Chloe:
Gretchen herded us into the same broom cupboard as before. I suppose I should start referring to it as "Our Cupboard," as it was kind of our talking in private spot.
"These books…" she started.
I grabbed one.
"They look like normal books."
"That one does. Look at these," she responded casually.
Three of the four books were handwritten, mostly in a language I couldn't and still cannot read, in an extremely masculine hand.
"Wow," I gawked.
"Jason, look. Sith carvings," Bess pointed out.
"Written by 'The Sage'," he said as a shadow fell across his face.
"Look at the newer looking one," I pointed out.
"The Dark Forces: A guide to Self-Protection?" Gretchen asked.
"I saw these floating around last year. I think these were the books fake Moody used."
"There are notes all around the margins. Some is English. But most of it looks like a strange scrawl of symbols," Gretchen said.
Bess took the book from her hands.
"These are written in my galaxy's text," she explained.
"Oh, great! Well, will you translate it for us?" I asked hopefully.
"Yes. But not until I'm on temporary leave next year."
"But that's months from now!" I whined.
"I've got missions. Get over it."
"Fine…" I moaned.
"She's right, Chloe. And we've got time. Nothing here will help us stop Umbridge," Gretchen said.
"Grrrrrr…you're probably right. And I hate it when you're right," I grumbled.
"Yeah. I promise I'll translate these."
I was never this impatient. But something about this Sage was stirring.
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Alas, our luck had run out.
Bess was called to a meeting, as was Anakin. We had no guard, and decided to proceed with our scheduled DA meeting anyway.
It began with our normal routine (review, learn two new spells, practice spells, get a message from our fearless leader, dismiss, and then disperse discreetly) with reviewing and the learning spells to practice. Just as the agenda had always been.
About halfway through the practice, there was a rumbling sound. We all stopped in our tracks.
The rumbling grew more intense, like the T-Rex tremors in JURASIC PARK (our mother had taken us to see that movie. I have no idea why, but it was really, really cool).
Then the wall shattered into a pile of rubble, revealing Umbridge, Mr. Filch, and the Inquisitorial Squad. We were caught.
Gretchen nudged me. Then I saw her: one of our own was struggling in Toady's grasp. A girl. She was also hiding her face in an act of shame and fear. Or at least attempting to hide. Her face was covered with angry, red pustules.
It was Marietta Edgecombe. She accidentally let her hands drop enough to reveal that the boils formed the word SNEAK in feminine, loopy cursive.
"POTTER, COME WITH ME! Draco, hold the rest here…" Umbridge barked.
There was no escape.
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Sometime later, we were told to put our names on a piece of parchment, held by Malfoy, then to proceed to our dorms. But I knew that Dumbledore wouldn't fault us for standing up for the right.
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Dumbledore fled.
Overnight, the toad rose to the Headmaster position, keeping all of us for a six hour detention of line writing.
Every last DA member, except Marietta Edgecombe.
Bess willingly submitted her own name, and was more than willing to participate in the mass punishment.
Howlers exploded at many students at breakfast over the course of the next week and a half.
I didn't expect Howlers for us three, as that was not our mother's style.
Wrong!
Envelopes dropped in front of me, Gretchen, and Bess. Ash perched in front of me expectantly. I handed him a hearty piece of my ham. He took it with relish and flew away. I saw Mother's owl, Gwen, leave Gretchen and Jack flee from Bess, carrying a mouse in her beak.
I looked at my sisters.
"Together," Bess mouthed.
Gretchen and I nodded in agreement.
"One…" I mouthed.
"Two…" Bess followed.
"Three…" Gretchen finished
RIP!
"Chloe, I'm so proud of you! You should have a spine! Although I wish you hadn't gotten caught!
I love you!
LONG LIVE POTTER!"
All of us received similar messages. (Bess had an extended lecture about not bringing down the Jedi and Obi-Wan singlehandedly).
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The dreaded six-hour arrived.
We were all rounded up into the great hall, where rows of desks and chairs had been set up with a few pieces of paper, a box of tissues, and a single black feather quill per desk. There was no ink.
Harry snuck up behind Gretchen and me and whispered, "Brace yourselves. These are incredibly painful. The more emotionally deadened you are the better. Reaction gives her satisfaction. Got it?"
I gulped hard.
Bess already appeared stoic. Not that that was a new thing for her.
"Take your seats, children," Umbridge commanded. She was wearing flowing pink robes. It was vile.
We all did as instructed, even Fred and George Weasley. We had lost the uphill battle.
"Pick up your quills. You are to write 'Rebellion is a poor life choice' for next six hours. There will be one restroom break per child. I suggest waiting as long as possible to use it. Begin!"
Less than thirty seconds later, the first wails of the first years were heard. I forced my quivering hand to still.
I finally obeyed her first command, quill cold in my hand. It was real feather, but had a false end, made of solid iron.
I took a deep breath, then began:
Rebellion is a poor life choice.
My hand tingled. The ink was red. An unusual color for students to use as punishment.
Rebellion is a poor life choice.
My hand stung that time, the ink looking like wet, fresh, blood.
Rebellion is a poor life choice.
The pain was sharp and cutting in my hand. I turned it over, and saw my true punishment.
'Rebellion is a poor life choice' was carving itself onto the back of my hand. I wasn't writing in crimson ink. I was writing in my own BLOOD!
I stifled my cries and blinked back my tears. She would get no such pleasure from me. I bit my tongue as hard as possible and kept going.
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I took no bathroom break, so I just left with everyone else.
Marietta Edgecombe was standing outside the door, wearing a balaclava to hide her disfiguration, however most of us took the time to sneer, hiss, and some even purposely bumped her.
Bess caught up to me, her face totally wiped clean of all emotions, her hand looking as infected as mine.
"How do you do it?" I asked, tears finally spilling out of my eyes.
"Conducting the Force, I can detach myself from pain. Give me your hand."
I gave it to her. Suddenly, the pain was eased.
"How?"
"The Force."
"Me, too! Me, too!" Gretchen squealed.
I could tell my outlook on the Force and my sister was changed drastically in that moment.