A/N: Hello, people!

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Practice Round 2.

Ballycastle Bats

Seeker.

Enemies.

Harry hated the woman, if she could even be called a woman. He despised the very air she breathed. He loathed the horrid pink of the clothing she barely managed to squeeze her corpulent self into. Above all else, he wanted to burn her bloody kitten plates and dye everything that was pink, neon orange!

Her high pitched voice had to be fake. Not even Luna's voice managed to go that high' and the simpering just disgusted him.

His hand tightened around the quill as he continued to write the assigned phrase. He was bleeding lightly because of the demented quill that had to be a dark artifact.

'I must not tell lies.'

His hand burned and shook as he fought valiantly to keep himself stable. He was this close. This close to cursing the toad like witch. If he did that however, it would certainly give Fudge reason enough to have him expelled. Not only was his schooling and freedom on the line, but quite possibly his magic as well.

What if they snapped his wand? Hermione did say that all who hadn't achieved their O.W.L.s before dropping out of school got their wands snapped and if they returned to the Muggle world, then their memories would be cleared as well.

He couldn't afford to allow his hot temper to get the better or him. Not when he was doing such a fantastic job of annoying the woman! By not catering to her expectations he was achieving a small victory of his own!

The light from the window dimmed the longer his detention wore on. He had to wonder if there was possibly a rule in the manual that spoke out against cruel and unusual punishments in detention. It couldn't possibly be legal to keep him there for more than two hours. Even Snape wasn't this bad! Wow. A day came where Snape wasn't the most hated professor in Hogwarts.

He'd have to get Hermione's help in looking it up.

The Murtlap Essence would be waiting for him when he returned to the Common Room later on and would reduce the swelling of his hand, plus reduce the possibility of deep scarring. He'd be scarred no matter what, but at least he could lessen the effects somehow.

Harry was a hothead most of the time. He wouldn't allow the truth to be hidden no matter how much Fudge and the Ministry seemed to refuse what was right in front of them. As a lion, he would never back down from a challenge and he would see this through while refraining from giving Umbridge the satisfaction of knowing that she'd gotten to him.

He'd prank her if he could. The problem with that was that she'd either automatically assume he did it because she just had it out for him that badly, or she would attack all of Gryffindor in retaliation for it. She might even set up more 'Educational Decrees' and punish the entire school because of him.

Harry had pride - he was a Gryffindor, of course he had pride - but he wasn't about bring everyone else down with him.

So his only course of action was to wait it out until the proper moment. McGonagall didn't seem to be doing anything to help, none of the other professors seemed capable, Dumbledore had gone awol for some unknown reason, and for the most part, he didn't have any ideas on how to make it all stop.

Harry was good with rolling with the punches. He took things as they came and worked a plan out in the middle of the heat. He'd just have to hope that his strategy skills were sharp enough when the time was right.

"I think the message has sunken in pretty well, this night," Umbridge's unctuous voice rolled over him, breaking him from his reverie.

Harry's hand was stiff from gripping the quill so hard. Indents remained on his fingers even as he relinquished possession of the writing implement and allowed Umbridge to take the parchment, inkwell, and quill back.

"Same time tomorrow evening, Mr. Potter," she said with a poorly concealed titter.

Harry retreated as quickly as possible because he didn't want to kindle anymore of the witch's wrath. Breathing was enough to anger her.

All he could look forward to was the Murtlap awaiting him in the Common Room.

Dolores Umbridge being carried away by irate Centaurs had to be one of the best things to ever happen in Harry's young life! Even better than Aunt Marge blowing up and floating away!

If he wasn't in such a rush to save his godfather, Harry probably would have laughed hard enough that he'd be forced to his knees. He probably would have rolled around a bit just because he could. He may have even gasped for air.

But Harry did not have the time to ponder the woman who threatened to use the Cruciatus on he and Hermione.

He had a dogfather to save after all. He could laugh about Umbridge's misfortune some other day.

A/N: DONE!

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