Disclaimer: I must not tell JK Rowling.

A/N: I've been getting a lot of comments, so I want to say up front that it will not be easy to unseat Umbridge. With Fudge's help, she has enough power to withstand anything our heroes can throw at her short of Voldemort being exposed. It will be a hard fight for Hermione and friends, and patience will be required.

Chapter 11

Harry didn't show up to breakfast the next morning, nor did he come to History of Magic. He finally appeared in Potions, where he looked harried and rushed and barely even tried to make a passable potion.

"What happened to him?" Ginny asked Hermione at lunch. "He looks awful, and he's barely talking to me."

"His detention ran late last night," Hermione said quietly. "He didn't come back till one o'clock."

"How do you know?" Ron said.

"Because I waited up for him. Umbridge had him doing lines for eight hours straight."

"Blimey, and I thought I had it bad," Ron muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

"You look pretty tired, too, Hermione," Ginny said. "You don't have to wait up for him again. I can do it tonight."

"Really, Ginny?"

"Sure. You should get some sleep. And if Umbridge is that bad, I think we'll need to take it in shifts."

Harry still wasn't speaking to them as he picked at the food on his plate, but he certainly had something to say when Angelina tracked him down.

"Harry," the Quidditch captain said, looking stern, "where were you last night? You never came back."

Harry visibly gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. "Detention ran late," he said without looking up.

"So did you get her to move your Friday detention for tryouts?"

Harry glanced at her with a positively withering look: "What do you think?"

"I told you I want you there—"

"THEN ASK HER YOURSELF!" With a clatter of plates, Harry shoved his breakfast away and stood up. He came nose to nose with her, his fists clenched, white-knuckled at his sides. For a moment, Hermione was genuinely afraid he might hit Angelina in front of everybody. She'd never seen such bottled-up anger from her friend. "Ask her your bloody self," he hissed, "and you'd better pray that she doesn't give you detention just for asking because I wouldn't put it past her." And with that, he pushed past her and left the Great Hall, leaving his food almost untouched.

"Harry?" Hermione called after him. Angelina looked too stunned to speak. After a moment's consideration, Hermione got up to follow him, she he was long gone. She had no idea what would have caused him to react that badly.

What had happened last night?

The next Hermione heard from Harry was in Defence class. He didn't speak to her himself, but Dean informed her that he hadn't handed in his Arithmancy homework. Hermione was disappointed, but unsurprised, since he surely hadn't had time to do it. Septima had docked him ten points for that but thankfully hadn't given him any more detention. Defence class went much the same as the previous one, except that Harry didn't challenge Umbridge again, and Hermione didn't bother raising the issue of the curriculum, either—not quite yet.

Harry, of course, was stuck in detention again that evening, but Hermione had work to do. Several of her side projects had become more pressing this year, and she was just getting started with them. Today on her list, she had Luna and Cedric—though for very different reasons.

Luna she tracked down in the library before dinner. She motioned for the odd girl to follow her, and she led her to the most obscure corner of the library, sitting at the last table.

"Hello, Luna. How's your year starting off?" she asked.

"It's been quiet so far," Luna said. "It's like everyone is waiting for something to happen, but they don't know what."

"Probably for Umbridge to make a move," Hermione said darkly. "She's an unknown quantity—more so than usual. And she definitely doesn't like Dumbledore."

"Yes, that's true. Things could get very messy here, especially if the Rotfang Conspiracy gets involved."

"Um…if you say so. But I was hoping you could help me with something. I need someone with your unique expertise."

"Oh? Are you going snorkack hunting?"

"No," Hermione said. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "I meant your knowledge of arcane lore—Well, first I need to ask, you believe Professor Dumbledore and Harry about Voldemort being back, right?"

"Of course, Hermione."

"Good. But have you asked yourself why Voldemort hasn't acted openly yet?"

Luna tilted her head in thought. "Hmm…that does seem odd. I suppose the most logical answer is that he isn't ready yet."

Wow. That was surprisingly coherent for Luna. "Well, other people think that too," Hermione agreed. "And the thing is, I heard a rumour—just a rumour, mind you—that Voldemort is looking for some kind of magical weapon—something he didn't have before that could give him a leg up on the Ministry this time. I'm trying to research what kinds of magical weapons might be out there that he might be looking for. If I can piece together the clues maybe it will help the war effort. I may not be able to find anything, but I want to do something."

"That's very noble of you, Hermione. Not many people would try to take action like that at our age."

"Well, I'm just doing what I can. But I wanted to ask you because you know a lot of obscure magical legends and stuff like that. Can you think of any magical weapons that Voldemort might be looking for?"

"Hmm…" Luna said again. "It's a very interesting puzzle. I haven't thought much about that sort of thing. Of course, there's always the Deathly Hallows."

"The Deathly Hallows?" Hermione said. "Okay, I know this one…I think…" But as she wracked her brain, she couldn't place where she'd heard of them before.

"The Tale of the Three Brothers?" Luna reminded her.

"The Tale of the Three Brothers? Oh, of course. I remember." She scribbled down some notes. "We came across that story when we were researching the Philosopher's Stone in first year. Let's see, there was a wand that's unbeatable in a head-on duel, a stone that lets you communicate with the dead, and a…an invisibility cloak—but those are all over—Wait, the Deathly Hallows are real?"

"Of course. The Elder Wand is well-documented. There's a long chain of wizards who held a seemingly-unbeatable wand that was always passed down by backstabbing and subterfuge. Of course, there are far fewer clues to the Stone and the Cloak."

"Do you think Voldemort could get hold of the Elder Wand?"

Luna shrugged: "Anything is possible. But it would be very difficult. The thread was lost in the eighteenth century. And anyway, that seems like a very Gryffindor way of thinking, doesn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, You-Know-Who was a Slytherin, wasn't he? It would be a Gryffindor who would be the sort to seek out a very powerful weapon. A Ravenclaw would seek a source of lost lore, like Ravenclaw's Lost Diadem, or a powerful spellbook that isn't in the Hogwarts library. A Hufflepuff would seek powerful friends and allies."

"And a Slytherin would want a way to accomplish his goals by secrecy and intrigue," Hermione finished thought. "It's an interesting idea—although a really smart dark lord would go for all four."

"Yes, I suppose he would. It's a thorny question."

"Are there any legendary lost spellbooks that he might be looking for, or any other artifacts you think he could make a serious effort to acquire within—I don't know, a year or two?"

"Now that narrows it down," Luna said with a smile. "You're starting to think like a lore-seeker. There are quite a few artifacts of Merlin and Morgana—and Circe, for that matter—that are held with a special reverence, but the true experts believe few if any of them hold real special powers."

Hermione knew enough to take anything Luna said about "experts" with a large pinch of salt, and she made a notation in her notes to that effect, but she let the girl continue.

"On the other hand, the Founders of Hogwarts all had special artifacts of their own."

"Gryffindor's sword," Hermione said.

"Yes, and I believe Slytherin had a locket, and Hufflepuff had a small goblet, but no one agrees on what they were supposed to do."

"Really? Then I think we can put Slytherin's lock high on the list. Professor Dumbledore says Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin, so he probably knows things about it that the rest of us don't."

"That makes sense," Luna agreed. "If You-Know-Who doesn't have the locket already, he would probably want it."

"Mm hmm. Say, Luna, people talk about Merlin and Morgana all the time in the magical world. Are the artifacts from Arthurian legend real, like Excalibur and the Holy Grail?"

To Hermione's surprise, Luna gave her a confused look and said, "I'm not sure I understand."

"What do you mean?" She'd managed to confuse Luna Lovegood? That be a first.

"Well, Excalibur is certainly real, and there must have been a cup that Jesus drank from at the Last Supper, but the Holy Grail is a French story."

"It is?"

"Yes. Didn't you know that?"

"No, I only know the muggle stories…I'm sure Professor Binns must have covered it at some point, but…"

"He's rather difficult to follow, isn't he? It's alright, though. Dad taught me the history of the Arthurian legends. It really comes down to Merlin. The real wizard Merlin was born Myrddin Emrys in the late tenth century. He was named for the sixth-century Welsh Seer Myrddin the Wild and the fifth-century Roman tribune Ambrosius Aurelianus. He was a member of Salazar Slytherin's inaugural class at Hogwarts, and after his death, his own story was conflated with his namesakes', and the muggle stories began to cast him as his sixth-century predecessor. The real King Arthur was a Welsh muggle nobleman who was Merlin's partner, and together, they united all of the wizards of the British Isles and Scandinavia and several major chivalric orders under a single council."

"The Round Table?" Hermione asked, feeling overwhelmed.

"Exactly," Luna said brightly. "You should read the wizard story some time. It's very good. Unfortunately, the Round Table was disbanded and replaced by William of Normandy's and Armand Malfoy's Wizard's Council in 1067. When the muggle stories moved Merlin to the sixth century, they moved King Arthur with him, but his legends were mostly invented out of whole cloth."

And Luna Lovegood had just called something made up. This day was turning surreal. "And Excalibur?" she ventured.

"A goblin-made sword probably made by the same smith as Gryffindor's Sword. Most lore-seekers believe it's been in a vault under Gringotts since Arthur died."

"And the Holy Grail?"

"Well, there must have been one, but it was probably just an ordinary cup. I doubt anyone would have saved it after the Last Supper. Jesus' disciples were a little preoccupied, after all. It was only the medieval French writers who said it had special powers. But King Arthur did put out a search for the cauldron of Bran the Blessed, which really did have healing powers."

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere," Hermione said, and added the cauldron to her list. "What about the Lance of Longinus?"

"Probably just an ordinary spear unless you belong to a church that believes in the power of holy relics."

Luna had such a simple matter-of-fact way of putting such things that it ironically left Hermione's head spinning. But after a little more questioning, she had a list of things that Voldemort might want, organised by how useful they were likely to be and how likely they were to be obtainable. Now, perhaps, some careful questioning of the Order of the Phoenix could tease out some clues about which, if any of them, they were worried about. And maybe some of them could even be useful to the light side, too. She thanked Luna and asked her not to spread their conversation around before going on to dinner.

Hermione found Cedric patrolling the halls shortly before curfew. This one was a social call. She hadn't seen much of Cedric since she moved to Headquarters over the summer, and she wanted to see how he was doing.

"So how's Head Boy treating you, Cedric?" she called, waving when she saw him.

"A lot of work," he answered. "Evening, Hermione. Honestly, I considered turning it down because I'm so busy trying to catch up in my classes. I know won't be finishing first in my year anymore."

"I'm sure you'll do brilliantly for someone who's working with one hand tied behind his back—almost literally."

"Heh. Rebecca's gonna wipe the floor with me, though. It's all I can do to keep up in Charms and Transfiguration."

"I could give you some more pointers if you want," Hermione offered.

"Thanks, but I just need more practice. It's awfully slow going," Cedric said ruefully. "Did you know there are countries where they punish murderers by cutting their hands off so they can never use a wand again?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. Cedric never used to be this morbid. "No, I didn't," she said. "Might still be more humane than Azkaban, though," she added after a moment's thought.

He shrugged at that. "Anyway, don't mind me."

She wasn't about to let that go. "Cedric, you really shouldn't be so negative. Are you doing alright?" she asked.

"I'm getting by as well as I can. Not too much else has changed. I can do almost everything I did before. Except the wrist joint on this thing keeps sticking." He held up his wooden arm.

"Could I take a look?" she asked. He held out his hand to her. Taking it and twisting the wrist gently, she could feel it sticking. It reminded her a little of a stuck key on a computer keyboard. "Did they tell you anything about cleaning it?"

"They said it's washable; soap and water won't hurt it. Other than that, it's supposed to be self-lubricating."

"That might not keep it perfectly clean, though. And the soap and water might not get into the joint well enough. Did any other liquid get into it? Spilt orange juice, maybe, or something similar?" It certainly felt like there was some sticky substance in there.

"Could've been," Cedric answered.

"Well, if it won't respond to cleaning charms, you might just need to get the soap in there a little better…" She pulled on the hand experimentally to see if it would separate a bit from the wrist.

"OW!" Cedric yelped. "I can still feel it, you know. It's enchanted."

"Sorry," Hermione said sheepishly, letting go. "But if it's washable, you might try working the soap in through the gap and giving it a good, long rinse." Really, that should have been obvious, but she realised people didn't deal with this sort of mechanical contrivance much in the magical world. "I wish it were that easy with computer keyboards."

"What?"

"Muggle stuff. Never mind. Anyway, I hope things get easier for you. I can't imagine what it's like. And then to have Umbridge and half the school thinking you've gone 'round the twist…"

Cedric groaned: "Don't remind me. That woman actually had the nerve to call me delusional in front of the entire N.E.W.T. class, not to mention she doesn't even try to teach."

"At least you didn't get detention. If she pulls a repeat of last night, Harry will be writing lines past midnight."

"That late?"

"Yeah. It was one o'clock last night. So if you could not dock points if you catch him—"

"No problem. I owe him that much and a lot more. I almost blew up in front of Umbridge myself; it was only because I heard what happened to Harry that I didn't. I swear, I don't know if I can take her for a full year."

"Well, just take it a day at a time. And thanks."

They walked in an awkward silence for a minute, Hermione not wanting to make Cedric even more uncomfortable, until he changed the subject. "It's a shame you couldn't be a prefect, Hermione," he said. "Parvati's better than I expected, but I know you'd be brilliant."

Hermione smiled a little: "Thanks, Cedric. It's annoying, but…I think part of me is relieved. I have enough to be getting on with as it is. I'm more worried about Harry. He won't show it, but he took it pretty hard."

"Yeah. I don't understand why he didn't get it, even with the Ministry being against him."

"Well, I don't know. And Dumbledore isn't talking. Just one more screwed up thing this year."

"Uh huh…So…I see you finally got together with George."

Hermione broke into a wide grin: "Yes, there's one good thing about this year. He finally talked me into taking a chance since we'd both be here this autumn. You wouldn't think it, but he's actually really sweet in a devil-may-care sort of way."

Cedric shook off the seeming contradiction. It didn't surprise him where the Weasley Twins were involved. "Well, I'm happy for you, Hermione," he said. "You deserve some happiness after all you've been through."

"Honestly, I never got the worst of it. What about you and Cho? Are you doing any better?"

He frowned and sighed disappointedly: "Not really. I try to talk to her, but she's still uncomfortable around me. Our relationship is kind of in limbo, I think, but I don't think it'll last much longer at this rate."

Hermione suppressed a scowl. That girl didn't know what she was missing. She needed some sense knocked into her. "Do you want me to talk to her?" she asked.

"What? Really?"

"You deserve happiness too, Cedric. I want to help if I can."

"You aren't gonna hex her, are you?"

"No, just talk. You know, girl to girl." Well, if she really deserves it, she thought, but she didn't say it. And probably, it wouldn't come to that.

"Well, alright. And…thanks for helping out."

"Just trying to be a good friend," she told him. "I'd better get back to the Tower. I'll see you later."

Astronomy Class was Wednesday night at midnight, and Harry didn't show up there either. Hermione discretely checked her map a couple of times and saw that Harry was once again released from detention sometime around one o'clock, but he went back to the dorm instead of the Astronomy Tower. Professor Sinistra wouldn't like it, but Hermione could understand why he would feel the need to prioritise. Astronomy was interesting and surprisingly in-depth this year, though. They would be doing a major unit on Jupiter in preparation for the Galileo spacecraft reaching the planet in December. Hermione always appreciated how well-versed Professor Sinistra was in muggle astronomy and space travel.

When the class returned to the dorms, Harry was still up in the Common Room, doing his homework. Ginny appeared to have gone to bed as soon as he returned. The food Hermione had left out hadn't been touched.

"Harry, I left this out for you," she said. "You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry," he grumbled without looking up from his parchment.

"Harry, that can't be true. You've just skipped four meals straight. You don't want to pass out in Potions or something tomorrow."

"Fine." He grabbed a sandwich with one hand and took a bite while he kept writing with the other. "Happy now?"

"Harry, what's happening in those detentions?"

He slapped his quill down and looked up at her. "Just lines again!" he snapped. "God, Hermione, do you have to stick your nose into everything?"

Hermione was taken aback. This was so unlike him, puberty or no. But she could tell trying to push him more would only backfire. "Well," she huffed, "when you're ready to talk, you know where to find me."

Yes, this year was getting off to a fine start.

Harry did make it to breakfast the next morning, but he looked awful. Hermione knew that look. He looked like she felt when she hadn't got any sleep. She wouldn't be surprised if he'd been up the whole night doing homework. She didn't bother talking to him in more than a perfunctory fashion; she was still in a mood to let him stew and wait for him to come around. He seemed to pass through his classes in a daze, and she let him go his own way when they were over.

Hermione herself made her way to the library. That afternoon, they had just had Magical Creatures class with the Slytherins, so she took a chance about the two of them she was looking for being there rather than in their Common Room. That would be a smart move if they were distancing themselves from the rest of their house—and with the loudest voices in their house coming down on Voldemort's side in all but name, they had good reason to do so—to stand aloof from it.

Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis were sitting at a table by themselves, pouring over references and working on essays for some class or other. Hermione briefly wondered what would have happened if she had gone to Slytherin this year. These two would almost certainly have been the closest to her, based on what Septima had said, and she probably would have needed their protection against the rest of their house, which could well have led to a very asymmetric deal. Steeling herself, she walked up to their table and said, "Excuse me."

The two girls looked up. "Can we help you, Granger?" Greengrass said with a trademark Slytherin sneer and a flip of her long, blond hair.

"Greengrass. Davis. What are you working on?"

Both of their eyes narrowed. "What's it to you?" Greengrass demanded.

"I was just wondering if you two could give me a hand with our Magical Creatures homework."

Greengrass's and Davis's jaws dropped, and they stared at Hermione like she'd grown a second head. Greengrass recovered and closed her mouth first, but she seemed to have trouble finding words. Finally, Davis managed, "If this is a prank—"

"It's not a prank!"

"Like we'd believe that with that idiot boyfriend of yours," she shot back.

"I strive to be the responsible one in our relationship," Hermione said. "And only I'm allowed to call George an idiot."

"If it's not a prank," Greengrass said evenly, "then what could possibly possess you to ask us and not one of your Gryffindork friends."

"Because most of my friends don't have a lot of firsthand experience with magical creatures, and Professor Vector recommended you."

That gave the Slytherin girls some pause. They turned and stared at each other. "Professor Vector…" Greengrass said thoughtfully.

"Not completely mad, then," Davis said.

"No, but why do you need help at all, Granger?" Greengrass asked her. "You're supposed to be a super-genius."

"Only in Arithmancy," she answered. "In the rest of my subjects, I'm merely gifted. Plus, the fourth-year curriculum at Beauxbatons is a little slower than it is here, and honestly, the teacher wasn't as good as Professor Grubbly-Plank. I need to catch up."

By now, Davis looked genuinely intrigued, although her friend still kept her expression neutral. "I have to hand it to you, Granger, that actually does make sense," Davis said. "Although I would've thought you be for Hagrid over Professor Grubbly-Plank."

Hermione shook her head. She debated for a moment how much to reveal, but she decided that little harm could come of telling her thoughts. "Hagrid's a good soul," she said, "and an especially good friend to Harry. But personally, I think he's in over his head with teaching. Anyway, that's not the point."

"No, it's not," Greengrass said with a smug tone of knowing exactly what was going on. "Here's the thing that really doesn't make sense, though. Even with Professor Vector's recommendation, you've got no reason to associate with Slytherins, and a few good reasons not to. You could have asked any old Ravenclaw and caused a lot less trouble. So is studying really all this is about?"

Hermione had already decided not to hide her true motives, especially after Septima said they'd be suspicious anyway. But of course, she put a good spin on it: "No, it's not. But I'm not trying anything. It simply strikes me that I barely know any of the Slytherins at all, and this seems like a serious oversight."

"Ha! Like any of you other Gryffindors ever care about that," Greengrass said.

"Well, most Gryffindors' most notable contact with Slytherin is people like Draco Malfoy, and you have to admit, he's not the best representative of your house."

"That depends on your point of view," Davis said.

"And what's your point of view, Davis? I never see you hanging around with Malfoy's crowd."

"I'm only a half-blood. I'm not good enough for him," she said. "That's no secret."

"But we won't bore you with internal house politics," Greengrass said, noticeably more as a warning to her friend than to Hermione. "And as for 'friends', I'm thinking this has more to do with the Sorting Hat's song and how it wants all the houses to be friends. Isn't that right Granger?"

Wow, she was even quicker than Hermione expected. "I admit that's on my mind," she said, "but I'm still not asking you to do anything more. Just studying, no strings attached."

"No strings attached?" Greengrass said incredulously. "Seriously? I think I can see why you're a Gryffindor."

"Would you ever agree to this otherwise?" Hermione countered.

The two girls gave her a curious look, debating the question to themselves. Davis looked a little offended, Hermione thought, but it was hard to tell. "You're really serious about this, aren't you, Granger?" Greengrass said.

"Yes, I wouldn't bother if I weren't," she said indignantly."

"Huh…So…if we help you, will you help us with Arithmancy?"

"I should think that would be obvious."

That actually made Davis smile. She was no doubt considering the advantage that would give her as a half-blood in Slytherin house. "Alright, Granger, you've got a deal."

Greengrass raised an eyebrow at her friend, but she didn't protest, and Hermione took a seat at the table

The next hour taught her several important things. One, looking for bowtruckles was a quick shortcut to finding wand-quality wood, which could come in handy someday. Two, both Greengrass and Davis were very serious about pushing ahead in arithmancy. That could be basic Slytherin ambition, or because of some more immediate concern. Three, while Davis was the more personable of the two, Greengrass might be a natural Ravenclaw like herself. She was definitely smart enough. Of course, Hermione didn't learn much about them personally, and she restrained herself from asking more than trivial questions. She would need to practice patience for this, but it was a start.

By mutual agreement, Ginny was going to wait up for Harry again so Hermione could get a full night's sleep. But Hermione was surprised to find that he was sent back to the dorm shortly after dinner ended tonight. She was even more surprised by the way she found out. She had apparently just missed him when she climbed up to her dorm room to get one of her other course books. She was almost there when a loud klaxon sounded, and the stairs beneath her feet turned into a stone slide.

Hermione screamed as she slid down ninety feet of nearly-frictionless slide all the way back down to the Common Room, picking up more and more speed until she shot out of the end so fast that she bowled over four people, and they all landed in a heap.

She groaned and staggered to her feet, checking herself for broken bones. "Alright, whose idea was it for all seven flights of stairs to turn into a slide when the alarm goes off?" she demanded. "That could be really dangerous in the morning when it's crowded."

No one had a good answer for that.

"Who tried to come up the stairs, anyway?"

"Erm…I did," came a soft voice.

Hermione looked and was shocked to see that one of the girls she had knocked down was Ginny, who was looking very red faced and was holding Harry's hand. How would she make a mistake like that? The other girls who were brushing themselves off were two of Ginny's roommates, who were giggling at the couple like mad.

"Ginny?" she said, scandalised.

"It's not what it looks like!" Ginny and Harry said in unison.

"She dragged me up there to find you," Harry clarified.

"What?!" Hermione yelped.

"Not like that!" Ginny said. "I—Harry—we need to talk to you. Privately." She shot a glare at her roommates, who just giggled all the more.

She dragged Harry and Hermione out of the Common Room and to the nearest empty classroom.

"You know, there's always the Room of Requirement if you want to—" Hermione started.

"Not now. Just look at this." Ginny grabbed Harry's wrist and held out his right hand. Hermione's eyebrows rose as she noticed some cuts on the back of his hand—cuts in an odd pattern. She turned her head around, and her breath caught as she realised that the cuts spelt words—cut as if with a scalpel and oozing blood.

I must not tell lies.

"Oh my God, Harry, Umbridge did this?!"

Harry glared at both of them, but his silence was proof enough.

"You said she only gave you lines!"

"She did. It's the quill that did this," he growled.

"What?"

"It cuts the words as you write them and then heals them. But after a while, they don't heal so well, okay?" He yanked his hand back.

"So…eight hours on Tuesday…" Hermione was almost sick with horror. "Eight hours again yesterday. And then…"

"She let me go early because it stopped healing. Still have to go back tomorrow, though."

"That bitch! That evil, sadistic…Does Dumbledore know about this?" she demanded.

Harry scoffed at the very idea.

"Does McGonagall know about it?"

He rolled his eyes and shook his head again.

"Harry, you have to tell somebody!" Ginny yelled. "You can't let her do that to you."

"No! I'm not letting her know she's got to me. I won't give her the satisfaction."

"Don't be an idiot!" she snapped.

"I'm not. It's not like I could do anything."

"Harry, she's torturing you!" Hermione said. "That's illegal as hell. You could get her arrested."

"No I couldn't! The Ministry's on her side, remember? You said it yourself, Hermione. Dumbledore's powerless…And he doesn't want to talk to me anyway."

"He'd want to know—"

"No, Hermione. I'm doing this myself."

He turned to go, but Ginny stopped him. "Harry. At least talk to Sirius on your mirror," she said, snaking one arm around him. "He'll have a better idea of what we can do, legally."

Harry stared at her, and his face softened, but he still didn't speak.

"Please, Harry? For me? I can't stand to see you like this."

He sighed wearily and said, "I'll think about it."

Harry really had no intention of calling Sirius—at least not about that—but his plans changed on Friday. Sitting in detention writing lines very resentfully for two hours whilst trying to get a distant view of the Quidditch tryouts through the window, the cuts on his hand no longer fully healed from the outset. At first, they almost healed up, leaving scrapes barely deep enough to draw blood. But he could feel the quill cutting deeper into his flesh with every repetition of "I must not tell lies." Maybe if he cut all the way through the tendons of his hand, he wouldn't be able to write anymore, and Umbridge would have to let him off. But tonight was his last detention anyway, so it didn't matter.

What changed things, though was when Umbridge inspected his hand to let him go. When she touched him, his scar burned, and he felt a strange, incongruous feeling in his gut. That was enough to make him want to talk to Sirius.

Now, Harry was sitting with his hand soaking in a bowl of essence of murtlap, holding his communication mirror with his other hand so that Sirius couldn't see it. Hermione had made a discreet enquiry with Madam Pomfrey that morning, not mentioning his name, and had successfully procured a potion to help heal his cuts. Since they were magically-induced, they wouldn't go easily.

Unfortunately, when he called Sirius's mirror, Kreacher answered it.

"Blood traitor master's godson calls?" the elf mumbled back at him. "What does the half-blood mutt want?"

"Kreacher? Where's Sirius?"

"Master is off with the half-breed scum, howling at the moon and causing all manner of mischief to disgrace his family."

"The moon? Oh, right. I forgot it was full moon tonight."

"Should Kreacher take message for master?"

"No, just tell him I'll call tomorrow."

There was always something, wasn't there?