Break Me Down
Harry drummed his fingers on the desk before him lazily. He'd long since tuned out the sickly sweet voice of his Defence professor. Unfortunately, Umbridge could hardly be considered a professor, for she taught them nothing. Her lessons consisted of reading from their textbooks while she hovered around the front of the classroom.
Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard was not a book he'd read more than a chapter of, yet he wished he'd never bought it in the first place. Even if the galleon sum was inconsequential, it was the principle of the thing. Thirty-odd chapters of utter drivel, and he was incrementally poorer as a result. He hadn't even bothered to open the book that lesson.
Umbridge had ignored him almost immediately, after failing to get a rise out of him for the first three weeks of term. Now she would just act as if he didn't exist, which suited him perfectly fine. Little did he know, she'd choose today to change tack.
Usually, Harry would take another book to read instead, and she hadn't ever noticed. Yet today, he'd forgotten, which left him to daydream and gaze around the room, annoyed at himself.
"Mr Potter!"
He cocked an eyebrow at the vile woman, who glared at him. Her attitude royally pissed him off.
"Why aren't you reading?" she asked in a high-pitched tone.
Sighing, Harry eyed his copy of Defensive Magical Theory distastefully, before opening to a random page.
"My apologies… professor."
She didn't seem to pick up on the forced sincerity in his tone, as she turned back to the rest of the class. Evidently, the woman appeared to believe that she'd won the exchange, a wide smile plastered on her face.
Harry was surprised at how quickly he'd gotten his anger under control. For a moment, he'd felt as if he were ready to unleash on the woman. There was something about her that immediately got under his skin. It was only Sirius' tuition on grounding himself and reigning in his emotions that kept him calm.
He rubbed his chest at the thought, wondering if the loneliness would ever become manageable.
How much longer can I do this?
The ache in his chest rarely disappeared, only fading to a numb feeling that would resurface at a moment's notice. He closed his eyes, trying to dispel the sensation.
Hushed whispers caught his attention, and he blinked his eyes open to see several of his Slytherin classmates pointing and whispering. Malfoy seemed to be looking on with amusement as Nott and Zabini fumbled around underneath their desks. Harry narrowed his eyes.
He heavily doubted that they'd be up to something good.
Nott had his wand out underneath the desk, aimed towards the front of the class. Following where it was pointed, his eyes landed upon the back of none other than Daphne Greengrass. She sat in front of them in the first row, head propped up by her hand as she flicked through the textbook.
Upon seeing the tip of Nott's wand light up, Harry had his out in the blink of an eye. The whispered spell zoomed towards Greengrass' chair but was immediately stopped short by his non-verbal shield charm, bouncing off and dissipating into the air.
By now, Greengrass had snapped her head around, her eyes wide as they focused on the shimmering blue shield that hovered behind her.
"Mr Potter! What the hell are you doing?" Umbridge hissed.
"Helping a student that's being bullied by her housemates, professor," he answered.
Quiet snickers came from the pack of Slytherin boys.
"Rubbish," she declared. "For using magic in class without permission and lying to me, two weeks of detention would serve you well to remind you of my classroom rules. You will not need your own quill."
The anger bubbling forth within him, he made to retort with something that would almost certainly guarantee another few weeks of detention at minimum. Sirius hadn't prepared him for disrespect of this calibre.
Someone beat him to it, however.
"But professor, it wasn't him."
Daphne piped up before he could reply to Umbridge, and he was surprised to have her defend him. She must've heard the muffled laughs from behind her.
"Do not lie to me, Greengrass. I do not look upon liars favourably," Umbridge warned, shifting her gaze to Harry.
Her nose scrunched up, looking as if she'd smelled something unpleasant. Greengrass stayed quiet.
"Get rid of it," Umbridge snapped, a stubby finger pointed at the shield.
Harry flicked his wand, the shield immediately disappearing. His momentary satisfaction at seeing it undamaged by the spell was quickly banished by the realisation of his impending detentions.
"Wand away, Potter. If I see it again, it'll be a month of detention," she said, reverting to her sickly sweet tone. "I'll see you outside my office this evening."
He clenched his fists almost painfully, a trembling hand depositing the wand back into his robes. Sitting down, he saw Greengrass shoot him a curious glance in his peripheral vision.
"Yes, professor," he answered through gritted teeth.
He'd known that Umbridge would be looking for any half-decent reason to draw him into prolonged detention if the opportunity arose. One that would be plausible enough if any Head of House came asking questions. Fortunately for her, his own impulsive actions had provided her with just the opportunity.
Ignoring the goading whispers of the Slytherins beside him, Harry stared blankly between the lines of text before him. It'd been his mistake to intervene. He'd known that the professor had it out for him.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought.
Instead of just letting her face some classroom bullying and momentary embarrassment, he'd decided that two weeks of detention with someone like Umbridge was a better option. Resting his face in his hands, he sighed heavily.
"Read, Potter!" she called lightly across the classroom, her saccharine tone increasingly grating.
Harry didn't focus on any of the words before him for the rest of the lesson, instead imaging numerous scenarios of humiliating Umbridge and making her regret her vendetta against him. Stringing her up by an ankle in the Forbidden Forest seemed particularly tempting.
When the bell rang, he shot up stiffly, stuffing his book in his bag and immediately turning on his heel, leaving the classroom before anyone else. He thought he heard Umbridge call after him again, but he didn't care enough to listen.
After turning a few corners, Harry felt a hand on his arm. He jerked away as if burned and spun on the spot, grasping his wand.
He let go of it when he saw who it was, anger receding.
"Potter?"
Daphne stood before him, looking slightly flustered.
"Greengrass."
Students began to flood past them, most not hiding their quiet murmurs and open stares. Then again, he wasn't known to be terribly sociable.
"I, uh," she started, clearing her throat, "wanted to thank you. Why did you do it?"
Harry scrutinised her carefully, and she seemed to wilt slightly beneath his gaze.
"I hate bullies," he answered.
Her bright blue eyes seemed to stare right into his soul. As captivating as they were, they unnerved him to no extent. The truthful response had been the only option.
"Oh," Greengrass responded, glancing down before looking back at him. "I'm sorry that you got detention for it. Maybe talk to Professor Snape?"
"He won't do anything about it. It'll be fine."
"Alright then," she said, though Harry didn't think she looked like she wanted to drop the topic. "Thanks, by the way."
"Consider it a favour then, Greengrass," he replied, turning away from her.
Having calmed down slightly, his pace was slower, the heavy footfalls not echoing off the stone walls of the castle corridors as loudly. Yet, after only a few steps, he heard her call after him again.
"Harry, right?"
Facing her again, he cocked an eyebrow.
"Yeah."
Her cheeks pinked slightly, and Harry thought he'd take pity on her.
"What is it?" he asked.
He saw her briefly wring her hands, seemingly agonising over a big decision.
"I can share some notes with you if you'd like…" she trailed off, looking surprised at her own words.
Harry had no use for any of her notes, he knew that already. He was currently using his private time to review seventh-year textbooks. Yet, he couldn't say no to the hint of hope he saw peeking through her expression. He let the silence drag on for a moment in the now-empty corridor.
Perhaps it would be a momentary cure for himself, too.
"Alright," he eventually agreed.
She sent him a strained smile.
"No worries, Ha-" Greengrass paused. "Potter."
"Harry is fine," he said, waving a hand. "Daphne?"
Her smile became slightly more genuine, those startlingly blue eyes sparkling. She nodded.
"Does Saturday work?"
"Tomorrow?" he asked.
"Yes. If that's okay with you, of course," Greengrass added, looking as if she'd stopped herself from a longer answer.
"It does," Harry replied. "See you then."
Daphne hurried back to the Slytherin common room, innumerable thoughts once again racing through her mind. She had no clue what had gotten into her. Why had she called him by his first name? Why had she offered to share notes with him?
Potter was perhaps the least sociable person in the entire school. Others actively avoided him for a reason.
Yet, she couldn't help but feel immense guilt at him receiving the blame for preventing further embarrassment for her. Part of her wished he had let whatever that spell was hit her and not received two weeks' worth of detention with that horrible professor. At least then, the blame would likely go to Nott.
Daphne had no doubt that it was him, as she'd seen him sitting directly behind her at the end of class. He'd also shot her a smug look as she had left. They'd had it out for her since the first night, but the worst she'd endured so far was their whispered insults. Not counting the social ostracism, of course.
Disrespect like that was something she rarely faced at Hogwarts. Mostly because Slytherin students avoided such blatant displays.
This year had been the most difficult of them all so far.
Nott, Zabini, and Malfoy.
Their names carried considerable weight. Much more than hers, anyway, considering that her sister was the primary heiress.
"Daphne!"
She slowed at the sound of Tracey's voice.
"Tracey?" she asked, turning around.
The brunette eyed her up, light-brown eyes eventually meeting her own.
"What's going on?" Tracey responded, eyebrows raised.
"What?"
Good question, she thought, trying to pull herself together.
"Everyone I've just passed has been talking about you and Potter."
"Do you have no empathy, Tracey? I did what was right," Daphne stated, looking at the slightly taller girl challengingly.
She sighed, her brow furrowed.
"Daph, you're in enough shit as is. Do you really need to add to it? Half of Slytherin probably knows by now," Tracey said, grimacing.
Throwing her hands up in frustration, Daphne groaned.
"What am I meant to do? It was the second time he's helped me."
"For what?" Tracey immediately pressed. "Does he expect something? Speaking up in class and then talking to him after is not going to fix anything. The risk just isn't worth the reward."
Daphne silently disagreed, for she couldn't put her reasoning into words. She wasn't greatly enjoying the current interrogation, either.
"Tracey, you're my friend. Just trust me on this. I couldn't leave it like that."
"Alright," she acquiesced. "I hope you know what you're doing then."
"How have you been?" Daphne asked.
Since the first day of term, things had been oddly strained between her and Tracey. As much as both of them had tried to ignore the ongoing tensions within Slytherin, she suspected some part of it had seeped into their long-standing friendship. It was a barely-perceptible awkwardness but present nevertheless. Daphne couldn't blame the other girl if she felt the same — Tracey had to look out for her own future after all. She wasn't quite sure what was left of her own.
"Alright. Fine, really. Thanks for those notes, by the way," she responded with a smile.
"You're welcome."
Daphne hoped it was a genuine smile. Usually, she'd have gone for a hug, but this time, she hesitated.
"I'll see you round then," Tracey said after a moment of silence, shuffling slightly.
"You too Tracey. Take care."
She could only hope that things would blow over eventually.
Harry made his way through the castle at just before five in the afternoon, the heavy steps of his boots echoing off the stone walls of sparsely-populated corridors.
He was beginning to regret his earlier actions once more, thinking of everything else he could be doing instead of spending hours with a horrid professor.
Reaching her office, Harry knocked twice.
Her usual overly-sweet voice rang out from inside.
"Come in!"
Pushing the door open, he was immediately bombarded with the colour pink. It was everywhere; all over the walls, her clothes, and even the carpet. Pink-framed plates took up every inch of the remaining real estate, each with a different kitten within them. For perhaps the first time in his life, he was deeply disgusted by his animagus form. Fortunately, none of them resembled his exactly.
If they did, Harry would've most likely fled the room.
Umbridge stood from behind her desk, her expression turning smug.
"Sit," she said, gesturing to a chair and small desk on the opposite side of hers.
He reluctantly obeyed, making sure to scrape the chair across the floor as noisily as he could. Unable to hide a smirk of his own at seeing her wince, he sat.
Umbridge unfurled a sheaf of parchment, dropping one onto the desk in front of him.
"Will I be writing lines?"
"That's very astute of you, Mr Potter. I did not expect you to have the deductive skills to figure that out," she replied.
Harry sat silent, refusing to verbally spar with her as the professor fumbled around behind her desk. She was almost certainly trying to get a rise out of him — probably to hand out more detentions.
His eyes darted to the quill that had been placed on the desk in front of him. He wasn't sure how else to describe it other than 'evil'. The base was jet-black, the metal cold against his skin as he picked it up. A stiff black feather jutted out the back, whilst its tip was sharper than any other quill he could remember.
The professor sat back down in front of him, her schooled expression giving away a hint of a sneer.
"You will write 'I must not tell lies'," Umbridge declared as she pointed a finger down at the parchment opposite her.
"How much?" Harry asked, forcing down his annoyance.
Her slight sneer turned bizarrely gleeful.
"Until it sinks in."
"No ink?"
"Ink will not be required," she answered, looking down her nose at him.
Placing the tip of the quill against the parchment, he felt a tingle on the back of his hand.
Shaking it to dispel the sensation, Harry began to write. He was surprised to see that the ink was crimson, and what was even more unusual was the tingling sensation on the back of his hand that became more prominent the longer he went on.
Glancing up, Harry saw Umbridge staring at him, an uncontained smile on her face.
"Write," she said. "I didn't tell you to stop, did I?"
The tingling slowly became painful, the red letters of the words he had written gradually appearing on his skin. He finished the page of parchment and was immediately handed another.
Gritting his teeth as the skin finally broke, he realised just what was happening. The quill was using his blood in place of ink.
Yet, Harry refused to look back at Umbridge. He would not give her the satisfaction of seeing his discomfort, even as crimson trails began to drip down his hand, blotting the parchment messily.
Sometime after midnight, he re-entered the Slytherin common room feeling as if his right hand was on fire. The words stood out starkly against his pale skin as he raised his hand to look at it.
She'll get hers, he thought.
Only upon entering his dorm did he finally sag, thoroughly exhausted. Everything else felt numb in comparison. The detention must've run for longer than seven hours.
He wouldn't let a woman like that break him, though. Two weeks wouldn't kill him.
However, it may leave a mark.