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Chapter 22: Fifth Year (Part 14)

21, August, 1998...

"We'll continue with the next days CoMC class. I'll ask you not to hex Draco as he's... Um..." Harry trailed off.

"A very big git about Hagrid? Despite him not being there?" Draco suggested.

"What he said." Harry nodded, "Nothing interesting happens before that except another fall out between Ron and Hermione."

"Another one?" James asked amused.

"Over hats for House-Elves no less." Ginny grinned at the blushing two.

"Hermione had learned how to knit and was trying to set the House-Elves free by leaving hats around the common room covered in rubbish so they'd have to pick it up." Harry clarified.

"It wouldn't have worked. Only a House-Elf's master can set them free and the Hogwarts Elves aren't bound to the Headmaster or students, they're bound directly to the school." Minerva told them, "And most of them were so offended the only two that would willingly clean Gryffindor tower was Dobby and Winky since they wore clothes anyway."

"Didnt think of that." Hermione admitted.

"Anyway, this is when we're heading to CoMC." Harry smiled as his mother put the memory in the Pensieve for him, "It's also a lesson for you two." he added to Petunia and Dudley. "Like with the Hippogriff's."

The day had become cool and breezy, and as they walked down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the forbidden forest, they felt the occasional drop of rain in their faces. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class, some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with twigs. As Harry and Ron reached her, a loud shout of laughter sounded behind them, turning, they saw Draco Malfoy striding towards them, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherin cronies.

He had clearly just said something highly amusing, because Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and the rest continued to snigger heartily as they gathered around the trestle table and, judging by the way they all kept looking over at Harry, he was able to guess the subject of the joke without too much difficulty.

"Everyone here?" barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors hadarrived. "Let's start in then. Who can tell me what these things are called?" She indicated the heap of twigs infront of her. Hermione's hand shot into the air. Behind her back, Malfoy did a buck-toothed imitation of her jumping upand down in eagerness to answer a question.

Hermione glared at Draco.

"Sorry." he winced.

Pansy Parkinson gave a shriek of laughter that turned almost at once into a scream, as the twigs on the table leapt into the air and revealed themselves to be what looked like tiny pixie-ish creatures made of wood, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, two twig-like fingers at the end of each hand and a funny flat, barklike face in which a pair of beetle-brown eyes glittered.

"Oooooh!" said Parvati and Lavender, thoroughly irritating Harry. Anyone would have thought Hagrid had never shown them impressive creatures; admittedly, the flobberworms had been a bit dull, but the salamanders and hippogriffs had been interesting enough,and the Blast-Ended Skrewts perhaps too much so.

"Kindly keep your voices down,girls!" said Professor Grubbly-Plank sharply, scattering a handful of what looked like brown rice among the stick-creatures, who immediately fell upon the food. "So, anyone know the names of thesec reatures? Miss Granger?"

"Bowtruckles," said Hermione. "They're tree-guardians, usually live in wand-trees."

"Five points for Gryffindor," said Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Yes, these are bowtruckles, and as Miss Granger rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. Anybody know what they eat?"

"Woodlice," said Hermione promptly which explained why what Harry had taken to be grains of brown rice were moving. "But fairy eggs if they can get them."

"Good girl, take another five points. So, whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of woodlice ready to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will try to gouge at human eyes with their fingers, which, as you can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So if you'd like to gather closer, take a few woodlice and a bowtruckle? I have enough here for one between three. You can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body parts labelled by the end of the lesson."

The class surged forwards around the trestle table. Harry deliberately circled around the back so that he ended upright next to Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Where's Hagrid?" he asked her, while everyone else was choosing bowtruckles.

"Never you mind," said Professor Grubbly-Plank repressively, which had been her attitude last time Hagrid had failed to turn up for a class, too. Smirking all over his pointed face, Draco Malfoy leaned across Harry and seized the largest bowtruckle.

"Maybe," said Malfoy in an undertone, so that only Harry could hear him, "the stupid great oaf's got himself badly injured."

"Maybe you will if you don't shut up," said Harry out of the side of his mouth.

"Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too big for him, if you get my drift." Malfoy walked away, smirking over his shoulder at Harry, who felt suddenly sick. Did Malfoy know something? His father was a Death Eater, after all; what if he had information about Hagrid's fate that had not yet reached the ears of the Order? He hurried back around the table to Ron and Hermione, who were squatting in the grass some distance away and attempting to persuade a bowtruckle to remain still long enough for them to draw it. Harry pulled out parchment and quill, crouched down beside the others and related in a whisper what Malfoy had just said.

"Dumbledore would know if something had happened to Hagrid," said Hermione at once. "It's just playing into Malfoy's hands to look worried; it tells him we don't know exactly what's going on. We've got to ignore him, Harry. Here, hold the bowtruckle for a moment, just so I can draw its face?"

"Yes," came Malfoy's clear drawl from the group nearest them, "Father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry's really determined to crack down on substandard teaching in this place. So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he'll probably be sent packing straight away."

"Draco!" Cissy groaned, "Didn't you remember anything of what I told you before we went to Kings Cross?"

"Um... No?" he guessed, "Oh, wait! Was it about not mentioning Lucius being in contact with the Minister about the goings on at Hogwarts while in earshot of Harry, Ron and Hermione?"

"Exactly!" she growled.

"Oh I remembered it. I just ignored it." he informed his annoyed looking Mother. "You can't have expected me to have listened to you about that." he added, "You knew I would've said something just to annoy or upset them."

"He has a point Cissy, remember whenever Sirius was told not to do something he'd do it anyway? We all did that at one point." Regulus told her, "Even Bella did it a few times. As soon as you tell someone not to do something they'll be even more likely to do it." he shrugged.

"OUCH!" Harry had gripped the bowtruckle so hard that it had almost snapped, and it had just taken a great retaliatory swipe at his hand with its sharp fingers, leaving two long deep cuts there. Harry dropped it. Crabbe and Goyle, who had already been guffawing at the idea of Hagrid being sacked, laughed still harder as the bowtruckle set off at fullkilt towards the forest, a little moving stick-man soon swallowed up among the tree roots. When the bell echoed distantly over the grounds," Harry rolled up his blood-stained bowtruckle picture and marched off to Herbology with his hand wrapped in Hermione's handkerchief, and Malfoy's derisive laughter still ringing in his ears.

"If he calls Hagrid a moron one more time," said Harry through gritted teeth.

"Harry, don't go picking a row with Malfoy, don't forget, he's a prefect now, he could make life difficult for you."

"Wow, I wonder what it'd be like to have a difficult life?" said Harry sarcastically.

A few chuckled a little bitterly and the rest looked depressed at the reminder of how difficult it had already been for Harry up to that point, sure there was more difficulties to come.

Ron laughed, but Hermione frowned. Together, they traipsed across the vegetable patch. The sky still appeared unable to make up its mind whether it wanted to rain or not. "I just wish Hagrid would hurry up and get back, that's all," said Harry in a low voice, as they reached the greenhouses. "And don't say that Grubbly-Plank woman's a better teacher!" he added threateningly.

"I wasn't going to," said Hermione calmly.

"Because she'll never be as good as Hagrid," said Harry firmly, fully aware that he had just experienced an exemplary Care of Magical Creatures lesson and was thoroughly annoyed about it.

The door of the nearest greenhouse opened and some fourth-years spilled out of it, including Ginny. "Hi," she said brightly as she passed.

A few seconds later, Luna Lovegood emerged, trailing behind the rest of the class, a smudge of earth on her nose, and her hair tied in a knot on the top of her head. When she saw Harry, her prominent eyes seemed to bulge excitedly and she made a beeline straight for him. Many of his classmates turned curiously to watch.

Luna took a great breath and then said, without so much as a preliminary hello, "I believe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back and I believe you fought him and escaped from him."

"I felt you needed to know." Luna smiled, "Sorry if I was a bit short."

"It's fine, you were just being you and you didn't know us very well yet." Harry shrugged.

"Er, right," said Harry awkwardly. Luna was wearing what looked like a pair of orange radishes for earrings, a fact that Parvati and Lavender seemed to have noticed, as they were both giggling and pointing at her earlobes.

"You can laugh," Luna said, her voice rising, apparently under the impression that Parvati and Lavender were laughing at what she had said rather than what she was wearing, "but people used to believe there were no such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"

"People still don't beleive it. The Blibbering Humdinger was a fake but the Snorkack's are real." Luna smiled brightly.

"They're not." Hermione muttered.

"Yes they are." James said, "There's a scroll of information on them and quite a few drawings of them in the Potter vault towards the back of it, there might even be a skeleton. It's been a while since I've been near the back of the vault so I can't remember it very well, but there's definitely something there and it's definitely something to do with a Crumple-Horned Snorkack." he shrugged, grinning.

"See Hermione? I told you they were real." Luna's smile turned smug.

"Well, they were right, weren't they?" said Hermione impatiently. "There aren't any such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack." Luna gave her a withering look and flounced away, radishes swinging madly. Parvati and Lavender were not the only ones hooting with laughter now.

"D'you mind not offending the only people who believe me?" Harry asked Hermione as they made their wayinto class.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry, you can do better than her," said Hermione. "Ginny's told me all about her; apparently, she'll only believe in things as long as there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from someone whose father runs The Quibbler."

"Really? You seem fine with it now." Luna commented.

Hermione went pink, "Sorry Luna, it's just there was never any proof of the things you believed in existing."

"But there is proof if you look close enough." she told the older witch, "Sometimes things don't like to be out in the open but they can be found if you look closer than most people."

Harry thought of the sinister winged horses he had seen on the night he had arrived and how Luna had said she could see them to. His spirits sank slightly. Had she been lying?

"Of course not. I dont lie unless I have to." Luna smiled, "Like last year when I was trying to stay out of trouble with the Death Eaters."

"If only I had heard you Harry. I could've told you what the Thestrals were." Neville sighed, "I've been able to see them since I was 10 and Gran had to tell me about them before I left for Hogwarts."

"How -?"

"Grandad." he cut Frank off.

"Ah." was all Frank said.

But before he could devote much more thought to the matter, Ernie Macmillan had stepped up to him. "I want you to know, Potter," he said in a loud, carrying voice, "that it's not only weirdoes who support you. I personally believe you one hundred percent. My family have always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I."

"So he believes you now but not when you said you weren't the Heir of Slytherin?" Sirius muttered.

"I think he felt guilty because of the way he treated Harry back then." Ron frowned.

"Er, thanks very much, Ernie," said Harry, taken aback but pleased. Ernie might be pompous on occasions like this, but Harry was in a mood to deeply appreciate a vote of confidence from somebody who did not have radishes dangling from their ears. Ernie's words had certainly wiped the smile from Lavender Brown's face and as he turned to talk to Ron and Hermione, Harry caught Seamus's expression, which looked both confused and defiant.

"He was coming to his senses then." Fred grinned.

To nobody's surprise, Professor Sprout started their lesson by lecturing them about the importance of OWLs. Harry wished all the teachers would stop doing this; he was starting to get an anxious, twisted feeling in his stomach every time he remembered how much homework he had to do, a feeling that worsened dramatically when Professor Sprout gave them yet another essay at the end of class. Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Professor Sprout's preferred type of fertiliser, the Gryffindors trooped back up to the castle an hour and a half later, none of them talking very much; it had been another long day.

As Harry was starving, and he had his first detention with Umbridge at five o'clock, he headed straight for dinner without dropping off his bag in Gryffindor tower so that he would bolt something down before facing whatever she had in store for him.

He had barely reached the entrance of the Great Hall, however, when a loud and angry voice yelled, "Oi, Potter!"

"What now?" he muttered wearily, turning to face Angelina Johnson, who looked as though she was in a towering temper.

"Yikes, it takes quite a bit to get Angelina to that level." Fred winced.

"Be very afraid." George added, also wincing.

"I'll tell you what now," she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. "How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?"

"What?" said Harry. "Why - oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!"

"Now he remembers!" snarled Angelina. "Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a try out with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone! Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!"

"I didn't decide not to be there!" said Harry, stung by the injustice of these words. "I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who."

"Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off on Friday," said Angelina fiercely, "and I don't care how you do it. Tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you're there."

"She was more obsessed than Oliver." Harry stated.

"We'll second and third that." the twins muttered.

She turned on her heel and stormed away. "You know what?" Harry said to Ron and Hermione as they entered the Great Hall. "I think we'd better check with Puddlemere United whether Oliver Wood's been killed during a training session, because Angelina seems to be channelling his spirit."

"What d'you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?" said Ron sceptically, as they sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"Less than zero," said Harry glumly, tipping lamb chops on to his plate and starting to eat. "Better try, though, hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno?" He swallowed a mouthful of potatoand added, "I hope she doesn't keep me too long this evening. You realise we've got to write three essays, practise Vanishing spells for McGonagall, work out a counter-charm for Flitwick, finish the bowtruckle drawing and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?"

Ron groaned and for some reason glanced up at the ceiling. "And it looks like it's going to rain."

"What's that got to do with our homework?" said Hermione, her eyebrows raised.

"Nothing," said Ron at once, his ears reddening.

"What were you up to?" Charlie asked, "I've only ever seen you react like that when you were up to something."

"You'll see. Harry finds out eventually." Ron shrugged.

At five to five Harry bade the other two goodbye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When he knocked on the door she called, "Come in," in a sugary voice. He entered cautiously, looking around. He had known this office under three of its previous occupants. In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of himself.

When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. In the impostor Moody's days it had been packed with various instruments and artefacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment.

"There's one thing I just noticed," James said. "How come Moony's called by his last name?"

"It was force of habit." Harry admitted sheepishly, "We all still called him Professor up until last year."

Ron, Hermione and Ginny nodded in confirmation.

"I honestly don't mind it, I answer to anything really as long as it's something to do with my name." Remus grinned.

Now, however, it looked totally unrecognisable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily,and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large Techni-color kitten, wearing a different bow around its neck.

"She's obsessed with cats? I knew there was more than one reason I hated her." Sirius mused, "Must be the inner dog, I've only ever gotten along with Crookshanks and Tufty."

"Tufty?" Harry asked curiously.

"My cat." Lily explained, "James got him for my Christmas in our 7th year."

"This wouldn't happen to be the same cat I almost ran over on the toy broom Sirius got me for my 1st birthday would it?" Harry asked.

The Marauders and Lily looked shocked, "It was but how -?" Remus started.

"- Do you know that?" Sirius finished.

"I found a letter about it at Grimmauld... As I think I've said before I remember some points from back then." Harry admitted, "Just two or three memories." he added.

"Amazing." James muttered, "Especially since you were so young."

Harry shrugged, "I'll show which memories once we've finished covering last year." he promised.

These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again. "Good evening, M. Potter." Harry started and looked around. He had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.

"Evening, Professor Umbridge," Harry said stiffly.

"Well, sit down," she said, pointing towards a small table draped in lace, beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him. "Er," said Harry, without moving. "Professor Umbridge, er, before we start, I wanted to ask you for a favour."

Her bulging eyes narrowed. "Oh, yes?"

"Well, I'm - I'm on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was - was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it - do it another night instead?" He knew long before he reached the end of his sentence that it was no good.

"Oh, no," said Umbridge, smiling so widely that she looked asthough she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. "Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr. Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you're missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I'm trying to teach you."

Harry felt the blood surge to his head and heard a thumping noise in his ears. So he told evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, did he? She was watching him with her head slightly to one side, still smiling widely, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether he would start shouting again. With a massive effort, Harry looked away from her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair and sat down.

"There," said Umbridge sweetly, "we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you're going to be doing some lines for me, Mr. Potter. No, not with your quill," she added, as Harry bent down to open his bag. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are." She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point. "I want you to write, 'I must not tell lies,'" she told him softly.

"That better not be what I think it is." Frank said looking at the quill.

"Depends what you think it is really." Harry told him.

"Blood Quill." he stated.

Harry gestured the memory with a 'watch and see' expression on his face.

"How many times?" Harry asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness.

"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," said Umbridge sweetly. "Off you go."

She moved over to her desk, sat down and went over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Harry raised the sharp black quill, then realised what was missing. "You haven't given me any ink," he said.

"Oh, you won't need ink," said Professor Umbridge, with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice. Harry placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: I must not tell lies. He let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by scalpel. Yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before cut quite smooth.

They all groaned, "You had to be right." Alice told Frank, "You just had to."

"Harry how could you not say anything?!" Minerva demanded, "We could've had her arrested for that!"

"It's illegal to have Blood Quills outside of the Ministry building or Gringotts. She would've gotten 5 years in Azkaban for even having one in her rooms. Automatic 10 years for abusing it and another automatic 5 for torturing a student." Kingsley growled, "This is getting added to her file. I swear she'll never get out of Azkaban!"

Harry looked around at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toad-like mouth stretched in a smile. "Yes?"

"Nothing," said Harry quietly. He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill on it once more, wrote 'I must not tell lies,'and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; once again, the words had been cut into his skin; once again, they healed over seconds later. And on it went. Again and again Harry wrote the words on the parchment in what he soon came to realise was not ink, but his own blood.

"Harry! How could you let her get away with it." Ginny groaned.

"I couldn't say anything to her and I wasn't about to go to anyone else! Albus was ignoring me and Minerva wouldn't be able to do anything without proof!" he protested, "I couldn't do much about it."

"Except write to an Auror? You could've easily told Kingsley or I." Dora told him, frowning, "Instead of letting yourself go through the torture of cutting your own hand open!"

"It's done now." was the reply, he was glaring down at his right hand where the scars stood white and slightly raised.

And, again and again, the words were cut into the back of his hand, healed, and reappeared the next time he set quill to parchment.

Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window. Harry did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs of weakness and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit there all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill

"Come here," she said, after what seemed hours. He stood up. His hand was stinging painfully. When he looked down at it, he saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin there was red raw.

"Hand," she said. He extended it. She took it in her own. Harry repressed a shudder as she touched him with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings.

"Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet," she said, smiling. "Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go."

Harry left her office without a word. The school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight. He walked slowly up the corridor, then, when he had turned the corner and was sure she would not hear him, broke into a run.

He had not had time to practise Vanishing spells, had not written a single dream in his dream diary and had not finished the drawing of the bowtruckle, nor had he written his essays. He skipped breakfast next morning to scribble down couple of made-up dreams for Divination, their first lesson, and was surprised to find dishevelled Ron keeping him company. "How come you didn't do it last night?" Harry asked, as Ron stared wildly around the common room for inspiration. Ron, who had been fast asleep when Harry got back to the dormitory, muttered something about doing other stuff, bent low over his parchment and scrawled a few words.

"That'll have to do," he said, slamming the diary shut. "I've said I dreamed I was buying a new pair of shoes, she can't make anything weird out of that, can she?"

"She'll probably say it means his feet will fall off or something." Lily said, making them all chuckle or giggle and lifting the mood slightly from the depressed state left by the detention.

They hurried off to North tower together. "How was detention with Umbridge, anyway? What did she make you do?"

Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, then said, "Lines."

"That's not too bad, then, eh?" said Ron.

"Nope," said Harry.

"You should've told me mate." Ron said accusingly.

"I had a feeling it would be bad if I did, we didn't need all three of us getting in trouble." Harry shrugged, "It was bad enough with the lecture when you two did find out."

"You were only lectured because you didn't tell us." Hermione pointed out, tone exasperated, "And you weren't listening to us." she pouted.

Harry grinned sheepishly, "Sorry. I honestly didn't know what was going on that year, I was just angry and confused almost constantly, I guess."

"Hey, I forgot, did she let you off for Friday?"

"No," said Harry. Ron groaned sympathetically.

It was another bad day for Harry; he was one of the worst in Transfiguration, not having practised Vanishing spells at all. He had to give up his lunch hour to complete the picture of the bowtruckle and, meanwhile, Professors McGonagall, Grubbly-Plank and Sinistra gave them yet more homework, which he had no prospect of finishing that evening because of his second detention with Umbridge.

To cap it all, Angelina Johnson tracked him down at dinner again, and on learning that be would not be able to attend Friday's Keeper tryouts, told him she was not at all impressed by his attitude and that she expected players who wished to remain on the team to put training before their other commitments. "I'm in detention!" Harry yelled after her as she stalked away. "D'you think I'd rather be stuck in a room with that old toad or playing Quidditch?"

"At least it's only lines," said Hermione consolingly, as Harry sank back onto his bench and looked down at his steak and kidney pie, which he no longer fancied very much. "It's not as if it's a dreadful punishment, really?"

Harry opened his mouth, closed it again and nodded. He was not really sure why he was not telling Ron and Hermione exactly what was happening in Umbridge's room: he only knew that he did not want to see their looks of horror; that would make the whole thing seem worse and therefore more difficult to face.

"Would not!" Hermione huffed, "We might have actually been able to do something about her."

"Yeah, don't know what but it would've been better if you'd told us. Then you might not still have the scars on your hand." Ron sighed.

"What's a few more scars when I'm covered in them anyway?" Harry asked rhetorically, "And I doubt anything would've stopped it scaring with the amount of times I was in detention."

"He has a point." Fred nodded.

"Yeah, we kept quiet when she had us doing it." George admitted, "Our lines were 'We will not cause mischief'."

"But we've not got the marks anymore."

"You should've told us boys, you should also have known what it was you were using and that they were illegal." Arthur said sternly.

"Sorry." the twins muttered, "But we got our revenge." Fred added cheerfully.

"On a massive scale." George smirked, "And she only ever had us in detention for three weeks at most and never more than twice in a row. We took precautions against getting caught, even if it was obvious it was us she couldn't prove it."

Minerva chuckled, "I knew it was them, but they have a valid point, she couldn't prove anything and I certainly wasn't going to stop them driving her mad."

The twins grinned and they all turned back to the memory.

He also felt dimly that this was between himself and Umbridge, a private battle of wills, and he was not going to give her the satisfaction of hearing that he had complained about it. "I can't believe how much homework we've got," said Ron miserably.

"Well, why didn't you do any last night?" Hermione asked him. "Where were you, anyway?"

"I was - fancied a walk," said Ron shiftily. Harry had the distinct impression that he was not alone in concealing things at the moment.

The second detention was just as bad as the previous one. The skin on the back of Harry's hand became irritated more quickly now and was soon red and inflamed. Harry thought it unlikely that it would keep healing as effectively for long. Soon the cut would remain etched into his hand and Umbridge would, perhaps, be satisfied. He let no gasp of pain escape him, however, and from the moment of entering the room to the moment of his dismissal, again past midnight, he said nothing but 'good evening' and 'goodnight'

His homework situation, however, was now desperate, and when he returned to the Gryffindor common room he did not, though exhausted, go to bed, but opened his books and began Snape's moonstone essay. It was half-past two by the time he had finished it. He knew he had done a poor job, but there was no help for it; unless he had something to give in he would be in detention with Snape next. He then dashed off answers to the questions Professor McGonagall had set them, cobbled together something on the proper handling of Bowtruckles for Professor Grubbly-Plank, and staggered up to bed, where he fell fully clothed on top of the covers and fell asleep immediately.

"You know the staff would've understood Harry, even if you didn't tell us about what you did in detention we all knew she'd keep you up late so you got in more trouble for not doing your homework." Minerva sighed.

"I didnt want to fall behind." he shrugged.

"You would have gotten an extension on time to do the work." she told him, "You wouldn't fall behind, we've made exceptions before."

"Like with me." Remus mused, "I got extensions often around the Full Moon, at least a week longer, and I still didnt fall behind since I usually did it while I was being healed. If Poppy allowed it anyway." he shrugged, "I had to so something when they were in class." he gestured his fellow Marauders.

Thursday passed in a daze of tiredness. Ron seemed very sleepy too, though Harry could not see why he should be. Harry's third detention passed in the same way as the previous two, except that after two hours the words 'I must not tell lies' did not fade from the back of Harry's hand, but remained scratched there, oozing droplets of blood. The pause in the pointed quill's scratching made Professor Umbridge look up.

"Ah," she said softly, moving around her desk to examine his hand herself. "Good. That ought to serve as a reminder to you, oughtn't it? You may leave for tonight."

"Do I still have to come back tomorrow?" said Harry picking up his schoolbag with his left hand rather than his smarting right one.

"Oh yes," said Professor Umbridge, smiling as widely as before. "Yes, I think we can etch the message a little deeper with another evening's work."

Harry had never before considered the possibility that there might be another teacher in the world he hated more than Snape, but as he walked back towards Gryffindor tower he had to admit he had found a strong contender. She's evil, he thought, as he climbed a staircase to the seventh floor, she's an evil, twisted, bad old - "Ron?" He had reached the top of the stairs, turned right and almost walked into Ron, who was lurking behind a statue of Cachlan the Cranky, clutching his broomstick. He gave a great leap of surprise when he saw Harry and attempted to hide his new Cleansweep Eleven behind his back. "What are you doing?"

"Er. nothing."

"What are you doing?" Harry frowned at him. "Come on, you can tell me! What are you hiding here for?"

"I'm - I'm hiding from Fred and George, if you must know," said Ron. "They just went past with a bunch of first-years, I bet they're testing stuff on them again. I mean, they can't do it in the common room now, can they, not with Hermione there."

They all laughed as the twins nodded.

He was talking in a very fast, feverish way. "But what have you got your broom for, you haven't been flying, have you?" Harry asked.

"I - well - well, OK, I'll tell you, but don't laugh, all right?" Ron said defensively, turning redder with every second. I thought I'd try out for Gryffindor keeper now I've got a decent broom. There. Go on. Laugh."

"So that's what you were up to!" Charlie smirked.

"Yes." Ron shrugged, "I needed to practice."

"I'm not laughing," said Harry. Ron blinked. "It's a brilliant idea! It'd be really cool if you got on the team! I've never seen you play Keeper, are you good?"

"I'm not bad," said Ron, who looked immensely relieved at Harry's reaction. "Charlie, Fred, and George always made me Keep for them when they were training during the holidays."

"Good thing we did really." George commented.

"Yeah, or we would've been stuck with what's-his-face." Fred added, wincing.

"Pompous prat." Harry growled, "He kept telling everyone what to do when he wasn't even Captain!"

"Who was the captain?" James asked.

"Me." Harry smirked, "In my 6th year." he added, making James and Lily smile proudly.

"So you've been practising tonight?"

"Every evening since Tuesday just on my own, though. I've been trying to bewitch Quaffles to fly at me, but it hasn't been easy and I don't know how much use it'll be." Ron looked nervous and anxious. "Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for the tryouts. They haven't stopped taking the mickey out of me since I got made a prefect."

"Um... Ron you know we didn't really mean it right?" Fred asked.

"We were just having a laugh and trying to annoy you." George added.

Ron shrugged and didn't say anything.

"I wish I was going to be there," said Harry bitterly, as they set off together towards the common room.

"Yeah, soo - Harry, what's that on the back of your hand?" Harry, who had just scratched his nose with his free right hand, tried to hide it, but had as much success as Ron with his Cleansweep.

"It's just a cut, it's nothing, it's -" But Ron had grabbed Harry's forearm and pulled the back of Harry's hand up level with his eyes. There was a pause, during which he stared at the words carved into the skin; then, looking sick, he released Harry. "I thought you said she was just giving you lines?"

"You knew I'd notice eventually." Ron told Harry, "If not me then Hermione or Ginny would have."

"Or us." Fred added.

"Especially after our first detention with 'it'." George nodded.

Harry hesitated, but after all, Ron had been honest with him, so he told Ron the truth about the hours he had been spending in Umbridge's office. "The old hag!" Ron said in a revolted whisper as they came to a halt in front of the Fat Lady, who was dozing peacefully with her head against her frame. "She's sick! Go to McGonagall, say something!"

"No," said Harry at once. "I'm not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she's got to me."

"Harry!" Lily exclaimed

"You really are too stubborn for your own good." Regulus stated.

"I've heard that before." Harry said amused, "Constantly."

"Start learning it's true then." Astoria told him.

"I'll consider it." he compromised.

"Got to you? You can't let her get away with this!"

"I don't know how much power McGonagall's got over her," said Harry.

"Dumbledore, then, tell Dumbledore!"

"No," said Harry flatly.

"Why not?"

"He's got enough on his mind," said Harry, but that was not the true reason. He was not going to go to Dumbledore for help when Dumbledore had not spoken to him once since June.

"Well, I reckon you should," Ron began, but he was interrupted by the Fat Lady, who had been watching them sleepily and now burst out, "Are you going to give me the password or will I have to stay awake all night waiting for you to finish your conversation?"

"This is that Friday and the last detention of the week." Harry explained, "I left out a bit to speed it up a little."

At five o'clock that evening he knocked on Professor Umbridge's office door for what he sincerely hoped would be the final time, and was told to enter. The blank parchment lay ready for him on the lace-covered table, the pointed black quill beside it. "You know what to do, Mr. Potter," said Umbridge, smiling sweetly at him.

Harry picked up the quill and glanced through the window. If he just shifted his chair an inch or so to the righton the pretext of shifting himself closer to the table, he managed it. He now had a distant view of the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaring up and down the pitch, while half a dozen slack figures stood at the foot of the three high goalposts, apparently waiting their turn to Keep. It was impossible to tell which one was Ron at this distance.

I must not tell lies, Harry wrote. The cut on the back of his right hand opened and began to bleed afresh. I must not tell lies The cut dug deeper, stinging and smarting. I must not tell lies. Blood trickled down his wrist.

Everyone looked upset and angry at this.

He chanced another glance out of the window. Whoever was defending the goalposts now was doing a very poor job indeed. Katie Bell scored twice in the few seconds Harry dared to watch. Hoping very much that the Keeper wasn't Ron, he dropped his eyes back to the parchment shining with blood. I must not tell lies, I must not tell lies.

He looked up whenever he thought he could risk it; when he could hear the scratching of Umbridge's quill or the opening of a desk drawer. The third person to try out was pretty good, the fourth was terrible, the fifth dodged a Bludger exceptionally well but then fumbled an easy save. The sky was darkening, and Harry doubted he would be able to see the sixth and seventh people at all. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies

Many of the women were crying silently now and the men all looked decidedly green.

The parchment was now dotted with drops of blood from the back of his hand, which was searing with pain. When he next looked up, night had fallen and the Quidditch pitch was no longer visible. "Let's see if you've got the message yet, shall we?" said Umbridge's soft voice half an hour later. She moved towards him, stretching out her short ringed fingers for his arm. And when, as she took hold of him to examine the words now cut into his skin, pain seared, not across the back of his hand, but across the scar on his forehead. At the same time, he had a most peculiar sensation somewhere around his midriff.

"What!" Lily exclaimed, "You dont think she's connected to Voldemort do you?"

"No, I think he felt my pain and was happy about it or something like that." Harry explained, "Voldemorts emotions bled over the link a lot that year, I couldnt really tell what was happening at the time."

He wrenched his arm out of her grip and leapt to his feet, staring at her. She looked back at him, a smile stretching her wide, slack mouth. "Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?" she said softly. He did not answer. His heart was thumping very hard and fast. Was she talking about his hand or did she know what he had just felt on his forehead?

"Well, I think I've made my point, Mr. Potter. You may go." He caught up his schoolbag and left the room as quickly as he could. Stay calm, he told himself, as he sprinted up the stairs. Stay calm, it doesn't necessarily mean what you think it means

"Mimbulus mimbletonia!" he gasped at the Fat Lady, who swung forwards once more. A roar of sound greeted him. Ron came running towards him, beaming all over his face and slopping butterbeer down his front from the goblet he was clutching. "Harry, I did it, I'm in, I'm Keeper!"

They all cheered.

"What? Oh, brilliant!" said Harry, trying to smile naturally, while his heart continued to race and his hand throbbed and bled.

"Have a butterbeer." Ron pressed a bottle on him. "I can't believe it. Where's Hermione gone?"

"She's there," said Fred, who was also swigging Butterbeer, and pointed to an armchair by the fire. Hermione was dozing in it, her drink dipping precariously in her hand.

"Well, she said she was pleased when I told her," said Ron, looking slightly put out.

"Let her sleep," said George hastily. It was a few moments before Harry noticed that several of the first-years gathered around them bore unmistakable signs of recent nosebleeds.

"Really boys!" Molly snapped, "Couldn't you behave for more than ten minutes?"

"Not at that time, no." they smirked.

"Maybe five minutes unless we were in detention." George mused.

"We had to build it up so we could last hours of behaving well." Fred added, "Even then it's difficult to stay out of trouble."

"You made it look easy when Bill bet you couldn't behave and you proved to him and the rest of us that you could." Percy told them with an arched eyebrow.

"We'd had practice by that point." George shrugged, "And who are we to refuse a bet?"

"Plus we never said we wouldn't set something off the moment we pointed out we behaved as long as we could." Fred smirked, "Bill didn't think of that loophole."

"Even if the net failed." George grumbled, "We'll work on them later." he shrugged.

"Come here, Ron, and see if Oliver's old robes fit you," called Katie Bell, "we can take off his name and put yours on instead."

As Ron moved away, Angelina came striding up to Harry. "Sorry I was a bit short with you earlier, Potter," she said abruptly. "It's stressful, this managing lark, you know, I'm starting to think I was a bit hard on Wood sometimes." She a the rim of her goblet with a slight frown on her face. "Look, I know he's your best mate, but he's not fabulous," she said bluntly. "I think with a bit of training he'll be all right, though. He comes from a family of good Quidditch players. I'm banking on him turning out to have a bit more talent than he showed today, to be honest. Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper both flew better this evening, but Hooper's a real whiner, he's always moaning about something or other, and Vicky's involved in all sorts of societies. She admitted herself that if training clashed with her Charms Club she'd put Charms first."

"Humph!" Ron huffed.

"Relax, Angelina's a perfectionist. And you were the best there, even if your nerves took over a little." Fred told him.

"Of course." George nodded, "You also had the best attitude out of the others, it's the right attitude as well as skill that gets people on the team."

"Anyway, we're having a practice session at two o'clock tomorrow, so just make sure you're there this time. And do me a favour and help Ron as much as you can, OK?" He nodded, and Angelina strolled back to Alicia Spinnet. Harry moved over to sit next to Hermione, who woke with a jerk as he put down his bag.

"Oh, Harry, it's you Good about Ron, isn't it?" she said blearily. "I'm just so - so - so tired," she yawned. "I was up until one o'clock making more hats. They're disappearing like mad!"

And sure enough, now that he looked, Harry saw that there w ere woolly hats concealed all around the room where unwary elves might accidentally pick them up. "Great," said Harry distractedly; if he did not tell somebody soon, he would burst. "Listen, Hermione, I was just up in Umbridge's office and she touched my arm"

Hermione listened closely. When Harry had finished, she said slowly, "You're worried You-Know-Who's controlling her like he controlled Quirrell?"

"Well," said Harry, dropping his voice, "it's a possibility, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," said Hermione, though she sounded unconvinced. "But I don't think he can be possessing her the way he possessed Quirrell, I mean, he's properly alive again now, isn't he, he's got his own body, he wouldn't need to share someone else's. He could have her under the Imperius Curse, I suppose."

"She's evil enough on her own." Remus growled.

Harry watched Fred, George, and Lee Jordan juggling empty butterbeer bottles for a moment. When Hermione said, "But last year your scar hurt when nobody was touching you, and didn't Dumbledore say it had to do with what You-Know-Who was feeling at the time? I mean, maybe this wasn't anything to do with Umbridge at all, maybe it's just coincidence it happened while you were with her?"

"She's evil," said Harry flatly. "Twisted."

"She's horrible, yes, but Harry, I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurt." It was the second time in two days he had been advised to go to Dumbledore and his answer to Hermione was just the game as his answer to Ron. "I'm not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it's not a big deal. It's been hurting on and off all summer. It was just a bit worse tonight, that's all."

"Harry, I'm sure Dumbledore would want to be bothered by this."

"Of course I would. It was always worrying." Albus sighed.

"Sorry but I don't like being ignored." Harry told him, "So I ignored you back."

He chuckled sadly, "I suppose that's fair."

"Yeah," said Harry, before he could stop himself, "that's the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn't it, my scar?"

"Don't say that, it's not true!"

"I think I'll write and tell Sirius about it, see what he thinks."

"Harry, you can't put something like that in a letter!" aid Hermione, looking alarmed. "Don't you remember, Moody told us to be careful what we put in writing! We just can't guarantee owls aren't being intercepted any more!"

"All right, all right, I won't tell him, then!" said Harry irritably. He got to his feet. "I'm going to bed. Tell Ron for me, will you?"

"Oh no," said Hermione, looking relieved, "if you're doing that means I can do too, without being rude. I'm absolutely exhausted and I want to make some more hats tomorrow. Listen, you can help me if you like, it's quite fun, I'm getting better, I can do pattern and bobbles and all sorts of things now."

"You should've told me about the detentions." Hermione sighed.

"You got it out of Ron eventually."

Harry looked into her face, which was shining with glee, and tried to look as though he was vaguely tempted by this offer. "Er, no, I don't think I will, thanks," he said. "Er - not tomorrow. I've got loads of homework to do." And he traipsed off to the boys' stairs, leaving her looking slightly disappointed.

"It would've been nice. Because of the detentions we hadn't spent much time together out of class." Hermione explained sadly.

"I know, I'm just not all that interested in knitting." Harry told her.

Before anyone could talk there was a loud 'Crack!' and a male House-Elf dressed in Elf sized deep blue robes appeared with a scroll of parchment in front of Kingsley.

"Mister Minister, Mister Robards asks Gibbon to bring this to yous." the Elf squealed excitedly.

"Thank you Gibbon." Kingsley smiled, accepting the scroll. He opened it and everyone was silent as he read it, "Finally." he grinned, "Gibbon tell Robards I want him to be in my office for 10. And I want the prisoner locked up in one of the holding cells immediately." he said.

"Of course Master Minister." Gibbon bowed before disappearing with a 'Pop!'.

"Prisoner?" Percy asked.

"They've caught Fudge." Kingsley grinned widely, handing the note to Percy who nodded to confirm it, making them all cheer, "About time too, they were waiting on the right time to make their move."

"So they knew where he was?" Sirius asked.

"No, they had suspicions though." he shrugged, "This'll be a fun trial to do."

"I'll agree with you there. Nothing's going to be more fun than watching my old boss stuggle to defend himself when he finds out what we found out about him." Percy mused, "After all, he tried so hard to keep it quiet."

"I think I'll be mean and let him get worked up about his trial for a week or so." Kingsley chuckled, "He can stay in the holding cells."

"I like that plan." Arthur smirked, "He certainly deserves it. Anyway what's next Harry?"

"Um... Give me a minute."