A/N: So sorry about the lack of updating. I got kinda busy, but I will try next week. It hopefully won't happen, but spring break is nearing so I can get some writing done.


The day went as Harry expected. He woke up from a nightmare, getting hardly got any sleep, Ron and Hermione fought about S.P.E.W., classes poured even more homework on the three of them although Professor McGonagal was slightly more kind than others, but still had expectations, Harry nearly had 3 panic attacks, and now he was headed to his detention after getting yelled at Angelina for not being at the Quidditch Keeper tryouts.

The DADA office had changed much in the past years. First, Lockheart had it decorated with posters of himself and other narcissistic things. Second, Lupin filled the office with many Dark creatures and would see a new one almost every day. Lastly, when Moody had an imposter, it was filled with hundreds of instruments for detecting any wrongdoing and concealment. Now, it looked nothing like any of which Harry had seen. The office was draped in lace cloths and several vases filled with pastel pink flowers.

Taking a seat at the desk, Professor Umbridge looked up and greeted Harry in her disgustingly sweet tone.

"You will be writing some lines for me, Mr. Potter. Not with your own quill, the one on the table over there." she said as Harry began to get out his own quill and ink.

"You will write, I must not tell lies, for your attention seeking behavior."

Harry sat down with great care not to glare at her for the comment and noticed there was no ink. He was about to ask Professor Umbridge about it when she said, "You will not be needing ink."

Harry took one more glance at the quill. It was long, thin, black, and had a very sharp tip. His anxiety began to rise. Why was she giving him an odd looking quill? What was her plan?

A small cough came from Umbridge. She was sitting at her desk behind a stack of parchment.

"Is there an issue?" she asked.

"No," Harry answered, placing the quill on the parchment.

He wrote: I must not tell lies.

A sharp pain seared ran through his hand. The words were written in shiny, crimson ink. Harry looked at his hand.

There were the words. Sliced into the back of his hand. It quickly healed over, but it was slightly redder and just as soft as before.

He looked up.

Umbridge had a large, disgusting, toad-like smile on her face.

"Yes?" she asked

"Nothing," he mumbled. Looking back down at the red ink, he could only imagine what was to come within the next few detentions.

Harry wrote 'I must not tell lies' again and again. The pain grew stronger with every letter and with each time he wrote it, the same words were sliced into the back of his hand, healing over quickly.

Mindlessly, he continued writing in what seemed like hours after the sun had set. Not wanting to anger Umbridge any more than what he had done, he had not once asked if he was done. Until finally she called him up.

"Hand," she said calmly.

Harry reluctantly extended his sore hand. It was shaking, only a small amount, from the pain of having words cut into his skin and sore from writing for hours on end.

She took his hand into her fat, stubby fingers, and examined his hand. The back of Harry's hand was raw and red.

"Tut, tut, I guess the message has not sunk in quite yet, now has it? I guess you will have to come again tomorrow evening then? You may go," she said.

Harry grabbed his things as quickly as possible without seeming rude and forced himself to not run immediately away. As soon as he reached the end of the corridor he ran as quickly as he could away from her office.

When finally stopped, he noticed how deserted the halls were. Without thinking, he found a bench where he could hide under. He was panting hard and his chest was tight.

Harry could feel something watching him even as he was completely away from anyone's view. The eyes were evil, vicious things. He curled up even tighter and wrapped his arms around his legs, trying to get away from them. He didn't even realise that he was crying until a small whimper came out.

Burying his head into his arms, he attempted to get his anxiety under control, but remembering all the homework he had made it worse than what it had originally been. None of the long list of things were done. His essays, practicing spells, the dream thing for Divination, nothing.

After about another hour, he decided that he should get back to the dorms. Ron was probably waiting for him to get back.

Harry glanced at his raw right hand. There was a faint trace of the writing.

It could scar, he thought. How could he hide this from Ron and Hermione? The first few detentions would be easy to hide, but in the long run, they would eventually notice.

Putting the thought aside, he swiftly made his way to the Gryffindor dorms. When he arrived, Ron was passed out on his bed. He had small eyebags signifying that he had attempted to stay up waiting for him.

Harry glanced out the window. The sun was rising, yet he could not calm himself enough to try and get in at least a few hours of sleep in. Laying on his bed, he could still feel those eyes. Those eyes were unrelenting and forced him to stay still. Even when his body began to grow sore from the same position, he remained still. Hardly breathing, he kept still until he heard Ron shuffle around in his bed.

The sun was now shining brightly over the mountains. Harry took a deep breath and got out of bed. He dressed, but told Ron to go eat breakfast without him, despite the nagging pain in his stomach.

The eyes had relaxed enough so that Harry could concentrate on getting a few things done for his classes. Soon, it was time for their classes to begin and he made his way to the door or the dorm to begin another horrible, no good, very bad day.


A/N: Comments, criticism, and ideas are welcome. :)