kbinnz - Harry's New Home

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So if he says the sky is green, we can't say it's blue?" Harry demanded incredulously.

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

Harry subsided, mostly because he had no idea what "seditious" meant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"If you're not back by curfew, I'm going to Professor McGonagall," Hermione promised.

" 'Kay," Harry agreed. "Wish me luck!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y-you can't do this!" Harry protested.

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

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

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