"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.
He bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood, as he started writing a third line. He really hoped his da might have a potion or balm that would help soothe his hand when he was finished. He'd almost rather have gotten the cane тАУ as much as it hurt, the bum just wasn't as sensitive as the thin skin on the back of the hand! He wondered if he was allowed to ask for something to heal himself after a punishment, or whether he'd just have to wait for his hand to get better on its own.
He guessed he'd better at least ask his da. Snape would get grumpy if he thought Harry was keeping things from him, though he couldn't imagine his da would be pleased with Umbridge either. Hadn't he told Harry that тАУ
Harry sat bolt upright. His da had told him that no one, not even another teacher, had the right to hit him. Well, Umbridge wasn't exactly hitting him, but she was making him do something that hurt an awful lot. Wasn't that almost the same thing? And if it was, then did that mean that Harry could refuse?
He thought hard. His da hadn't interfered when Umbitch had punished him for losing his homework, but that had just been a regular essay. And when Sirius told the story of how he and Harry's dad тАУ his first dad тАУ had gotten thrashed for flying their brooms into the Forbidden Forest, hadn't his da said that if Harry ever got into trouble, then he knew he was supposed to come to him and talk about it?
Harry swallowed hard and made his decision. Maybe his da would be mad at him, but he still thought it was better to talk to him first, before Umbitch made him carve words into his own skin. If she was telling the truth and she was allowed to do it, then maybe he could still get his da to take over his detention. Or even Professor McGonagall. He was pretty sure she didn't use this quill in her detentions. After all, the twins, who'd had plenty of detentions with her, didn't have words scarred into the backs of their hands.
He stood up, still clutching the quill in his hand. "Professor, I'm not going to do any more," he announced bravely, though his wavering voice made it clear that he wasn't feeling very brave.
Umbridge's eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon?"
"I'm not going to write any more lines with this quill," Harry repeated stubbornly. "Not until I talk to my da, and he says I have to."
Umbridge snorted. "Do you truly imagine he'll rescue you, you little fool? You'll just be right back here, only you'll be writing your lines while sitting on a striped backside!"
Harry glared at her. "No, I won't!"
"Sit down and do as you're told, brat!" Umbridge's brittle calm was cracking as she rose to her feet.
"I won't!" Harry started to back away. The teacher was short and fat, but she was still bigger than he was.
"Obey me!" she said shrilly, grabbing for him.
Harry, his reflexes honed by Harry-hunting and Quidditch-seeking, easily evaded her grip and bolted for the door. He made it into the hallway before she managed to grab a fistful of his robe and jerked him to a halt.
Umbridge struggled to hang onto him with one hand while trying to get out her wand with the other. "Get back in here!" she shrieked at him.
"NO!" Harry wiggled and squirmed, reaching up to undo his robe in the hopes of leaving it тАУ and her тАУ behind.
"What on earth --?" A new voice caused the combatants to halt in surprise, and both Harry and Umbridge turned to find a startled Davidella Jones staring at them.
"Aha! Miss Jones, kindly help me restrain Mr Potter," Umbridge recovered herself first and finally managed to drag out her wand. "He was trying to leave detention early. Let's see if being stuck to your chair teaches you not to try such things in future, Mr Potter," she smirked at him. "And perhaps a heating charm on the seat will help sear the lesson into your memory."
Harry's heart raced. He had little doubt that once back in the classroom, he wouldn't leave it again without burns on his bum and scars on his hand. "No!" he snarled, backing away. A flick of his wrist and his own wand was in his hand.