one of his glares.
After class, Harry shouldered his bag and went up to the front of the room to talk to Snape.
“Harry.” He said, brows up.
“Um, do you have any more of that chilling cream?”
Snape blinked. “Again? Are you still sore?” He looked worried. “That was over a week ago.”
“Er, uh, yeah! You hit me really hard.” He was not going to tell Snape what Umbridge was doing. The man would probably get his own evil quill to employ in his own detentions. Even as Harry thought that, a little voice suggested that Snape would never do such a thing. Snape was many things but he wasn’t a sadist like Umbridge. Harry knew that as painful as his encounters with Snape had been, they could be much, much worse. Snape had actually been really nice about it all ever since he apologized. Harry found that he hardly minded spending the time with him. Sure he didn’t like the spankings, but Snape had been calm and encouraging the last time, even giving him sweets and the cream and the handkerchief. It had been nice of him. And it had been great fun to lie to Umbridge. If Umbridge had taken the Solis argenti and had to discipline him Harry was certain he’d be limping and missing limbs. He certainly wouldn’t be going to her for cooling cream and sweets. He was suddenly very grateful for Snape and the way he’d been handling this.
“Wait here.” Snape swept into his office and Harry fidgeted. He’d lied. It was just a white lie though. He was truly in pain and it’s not like he was doing anything dangerous with the cream. He really did need it, just not for his backside.
“Here.” Snape handed him another little pot. “Take this too.”
It was another raspberry relaxation candy. Snape laid his hand on Harry’s shoulder, concerned. “If it still hurts in a day or two, find me. It shouldn’t be hurting this long.” He actually looked guilty and Harry felt like a terrible person.
“Oh, okay. Thanks!” He left the room, trying not to die of guilt. Snape watched him go and sank back to his desk. What a monster he was. Harry was still sore some eight days after the last punishment. Snape had thought he was being careful, all things considered. Had he given the boy some kind of permanent damage? Was it even possible to get permanent damage from a paddle? Snape frowned. That wasn’t right. He’d paddled students before and never was anyone sore for over a week…Although he’d hit Potter much longer than what was usual or normal. He swallowed. As a boy he’d felt various implements on many occasions, usually the cane or a fist. He’d never had permanent damage from it though. Physically, anyway. He rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath before straightening up. He couldn’t dwell on this now. He had a class coming in.
Harry and Ron were coming out of Transfiguration at the end of the day when a second year ran up to Harry and gave him a note.
“Thanks…” Harry said as the boy scampered off. He opened it up and angled it so Ron could read it too.
Potter, both you and Weasley get your backsides to my office as soon as you get this.
-Professor Snape
They exchanged an uneasy look and moved for the Potions classroom. “What is this about?” Ron asked.
“The essay?” Harry suggested.
“Do you think he’ll whack us? I don’t want to get whacked!” Ron wailed.
“Me neither! He won’t touch you. It’s my arse on the line. Maybe it’s not the essay?”
“What else would it be?”
Harry thought. “Hermione’s been nicking potion ingredients.”
“Hermione’s name isn’t on this!” Ron waved the paper, his voice taking on a high, desperate note.
“Well I don’t know!”
They went down to the classroom and ventured up to Snape’s office door. Harry knocked, feeling ill.
“Enter!”
Harry looked at Ron. Ron nodded. Harry opened the door.
“Ah.” Snape was at his bookshelf. He slapped the book he was reading closed, put it back, and stood behind his desk. He waved his hand and the office door swung shut with a slam that sounded more ominous than usual. “Sit.” He pointed at the armless chairs and both boys sat. Ron fidgeted and cringed, clearly uncomfortable with being in the Potions Master’s dungeon office. Harry slumped into his chair like it was a recliner. This office was practically his home away from home now.
“It’s strange.” Snape said, regarding the pile of essays on his desk. He picked one up. Ron’s. “This essay is written entirely in your hand, Weasley, yet your name is on it, Potter.” He tossed the essay across the desk so it faced both of them.
Both boys shifted. Snape leaned over his desk, looming over them.
“Curious, would you agree?”
“Yes, sir.” Harry said. “Very.”
Snape stared at Harry, then slid his gaze to Ron. Last year this situation would have frightened Harry, but after enduring several spankings from the man he found he wasn’t nearly as uneasy as he should have been. He was used to Snape looming and snarling. Ron, meanwhile, couldn’t sit still under Snape’s glare. He squirmed and stared at his knees.
“Weasley!” Snape barked.
Ron jumped and looked up at him.
“Did Potter put his name on your essay?”
“I, um, well…”
“Yes.” Harry said, sparing his friend. “Ron wrote it and I put my name on it.”
“Weasley, is this true?”
“No!” Ron said.
Harry looked at him like he was spouting gibberish.
“No.” Ron repeated, glancing between Harry and Snape. “I put Harry’s name on it. I insisted!”
Snape was getting steadily more annoyed. Pain laced up Harry’s legs, a deep throb in his bones. He hissed and cringed. Snape looked at him, glancing him over with a flash of concern in his eyes.
“Ron wrote the essay.” Harry said, rubbing his knee. “I didn’t. I forgot about it. Ron changed his name to mine and turned it in.”
“Stupid Gryffindor bravado.” Snape hissed to him. “Did you think you would get away with this?” Snape asked Ron in a soft, deadly voice.
“I’d hoped so.” Harry said honestly. “Ron offered his essay so you wouldn’t get angry with me for not turning one in and smack me. We didn’t think.” Harry said.
“Shut it, Potter.” Snape turned his glare onto the redhead and Harry huffed.
“We didn’t think.” Ron squeaked.
Snape turned to Harry, who was squirming now. His legs were throbbing. “You know what this means.” Snape said to him.
“No.” Ron whimpered. “Don’t, don’t hit him…”
“Do you know about our arrangement?” Snape asked Ron.
“Yes and I think it’s bollocks.” Ron said bravely. “It’s not fair! I’ll, I’ll take it for him!”
Both Snape and Harry said at the same time, “it doesn’t work that way.”
Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder. “Appreciate it, mate, but no. Can’t.”
Snape rolled his eyes, muttering something unsavory about misplaced Gryffindor nobility.
“Weasley,” he said briskly, “I can certainly give you a taste of what Potter experiences.”
“No, sir.” Ron said.
“Detention, then. Friday at eight. You’re going to lose a letter grade off of this essay. And ten points from Gryffindor. Each. Get out.”
Ron got up, gave Harry a look he hoped was encouraging, and left the office.
“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?” Snape sat in his chair.
Harry noted that Snape had completely lost the overbearing, intimidating professor act when Ron left the room. He was talking to Harry in a normal tone.
“No. I don’t know. I figured you’d be pissed off with me anyway so I may as well get a grade for the essay. It was stupid.” Harry scrubbed his hand through his hair.
“Harry.” Snape said, irritated. “I wouldn’t have been upset if you didn’t turn in an essay. I would have asked you about it and had you told me the truth I’d give you an extension.”
“Really? You never give extensions!”
“Wrong. I’ve never had a student who has consumed half the Draught of Asphodel and is probably having a harder than usual school year!” He rolled his eyes. “This was completely avoidable!”
“Ulgh!” Harry stared at the ceiling. “I didn’t even think to ask.”
“I do give extensions if the circumstances warrant it, though it is a rare, rare occurrence. All the teachers do. Think next time.”
Both of them were silent.
“Do you need it?” Snape asked.
Harry did. The pain had taken up residence in both knees and he knew it would only get worse.
“No.” He said. He stood.
“Really?” Snape sounded suspicious.
“It’s not that bad.” Harry said. “If it gets worse I’ll come find you.”
“I’m not the local corner shop, Harry. I’m not open all night.”
“It’s really not bad.” Harry pushed. He didn’t know why he was being so stubborn. It’s not like he could ignore this forever. Sooner rather than later he was going to have to accept that he was going over the man’s hard knee today. Right now, ‘later’ sounded like a much better plan. Little did Harry know, he would come to greatly regret that decision.
Snape waved his hand. ”If you want to suffer then don’t let me get in your way. Out with you. Go to dinner.”
“Yes, sir.” Harry shouldered his bag and left the office. He didn’t know why he didn’t just get it over with. He shook his head, angry. He didn’t want to be bloody smacked! He just wanted to serve a normal detention like Ron! He was so sick of this terrible, unfair potion!
“Hey.” Ron was lingering in the corridor. “You okay?” He glanced over his friend.
“Yeah. He didn’t do anything.”
“Oh, brilliant!” Ron perked up.
Harry smiled but he didn’t feel it.
After dinner he had his fourth night of detention with Umbridge.
Harry could hardly sit still in Umbridge’s office. He felt like he’d been stepped on by a troll after getting kicked by a hippogriff. He squirmed in his seat and glanced out the window, too distracted to focus.
I must not tell lies.
His head was starting to pound. He closed his eyes for a few moments to get his bearings and wrote again.
I must not tell lies.
His fingers were tingling and it was hard to hold the quill. He put the quill down and shook his hand, knowing it would do nothing.
I must not tell lies.
“Mr. Potter.” She said. “It seems you are unable to concentrate tonight.”
“Er, sorry.” He said. The blood on the back of his hand glistened in the firelight. The skin was red and angry. Spots of blood dotted the foul doily. She grabbed his sore hand and Harry stared at her ugly rings.
“Mr. Potter, what precisely are doing with Professor Snape?”
Oh shit.
“What do you mean?” He hissed as she began rubbing his hand, the metal from her gaudy rings digging into his knuckles.
“I don’t believe for a second that you’re doing remedial potions with him!” She hissed.
“Why? Professor Snape is a demanding teacher.” Harry said. “He has very high standards and it’s my O.W.L year. I need to do well.” He wanted to pull his hand away. She wasn’t touching the cut skin, instead focusing on digging her fingertips into the meat of his thumb. It hurt deep in his hand.
“I don’t think you’re telling me the whole story.” Umbridge said. “I have high standards in my class and yet here you are in detention, insolent as ever.” She released his aching hand and leaned down, looking him in the eye. “Does he cane you if you make a mistake?”
“No.” Harry said honestly. Thank Merlin.
She stared at him and rose. “I think you’re lying to me, Mr. Potter.”
“I’m not.”
“Get up.” She commanded.
He got to his feet. Quickly, she pushed him over the desk and smacked his backside twice with her hand.
Harry froze, surprised. Several thoughts popped into his head. Hey, only Snape can do that! Followed by She really bloody spanked me! Ending with a hysterical little, You call THAT a spanking?
Harry tried to jerk upright, more shocked and annoyed than anything. She pushed on his back, pinning him to the desk. He’d barely felt her little hand over the layers of robes and clothes.
“You are lying to me, young man!”
“I’m not.” He clenched his fists. A few dishes on the wall rattled as his magic reacted to his anger. He didn’t usually have a problem controlling his magic. In fact, children over the age of about eight subconsciously kept it managed. It was only small kids that usually lost control, small kids and people going through strong, usually-unpleasant emotional experiences. Harry growled at her, “Voldemort is back and Snape and I have meetings about potions.”
“Tut, tut, Mr. Potter.” She shook her head.
Smack, smack. Her excuse for a spanking was bloody pathetic, it really was. It was like someone was gently lobbing pygmy puffs at his arse.
“Still lying. I would have thought the message had sunk in by now!”
“It’s sunk in plenty!” He said, trying not to sound too desperate.
She regarded him for a few seconds. “I think another few days of detention will do you good. Perhaps this coming Saturday and Sunday. Perhaps with a good dose of the cane?”
“Professor, that’s the Hogsmeade weekend!” Harry said, forgetting not to shout. More plates rattled, louder.
“How dare you raise your voice to me.” She smacked his backside twice again. Maybe the cane wouldn’t be so bad if it was this pathetic.
She realized the smacks were having no effect on him and she pushed him down into the chair. “Detention, Mr. Potter. Saturday and Sunday.”
Harry was shaking his head.
“This office at noon.”
“No!” Harry got to his feet so fast the chair fell over. A dish crashed to the floor and shattered. He slammed his hands on the table. “No!”
“Sit down!” She snapped.
Harry’s chest heaved. He was so angry. “You can’t cane students! You can’t take Hogsmeade away! I’m not lying!” No Hogsmeade and whacks with a cane instead? He wanted to cry. He wanted to break every horrible kitten dish in this room.
“I certainly can. Now sit and finish!”
Harry fumed. A sort of whoosh billowed through the room, like a shadow passing over the sun. She glanced around, alarmed.
“Control your magic!” She scolded, her voice taut. His hands clenched into fists again. A fresh sheen of blood oozed forth. He felt the warm red liquid run over his knuckles and plat onto the floor. Without thinking, he grabbed his wand and pointed it at the blank parchment. It went up in flames and took the ugly doily with it.
She shouted out in surprise and fell back in her desk chair. Harry rounded on the wall of ugly kitten dishes and pointed his wand at a particularly large and sugary-looking platter. He swung his wand and the whole row exploded in a shower of shards, clattering to the stone floor. Harry grinned and blasted another row. Shards of ceramic flew everywhere. The kittens were hissing now, backs arched and claws out. Harry laughed. He jabbed his wand at the fussy curtains. A swarm of moths erupted from the end of the wand and converged on the fabric, chewing it to ribbons. Umbridge shrieked. Harry spun towards the floral-patterned armchair near the window and it went up in emerald flames.
Umbridge shrieked again and covered her head as moths danced about her hair. “Get out! Get out, horrible boy!”
Harry couldn’t resist. He blew up the hourglass and sand poofed up everywhere, coating her in a layer of fine pink dust. Harry threw the door open and took off into the corridor.
I Must not Tell Lies