Chapter 15: The Seeds of Resistance

The rest of the week was not at all enjoyable for Harry.

He went through the motions as well as he could manage, pretending that everything was fine. He got up early every morning and went to Quidditch practice. He caught the Snitch and dodged Bludgers. He did all his homework to diligent perfection. He laughed at jokes and smiled at his friends. He played the role of normal happy student so well that no one would ever suspect the horrors he faced every night.

Every night he carved words into his arm. Every night he watched his blood filling page after page of parchment.

After the second night of detention, he knew that the terrible words would never fully fade.

He would bear these scars forever.

He told no one. Not Sirius. Not Remus. Not his friends. He kept his arm bandaged and hidden. He reassured them that he was just doing lines.

Every single day, he lied.

The detentions were not his only problem. Despite his decision to hide the locket in his trunk, foreign memories still haunted his dreams. What little sleep he managed was filled with murder, dark hallways, and the graveyard of Little Hangleton.

He had never had a worse week at Hogwarts.

The only good thing that happened was getting back the results of his summer assignments. He had managed an Outstanding on all of them, pride filling him as he looked at the scores. The only one that hadn't been returned was Potions, but Harry was confident in that essay. It'd been his best one.

Just when Harry thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, he came back from his detention on Thursday evening to find his friends sitting in the Common Room, looking murderous. They explained that, at dinner that evening, Dumbledore had announced that Umbridge would be taking the position of Co-Headmistress, sharing equal power with Dumbledore.

When Hermione explained that the decision had been Dumbledore's, not the Ministry's, Harry almost fell off his chair in shock.

"Why on earth would he agree to that?" Harry questioned, dread filling him at the thought of Umbridge having that much power.

"I think he did it so that he could keep things from getting too much worse," George offered thoughtfully. When everyone turned to stare at him in confusion, he continued. "Think about it. At least this way Dumbledore controls some of the power she gets. By agreeing to it, he makes himself look good in the press. That means that the Ministry won't be able to justify passing sweeping reforms at Hogwarts. If they do that, they'll be implying that Umbridge, and by extension Fudge, is doing a bad job. This way, the Ministry doesn't have a reason to interfere in more extreme ways. Plus, they still have to make unanimous decisions regarding expulsion, firing, and major rule changes. I think he's doing his best to protect the students and staff from her. It's not ideal, but it's better than the alternative."

George's logic made a lot of sense. Harry knew that people had been pushing for reforms at Hogwarts. By giving Umbridge equal power, Dumbledore had ensured that those demanding reforms would be satisfied while also putting himself in a perfect position to check Umbridge's power.

Even though he understood exactly why Dumbledore had chosen to do this, Harry still felt betrayed. He knew that Dumbledore had no way of knowing what Umbridge was doing to him, but that didn't change the fact that he had just given her the kind of power that would allow her to keep hurting him. As headmistress, her ability to assign detentions would be unchecked. If she wanted, she could have him cutting his arm open every day from now until the end of the year. Harry wasn't sure he could survive that.

Trying to take his mind off the amount of power Umbridge had just been handed, Harry turned to his homework. They had another Potions essay due the next day, and Harry was determined to give it everything he had.

He was so absorbed in his work that he didn't notice as the others headed off to bed.

"Hey, Harry?" George asked, voice shattering the silence of the empty Common Room.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

Harry didn't know what to do, falling back on his usual response. "Yes, George," he said, the lie flowing easily from his lips. "I'm fine."

George rolled his eyes. "You literally always say that."

"Well, it's literally always true."

George let out a wry laugh. "I don't think that's why." He gave Harry a meaningful look. "You can talk to me, you know," he said quietly. "About anything."

George looked so sincere that Harry almost told him, almost pulling up his sleeve to reveal the marks Umbridge had left.

Almost.

Terrified by his own weakness, Harry quickly lowered his eyes.

He couldn't tell George what was going on. He just couldn't. George would tell someone, probably an adult. George didn't yet understand that adults couldn't fix everything. He didn't know what it was like to live without an advocate, at the mercy of those in power. He didn't know what it felt like to be hurt instead of protected. Harry never wanted him to know. He wouldn't allow George to be subjected to the horrors of the quill.

He would rather write until all his blood was gone than allow George to carve even a single word into his skin.

Harry kept his silence, hoping that someday George would forgive him.

...

When dawn broke the next day, Harry had never been so happy for it to be Friday. Today marked his last detention with Umbridge. Hopefully, he could stay detention-free for a while.

Unfortunately, Harry's wish was thwarted during Potions. It was a double period, and Snape had spent the entire time lecturing. It was a fascinating topic though Harry could have done without the plethora of insults to their intelligence that peppered the Professor's lecture. Just before class ended, Snape handed back their summer assignments.

To Harry's dismay, he had not gotten a good score. Not at all. At the top of his neatly written essay was a large red zero. Just beneath the zero were the words "stay after class."

Harry felt his breath hitch in his chest. He didn't want to be alone with Snape, especially if the man was angry.

Fighting back his nervousness, Harry waited awkwardly while the rest of the classroom emptied.

Snape, seeming to enjoy his discomfort, allowed him to stand there like an idiot for several minutes before he spoke. "Well, Potter," he drawled. "You never cease to amaze me." He paused, looking at Harry like he would very much like to turn him into Potions ingredients. "I honestly didn't think you could get any more arrogant or bone-headed than you already were. It seems I was mistaken."

"Sir?" Harry started. "I don't underst…"

"I saw you with Mr. Zabini," Snape interrupted. "And I thought you might have finally decided to better yourself by associating with more worthy companions than your normal band of misfits."

Harry bristled. Why did Snape think it was okay to insult his friends?

"It was, of course, incredibly foolish of me to think that you would genuinely try to become friends with a Slytherin. After I read your supposed Potions assignment, I finally understood."

Harry didn't understand what Snape meant by "supposed." What did he think Harry had done?

"Blaise Zabini is quite good at Potions, Potter," Snape said sharply.

"I know that, sir. He's really smart."

"Of course you know that, Potter," Snape snapped, voice growing louder. "Otherwise, why would you have made him write your Potions assignment for you?"

For a moment, all Harry could do was stare at Snape. The man thought he had cheated?

Before Harry could even begin to defend himself, Snape continued, looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him. "You couldn't be bothered to do even a shred of work, could you, Potter?"

"Sir, I didn't ch…"

"Doing your own work is something beneath the great Harry Potter, isn't it?" Snape continued, eyes gleaming with malice. "You are clearly too special to..."

"I DIDN'T CHEAT!"

Harry didn't know what made him yell, but he was just so tired of being called a liar. Snape stopped speaking, moving from behind his desk to stand in front of Harry.

He was much too close, and Harry was painfully aware of the fact that Snape was much taller than him, looming over him just like Uncle Vernon always did.

"Don't lie to me, Potter," he said, voice low and dangerous.

Harry took a step back from the man, shaking slightly. "I'm not lying, sir," he said, trying to stop his voice from trembling. "I worked hard on this assignment. It was done before I even got to Hogwarts."

Snape snorted. "As if you're capable of doing work this good, Potter. You should have at least tried to make it believable."

Harry didn't know what to do. Snape would never believe him. No one ever did.

"I think this warrants 150 points from Gryffindor."

Harry looked up at the man in horror. McGonagall was going to kill him.

Snape just smirked at him, eyes gleaming with malice. "And Detention. Tomorrow morning. Nine. I have some cauldrons that need cleaning. It'll be good for you to finally experience what hard work is like."

There was nothing he could say.

He had no defense.

He simply left the classroom, struggling to center himself, desperately trying to get his breathing under control. His chest was constricted by panic, breath stalling in his throat.

He couldn't quite breathe, oxygen rattling in his lungs.

Harry stumbled toward the nearest bathroom, gasping for air as he collapsed against a wall.

Merlin, he couldn't breathe.

Reality was twisting around him, memories pulling at his consciousness, the past repeating itself in his head.

The bathroom fell away, the stall fading into the darkness of his cupboard, the space growing smaller and smaller, Uncle Vernon's footsteps growing louder and louder, danger coming closer and closer...

"Harry Potter, Sir!"

A tiny, high-pitched voice broke through his panic, a glass vial pressing against his lips.

"You be drinking this, Harry Potter!"

Not having the strength to resist, Harry swallowed the liquid. It was silky and tasted like peppermint.

Harry recognized it immediately: a Calming Draught. After a few moments, his heart rate slowed, and he once again knew where he was. He was in the bathroom at Hogwarts. He wasn't in his cupboard.

He was fine.

Everything was fine.

"Dobby?" he asked incredulously.

Sure enough, right in front of him stood the odd House-elf, looking uncharacteristically serious. "Yes, Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said. "It is Dobby. Dobby be cleaning, and he sees Mr. Harry Potter Sir leaving nasty Snapey's classroom looking all pale and shaky. Dobby was worried so Dobby followed. Good thing Dobby did."

Harry suddenly felt very ashamed. He'd never wanted anyone to see him in that state.

Dobby gave him a reproving look. "It's nothing to bes ashamed of," he said sternly. "It just means that you has been through hard things. You is very strong and brave, Harry Potter."

Harry offered Dobby a weak smile. "Thanks, Dobby. You're the best."

Dobby looked so happy, Harry feared for a moment he might spontaneously combust.

"Harry Potter is truly a great wizard," the elf gushed. "He is also a great wizard who is late for Herbology."

Dobby was right. Harry was quite late for Herbology.

He raced out of the bathroom, making a mad dash through the grounds. He made it to Herbology nearly 20 minutes late. Thankfully, the others had told Professor Sprout that Snape had kept him back, so she just smiled at him before telling him to join a workstation.

During dinner, Harry told his friends all about his conversation with Snape and his detention tomorrow. They were all understandably furious. What surprised Harry was just how mad George was. He looked like he might march up to the Head Table and punch Snape right in his crooked nose.

"That utter GIT!" George muttered, stabbing his potatoes aggressively. "You're brilliant at Potions. No way Zabini could have written that essay. He's good, but he's not nearly as good as you."

Harry blushed a bit at the compliment. "It's okay, George," he reassured. "It's just scrubbing cauldrons. It'll be fine."

"It's not fine," George growled, narrowing his eyes at the head table. "It's so not fine. You've been in detention all week. You're exhausted. Snape is just messing with you because he's too blind to see what a talented, kind, brave..." George broke off, snapping his jaw shut with a click, cheeks suddenly very red. "Anyway, it's just not fair."

"No, it's really not," Hermione said sadly. "I hoped he would get over his grudge against you. He's a grown man. He shouldn't be acting like this."

Harry agreed with her, but he didn't see what he could do about it. He hoped that someday Snape would be able to see him and not his father. Today was clearly not that day. He would just keep trying. Someday he would prove Snape wrong. Until then, he would just have to be the better man.

...

Harry's resolve to not let Snape get to him was the only thing that got him through his detention the next day. He arrived ten minutes before nine to find nearly twenty disgusting cauldrons waiting for him. He started scrubbing, left arm aching as he tried to ignore the periodic insults Snape would toss his way.

He worked for hours, scrubbing at the congealed Potions until his hands were dry and cracking and the cuts on his arm were screaming. He'd just finished his fifteenth cauldron when the door flew open.

Standing in the doorway, looking angrier than Harry had ever seen her, was Professor McGonagall.

Snape recovered from his shock quicker than Harry. "Minerva, to what do I owe the…?"

"Don't even start, Severus," she hissed at him, turning towards Harry. "Potter," she said. "Leave those cauldrons. You're done here. Go up and wait for me in my office."

"Minerva, he's in the middle of detent…"

"Go, Potter."

Harry turned on his heel, grabbed his bag, and flew out the door. He made it quickly to Professor McGonagall's office, perching himself on a chair in front of her desk, waiting for her to come back.

He had no earthly idea what was going on.

When she returned nearly fifteen minutes later, Professor McGonagall was red in the face and still looked furious. Harry shrank back slightly, worried she was going to yell at him.

She looked at him sharply. "Don't look at me like that, Potter," she snapped. "You're not in trouble."

At Harry's audible sigh of relief, Professor McGonagall let out a chuckle, sinking into her wingback chair. "I want to speak plainly to you, Potter," she said. "Professor Snape had no right to do what he did. I have restored Gryffindor's points and convinced him to give you the Outstanding you deserved on that assignment. If he ever baselessly accuses you of cheating again, you come to me, alright?"

Harry nodded.

"I'm afraid that I can't do anything about Professor Umbridge's detentions," she continued, looking apologetic. "I know that they are completely unfair. I'm terribly sorry, Potter."

"It's alright, Professor," Harry said, knowing that she didn't have enough power to interfere with Umbridge. The foul woman answered to no one but the Minister himself.

"It's not. I should be able to help you." She ran a hand over her hair, smoothing her bun. "Listen," she said, lowering her voice. "I know it's easy to feel powerless. But, Harry, you are not powerless."

Harry startled at her use of his first name.

"You're allowed to stand up for yourself," she said, looking him right in the eye. "I see you protecting other people all the time, but you never protect yourself. Please, Harry, if you need help, ask for it."

"I will, Professor," Harry promised, wishing he didn't have to lie.

"Good," she said, pulling a tin of shortbread biscuits from within her desk. "Now, take a shortbread and be off with you!"

Harry, still baffled by how that conversation had gone, took the offered biscuit and left the classroom.

As he walked to the library, he reflected on Professor McGonagall's words.

You are not powerless.

You're allowed to stand up for yourself.

She was right. Maybe he couldn't stop Umbridge from giving him those detentions, but there were other ways he could stand up for himself.

He was going to fight back, and he knew just the person to help him do it.

He headed straight for the library, searching for a familiar bushy head.

"Hermione," he hissed, quickly finding her among the stacks. "Can we go somewhere to talk?"

She looked up at him, a crease of concern appearing between her eyebrows. "Of course," she whispered back. "Just let me pack up. We can go onto the grounds."

Out on the grounds, away from prying ears, Hermione turned to him. "What's going on?"

Harry took a breath, steeling himself. "I want to fight back against the Ministry and against Umbridge."

"Oh, Harry!" she squealed. "I'm so glad! I've been thinking of ways to take them down for ages, but I didn't want to do anything before you were ready."

Harry laughed a bit. It was so typical of Hermione to already have plans. "What ideas do you have?" he asked.

She frowned, looking a bit nervous. "Well, most importantly, we need to get the public on your side. Right now, Fudge has completely suppressed the truth. Even those within the Ministry who don't agree with him are afraid to speak out because they'll face huge backlash and likely be fired."

Harry nodded. He'd expected that.

"But how do we do that?" he asked. "I mean, the Daily Prophet is hardly going to print my version of the story, are they?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, they won't. But they aren't the only newspaper in Wizarding Britain. We're going to use Magical Monthly." At Harry's confused look, Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "Honestly! They're only one of the most well-known wizarding newspapers! They're owned by the same company that produces Witch Weekly, and they publish really credible, well-researched articles. They have a similar readership to the Daily Prophet, they just come out much less frequently. That's probably why you've never seen one."

Harry thought for a moment. "That all sounds great, but how do we get them to print my story?"

Hermione blushed slightly. "I've got that covered."

"How?"

"Well, I've been writing to Viktor, and…"

"Krum?"

"Obviously," she said. "Anyway, he's been really upset by the way the media has been treating you. There's going to be a piece about him in the November issue of Magical Monthly, and he wants to talk about the Triwizard Tournament. He asked me if you wanted to join him for the interview. The editor already signed off. They know it'll make for a great story."

Harry just stared at her. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

She looked at him sadly, biting her lower lip. "I didn't think you were ready to talk about it."

She was right.

Even now, the thought of trying to explain what had happened that night made him want to hide.

Harry dug his nails into his palms, resisting the urge to refuse. "When would we do the interview?" he asked stiffly, pushing away the threatening panic.

"They were planning to meet us at the Three Broomsticks on the first Hogsmeade weekend at the end of September." She turned to look at him, taking one of his hands, gripping firmly. "You don't have to do it, Harry, but I really think you should." She took in a shaky breath. "We need people to know that V-Voldemort's back. Not just for you, but for all of us."

Harry was startled, knowing that Hermione had never used Voldemort's name before.

"I know," he whispered, squeezing her hand. "You're right."

He needed to do this interview, needed to be strong, needed to be brave.

He didn't have a choice.

They walked in silence for a moment, Harry struggling to regain control of himself. Once he felt more stable, he asked his next question, hoping Hermione wouldn't think his idea was stupid.

"Um, Hermione?" he started, twisting his hands together. "I think we need to make sure the other students know how to defend themselves. With Voldemort back, it's only a matter of time before they'll need to know basic defensive methods. Umbridge certainly isn't going to teach them that."

Hermione beamed at him. "That's an excellent idea, Harry. I was already thinking of forming a Defense club. There's only one condition I have: you have to teach it." Before he could protest, she continued. "Don't argue, Harry. You learned most of the Defense curriculum before the Third Task. You are far more advanced than anyone else. Plus, you have real-world experience that no one else has."

As Hermione continued to ramble about how their defense club would work, Harry could feel hope rising in him for the first time in months.

It was time to fight back.