Nearly

Crumpling the roll of parchment in his clenched fist, Harry slams the door to the Defence classroom and stomps down the corridor, half hoping to shake the anger off but the harder he stomps, the angrier he gets. By the time he reaches the spiral staircase leading to the dungeons, he’s fuming. 

He takes the stairs two at a time and then jumps off the staircase from the third step from the bottom, then sprints down the length of the corridor, relishing the rush of adrenaline.

He finally come to a thundering stop outside Professor Snape’s office and leans back against the wall as he catches his breath. 

The door suddenly flies open next to him and he jumps, stumbling back and nearly tripping over. 

”Harry?” Professor Snape says, frowning at him from the doorway. ”What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in class?”

”I was sent to see you…”

”Sent?” Snape repeats sharply, his eyes narrowing. ”Sent by whom?”

”Toad-face”, Harry mutters. 

”What was that?”

”Professor Umbridge”, Harry says a little louder. 

He thrusts the roll of parchment into his Head of House’s hand and as the man’s narrowed gaze flits down to it, a sharp sigh that sounds suspiciously like ’one lesson’ escapes him. Harry feels his anger finally deflate and for the first time he feels a twinge of regret. Because despite his many heartfelt assurances to both his dads, Professor Snape is right, here he is, after merely one lesson and not even a whole one, in trouble!

Snape opens the sealed roll of parchment with a tap of his wand and Harry watches his narrowed eyes flit across the parchment, dread pooling in his stomach as he waits for the man’s reaction… finally, the Potions Master lets the parchment spring back into a roll and his dark eyes flicker up to Harry’s face again. 

Barely resisting the temptation to hang his head in shame, Harry bites his lip and meets the man’s eyes. 

”Get in here…”

”Sir…” Harry mumbles. 

He shuffles past the Potions Master and across the threshold. 

A cursory glance around the dim office tells Harry that Professor Snape is still keeping his shelves fully stocked with gross and slimy animal parts and plants pickled in jars of different coloured potions, just like the last time he visited the office. 

At least he assumes the shelves were similarly stocked last time, but to honest he’d been too focused on the Potions Master at the time to really pay attention to the state of his office… the very first time he stepped inside the office, on the other hand, he’d barely been able been able to tear his eyes away… it was on the second evening of third year — when he and Professor Snape had made arrangements for the coming year’s weekly detentions that Harry had earned at the end of Second Year when he went against his Head of House’s express orders to stay in the dorm and instead broke into the Chamber of Secrets to rescue Ginny Weasley — and despite the less than thrilling nature of the visit, Harry had been quite excited to get a glimpse of his Head of House’s private office, especially the many coloured potion jars with their gruesome content. 

Halfway through the school year, Harry had found himself inside the Potions Master’s office again and the circumstances had been even worse… 

Sinking into the chair in front of Professor Snape’s desk, a sense of deja vú creeps over Harry and before he can stop it, his mind has flashed back to the last time he sat in this seat. It was an evening towards the end of the spring term and he’d snuck out of the castle in the middle of the night to take his Nimbus on a soar, just for an hour, to take his mind off everything that had been going on at the time, and as he was sneaking back in, Professor Snape caught him and brought him here. 

Harry remembers the man’s black eyes flashing furiously at him and his lips pressed thin and trembling slightly with suppressed rage. He hadn’t spoken one word to Harry as they made their way from the Entrance Hall to the dungeons and not until they entered the office did he speak, quietly telling Harry to sit down before demanding to know what he was holding. 

Almost paralysed by panic, Harry had looked between the broomstick in his right hand and the Marauder’s Map in his left. 

Professor Snape’s eyes had narrowed as he stammered out, ”M-my b-broom…?”

Then with surprising speed, the man had leapt forward and snatched the Map from him. After inspecting the parchment quickly, he’d floo called Harry’s daddy who, Harry found out later, had been searching for Harry on the fifth floor of the castle.

Professor Snape swoops round the desk in a flurry of billowing robes, then slowly sinks into the seat opposite Harry and pins him with his dark eyes, and Harry suspects he’s remembering the last time Harry was here, too… he barely resists the temptation to hang his head and resolutely maintains eye contact with his Head of House, whose sharp glare never wavers. 

”Is it true?” the man asks quietly. 

”Is what true, Sir?” Harry mutters. 

”You yelled at Professor Umbridge?”

”I didn’t yell…” Harry huffs.

”You told her the Dark Lord has returned?”

”Yes”, Harry mutters defiantly, glaring at a pickled toad on the shelf behind Professor Snape. 

”Excuse me?”

”Yes, Sir…”

”And you were insolent?” Snape presses sharply. 

Harry finally ducks his head and glares at his own thumb nail instead. 

”Well?”

”I suppose…” Harry mumbles, shrugging awkwardly. 

”Harry…” Snape sighs. 

Harry glances up curiously. The Potions Master is still frowning sternly, but he doesn’t look very angry, Harry thinks. 

”Yes, Sir?”

”You need to learn to control your emotions. You can’t keep doing this…”

”Sir?” 

”You heard the speech Professor Umbridge made last night?” 

”Not really…” Harry mutters honestly, shrugging again. 

Professor Snape’s eyes flicker upwards briefly, before he pins Harry with another glare but this time it’s more exasperated than anything else… 

”Well. Like it or not, Dolores Umbridge has been appointed by the Ministry of Magic to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts this year, she is an official Hogwarts professor and you would do well to stay in her good books, for the time being… starting with attending the detentions she’s set for you, one every evening for the rest of the week…”

But Harry isn’t even listening anymore. Who cares about detentions, when Professor Snape is basically telling him to just let Toad Face get away with saying all sorts of horrible lies, and not even letting them practise the spells they’re supposed to be learning — in their OWL year, of all times! — and generally being a horrible cow?

”So, what”, he says. ”I should just let her spread lies and—?”

”Yes”, Snape says curtly.

”But Sir—!”

”I don’t want to hear it”, Snape snaps. ”Just keep your head down and control your temper.”

”I did control my temper!” Harry exclaims. ”She’s the one who did her nut and I never even lost my temper or nothing, even though she kept saying daddy isn’t even human and called him a dangerous half-breed! I wanted to hex that stupid bloody bow off her fat head — BUT I DIDN’T!”

Snape’s narrowed eyes flashes darkly and he presses his lips so tightly together they seem to disappear altogether. 

”Sir”, Harry adds surlishly.

”She called Remus a half-breed?” Snape asks quietly. 

”Yes! She called him extremely dangerous”, Harry exclaims, heart thumping excitedly in his chest as anger and adrenaline begins to rush through him once more. ”And she said he isn’t even human!”

”I see…” Snape murmurs. ”I understand it must have been very… difficult for you to hear that, Harry, but please try and control your emotions in the future—”

”What? But Sir—!”

”I will inform the Headmaster of what you have told me”, Snape continues a little louder, ignoring Harry’s protest. ”But in the meantime, Harry, you must try and focus on your schoolwork and not antagonise Professor Umbridge—”

”Me antagonise her?” 

”Look”, Snape snaps, exasperation shining through his stoic mask again. ”You’re not the only one who is… displeased with this woman’s appointment. But this is the reality of the situation and we must all try and make the best of it. Especially you.”

”Why especially me?” Harry demands. 

”Because you’re the one sent to your Head of House with a note threatening expulsion unless your behaviour improves!” 

Harry blinks. 

Professor Snape’s eyes flits over to one of the shelves next to the desk and he huffs out a breath, visibly collecting himself once more. 

”Sir, all I did was—”

”It doesn’t matter, Harry”, Snape says tiredly, slumping slightly in his seat. ”You know where she comes from, surely you realise to whom she’s reporting? I know it isn’t fair…”

”But… but she can’t expel me—!”

”No, she can’t”, Snape agrees. ”At least not at the time being. Let’s make sure it stays that way… all right?”

Harry feels the fight drain out of him as quickly as it had resurged, replaced with a heavy feeling of hopelessness. 

”I’m putting you back on the Quidditch team”, Snape says suddenly. 

Harry looks up in surprise. The older man gives him a nod and twists his lips in a grimace clearly meant to be an encouraging smile. Harry hesitantly smiles back. 

”There will be official try-outs next week, of course. But I’m sure Marcus will want you back in the Seeker position…”

”Flint?” Harry says in surprise. 

”Yes”, Snape mutters. ”He failed all his NEWTs, so he’ll be repeating seventh year. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it this evening in the Common Room… now, if that’s all, I need to prepare for your lesson.”

Professor Snape stands up abruptly and Harry quickly follows suit. 

”You may wait in the classroom”, Snape adds. 

Harry nods, then silently trails after the Potions Master as he strides out of the office.

Thinking Draco and Blaise will want to sit at the front of the classroom, Harry chooses a seat in the front row. Professor Snape moves around, making preparations for a few minutes, but soon takes the seat behind the desk and then they sit in companionable silence while they wait for the rest of the class to show up. 

Not surprisingly, Harry’s friends are the first to arrive and Draco quickly makes a bee-line for Harry and slumps down in the seat next to him, pinning him with a worried look as he hands over his book bag. 

”Thanks…” Harry mumbles with a small smile. 

”Don’t mention it”, Draco says. Is everything okay? his eyes add, and Harry allows his smile to widen slightly. 

”Apparently I’m insolent”, he says wryly. 

”Well, what else is new…” Draco says drily, even as the worry in his eyes grows more and more frantic. 

”Yeah, well… guess I’ll have to work on that”, Harry says and shrugs lightly. ”That’s all.”

”Oh, is that all?” Draco repeats with a smirk, but Harry can see relief flood his face. 

”Yeah”, he says, discreetly slipping his hand under the desk and brushing his fingers over the other boy’s thigh. ”That’s all… and I’m back on the team.”

”Really?” Draco says, perking up to such a degree even a Hufflepuff would be able to tell. 

”Yep!” Harry smirks. ”Did you know Flint has to repeat seventh year? He’s still the Captain.”

”Yeah, I saw him last night”, Draco nods. ”He and Adrian looked cosier than ever… apparently they were having a massive row on the Hogwarts Express, but whatever they were fighting about they must have worked it out by the time they made it to the Great Hall, because they couldn’t take their eyes off each other…”

”Oh yeah”, Seamus pipes up on the other side of Draco. ”Pucey was practically draped over Flint all throughout dinner, but apparently he threw a paddy again in the Common Room later…”

”Why do they even bother staying together”, Harry says, shaking his head. 

”Yer one to talk!” Seamus huffs. ”The two of you is just as bad—”

”Not quite as bad, surely”, Blaise cuts in. 

”Well…” Seamus says slowly. ”Maybe not quite as bad, but definitely the worst in our year!”

”Worst what?” Draco demands.

”Worst couple”, Seamus says with a teasing grin. ”Ye know… the biggest source of drama, like!”

”Excuse me, that’s hardly—” Draco starts sharply, but falls silent as Professor Snape stands up behind the teacher’s desk. 

A hush immediately spreads throughout the classroom and every student turns to look at the Potions Master expectantly. He flicks his wand carelessly and the door of the classroom shuts with a click behind them. 

”Settle down…” he says silkily, even though they all are as settled as can be already. ”Before we begin today’s lesson, I think it’s appropriate to remind you all that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect all of my students to at least scrape an ’Acceptable’ in their OWL, or suffer my… displeasure.”

He looks over at the very last row of desks on the Gryffindor side of the classroom where Neville Longbottom is sitting and pins him with an intense look. The Gryffindor gives a tiny jolt that makes him wobble like a pile of jelly in his chair and he gulps visibly. 

Professor Snape sweeps his narrowed gaze across the rest of the class menacingly, lingering for a second on Harry next.

”From students of my own house, however, I will not accept anything less than ’Exceeds Expectations’…”

Harry feels like the bottom plummets out of his stomach.

”But I have no doubt that you’ll manage”, Snape continues smoothly and lets his gaze wander away from Harry again, to linger instead on Seamus. ”As long as you focus… if you wish to continue studying Potions with me next year, you’ll need to achieve an ’Outstanding’ of course, because I only take the very best and most dedicated students into my NEWT Potions class… however, don’t worry too much about that now, concentrate instead on maintaining the high level I have come to expect from my OWL students… today, we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level, and that is the Draught of Peace, which is a potion commonly used for — Draco?”

”Ehm, preventing anxiety, Sir?” Draco says. 

”Correct”, Snape says. ”Calming anxiety and soothing agitation… it is also a potion that requires a particular precision, because should you be too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep… the ingredients and method are on the blackboard —”

Professor Snape flicks his wand carelessly towards the blackboard behind him and the list of ingredients as well as the step-by-step instructions suddenly appear on it in the Potions Master’s neat handwriting. 

”— You will find everything you need in the store cupboard —”

With another flick of his wand, Snape opens the door of the cupboard. 

”— You have an hour and a half… start.”

The Draught of Peace turns out to be the trickiest potion Professor Snape has ever set them, with each ingredient needing to be chopped or crushed in a very precise manner before being added in a specific order, at just the right time, all the while stirring the entire content of the cauldron an exact number of times, first clockwise and then anti-clockwise, before finally lowering the flame of the bunsen burner to precisely the right level and adding the very last ingredient. 

It’s with bated breath that Harry sprinkles powdered moonstone into his potion and quickly stirring it three times anti-clockwise, before sinking back into his seat to wait for the potion to simmer for seven minutes. However, he keeps glancing nervously at the clock on the wall, hardly daring to let his mind wander for fear of losing track of time.

By the time he jumps up and reaches for the dropper with syrup of hellebore — when six minutes and fifty seconds have passed — and holds it over the cauldron with a shaky hand while counting down the last ten seconds, he is sweating profusely and the silvery grey vapour rising from his cauldron is making his head feel fuzzy. 

Seven minutes on the dot, Harry carefully lets two drops of syrup of hellebore fall into the mixture and then quickly stirs the the potion five times clockwise and lowers the flame under the cauldron and dumps the last ingredient — powdered porcupine quills — into the the mixture and then finally lowers the flame even further, before collapsing back into his seat with a relieved sigh. 

He feels Professor Snape’s presence behind his back and glances over his shoulder. The Potions Master’s narrowed black eyes flit between Draco’s and Harry’s cauldrons, then flicker up to meet Harry’s eyes for a second before he sweeps away again without a word. 

Harry smiles to himself as he turns back to face the desk and as he glances over at Draco’s cauldron, he is pleased to see that the vapour rising from it matches the vapour rising from his own cauldron almost exactly, which means that he must have succeeded in making the potion since Draco never messes up a potion. 

”A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion”, Professor Snape tells the class at large. 

Harry feels a thrill of pride as he looks around and notices that most of his classmates cauldrons are either smoking or spitting sparks, not emitting the silvery vapour that his own and Draco’s are. 

Craning his neck, he can see that Blaise and Daphne have also managed to make their potions correctly, but Pansy’s and Theo’s cauldrons are letting out thick clouds of grey smoke rather than the misty fumes that the potion should be emitting, whereas Seamus’s doesn’t even seem to be simmering. The Irish boy is prodding the bunsen burner with his wand desperately, trying to reignite the flame. 

”Longbottom, what is this supposed to be?” Professor Snape says sharply. 

Harry twists around in his seat and looks over at the Gryffindor boy just as the colour drains from his chubby cheeks. 

”Well?” Snape demands.

The Gryffindor stares up at Professor Snape with wide, terrified eyes and opens his trembling lips to reply, but no sound comes out of his mouth. Professor Snape gives him an unimpressed look and with a quick flick of his wand he Vanishes the solid potion from the boy’s cauldron. 

”Those of you who have managed to read the simple instructions and follow them”, Snape tells the rest of the class. ”Fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name and bring it up to my desk for testing… homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.”

”That’s not too bad”, Draco comments lightly, as soon as the class begins to chatter and move around noisily again. ”We have two days.”

”Yeah, but we also have our DADA homework”, Blaise reminds him. ”And I’ll bet you anything that by the end of today we’ll have homework for Herbology, History of Magic and Transfiguration too…”

”We have homework for DADA?” Harry mutters bitterly. 

”Yeah”, Draco says. ”Don’t worry, you can borrow my notes.” 

”Oh, yeah… they’re very nice notes”, Seamus pipes up at the other end of the desk, snickering. 

Harry looks over at the Irish boy in confusion. Noticing the smirks on his other friends faces and the blush in Draco’s cheeks, his confusion only grows stronger. 

”As soon as you left, Draco started writing very carefully”, Blaise tells him by way of explanation. 

”Shut up”, Draco mutters, his cheeks still a vivid pink. 

”Very nice and neat hand-writing, compared to his usual hippogriff scrawl… you know, so it’d be easier for you to read them later—”

”Shut up!” Draco repeats, a little louder. 

”What is going on here?” Professor Snape demands, swooping down on them. 

”Nothing”, three sets of voices say in unison. 

”Well, get a move on, or you’ll be late for your next les—”

A sudden crash rings out in the classroom and everyone turns around to see Goyle wave his right hand furiously, spattering Crabbe and Bulstrode with potion and blood. Harry can see more blood welling up in the cuts in the boy’s palm where bits of the exploded flagon are now embedded, and quickly glances over at Professor Snape, to gauge his reaction… the Potions Master narrows his eyes at the injured boy and presses his lips together tightly, his nostrils flaring in frustration. 

”Come on, let’s get out of here…” Harry murmurs to the others. 

He grabs Draco’s and Blaise’s flagons from them and hurries up to the teacher’s desk with them and his own, before grabbing his book bag and fleeing the classroom with his friends before Professor Snape — like Goyle’s flagon — explodes. 

Longbottom seems to have had the same idea, because he nearly trips over his own feet in his hurry to dive through the door and accidentally bumps sideways into Draco, who immediately shoves him away with a disgusted snarl — ”Watch it, Fatbottom!” — causing the Gryffindor boy to trip over for real and land with a muffled thump on the floor in the middle of the corridor. His book bag flies out of his hand and its content spills out all around the boy. 

Harry feels a twinge of sympathy and considers helping him gather the books up again, but in the end he’s more concerned about getting to lunch with Draco and their friends, so he decides to leave Longbottom and his books to his own friends in Gryffindor. 

”HEY!” 

Harry wheels around to see Ron and Granger exit the potions classroom behind them. Ron’s ears are beet red and he’s glaring daggers at Draco, while Granger offers Longbottom a hand and helps steady him as he gingerly gets to his feet. 

”N-no, it’s okay”, he squeaks. ”I-It was my f-fault—”

But Ron doesn’t appear to be listening to his friend at all. Instead he strides right up to Draco and gets in his face. 

”What’s your problem?” he demands, then gives the blonde a forceful shove in the chest. ”How do you like it? Eh?”

”Ron…” Harry says. 

The redhead’s gaze flickers over to Harry, but he quickly fixes Draco with a glare again. 

”Watch it, weasel”, Draco bites out, shoving him back. 

”Draco, don’t—” Harry starts. 

”Ferret face!” Ron growls and before Harry has even registered what’s happened, Ron has hurled himself at Draco and fisted his hand in his blonde hair. 

”Get off me!” Draco shouts shrilly, flailing in panic as the Gryffindor gets him in a headlock. 

He finally manages to get his arm around Ron’s neck, pulling him off balance and throwing him to the floor. Ron kicks out wildly as Draco manages to pull his robes over his head and trap him inside, but the redhead bucks in the blonde’s grip and smashes the back of his head hard against his collarbone. Draco lets out a pained cry, but immediately lashes out, seemingly trying to get the robes back off Ron so that he can claw his eyes out.

”Stop! STOP IT!” Harry screams.

Both boys ignore him and as they continue wrestling each other, the others form a hesitant semi-circle around them.

”Get him, Draco!” Seamus shouts excitedly, jumping out of the way as the two boys tumble towards him on the ground, grappling desperately. 

”Shut up, Seamus!” Harry hollers angrily, shooting his friend a sharp glare. ”Draco, stop! DRACO!”

”Ron, stop it!” Granger cries, wringing her hands anxiously from her vantage point on the other side of the wrestling duo. ”He’s not worth it!”

Harry rocks forward on his feet indecisively, debating with himself whether he should just dive in and pry the boys apart… but that might make it worse though, he thinks.

”GET HIM OFF ME!” Draco shrieks as Ron finally manages to untangle himself from his robes and clambers onto Draco’s back, choking him from behind. 

Harry’s heart lurches. He glances over at Blaise and the other boy gives him a quick nod. Together they bend down and grab each of the boys by the arms and drag them bodily apart, literally kicking and screaming, especially Draco, as Ron grabs him by the hair once more, before Blaise manages to pull him away. 

”What is the meaning of this?” Professor Snape’s coldest voice hisses from the doorway behind them. 

Panting from the effort to restrain his boyfriend, Harry gasps out a Nothing, even as he fists his hands in the back of Draco’s robes and physically pulls him backwards, further away from Ron who, despite the presence of the Potions Master, is still waving his arms around like a windmill, trying to punch the blonde. 

”Enough!” Snape barks. 

Finally, Ron stops thrashing around and he and Draco both tear their furious eyes away from each other again. Harry slumps forward, allowing himself to rest his forehead against Draco’s shoulder blade for a second, before he lets go of his robes and steps back from him again. 

The blonde avoids his eyes as he readjusts his robes awkwardly and flattens his mussed up hair with trembling fingers.

Looking over at Ron, Harry can see several blonde strands peeking out from between the boy’s fisted fingers and frowns. 

”Explain yourselves”, Professor Snape demands, glaring between the two panting boys. 

”He started it”, Ron mutters, glaring mulishly at the floor. 

”I didn’t do anything, Professor”, Draco says furiously. ”Weasley attacked me for no reason—!”

”You lying little—!” 

”Mister Weasley!” Snape snaps. 

Ron instantly falls silent, but his ears are still burning bright red, as is the rest of his face now. 

”Ten points from Gryffindor.”

”But Professor”, Granger protests. ”Malfoy did start it — he pushed Neville!”

”Longbottom pushed me first!” Draco snarls. ”I wouldn’t even touch his fat arse with Seamus’s—!”

”That is enough”, Snape tells Draco sternly. ”I don’t want to hear another word… five points from Slytherin, as well. That is the end of it. Have I made myself clear? Good”, he snaps, before any of them has a chance to respond. ”All of you, get to your classes. Now!”

Draco snatches his book bag from floor and stamps down the corridor. Harry and the others hurry after him and they all make their way up to ground level in tense silence. Harry stays close to the blonde’s side the whole way, but makes sure their shoulders and hands never brush, just in case the contact will set the other boy off again, not wanting to get into an argument with his boyfriend over this. 

”Professor Snape was completely out of line”, Pansy tells Draco in a soothing undertone once they’re all seated at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. ”He shouldn’t have taken points from Slytherin — they attacked you!”

”Whatever”, Draco grumbles. ”I don’t care, anyway!”

Harry gives the blonde a sideways glance, but doesn’t say anything. 

Pansy nods sympathetically, but when her gaze flickers over to meet Harry’s briefly, a silent look of understanding passes between them and Harry realises the girl is simply appeasing Draco and that she, like Harry, knows that Draco does care, and he cares a lot — not about the Gryffindors, or even losing points — but about those points being taken by Professor Snape, of all people. 

Harry thinks back and tries to remember if that’s ever happened before, and realises that no… the only times Draco has got into trouble with their Head of House has been when Harry has lead him into said trouble. Never before has Draco been caught breaking rules on his own and had his favourite professor scold him for it, in front of other students no less. And Harry knows it must be killing him… even without the suspicious sheen in the blonde’s eyes as proof. 

He discreetly moves his legs a little further apart, so that his thigh aligns with Draco’s, but without knocking their knees together. 

”Let’s change the subject…” Draco mumbles in a smaller voice. 

Pansy immediately delves into a discussion about some people Harry haven’t even heard of, but Draco seems to know them very well judging by how eagerly he joins in with the gossip… it takes Harry at least ten minutes to figure out that they’re not actually talking about real people at all, but characters in an opera. 

They’re really talking about bloody opera, he thinks incredulously, shaking his head.

Turning away, Harry catches Seamus’s eye and the Irish boy immediately blurts out, ”So the Cannons!”

”I know”, Harry says emphatically, gratefully diving head-first into the discussion of the latest Quidditch scandal. ”Insane! D’you think Gudgeon will be suspended for the rest of the league?”

”Let’s hope not — or they might replace him with a half-decent Seeker!”

The rest of the day passes in a sort of blur, with one boring lesson (Herbology) bleeding into an even more boring one (History of Magic) until the monotony is finally broken up by Double Transfiguration with the strict Professor McGonagall who, like Professor Snape, starts the lesson off by reminding them all that they are now in their OWL year and every lesson leading up to the very difficult examination at the end of the school year, as well as every homework assignment, are all essential — not only to ensure they pass their OWLs, but to ensure they have a future, at all (which sounds a bit like an exaggeration, to Harry…)

”And you cannot pass an OWL without serious application, practise and study”, Professor McGonagall tells them grimly. ”But I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an OWL in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work — yes, you too, Longbottom. There’s nothing wrong with your work, except lack of confidence—”

Draco lets out a soft snort of derision, barely loud enough for Harry to hear sitting next to him, but McGonagall with her age-defying bat-like hearing, immediately sends him a warning glare. Draco ducks his head and frowns at the desk top in front of him. 

”Whereas some of you are perhaps a tad over-confident”, McGonagall says sharply. ”I’m telling you now, regardless of your marks at the end of last year, if you do not put in the work, you will fail your Transfiguration OWL… now. Today we will be starting Vanishing Spells. These are easier than Conjuring Spells, which you would not normally attempt until NEWT level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your OWL…”

As it turns out, Professor McGonagall wasn’t exaggerating about that, at least. By the end of the double period Harry hasn’t managed to Vanish the snail on which he’s supposed to be practising even once. Seamus and Theo are just as hopeless, as are most of the class, with the exception of Draco and Daphne, and Granger from the Gryffindors. As a result, everyone but the three of them are told to practise the spell as homework and prepare to make a fresh attempt the next day.

The accumulated homework of the day takes Harry a good two hours to finish and by the time he’s getting ready for bed, exhaustion is tearing away at him and he feels his eyelids droop in expectation as he drags himself to his bed. 

He collapses against his pillows with a tired sigh. He’s so tired he almost considers skipping the Dreamless Sleep and just take his chances… but just as he’s about to drift off, he’s shaken awake again by the bed dipping next to him. Blinking his itchy eyes open again, he squints through the gloom and makes out the blurry shape of Draco as he folds his long limbs and curls up next to him. 

”Hey…” Harry mumbles. 

”Hey”, Draco replies in a hushed voice, then mutters ”Silencio…”

Harry shakes off the sleep tugging at him and sits up a little against the headboard of the bed. 

”So…” Harry murmurs. ”How was your summer?”

”It was all right”, Draco says after a tense pause. ”I… I’ll tell you later, okay?”

”Okay”, Harry says, feeling just a tiny twinge of unease at the realisation that there’s something to tell. ”What about today, want to tell me about that now?”

”What about today?” Draco says and even though Harry can’t see his face without his glasses, he can hear the defensive glare in his voice. 

”With Ron…”

”He attacked me!”

”I know”, Harry says hurriedly. ”But you didn’t have to sink to his level…”

Draco doesn’t say anything for a long while, but Harry can feel the tension in the air between them. He’s just about to lean across the bed and reach for his glasses on the floor, when he hears the other boy sigh. 

”I know…” he mumbles. ”But I can’t help it. I just… I just get so angry around him…”

Harry frowns. He knows Draco and Ron have never got on, but he’s never heard Draco acknowledge it before. In fact, if Harry would have asked him about Ron at any point during the four years they’ve all spent at Hogwarts, Draco would probably have said something about being indifferent to the Gryffindor — even if that would be a lie, Harry would never expect the blonde to outright admit that Ron gets under his skin — yet here he is now, admitting it.

”Just seeing him”, Draco continues. ”I just want to… punch him in his stupid face…”

”Draco…” Harry says, in some sort of vague admonishment.

”I know! I know…” the other boy mutters in frustration. ”I just hate that he got to take you to the Yule Ball — I know it’s stupid, I know you only went as… as friends, but… I just hate it.”

”Well, I did ask you first”, Harry reminds him gently.

”I know…” the other boy mumbles in a small voice. 

”Hey…” Harry murmurs, reaching out to blindly comb his fingers through the other boy’s hair. ”I love you.”

Draco says nothing, but Harry feels his eyes on him and smiles. 

”I’ve loved you since first year, I think”, he adds. ”And every year I think I can’t possibly fall any harder for you, then the next year comes around and… and I just… I dunno, I just keep falling.”

”That’s so corny”, Draco mumbles, nestling his arm in behind Harry’s neck and pulling him into his side. ”I love it.”

Harry feels his face heat up in embarrassment, but keeps smiling.

”Me too, though”, Draco adds seriously, his warm breath ghosting over the scar on Harry’s forehead before he brushes his lips over it in a soft kiss. 

”I wish you would just get along with Ron”, Harry says. ”He’s all right, you know… and you have no reason to be jealous. I don’t fancy him at all and he doesn’t fancy me either. I don’t even think he likes other blokes. Or even if he does, he doesn’t like me that way.”

”Of course he does”, Draco mutters. ”Don’t be naive.”

”He doesn’t”, Harry insists, leaning back to meet Draco’s gaze earnestly. ”Fred and George more or less told me he fancies Granger!”

”Ugh…” Draco says, feigning a shiver. 

”She’s all right, as well”, Harry says pointedly. ”Be nice.”

”She’s a bucktoothed besserwisser”, Draco counters stubbornly. 

”Draco!”

”Fine… did you take your potion already?” Draco asks, smoothly changing the topic. 

”Not yet”, Harry says, smirking fondly. ”It’s on the floor next to the bed…”

Draco untangles himself from Harry and leans away for a second, but reappears at his side almost immediately, pressing the glass phial into Harry’s hand. 

”It will knock me out”, Harry warns him. 

”That’s alright”, Draco says, curling his arm around Harry’s back again and pulling him close. ”I’m knackered, I just want to go to sleep…”

”Okay…” Harry says, pulling the stopper out of the phial and quickly chugging the potion. 

As always, the effect is instantaneous. The phial slips from his fingers and he goes boneless in Draco’s embrace, his eyelids growing steadily heavy. The last thing he’s aware of before he slips into unconsciousness is the feeling of Draco brushing another kiss against his forehead, then pulling the blanket over them both…

He wakes up feeling completely rested, the soft green light of the dorm window spilling in through a gap in the hangings around his four-poster bed, splashing over his face and breaking through the fleshy darkness of his eyelids… and Draco’s arms still loosely hugging him from behind. 

He stretches slightly, arching his back and pressing himself closer into the other boy’s embrace… immediately, the body behind him stirs, the arm around his midriff tightening… then the hand on his chest moves down and sneaks under the hem of his pyjama top, brushing the bare skin of his belly gently.

”Morning…” Harry mumbles thickly and smiles. 

Draco lets out a wordless, but definitely contented hum. Then Harry feels the cool tip of a nose nuzzle the back of his neck. 

”How did you sleep?” Harry asks. 

Draco mumbles something unintelligible and more or less buries his face in the back of Harry’s neck, obviously having no intention of getting up anytime soon…

That’s new, Harry thinks. 

For as long as he’s known Draco, he’s always been a morning person and as soon as he’s woken up, even if it’s at the crack of dawn, hours before he actually has to be anywhere and he could easily go back to sleep, he never does. Harry remembers having to get up really early for Quidditch matches in Second Year and Draco coming up to the Great Hall for breakfast with him, claiming he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep again anyway, once he’s woken up… whereas Harry himself has always struggled to drag himself out of bed. Now, however, it seems as though their roles have been reversed, the after effects of a night of Dreamless Sleep making Harry positively energised and bursting to jump out of bed, while Draco appears to be going back to sleep… Harry closes his eyes again and tries to doze off again, but it’s no use. He’s wide awake. 

So instead, he twists around carefully in the other boy’s embrace and burrows into his chest, counting the heartbeats he feels against his face and just relishing the quiet moment of easy intimacy between them. 

He can tell when Draco has woken up properly, because his breathing becomes shallower and there’s a sudden tension in his arm, like he’s trying really hard to keep it loose and relaxed around Harry’s body so as not to disturb him. 

”How did you sleep?” Harry asks again. 

”Like a baby”, the other boy answers immediately. ”I really needed that… what about you?”

”Yeah, same.”

”Good…”

Harry shifts a little and nestles deeper into the warm embrace, but freezes as the other boy lets out a soft gasp… for a split second, the arm around Harry’s body tightens and he feels an unmistakable hardness poke him in the hipbone as Draco’s hips give an involuntary jerk, before he shifts away from Harry entirely and lets at least an inch of space seep in between their bodies.

”You…” Harry starts, but cuts himself off awkwardly. 

”Sorry”, Draco mutters, pulling his arm away as well. 

”Don’t be”, Harry says quickly, reaching out to grasp the material of the other boy’s sleeve as if to tell the arm to come back. ”I’m, you know… too…”

”Yeah”, Draco mumbles and leans in to nuzzle Harry’s hairline for a second, planting a small kiss on his scar before pulling away again. ”But we’ll be late.”

”Oh… yeah…” Harry croaks. ”I suppose.”

”Later”, Draco murmurs, his voice thick with promise and Harry feels his own hardness throb eagerly at the sound of it. ”Come on, let’s go to breakfast”, the blonde adds and presses Harry’s spectacles into his hand, before pushing himself up to sitting. 

Harry rubs the sleep from his eyes, then pushes the glasses onto his face and squints up at the other boy happily. His blonde hair is slightly mussed and his eyes are still a little swollen, but the small smile that he sends Harry’s way makes Harry tingle all over and he beams back. 

”Dorcus…” Draco says with a smirk. ”Come on, get up already!”

As soon as they’re seated at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall and he’s buttered a couple of slices of toast for himself, Harry takes out his timetable and glances at the subjects piled underneath Wednesday. It doesn’t look quite as bad as yesterday, he surmises. But he could have done without Care of Magical Creatures after lunch, seeing as the rain has yet to let up, if the enchanted ceiling is anything to go by… but at least they have a nice, slow start with Divination first thing in the morning followed by a free period. 

”We can get the Potions essay out of the way”, Draco says, also eyeing the free period before lunch on Harry’s timetable. 

”Yeah”, Harry agrees. Or we could finish what we nearly started this morning, he doesn’t add. But he spends the rest of breakfast fantasying about it. 

Draco receives The Daily Prophet and quickly skims through it, before letting the girls have it. Harry can tell by the indifferent look on the boy’s face that there must have been at least one unfavourable mention of Harry himself in there, but he doesn’t bother asking. He doesn’t really want to know. 

Glancing around the Hall, he can tell people are whispering and throwing him furtive (and in some cases, not so furtive) looks and he swallows a sigh, reaching for the coffee to pour himself a refill, then conjures up the image of Draco in his bed once more, concentrating on the memory of his sleep-mussed hair and smirking, plush lips… 

”You’re awfully quiet this morning”, Blaise comments as they stand up to make their way to the North Tower for Divination. 

”Just tired”, Harry lies. 

”Didn’t you get any sleep last night either?”

”Yeah, I did…” Harry says, avoiding his friend’s eyes under the pretence of making sure he’s got all his books with him in his book bag. ”But, you know… it’s just… early… you know.”

”Yeah…” Blaise says slowly. ”I know…” 

When Harry glances over at him, he’s squinting back sceptically.

”Oh, what? Can’t a bloke just be tired?” Harry says, slinging the book bag over his shoulder. ”Let’s go — we’re going to be late.”

”What about you, Draco?” Blaise says casually, as they make their way out of the Great Hall. ”Are you tired, as well?”

”As well? Oh…” the blonde says, glancing between the two of them. ”No, I slept great.”

”Harry says he’s tired—”

”Will you just give it a rest?” Harry snaps. 

Blaise merely smirks back, but he does falls silent and Draco doesn’t say anything either.

As they trudge up the winding stairs to the North Tower for Divination class, they pass the portrait of Sir Cadogan and his chubby pony and the short, squat knight immediately lets out a battle cry and leaves his pony to continue munching listlessly on the grass in the painting, in order to pursue the group of Slytherins through the neighbouring picture frames, his panting breath barely audible over the clanking of his armour.

”Get — back here — you scurvy — dogs!” the small knight pants. ”Face me — like men — you rogues!”

”Shove off, Cadogan”, Seamus mutters, almost as out of breath as the painted knight after seven flights of stairs. 

”Draw, you — knaves — you — ARRRGH—!”

Harry looks back over his shoulder to see Sir Cadogan trip over his own feet and land in a sprawling heap in the middle of a nest of startled Horklumps. He flops onto his back and pushes the visor onto his head, gasping for breath and shouting after them. 

They ignore the breathless insults hurled at their backs and continue climbing up the last few steps, until they reach the small landing beneath the circular trapdoor to the Divinations classroom and leans back against the wall to wait. Soon the rest of the class joins them, but no-one speaks, everyone seemingly too tired still to make smalltalk. However, Harry catches Pansy and Daphne give each other a meaningful look and then smirk over at Millicent Bulstrode who’s standing off to one side by herself. 

Harry frowns, suddenly remembering all three girls hanging out together back in first and second year… he’d assumed they were friends, but then at some point Bulstrode had stopped spending time with the other two girls… or was it the other way round? Harry wonders, glancing over at the surly girl now. He hadn’t even thought about it before, but now that he does think about it, she seems to be alone most of the time as of late. He’s seen her sitting together with a couple of younger girls in the Common Room, though. So it’s not like she hasn’t got any friends… 

The girl looks up suddenly and catches him staring and immediately scowls at him. He quickly looks away again, shooting Pansy and Daphne an annoyed glare when the two girls burst out into snickers. 

Draco gives him a questioning look.

Girls, Harry is just about to say by ways of explanation, but the bell ringing interrupts him and he just shakes his head instead. 

The trapdoor opens and a silver ladder descends from the circular hole in the ceiling above them, which Harry moves towards and starts climbing, dread pooling in his stomach with every step towards the stuffy classroom. 

It’s even worse than Harry remembers. The sickly sweet perfume rising from the fire is potent enough to give him a dull headache, but not strong enough to completely mask the earthy scent of mildew and dust. 

He wends his way between the many small tables, pouffes and chintz armchairs cramped inside the small circular classroom, careful not to trip over any of them as he squints through the gloom — and careful, also, not to bump into Professor Trelawny, who is sashaying between the tables as well, placing battered old leather-bound books on each of them — and finally he chooses a seat at the table in the far corner of the room, half-hoping to shrink into the shadows and avoid having his death predicted by the professor, if only for Draco’s peace of mind…

”Good day…” Trelawny says in her usual misty voice, once everyone is seated. ”Welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays and am delighted that you have all returned safely to Hogwarts — as, of course, I knew you would…”

She slowly lowers herself into her high-backed armchair in front of the fire and blinks her hugely magnified eyes at them, looking as ever like huge insect… Harry has a sudden image of Toad Face emerging from the shadows and ensnaring her with a massive tongue, before swallowing her whole, beads and shawls and all… shaking his head slightly, Harry sits up a little straighter, suddenly very determined not to doze off, like he normally does during Divination… 

”You will find on the tables before you copies of The Dream Oracle by Inigo Imago”, Trelawny continues in her, ironically, dreamy fashion. ”Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your OWL… not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little. However, the Headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so… turn, please, to page three in your books and read the introduction. Then, divide into pairs and use The Dream Oracle to interpret each other’s most recent dreams… carry on.”

Determined to do as little divining as possible, especially if it requires scrutinising his own dreams, Harry reads the introduction very slowly… so slowly, in fact, that by the time he’s finished, there’s only ten more minutes left of the lesson. 

Draco is watching him expectantly as he looks up, clearly waiting for him to finish so that they can pair up. Harry frowns — he knows Draco is very mindful of maintaining his marks, in all his subjects, even Divination — but he’s never stopped to ask himself whether the blonde actually believes in all of this… crap, Harry thinks plainly. That’s what it is. Complete tosh. 

But in case Draco does believe in it, he doesn’t say this out loud. 

”Er… want to… ehm… tell me one of your dreams?” he asks the boy instead. 

”I don’t really…” Draco trails off, shifting uncomfortably on his pouffe. ”I mean…”

”What?” Harry frowns. 

”Well, I don’t dream… really…”

”What — ever?” Harry says incredulously. ”Of course you do! Everyone does!”

”Not… really…” Draco mumbles. ”I mean, I get snippets of… but I don’t really remember anything when I wake up.”

”Snippets of what?” Harry presses. 

”I don’t know!” Draco says in frustration. ”You tell me one of yours instead—!”

”No way.”

The blonde opens his mouth to protest, but then seems to come to some sort of realisation because he sort of deflates and closes his mouth again. 

”Sorry”, he mutters. ”I didn’t think…”

”It’s all right”, Harry mumbles. ”Sure you can’t remember any of yours? Any snippet? We just need the one…”

Draco seems to be weighing his options for a moment, then finally licks his lips and, sitting up a little straighter again, he gives his head a small shake to get his fringe out of his eyes. 

”Okay… last night I dreamt about the sea.”

”The sea?” Harry repeats curiously. ”What, in France?”

”I don’t know. I suppose so. It was sunny and the water was quite warm. I mean it was cool, but it wasn’t cold, you know…”

”And… what? you were just swimming?”

”Not exactly”, Draco mumbles. ”Does it matter? Can’t we just look up ’sea’…”

He flicks the pages of his Dream Oracle, scanning the list of words. 

”It’s not very specific”, Harry says carefully. ”Were you just on the beach, watching the sea?”

”’Sea’, see ’water’…” Draco reads under his breath and then proceeds to flick a few more pages. 

”Were you in the water?” Harry continues. ”…floating?”

”Here!” Draco says decisively and holds the book up to recite the passage, effectively creating a barrier between himself and Harry, whether intentional or not. ”’Water is one of the most common symbols conjured by our unconscious and translated into the medium of dreams and represents the dreamer’s emotions, or, often the unconscious itself, especially if it’s a large body of water like a vast lake or the ocean’…”

The blonde trails off and frowns at the book. 

”Yes?” Harry prods. ”Is that it?”

”No…” Draco mutters, then continues reading in a much more reluctant voice. ”’The state of the body of water will tell you the nature of your current state of emotion, similarly, how you engage with the water in your dream will tell you’…”

The blonde trails off again. 

”Go on…” Harry prompts. 

”Ehm… well… ’for example, swimming, paddling or rowing down a river may suggest you going with the flow in life, whereas struggling to swim up the river would suggest the opposite and might be your unconscious’s way of telling you that you are going against your intuition’…” Draco finishes reading the passage quickly, in one breath, then promptly slams the book shut again and puts it down on the table. 

”Yeah, so, were you swimming or what?” Harry says. 

”I don’t know, I told you I don’t remember!” Draco snaps. 

”All right — keep your hair on!”

”This whole thing is stupid anyway…” Draco mutters sullenly. 

”Well… yeah”, Harry says and shrugs. ”It’s an easy ’O’ though, isn’t it…?”

”I don’t know about easy…” Draco grouses. 

Finally the bell rings and they both jump to their feet gratefully, hurrying towards the trapdoor. 

”Homework assignment”, Professor Trelawny cries, before they’ve managed to flee the classroom. ”Keep a dream diary for the next month, as detailed as you can, please!”

”You’ve got to be kidding me…” Harry mutters. 

Suddenly the free period before lunch doesn’t seem at all luxurious, with such a mountain of homework now looming over them. 

”Damn trickery, is what it is!” Seamus growls, as they claim a table in the back of the library. 

Harry is inclined to agree. Even if it’s only the second day and the stress of being in their OWL year really hasn’t grabbed them yet, Harry still could have used an hour and a half to just relax, especially considering he’s got his first detention with Toad Face to look forward to this evening.

But first, he has to venture out into the rain for Care of Magical Creatures… the only silver-lining being that at least the oaf Hagrid isn’t taking the lesson and putting them all in danger, rather when they reach the paddock next to Hagrid’s old hut, Professor Grubbly-Plank is waiting for them next to a trestle table with what at first glance looks like a small pile of sticks, but at a closer look turns out to be —

”Bowtruckles!” Granger informs them all, her hand still thrust desperately in the air. ”They’re tree guardians, usually they live in wand trees!”

Draco pulls a bucktoothed face behind her back and Pansy and Daphne dissolve in half-muffled giggles. 

”Settle down!” Professor Grubbly-Plank tells them sternly, before turning back to Granger. ”That’s right. Have five points for Gryffindor, girl…  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?”

Draco quickly raises his hand, but Granger blurts out the answer without even getting the say so from the professor, earning a murderous glare from the blonde, who then spends the rest of the lesson performing his impersonation of the Gryffindor girl whenever she talks, to peels of laughter from the other Slytherins despite Grubbly-Plank’s stern admonitions. 

”All right, all right, settle down!” the old witch says loudly. ”Now, gather round everybody, and take some woodlice… there should be enough here for all of you… then pick a Bowtruckle, I have enough here for one between three of you, and I want you to study them more closely… I want a sketch from each of you, with all body parts correctly labelled, by the end of the lesson…. off you go!”

*

As soon as the bell rings at the end of Charms, which is their last lesson of the day, Harry says goodbye to his friends and hurries down to the Great Hall for a quick supper before he has to be in Professor Umbridge’s office for his five o’clock detention. 

When he gets there, the office is completely unrecognisable from the other times he’s been their in the previous two years. When his daddy had been the Defence teacher, he always kept some exciting creatures in the small office that he would introduce the students to in his lessons, and when the Barty Crouch Jr. pretended to be Mad-Eye Moody, the office had been crammed with Dark Wizards detectors and other spy equipment, as well as a large trunk that later turned out to be hiding the real Moody. 

Now, however, lacy covers and cloths are draped over every surface and the walls are covered in a rather vast collection of ornamental plates, all depicting different types of kittens, each with a large bow around its neck, similar to the ones that Umbridge herself seemed to favour as a hair accessory. 

”Hem, hem… Good evening, Mr Potter”, her sickly sweet voice slithers across the room towards him now. 

He glances over to where she’s standing, the floral pattern of her hideous robes almost making her blend in with the table cloth on the desk behind her. 

”Good evening”, he replies tersely and lets three tense seconds tick by before adding Ma’am. 

The smile of the woman’s face seems to have frozen in place and one of her bulging brown eyes twitches slightly. 

Without another word, she points him towards a small table draped in lace and walks over and perches stiffly on the edge of the straight-backed chair’s seat. A blank piece of parchment has been laid out for him on the table top and fingers the edge of it, pulling it a little closer to the edge. 

”Now, Mr Potter… you are here for being insolent and disrupting class”, Umbridge says and, glaring at the parchment in front of him with gritted teeth, Harry reminds himself of his conversation with Professor Snape and forces himself to remain quiet. ”And for spreading evil… nasty…”

He lets his narrowed eyes flicker up to her face and her smile widens pleasantly. 

”…attention-seeking lies”, she finishes with an air of triumph. 

Harry’s jaw is now clenched so tightly it’s begun to throb, but with a deep breath he manages to reel in his anger again. 

”There”, Umbridge says lightly, her bulging eyes glittering with malice. ”Already you’re getting better at controlling that nasty temper of yours… let’s see if we can really hammer the message home, shall we? I want you to do some lines for me this evening —”

”Fine”, Harry grits out. 

”— and I want you to write ’I must not tell lies’, all right?”

”How many times?”

”Oh, as many as it takes”, Umbridge says quietly, and Harry frowns at the sudden breathless quality to her voice. ”For the message to really… sink in…”

”Fine”, Harry mutters again and bends down to retrieve his quill and ink well from his bag. 

”Oh no”, Umbridge says lightly. ”Not with your quill. You’re going to be using a rather special one of mine.”

She trots over to him and places a long, black quill next to the piece of parchment on the table. 

”All right”, Harry mutters nonplussed. ”Do you want me to use my own ink?”

”Oh, you won’t be needing any ink…”

”Okay…” Harry says slowly, but picks up the quill, eager to get the detention over with as quickly as possible.

Scratching out an ’I’ with slightly more force than strictly necessary, Harry is mildly surprised to see the crimson ink that flows out of the sharp tip of the quill and glances at the long, black plume curiously, wondering how much ink can possibly fit inside its base. 

’must not tell lies’, he scrawls out and watches as the red letters gleam for a moment in the light from the lanterns around the room, before the ink starts to dry. 

Harry moves the quill from the parchment to continue writing on the next line. A sudden sharp burn stings the back of his hand and he lets out involuntary gasp of pain. Jerking his hand back from the parchment and turning it over, Harry can only stare at the words now carved into the skin there, words in his own handwriting. 

”Is there a problem?” Umbridge says in her sweetest voice.

Heart pounding furiously in his chest and blood rushing to his head, Harry hears a thumping noise in his ears and tears his eyes away from the wound on the back of his hand, that’s already started to heal over again, and looks up to meet the woman’s eyes that blink at him in feigned innocence. 

”No”, he says, his voice scratching his throat as he forces it out. ”Nothing.”

”That’s right”, Umbridge whispers, her eyes bulging further and glittering with malice and excitement. ”Because you know… deep down… that you deserve to be punished, don’t you, Mr Potter?”

Harry feels bile rising in his throat and swallows hard. He says nothing. Just looks down at the parchment again. The words written there have dried now, looking more brown than red but still clearly blood… 

My blood, he thinks faintly. 

Taking a deep breath, he quickly scrawls, I must not tell lies and steels himself for the sharp sting, determined not to let Toad Face see or hear his pain again. 

He doesn’t look at the back of his hand again, just continues writing quickly, efficiently, mechanically…

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

His whole hand is pounding now, the back of it feeling like the skin has been flayed from the flesh and each letter that he scratches into the parchment feels like it’s being gouged in between the small bones left on display… he imagines feeling blood running freely down his arm, but refuses to look…

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

Finally he reaches the bottom of the parchment and runs out of space to write. Without even thinking about it, he swiftly turns the paper over and continues to write on the back. 

I must not tell lies

He has to keep the quill moving. If he stops, if he so much as pauses, there is no way he’ll be able to start again, no matter what Toad Face says or threatens him with. He’ll break down then — she’ll have broken him — and he won’t give her that satisfaction. He won’t. 

I must not tell lies

”Hem, hem…”

I must not tell lies

”All right, that’s enough…”

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

”That’s enough for now —”

I must not

”I said —”

not tell lies

”— enough!”

I must not tell lies

I must not tell lies

”ENOUGH! STOP!”

I must not tell lies

”STOP WRITING!”

Harry wrenches the quill away from the parchment and glares down at the list he’s composed. The whole parchment is filled with blood red words that seem to be dripping down the page. They swim before his eyes. The taste of copper fills his mouth and for an awful second he thinks he can taste the words he’s written. 

”That’s… that’s enough…” Umbridge says, a small tremor in her voice.

Harry tosses the quill down on the table and feels a thrill when a drop of ink — no, blood — falls from the tip and soaks into the lacy table cloth. 

He realises his heart is still pounding and he’s breathing hard, like he’s been running. 

”We’ll… continue tomorrow night. You may leave.”

Harry looks up at her. A roaring fills his ears. Darkness is filling his vision, like shadows creeping into the edges of his eyes and slowly swirling into the centre of his vision so they can embrace each other. 

”Mr Potter”, Umbridge says sharply. ”You may leave!”

He bends down to grab his bag and stands up from the rickety chair on shaky legs.

Just go, he tells himself. Get out of here. She’s not worth it, just go.