A/N: I know I shouldn't be starting a new story with so many others out, but I've had this idea for a while, and with the new movie coming out, Harry Potter is all I can seem to think about. But don't worry, I've go this one planned out. It'll finish soon.

Each chapter switched between Harry's P.O.V. and Draco's, but its not told in first person.

Disclaimer: All credits go to J.K. Rowling, except for my character.

Detention With Amaranta

Even when Harry first laid eyes upon her, she held no more significance to him than any of the other nameless students in his school. She arrived in his fifth term at Hogwarts as a transfer student. No one had heard anything about her past or where she was from. She began the term same time as the others and underwent the Sorting privately in Dumbledore's office. She had been the topic every one's gossip for a few days before word got around that she had become a Slytherin. He expected her to remain as another annoying snake in his happy school life at Hogwarts, that was, until she walked up to him during breakfast in the second week of the term.

She had been talking with Malfoy when Harry accompanied by Hermoine and Ron, entered the Great Hall and sat down at the Gryffindor table. She stood up the moment spotted them in the middle of Draco Malfoy's sentence. The whole Slytherin table stared at her curiously as she walked away from them. Their stunned silence spread like a contagious disease across the Great Hall as this strange girl made her way to where Harry was sitting, her long black robes billowing in her confident stride.

All of the Great Hall had become hushed now, some with eager looks of anticipation, some with horror and disgust, others glaring vehemntly at the trespasser. Harry followed everyone's gawking stares to the girl standing patiently behind him. She was rather thin, her small frame looked as if it would crumble if you breathed too hard. Her long, waist-length hair looked as if it may have once been a luminescent blonde, but had been darkened to a dark, almost black, brown. Her skin was so pale it looked as if it had never seen sunlight. Her sunken eyes, however, were a defiant green. Although the rest of hr body appeared to be withered and neglected, her eyes were sharp and bright, taking in as much light as they could gather.

"You are Harry Potter, I presume?" her voice was as small and fragile as she was, however it was constant and never wavered.

Harry looked at her as if she was stupid. He had come to expect by now that everyone in the world knew who he was. The scar on his forehead betrayed him. However, since she didn't appear to have any sign of continuing the conversation without his confirmation he nodded.

"My name is Amaranta," she gave a slight bow, though it was not at all mocking. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I hope we can get along well in the future."

With that, she walked briskly away from thetable and resumed her post by the stunned Malfoy's side. After a few moments of silence as she began to courteously eat her breakfast of strawberry waffles in silence. Then the Great Hall erupted into a flurry of talk, most not happy about the meeting. Amaranta had broken an unspoken rule, a taboo. It was widely known that in no way are Slytherins to befriend anyone else, especialy someone from Gryffindor, other than Slytherins. The Slytherins, more than anyone, reacted with utmost malevolence. All of the table, excluding Malfoy and his two goonies, turned away from her and immeadiatly began to make open snide remarks about her behavior. She had just blown any and all chances of making any friends at all. Besides Malfoy, that is.

Each time Harry saw her, she was accompanied by Malfoy with his lackies, Crabbe and Goyle, trailing obediently behind. Harry had no idea what their relationship was, but they had not just met. In fact, Malfoy seemed to be on "rather good terms" with her, as Hermoine put it, when they talked in low whispers in History of Magic class.

"I overheard them talking in the hallway," Hermoine whispered to them, attempting to pay attention, as well as reveal her findings to her friends. "Malfoy kept saying that she could 'redeem herself.' I think he's trying to persuade her to recuperate from that...mistake she made. He seems down-right desperate to make her life here a happy one."

"They do seem awfully close," Ron admitted as he pretending to be taking notes. "Don't reckon they're related, do you?"

"I don't know," Harry whispered amongst them. "But she must be important if Malfoy's pampering her. Especially after that introduction."

He saw her again, when he entered Proffesor Snape's dungeon for Potions class. She, as expected was sitting next to Malfoy, but the moment she saw him, she moved her seat to sit next to Harry. It appeared very clear to Harry, that whatever Amaranta's business with him was, it weighed more valuable than popularity in her eyes. She seemed unconcerned about Pansy Parkinson's obnoxiously loud grunt of disgust. Other Slytherins, including Draco, opened their mouth to usher some sort of protest to her act of familiarity with a Harry, but at that moment Proffesor Snape walked into the dungeon, closing the metal door with a loud clank.

"Settle down," he routinely told the class, although his mere prescence forced silence upon the children. After he had gotten to his desk, he looked down at Amaranta, who looked indifferently back at him.

"Yes, the transfer student," he observed her cool countenance. "Seems Potter has attracted another strange one. Well, I do suppose birds of a feather flock together."

Amaranta seemed unaffected by Snape's rude coments. In fact, it almost seemed as if she were never more at home. She nodded politely, and waited for him to give instructions to the class.

"Today we'll be making a Strengthening Solution," Snape addressed the class. "As before, the directions will be on the board-" he flicked his wand on the blackboard behind him and all various amount of instructions appeared "-and the ingredients in the cupboard." He pointed his wand to the cupboard full of jars and herbs, which flung open. "You may begin."

Harry was surprised to find someone worse at Potions than he was. Amaranta had not only grabbed some of the wrong ingredients, but she didn't seem to be doing anything on the instructions at all. Her cauldron was sizzling dangerously with a crimson liquid, rather than the clear turqouise color of Hermoine's.

Proffesor Snape loomed over her cauldron, a look of scorn and disgust written plainly on his face. "Amaranta, what school did you attend to before transferring here?"

"I didn't attend school, sir," she replied. This received an uproar of gasps and whispers.

"You mean to say that you have absolutely no experience in magic before arriving here?"

"No, not neccessarily, sir. I was home-schooled."

"By whom? Your parents?"

"You could say that."

After Snape's public interrogation of Amaranta in Potions class, Slytherins across the school began to regard her as some muggle-worthy witch who didn't know the slightest in magic. They'd shoot jinxes and hexes at her across the crowded corridors in attempts to catch her unawares. On the contrary, however, defense magic seemed to be the only thing she knew. She easily deflected their attacks and sometimes used the Shield Charm to send it right back at them. Each time Harry witnessed these attacks, he never once saw her utter the incantations.

Rain pelted the windows relentlessly, as Harry opened the door to his Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Thanks to his new teacher, Proffesor Umbridge, he came to detest his once favorite class. The toad-like woman was as tall standing up as she was sitting down, so when she sat down into her chair, there didn't appear to be much of a difference. She was wearing her favorite pink cardigan with a pink bowtie in her hair that oddly reminded Harry of a fly. She smiled venomously as he took his seat next to Hermoine and Ron. Unsurpisingly enough, he saw Amaranta sitting next to Hermoine.

"Wands away, please," Proffesor Umbridge croaked in her girlish voice.

Most students hadn't even bothered to take their wands out, knowing Umbridge's new policy of "safe and Ministry-approved methods and theories" they were now beginning to study.

"Take out Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard and turn to Chapter two," Proffesor Umbridge leered at them sweetly. "There'll be no need to talk."

Everyone did as they were told, and Harry already found himself nodding on the first page. However, his day dreams were interrupted by Amaranta talking aloud to Hermoine, not even bothering to lower her voice.

"Is this how your school prepares itself for defense when you reach the outside world?" she asked the stunned Hermoine. "Seems rather foolish if you ask me. There's no point in reading about them if your body doesn't remember how to do-"

"Excuse me!" Proffesor Umbridge yelled, while still keeping her venomously sweet voice. "Did you not here me win I said 'There'll be no need to talk?'"

"Oh, yes, I heard you perfectly well," Amaranta replied innocently.

"Then do the assignment quietly," Umbridge glared at the girl, her smile contorted.

"I would, but I have a problem with your teaching methods and unless these concerns are quieted, I'm afraid I will be unable to concentrate." Her face looked completely serious and indifferent. She didn't appear to be trying to provoke Umbridge.

Harry groaned mentally. This poor girl had no idea of the fury she was about to unleash. Though just seeing Umbridge's twitchiong face of rage was enough.

"Well, I'm afraid it will be I who decides what the lessons are, and the Ministry as well, so just sit return to your assignment," Umbridge growled.

"Then maybe that's the problem here," Amaranta thought aloud, tapping her chin calmly in thought. "I truly do not understand how diving these childrens' noses into books instead of practicing the spells will help them. Maybe someone else should-"

"What is your name?" Umbridge stood up, but her words remained sweet.

"Amaranta, Proffesor," the girl gazed up unblinkingly at her.

"What about your last name?"

"Don't have one. I was only given one, so, logically, its my first...and last, if you think about it."

"Well, then, Miss Amaranta, you'll be joining Mr. Potter over here for detention all week!"

Excuse me, but what's 'detention'?" Amaranta cocked her head curiously. "I've never heard of that word before."

Umbridge slammed her clamly hands on the desk, in front of Amaranta, her rosy face just inches from Amranta's pale, calm one. "You think you're smart, don't you?" she rasped to her, so that only Amaranta and Hermoine could hear. "Meet me in my office at five o'clock this evening! I'll teach you what detention is!"

"Yes, ma'am," Amranta nodded, her face calm and indifferent.

The class gazed wonderously at Amaranta. Even after earning a detention, she still remained as cool and collected as before.

Only a few minutes after he entered Proffesor Umbridge's office did Amaranta enter immeadiatly afterwards. Harry was beginning to wonder if this girl was stalking him or something. Harry had known this office for years, because of its previous inhabitants, but it seemed that Dolores Umbridge's prescence destroyed everything. Lacy covers and doilies littered the furniture, and several vases full of fake flowers occupied the room. She even had a collection of decoratice plates with kittens on the wall. It gave Harry a distinctive plastic feeling, but the moment Amaranta walked in, it seemed that reality walked in with her. Her bleek prescence, made the flowers look a little more realistic, and the kittens began to play with a ball of yarn, and the lacy covers only looked like tablecloths.

"Good evening, Miss Amaranta, Mr. Potter," Umbridge spoke in a disgustingly sugary voice when she noticed them.

"Evening," he replied, but Amaranta remained silent.

"Well, sit down," she gestured to a small table covered in lace with two straight-backed chairs. Two blank pieces of parchment lay on the table, eagerly awaiting the teens.

"Er," Harry began. "Proffesor Umbridge? Before we start, I er..w-wanted to ask you a...favor."

She glared at him. "Oh?"

"Well, you see...I'm on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new keeper at five o'clock on Friday, and I was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and...do it another night...instead."

He already knew before he even uttered those words he was wasting his breath.

"Oh, no, no, no, no!" This is your punishment for spreading evil, attention-seeking rumors, and punishments cannot be adjust to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come five o'clock on Friday, as well. I think you missing something you really want to do ought to reinforce the lesson I'm trying to teach you." She smiled so widely as if she had just eaten a sweet treat.

Amaranta stared at Harry as he looked like he was going to pop a blood vessel. "Proffesor," she interrupted just as he looked lik he was about to snap. "Our punishment...?

"Oh, yes, yes, sit down" she gestured towards the chairs and Amaranta calmly took her seat.

Harry looked at her, dumbfounded. Did she want to do the punishment? But her awkward ways caused him to forget about his anger, saving him a longer detention.

"Now, you two are going to be doing some lines for me. No, not with your quill. You're going to use a rather special one of mine." She handed them each a slender black quill that looked as if it served as a weapon as well as a writing utensil. "Now, Harry, I want you to write 'I must not tell lies,'" she nearly giggled the words.

"How many times?" He looked curiously at her.

"Oh, however long it takes for the words to sink in."

He didn't like the way she emphasized on those last words.

"And Miss Amaranta, I want you to write 'I must not interrupt the teacher.' Same applies to you."

"But, proffesor," Harry looked up at her curiously. "You haven't given me any ink."

"Oh, you won't be needing ink!" it was obvious she was trying to suppress a snort. It made her look even uglier than before, if that was possible.

Harry tried his best not to look at the frustrating woman and he wrote: I must not tell lies. He couldn't help but usher a little cry of pain. On the parchment was the sentence in red ink, but they also appeared on the back of his hand, cut as if with a knife. And even as he stared at the cut, it healed over again, automatically, leaving his hand as it was before, but a little ruddy.

Amaranta, he presumed from looking up at the blood on her hand, had discovered the true punishment as well. However, she appeared totally unaffected. In fact, she was writing even faster than before. Harry could only shudder when he thought he saw a smirk on her face.

Before he knew it, Dolores said, "Come here," and he gratefully stopped writing, although he never showed it on his face. He couldn't let her see any weakness. Amaranta stopped as well. Since she hadn't specifically given the order to anyone in particular, she walked up to the desk too. "Give me your hands, both of you." We each out our hands up to her, palms down. She examined them closely. Even though the cuts had healed, the hands were still red, and Amaranta's was even redder than mine.

"It seems I haven't made much of an impression," she sighed. "Well, we'll just have to rectify that tomorrow evening, now, won't we? You may go."

Harry left her office without another word. Amaranta followed him silently. When he was almost sure she would follow him all the way to the Gryffindor Common room, she said, "I'm sorry."

He turned around to give her a peculiar look. "What for?"

"If I knew any healing arts, I'd help to relieve the pain, but I don't. I only know dark magic, so I'm sorry."

She bowed, and without another word, left for the stairs, leaving him staring dumbfoundedly at her shadow.