Disclaimer: The characters, settings, and world of Harry Potter do not belong to me. The Harry Potter series belongs to JK Rowling.
A/N: So I'm feeling generous this week, and decided to post a second chapter. This probably won't happen very often (unless I write A LOT, I'm currently writing Chapter Six), but I couldn't resist. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to post a review or PM me and ask.
Chapter Two: Detention
Hermione met up with Harry and Ron after Arithmancy to walk out to Care of Magical Creatures. "Well?" She asked, smirking. "How was Divination?"
"Absolutely lovely, thank you for asking." Ron said sarcastically, and Hermione grinned triumphantly. But before she was able to say more, Hagrid intercepted them, grinning, and pulled the trio into a bone-crushing hug.
"Harry, Hermione, Ron. How've ye been? Ye'll have ter come over fer tea and rock cakes some time to catch up. I'd love ter talk right now, but I've got a class ter teach!" He smiled, patted them on the backs (which, from Hagrid, was more like a forceful shove), and sent them to go stand with the other fifth years. The houses mostly stayed separate, although Dumbledore had encouraged them to 'mingle'. Hagrid approached, and the students fell silent.
"Alrigh', fifth years, quiet down now. Fer today, ye'll be learning 'bout bowtruckles. Nice lil' things, but if ye get too close to 'em, they'll take an eye or two, so be careful, mind you." Hagrid gestured towards the table in front of him, which was covered in small, twig-like creatures. "Can anyone tell me where ye could find a bowtruckle?" He asked, and Hermione raised her hand. Just because she was sick of being called a know-it-all didn't mean she wasn't going to answer a question if she knew the answer. Hagrid smiled. "Hermione?"
Hermione opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, a familiar voice drawled, "On the table, of course." The Slytherins hooted with laughter, but Hermione and Hagrid both ignored them, although the latter looked a little forlorn.
"In wand trees, sir. They are a sort of tree guardian." Hermione answered, and Hagrid nodded.
"Good. Now, I reckon ye'll want a first-hand experience with 'em, so careful now, split into groups and take a look, gather 'round the table. C'mon, they don't bite. Only poke." Hagrid said sincerely, not noticing the worried or amused looks that were being exchanged among some of the students. He pulled out a bag of what looked like uncooked rice, and sprinkled it on the table. The bowtruckles surged towards the food, and some students gave an involuntary jump back at the sudden movement.
They were all gathered cautiously around the table, wondering what exactly they should be doing, when Hagrid held out a hand towards the table, and two bowtruckles clambered onto the palm of his hand. "See now, it's not so hard, is it? If ye want, ye can pick one up, jus' don't let it crawl up yer arm." Harry, Ron, Hermione, and a few other Gryffindors picked up a bowtruckle, out of fondness for Hagrid, if nothing else. Pansy Parkinson picked one up by it's twiggy body with two fingers, as if she was hoping to get poked, just to get Hagrid in trouble.
Thankfully, by the end of class, no one had gotten injured or maimed in any way, which, for Hagrid's class, was an accomplishment.
Before dinner, Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached Professor Umbridge's office warily, as if the door might burst open to reveal a furious Umbridge, some terrible punishment in hand.
Harry knocked, and their professor's saccharine voice rang out from inside. "Come in, come in!"
The three entered the decidedly pink office where Umbridge and Draco already sat, trying their best to hold back grimaces at the moving pictures of kittens adorning every surface as they made their way towards the professor. Kittens at the beach, kittens getting married, kittens playing with a ball of yarn, kittens dressed up in bonnets and frilly dresses, and kittens simply glaring at the photographer (and therefore the viewer). The room itself could have been a detention.
"I'm so glad you could make it," simpered Umbridge, as if they were there for a tea party, not a detention. "You four will be copying lines for me today. Hopefully they will help… carve in the message, hmm?" They all sat down at the desks that had been aligned against one wall, with the window to their backs. They pulled out parchment, and made to pull out quills, but Umbridge stopped them. "Oh, no. You will be using some of my quills for this activity. They require no ink."
She distributed the quills, which looked like ordinary quills, although Hermione looked it over queerly, and then sat back down at her desk. "The reason you are in detention is because you made false statements regarding the safety of your classmates and this school, as well as insulted the Ministry of Magic. Thus, accordingly, I would like you to write I must not tell lies."
"How many times, Professor?" Hermione asked, her patience wearing thin quickly.
"Well… As many times as the message takes to sink in, I would say. I will let you know when I think you are done for today." Umbridge smiled stickily at the four, who picked up their quills and began writing, thankful they only had to write lines.
As Hermione began to write, she felt a sort of itching sensation on the back of her hand. Assuming it was a fly or something, she brushed it off, and continued. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies.
Suddenly, the itching flared into a burning feeling across her hand. Judging by the hisses of the others, they were having the same issues. It was the quill. She knew she had sensed something off about it, but had shrugged it away, assuming it was just Umbridge.
Glancing over at her now-red hand, she saw that the letters she was writing were forming on her hand. Barely containing a hiss, she set the quill down, biting her tongue to keep from voicing her pain. Right there, inscribed on her right hand, were the words I must not tell lies, in her own handwriting. Hermione let out a slow breath. A Black Quill. This twisted woman was making them use Black Quills, a form of torture. And for what? For telling the truth, a truth that the Ministry was trying very hard to conceal. From now on, they'd need to be careful. Hermione knew that she, for one, did not want detention with Umbridge again.
"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?" Umbridge came over to Hermione's desk, and bent down so their faces were level. Hermione realized she'd stopped writing, and looked up at Umbridge calmly.
"No, Professor."
"Then may I ask why you have stopped writing?" Umbridge asked sweetly. Hermione hesitated. She would not let the woman know that she'd gotten to her, so she only smiled in response.
"I feel that I understand the message now, Professor." But that doesn't mean I agree with it, she added silently.
"Very well. You are all dismissed. But if I hear you lying again, know that I will not hesitate to put you in detention again." She explained.
They could not get out of her office fast enough.
The four began the walk to the Great Hall in silence, Draco walking on the other side of the hallway. Once they were out of earshot, Hermione turned to Harry and Ron furiously.
"Can you believe it? That sick, miserable, bloody twisted woman was using a torture device!" She hissed. "I don't know how Dumbledore could have let her in."
"Probably wasn't Dumbledore who gave her the job. Bloody Ministry just lets themselves in wherever they think they belong. Which, mind you, isn't here." Harry muttered, clutching the back of his hand.
"I'll make some Murtlap Essence for that." Hermione gestured towards Harry's hand. "Hopefully it won't scar."
"Thanks, 'Mione." Harry said, and Ron nodded his agreement.
"Should we tell Dumbledore about the Black Quill?" Ron wondered. "Or the fact that we won't be using magic in class?"
Draco, overhearing the conversation, took the chance to comment. "Even if you do, the old coot will probably just say to stay out of detention, or to make the most of her 'unique teaching style.'" Harry and Ron looked offended, but Hermione had to agree. Dumbledore had been getting on her nerves lately.
"That's true," she murmured. Draco looked surprised for a second before covering his shock with his usual sneer. "But there's got to be something we can do about it."
Hermione woke with a start.
Of course, she thought. She'd only just fallen asleep when the idea came to her. She'd been thinking about Umbridge all through dinner and all night before she'd been able to even close her eyes. They could make a secret group where they learned and taught themselves Defense Against the Dark Arts. Where they practiced Defense.
She'd talk to Harry and Ron, and they could arrange a meeting with friends the next time that they were allowed to go to Hogsmeade. They couldn't meet in the Three Broomsticks, obviously. Too many teachers went there, and they couldn't risk being overheard.
They would have to use somewhere where almost no one from school went. The Shrieking Shack? No, no one would want to go there. Even Hermione didn't like it there, although she knew that the only thing haunting the Shack was superstition and prejudice.
Hermione ran through places in Hogsmeade they could use without being overheard. They'd have to have actual meetings in the castle somewhere, but for the first one… the Hog's Head! The food was atrocious, and the tavern was frequented by illegal traders and all sorts of disreputable people-which meant that no other students or teachers would be there.
She resolved to talk to Harry and Ron about it during breakfast the next morning. She would not give in to Professor Umbridge, or even to Dumbledore's ignorance.
Her thoughts drifted from Dumbledore to Draco Malfoy. He had been right that morning in Defense. Just because he was an 'annoying little prick' and she was an 'annoying little swot', didn't mean they couldn't agree once in a while.
