Okay....sorry this took so long. I've just been working on a few other things too, and math. I hate my teacher. Hate her. Anyway, THERE WAS NO EDITING DONE ON THIS CHAPTER, so sorry for the mistakes. Hope you enjoy anyway.
I don't own HP or RK.
Chapter Four
"Should we head off to detention now?" Harry asked, turning to the smaller boy. He received a nod. Ron sighed.
"Hope it's not too bad," he said. Harry shrugged.
"Well, we'll find out in a few minutes."
"Bye, I'll see you later tonight," said Hermione, giving them a small wave as she headed towards the stairs. Ron followed her. Kenshin and Harry went in the opposite direction.
"So what'd you think it'll be?" They turned down a shortcut, avoiding Peeves.
"No idea," said the redhead. When he didn't add anything else, Harry got the hint—he didn't feel much like talking. Silence fell between them. Personally, he felt very uncomfortable, but he wasn't sure if he could say the same about Kenshin. Probably not, he seemed immune to awkward sometimes.
"Come in," came Umbridge's sugary voice from the other side of her door immediately after Harry knocked. He looked to Kenshin, who looked back and shrugged. Together, they pushed open the door.
Three times he'd been in this office and what it looked like now was completely different than any other of those other three times—no self-portraits, no interesting Dark creature, no magical instruments. Instead there was pink. Lots of pink. And pictures of creepy cats. It wasn't the best he'd seen, that much was certain.
"Good evening, Mr. Potter, Mr. Himura," she said sweetly from her place at the desk.
"Evening," said Harry, mustering every bit of politeness he had.
"Hello, Professor Umbridge," said Kenshin next to him.
"Well, sit down," she said, indicating two tables, both set with pink lacey tablecloths, a piece of parchment of each. Neither boy moved.
"Er," said Harry, very conscious that this probably would work. "Professor Umbridge? Er—before we start, I-I wanted to ask you a…a favor."
As her eyes narrowed, next to him Kenshin whispered, "You worded it the wrong way, think before you speak." Easy for him to say, he was used to this.
"Oh yes?"
"Well, I'm…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—was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it—do it another night…instead…" It was a lost cause, he knew it from the moment he started talking.
"Oh no," said Umbridge and Kenshin shifted beside him. "Oh no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking—"
"Don't bother, Professor," said Kenshin. "You know they aren't lies or stories. If you don't want him to go, you mine-as-well go and say it." Harry blinked, the other boy's bluntness surprising him. "You can add an extra detention onto Monday if you let him or I'll take it for him."
"Oh, so another compromise?" she said and added in her sweetest voice, "Mr. Potter will be attending detention on Friday, but it can be arranged that you have another detention on Monday as well—for lack of manners."
"Only putting in my opinion, Professor," he said so politely Harry almost laughed, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any harm."
"Sit down, boys," she said again. Silently they followed orders. When he went to pull out a quill and parchment, though, she stopped him. "Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, both of you. No, not with your quills, but you're with two rather special ones of mine." She passed him a quill, then reached over and passed one over to Kenshin.
"I want you, Mr. Potter, to write 'I must not tell lies,'" she told him. "And you, Mr. Himura…you can write 'I am the subject.'"
Kenshin laughed quietly, but didn't comment, only nodded. It seemed she was trying to avoid an argument, because she ignored him.
"How many times?" Harry asked with as much politeness as he could muster.
"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," she said. "Off you go."
"Professor," said Kenshin as Harry put the tip down to write. Then he realized something was missing. "Can you write the sentence on the board? I've only known English for a year and I occasionally mess up letters."
"Okay, dear, if you need that." She tapped the board with her wand and the sentence scribbled itself across it.
"You haven't give us any ink," Harry said.
"Oh, you won't need ink."
Unnerved now and starting to suspect this wouldn't end well, he put the quill to the parchment and wrote: I must not tell lies.
Immediately he let out a gasp of pain as the words etched themselves across his hand, cutting into the skin. At the same time, the words appeared on the parchment in red ink. This was sick. He was writing in his own blood. The words disappeared, but the stinging was still there. Horrified, he looked up at the teacher who was watching him, smiling.
"Yes?" she said.
"Nothing," he answered quickly.
As he put the quill back to paper, he took a moment to glance at his friend, wondering if he was in the same situation. It turned out he was—and he was already much further than Harry, who had only written one line. His hand was torn open again and again. Even so, his face didn't change. Doing a quick double check on Kenshin's eyes though, he was relieved to find they were still blue. According to Hermione, that was when his personality would change. No need to have that.
With great reluctance, he wrote his next line, to the same affect: The searing pain, the blood-ink, the instant healing. Umbridge's eyes were still on them, he could feel her gaze. If she was waiting for the satisfaction of seeing him in pain, he wouldn't let her have it. So he decided to try and copy Kenshin, leaving his face blank. Unfortunately it was harder than it looked and his eyebrows would twitch every so often. Darkness fell outside the windows. How long had it been?
"Com here, both of you," she said after a while. He stood up, trying to ignore the pain in his hand. Though it was healed, the skin where the cut had been still stung and it was read. A moment later Kenshin stood up as well, the parchment in his hand.
"I'm sorry, Professor Umbridge," he said, placing it on her desk. She looked down at it, but didn't make a move to touch it. "You see, I had trouble keeping all my words completely readable—since my hand was bleeding, the blood mixed with the lettering. It didn't help that both were the same thing."
"Yes, I suppose," she said and grabbed his hand. "I see the cut's already visible…you must have written quickly."
"This is all your fault, really," he said, no emotion in his voice, and Harry was once again surprised by his open disregard of her authority. "Not only was it a bad idea to begin with and probably highly illegal, especially since we're both minors, but you also didn't specify how many lines we should do, so I rushed, thinking I had to do as much as I could."
"I have the authority to do this," she answered and Harry was equally surprised to find her arguing back. "And you shouldn't question my instructions."
"Yes, I do suppose being the lowly subject does come with that tragic downfall," he answered dryly. "But you're the overall ruler and your tragic downfall is the lowly subject's readiness to fight back. Each side comes with its good and bad."
"Mr. Himura, you're very opinionated for a fifteen-year-old," she said, soundly thoroughly displeased. Harry looked back and forth between the two of them, confused. "I suggest you watch your tongue. It's the best advice anyone will ever give you."
"Unfortunately for you, all lowly subjects hold an opinion. That's how revolutions are started. But don't worry, you're a very lucky teacher, Professor Umbridge, I swear I won't begin an rebel movement against you. A waste of time, really. Homework and friends are much more worthwhile and considerably less dull. May Harry and I please leave? It's getting late and we'd much appreciate going to sleep."
Flabbergasted and speechless, it took Professor Umbridge a moment to answer.
"Fine, you may leave, get plenty of rest up for your classes," she said, smiling. "I don't want to hear the two of you are slacking off."
"Oh, don't worry," said Kenshin, ushering Harry out the door, "I promise to only do so in your class."
"What the—and I thought I hated her," said Harry, shaking his head. That was one of the strangest things he'd ever seen. "What's your reason anyway?"
"Let's just said she's the perfect combination of everything I hate," he said bluntly, falling back into his usual tone of voice, "and I've been aggravated lately. Think of her as my punching back—I can't actually do anything, but I can embarrass her enough that it doesn't matter. It's not like the woman doesn't deserve it. And our class doesn't know how to do it properly. That's how you silence a politician by the way. Well, verbally I mean. The real way to silence someone is to kill them, but that's beside the point. It's not like I want to do that at all."
Harry frowned. Though he agreed that yes, Umbridge did indeed deserve it, the statement was very out of character for Kenshin. And considerably harsher than anything else he'd said. To be perfectly honest, it freaked him out.
"I'll keep that in mind," he said, deciding it was better to save his thoughts for himself for now. "Does your hand hurt?"
"A little," Kenshin answered, "but the bleeding's already stopping. Right now I just want to wash it with soap and water, the blood's drying on it and I don't really like the feel of it."
Yeah, he understood it, or at least thought he did—it was the kind of thing you couldn't get used to. Maybe.
"If you want to get it off quickly, there's a bathroom right over here, remember?"
"Oh yeah…where was it again?"
With a quiet sigh, Harry led him in the right direction. Inside the bathroom was dark except for moonlight pouring through the windows above the sink. Kenshin made a beeline. Harry paced back and forth, thinking about all the horrible aspects that made up Umbridge and realized that humiliating her was the closest to revenge he could currently get. Luckily with the curse on the job, though, she wouldn't last past the school year. Maybe she'd quit because they all annoyed her enough. Heh, that would sure be an embarrassing way to leave. Good for her, she deserved it.
"Are you done yet?" he asked after about ten or so minutes, walking back over. The cut was bleeding again. Kenshin jumped.
"Sorry," he said, "it…the warm water must have opened it again. I guess I should stop. C'mon, let's go."
"Yeah…let's go."
The walk back was silent.
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"How's your hand?" Hermione asked two days later.
She and Kenshin were lying on the grass of their little clearing in the forbidden forest for the first time this year. He had a smile on his face and he looked happier than he had in the past four weeks. His sheathed sword lay on the other side of him. She propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at him.
"It's fine, doesn't hurt," he answered, glancing down at the bandages. That horrible woman.
"Are you sure?" she said. He flexed his fingers and relaxed them. No hint of a wince. Not that she expected there to be—unless he had a headache, he had the amazing ability to hide any form of pain.
"Really, Hermione, I'm perfectly okay," he said. "Don't think a few little scratches will get to me. I've been through far worse. This is nothing to me."
"You have a point. I'd definitely consider being shot worse than writing with a blood quill." She paused. "Even so, for a school detention…if you and Harry just let us tell—"
Kenshin shrugged. "It's Harry who's doing it because he's being stubborn. I don't think it'll do anything. That's my only reason. I can get my revenge in different ways."
"I've noticed," she said, shifting uncomfortably. "Listen, I really don't think you should do that anymore…it was funny, yes, but you could get in serious trouble."
"I did it once, Hermione, don't worry. I'll only do it if I deem it direly necessary, how about that?" His mouth split into a grin, but it was a cautious one. She chewed on her bottom lip.
"Kenshin," she said, finally working up the guts to ask, "what's wrong."
As she expected, his face went blank. "What do you mean?"
How to word it? "I don't know," she said slowly. "It's just that you seem somewhat—somewhat—off, I guess you could say, lately. Like your really stressed out. You haven't been yourself."
"What do you mean?" he repeated. Hermione sighed.
"Oh, I don't know." Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. "You just…this is the first time you've seemed relaxed all month." There was more that could have been said, but she decided not to elaborate it; she didn't know how to put it.
In reply, she received a short silence. Finally, he said, "I told you, this summer was a little unexpected. It hit me harder than it should've. I'm sorry if I've been taking it out on you."
"You aren't." She reached over and brushed a piece of grass she noticed off of his face. He flushed red, which caused her to smile to herself. Really, he was completely adorable. "And I promise I won't talk about S.P.E.W. in front of you anymore."
If possible, his face got redder. He looked away. "Yeah, sorry about snapping at you. I feel bad. I probably should have said something last year."
"Do you mind if I ask why—"
"I'll tell you some other time. I don't feel like talking about it."
"Okay."
An awkward silence fell between them. She lay back down, looking through the canopy of three and up at the bits of visible autumn sky.
"So—" they both said at the same time, then started laughing because it was the only thing to do.
"Come on," he said, grinning widely and standing up. The good mood was back. He held out his hand. "We should get back, Quidditch practice will end soon and Harry and Ron'll be begging you for held on their homework."
She grabbed his hand and he pulled her up. Sighing, she said, "Yeah, I suppose you're right. How is it that you can do your homework on time and they can't?"
"Did we go over this last year?" he said with a hint of a smile. "I don't procrastinate. Besides, I don't have anything else to do and I liked to spend time with you. And since you're usually doing work, it would make sense that I do work too, right?"
"Yeah," she said with a pleased (but embarrassed) smile. It always felt good to be complimented and especially by him. Kenshin wasn't one to give out compliments all that often. "I suppose it makes sense…just like coming here, right, when the homework's done? I like spending time with you too."
"Speaking of homework, I either you or Harry or Ron to check the spelling on my Charms essay—I'm still now the best at that."
"I'll do it," she said, "while they're working of theirs. It'll only take a minute. You aren't as bad as you think. Mind, you aren't the best in the world, but it would be strange if you were."
"Sometimes I wish I just write everything in Japanese. It would make my life so much easier."
"It's been a year, you've gotten a lot better."
"Thanks," he said, then paused.
As they reached the doors of the school, the subject changed again and by the time they were back at the common room, any leftover awkward feelings had disappeared. Harry and Ron were already waiting for them and, as expected, they immediately started asking for help. It was hours before they went to bed.
"Oh, uh, Hermione," Kenshin said suddenly as she gathered her things and the other boys disappeared upstairs. She jumped, not realizing he was there. "Oh, um, sorry."
"It's okay," she said, picking up her last book and turning to face him. "What is it?"
He shifted from one foot to the other. "I was just wondering, um, well—I suppose I was just wondering if you, um—"
"Hey, Kenshin!" said Ron, poking his head around the wall. "I forgot my essay, do you think you could grab it for me?"
"Oh…sure," he said and picked it up from the table. Ron disappeared again.
"As you were saying," said Hermione, waiting.
"Nevermind," he said with a half smile. "It was stupid, forget about it." He headed upstairs.
"Wait—Kenshin—really, what is it?"
"It's nothing," he said again, standing on the stairs. Goodnight, Hermione. I'll see you in the morning."
And then the redhead walked to his dorm, leaving her alone and confused at the bottom of the stairs.
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Kenshin came down to breakfast late that Monday morning. He was greeted with the sight of the horrified faces of Harry and Hermione and the forming grin on Ron's face.
"What?" asked Harry and Hermione together to Ron as Kenshin sat down.
"Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected," answered a rather cheerful Ron. "Umbridge won't know what hit her."
"What're you talking about?" he said, running his fingers through his hair. He was so tired. For some reason the night before, he'd had a very large number of nightmares, making sleep difficult. And his head hurt. God, he hated headaches.
"Wait—whoa, when did you get here?" said Harry, looking over, alarmed.
"About five seconds ago, when you said 'what'."
Hermione worried her bottom lip. "Umbridge was just made High Inquisitor," she said, then added, "Well, come on, we'd better get going, if she's inspecting Binns' class we don't want to be late. We'll explain on the way."
Quickly they hurried from the Great Hall and Hermione continued speaking. "It says in an article in the Profit that she has the right to evaluate teachers now. She's being forced on us. It's terrible!"
"What the hell? When did this happen?"
"Last night, apparently," answered Ron. "Remember Percy's letter?" Kenshin nodded. "This is what he was talking about."
"This is sick…"
"So the two of you should stay out of trouble!" said Hermione accusingly to he and Harry. Kenshin laughed.
"Don't worry, I won't argue unless absolutely necessary," he answered and Hermione whacked him on the back of the head. "Hey, come on, I have a headache!"
"Sorry," she said and she, Ron and Harry laughed too. "The Ministry's ruining this school," she said once the four of them stopped. "I miss the old Hogwarts."
"Same," said Harry and Ron. Kenshin shrugged.
"I miss last year," he said, "but that's about all I can say. Wish I'd been here for the other years."
"Yeah, that would've been fun," said Ron. "But at least this year isn't your first year. I'd feel really bad if it was."
When they entered the History of Magic classroom, he was relieved to see that Umbridge wasn't there. "Then again," he added, "it wouldn't have made any sense. I would've been in the school in Japan otherwise."
"I guess it's good you enrolled late," said Harry as they took their seats. Binns started the lesson. They feel silent. Hermione took notes. Everyone else in the class put their heads down and slept. Included in this, for once, was Kenshin.
The rest of the day passed with an odd monotony. In Snape's they called idiots and then assigned potions, at lunch Hermione talked about grades and inspected lessons. Then at Arithmancy he took notes mindlessly, barely paying attention to anything the teacher said. And then finally came the end of the day and by far the worst part of the week.
Umbridge.
Walking into her class was like walking into a funeral parlor. Everyone immediately hushed. At the front stood Umbridge herself, smiling her patronizing smile. When she instructed everyone to put their wands away and open their books, Hermione and Kenshin were the only two to keep their books closed. Hermione's hand was raised. Because he was bored, annoyed, and still on the edge from his nightmare, he raised it as well. His friend gave him a sideways glance that easily read idiot. Oh well, if she yelled at him, he could just point it was hypocritical of her.
"What is it this time, Miss Granger?" said Professor Umbridge, approaching her desk this time rather than ask from the front of the room. She blatantly ignored Kenshin's.
"I've already read chapter two," said Hermione.
Immediately jumping in, Kenshin added, "So have I."
"I didn't call on you, Mr. Himura," she said and he repressed a smile. It was funny, really, how she always walked herself straight into her own trouble. "And if the two of you have finished, then proceed to chapter three."
"We've read that too," said Hermione. "We've read the entire book."
Umbridge smiled, evidently not believing her. "And why, pray tell, would you do that?"
"English isn't my first language," Kenshin reminded her, "so in the beginning of the year, Hermione and I read through the textbooks together. I understand the majority of it, but it's just so I don't get lost during the practical learning. Of course, now I realized we shouldn't have bothered."
There was a pause where Umbridge blinked again, but recovered quickly. "Well, then," she said, "you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counterjinxes in chapter fifteen."
"He says that counterjinxes are improperly named," answered Hermione. "He says 'counterjinx' is just a name give to their gives when they want to make them sound more acceptable. But I disagree."
"You disagree?"
"Yes, I do." They were attracting attention. "Mr. Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively."
"Oh, you do, do you?" She wasn't whispering anymore. "Well, I'm afraid it is Mr. Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger."
"But—"
"This is enough." Umbridge walked up to the front of the class, all haughtiness gone. "Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor House."
"What for?" In that moment, Kenshin honestly could have slapped Harry.
"Don't get involved!" whispered Hermione.
"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions," said Professor Umbridge. "I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them—with the possible exception of Professor Quirrel who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects—would have passed Ministry inspection—"
"Yeah, there was just the minor draw back that—" Harry began, but Kenshin stepped hard on his foot. "OW!"
"Shut up," he whispered. "Trust me, you want to."
Professor Umbridge stared at the two of them. "What were you about to say, dear?"
"Stay quiet, Harry, don't get involved."
"I believe Mr. Potter here would like to say something," said Umbridge. "What is it?"
"Nothing, Professor," he answered. Kenshin inwardly gave a sigh of relief.
At least one problem was postponed.
