It was almost Christmas, and the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were on vacation until the new year. Despite the return of Lord Voldemort and the looming war, the mood within 12 Grimmauld Place was quite festive. Remus Lupin, and Harry Potter, the two residents of Grimmauld Place had just returned with a giant spruce tree. Today was a special day for Harry; this was his first time ever decorating a Christmas tree. At the Dursley's, Harry was not allowed to help with any of the decorations; he was sent to his cupboard, instead. Harry had insisted on doing it the muggle way, and Remus was happy to oblige him. They had finished putting all the ornaments on, and the only thing left was the star.

"Can I put the star on the top?"

"Just how do plan to do that?"

"My Firebolt."

"I thought you wanted to decorate like muggles?"

"I did, but a broom is more fun than a ladder."

Remus rolled his eyes and chuckled. Harry took that as a "yes," and went running to retrieve his broom. Harry flew back downstairs on the Firebolt. Holding his broom with his right hand, Harry took the star in his left hand. Remus quickly pulled out his camera and started taking pictures of Harry and his rather unconventional way of decorating. Harry did a few laps around the room before Remus told him to come down and get some hot chocolate. Things were going splendidly, but the mood quickly changed.

"Hey, Moony pass me the marshmallows."

"So you can ruin perfectly good hot chocolate, Prongslet?"

"Moony!"

Remus passed the bag of marshmallows to Harry, and Harry grabbed them with his right hand. Remus caught sight of some small, but unmistakable scars that read: "I must not tell lies." Remus' mind was reeling at the implications of those scars. Surely he would have heard about an attack on Harry, especially one that left a permanent mark. That meant the only other explanation would be that Harry had carved them himself. Remus took a deep breath, and mentally prepared himself for the conversation he was about to have.

"Harry... where'd you get those scars?"

All the happiness fell from Harry's face as he realized that Remus had seen the remnants of his detentions.

"Dolores Umbridge."

"That simpering Fudge crony carved this…this…..this LIE into your hand, Remus yelled as he slammed his fist on the table.

"Not exactly. Technically, I did it myself."

"Technically? That answer doesn't cut it. I want a straight answer, and I want it NOW!

"Remember the dementor incident where my cousin was almost kissed? Well, there was this woman at the trial that tried her damndest to get me kicked out of Hogwarts. She was outvoted, and got really angry. I saw her again at the Welcoming Feast, and she was introduced as Dolores Umbridge, the new DADA professor. On first day in her class, she tells us that she will only be teaching theory, and there would be no practical instruction. I stood up and told her Voldemort was back, and we needed all the practical experience we could get. She called me "misguided," and spouted off a load of ministry approved tosh. I told her she was wrong; she called me a "liar," and gave me detention. When I show up for it, she hands me a quill, but no ink or parchment, and says to write on the desk "I must not tell lies." I ask her, "how many times?" She says, "until it sinks in." Next thing I know, my hand is hurting and I see the words appearing on it as I write."

Remus listened to Harry's explanation, and his rage grew with every passing second. A ministry pencil pusher used an archaic, cruel, and not to mention, illegal form of punishment on a wizard who was not even of age. Remus took a moment to calm down before he spoke.

"Did you not know that it is illegal to use blood quills as punishment?"

"At the time, I didn't even know what a blood quill was, until I was at the Weasleys for Christmas, and Molly was going berserk over the scars that Fred and George had."

"Christmas? She was still using that blasted quill at Christmas? Why didn't you tell someone about it?"

"McGonagall knew. She saw my scars, asked about them, and I told her what I just told you."

Remus lost any semblance of control. His beloved head of house, who went to bat for him countless time, sat by and watched as Umbridge mutilated at least a quarter of the student population.

"SHE KNEW AND DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO STOP IT, Remus yelled at the top of his lungs.

Harry, quick to defend her, said, "She tried, Remus. She ripped Umbitch a new one. In the Great Hall. Right in front of everyone. The toad bitch just accused her of disloyalty and went crying to Fudge. Next thing you know, Umbridge is appointed "High Inquisitor" and really starts meddling in the school."

Why didn't you tell Sirius, or me, or even Molly or Arthur?

"Remus, I didn't have a choice! Sirius would have gone to Hogwarts, gotten himself captured and kissed. Then, the whole Order could have ended up in Azkaban for harboring a fugitive. You and your "furry little problem" would have been an easy target for a woman who hates half breeds, especially in a society that hates werewolves. Merlin's hairy balls Remus, she managed to can Hagrid, and tried to get rid of Flitwick, too. Arthur could have just as easily lost his job, if he was openly against the ministry.

How can you be so blasé about this? That woman left you with a permanent souvenir.

You want to talk about permanent? How about McGonagall? Umbridge ordered the Aurors to stun her, and they did. ALL FIVE OF THEM, AT THE SAME BLOODY TIME! Now one of the most talented and brilliant witches alive has a permanent limp. My scar, on the other hand, I usually cover it with a glamour charm, and forget about it. It doesn't matter.

Of course it matters, Harry. She broke the law!

Harry had had enough, and blurted out, "SO DID VOLDEMORT!"

Remus sat there, shocked into silence, at Harry's outburst. Harry jumped to his feet and started pacing as he continued speaking, anger and sarcasm tinting every word he spoke:

"You know, everyone gets upset when they see these scars on my hand, but they don't get upset at the one on my forehead. To them, it's sacred. They wanna see it, or even touch it. They see it as a symbol of "The-Boy- Who- Lived," or "The Chosen One." Snape thinks it makes me a pampered prince, but the truth is, I'm not. Today was the first time I ever decorated a Christmas tree. I used to watch from my cupboard, wishing I could join in the fun. Dudley would laugh and tell me "freaks don't get presents." He was right; I didn't. Not for Christmas, not for my birthday, not ever. Unless you count the clothes hanger they gave one year as a joke. Hell, I didn't even know when my birthday was until I went to primary, and I thought my name was "Freak." You know what the first real present that I got after my parents were killed? Hedwig. Hagrid bought her as a surprise for me when he took me to Diagon Alley to get my school supplies. He even made me a cake. If they knew what this scar really represented, I think they'd hate it as much as I do. Every day, I look in the mirror, I am reminded of the ten years of lies and misery from the Dursleys, of the death of my parents and the life I should have had with them. I am reminded of the connection with Voldy and the ringside seats to his meetings that I had every time I went to sleep, seeing muggles brutally tortured and killed. It reminds me of the time I attacked Arthur at the Department of Mysteries. Nothing like seeing the face of your best mate's father and tasting his blood, as you bite him, repeatedly. I still wanna barf when I think about it. Couldn't look Mr. Weasley in the face for weeks. And what about Cedric. Voldemort killed him right in front of me, just because he was there, Remus. Sirius, too. Guess what? They both are represented by this scar. Let's not forget about the prophesy. It's either kill or be killed, I'm reminded of that every lousy day, too. Who else will this scar represent when it's all over? Ron? Hermione? Neville? Ginny? You?

Harry realized how much he had said and ran out of the room. Remus, still reeling from shock, put his head in his hands, and began to weep. For no matter how many scars that young man's flesh had, Harry's soul had infinitely more.