Author's Notes: Sorry folks, real life's been keeping me busy. Damn the ideal gas law and it's brethren, Charles' and Avogadro's laws of gases. No one cares about gases! Unless it's the kind that goes in my car, because I need some of that kind of gas, and why is it called gas anyways, when clearly it is propane, and not in a gaseous state at all? I love run-on sentences.

As always, thanks to Chibikat for beta-reading this for me, and to eliza for her amazing, always helpful constructive criticism.

Welcome to the FU fold, Allied-Inspiration!

Friday, 8 September

12:21 p.m.

I've just had a very quick lunch and now I'm in the library. I told Ron and Harry that I had to look up something for my Arithmancy independent study assignment, but really I just wanted a moment to myself. I most certainly could not have gone to my dormitory; Parvati seems to have caught on that this book is a diary – journal – of some sort and she keeps asking me funny questions about it every time I take it out. Lavender still isn't speaking to me. Consequently, it's been a very peaceful week in the girls' dormitory.

I got mail from Viktor, and also from my parents this morning. Viktor said he was really sorry that I'm having a crummy first week of school, and his mother sent me some helpful hints on how to magically knit, which was very thoughtful. Mum and Dad said they're sorry that my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is a "horrible, rotten old hag" but that I shouldn't call people that and they're sure she's not that bad. Fat lot they know. Oh, and this part was priceless:

Mrs. Crick is finally acting more like her old self, although that gentleman's spell still seems to have left some rather…peculiar after-effects. For example, she seems to have completely forgotten about you, Hermione. She looked downright puzzled last time we mentioned you, and inquired if we've always had a daughter.

I am going to have an excellent summer.

Harry came down for breakfast this morning, checked the Head Table as always and looked crestfallen at Hagrid's absence, then mumbled hello, grabbed a piece of toast, and ran off to finish those questions Professor Sprout gave us for homework before Herbology. I shook my head after him and made a disapproving noise, then turned back to Ron, who was pouring honey into his goblet.

"Ron, are you quite all right?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

Ron gave a little jerk at the sound of his name then looked down to see what he was doing. He sighed, pushed his goblet of honey aside, then heaped some eggs onto his plate and stared at them. He checked his watch and sighed again.

"Aren't you going to eat?" I tried.

"Not hungry," Ron muttered, tapping his fingers on the table.

I arched an eyebrow. "Are you ill?"

Ron shifted in his seat, checked his watch again, and then started bouncing his right leg up and down. When he didn't answer me, I kicked him under the table.

"Ow!"

"Ron, what's wrong?" I demanded.

He chewed his lip then sighed. "Don't laugh."

"I won't," I promised.

"Well…tryouts for Gryffindor Keeper are tonight…you know, Keeper…the one who guards the - "

"I know who the Keeper is, Ron," I said impatiently. "So you're going to try out, then?"

"I know, it's a horrible idea and I don't have any talent anyways, I'm not going to go - " Ron said in a rush.

"Don't be silly, of course you should go!" I exclaimed.

Ron blinked. "You think so?" He suddenly frowned and stared at the floor. "Never mind, it's not like I stand a chance so why bother trying - "

"Nonsense! You'll never know unless you try!" I said encouragingly. "Besides, Ginny said you're quite good."

Ron brightened. "Yeah?" He suddenly frowned again. "Yeah, but what's Ginny know…"

"Quite a lot, actually. She said your brothers always had you Keep for them when you played at home."

"Well…that is true," Ron said with a hint of pride. "When did Ginny tell you all this?"

I sighed. "In case you haven't noticed, Ron, Ginny and I often talk. It's called conversation, perhaps you've heard of it?"

Ron rolled his eyes at me, but he looked somewhat happier and actually picked up his fork. "Well, I have been practicing every night this week," he muttered, ears turning red. "Mind you, I'm still rubbish, but…"

"You'll do fine. And Harry will be there to cheer you on - "

Ron suddenly slammed down his fork, looking grave. "No he won't. He has detention."

"Oh no, that's right, I'd forgotten - "

"Hermione," said Ron, who was suddenly looking sick again. "She's not just giving him lines."

"What? But Harry - "

"Have you ever heard of a Scar Quill?" Ron asked, looking disgusted.

Comprehension slowly dawned on me. "She's not…she wouldn't…" I said slowly, horrified.

"I saw it on the back of his hand last night," Ron said in a strangled voice. "It was cut into his hand and all…bloody…" He made a face of disgust and shook his head.

"What did it say?" I managed to ask, sickened.

"I must not tell lies."

"That evil, evil woman," I whispered, revolted. "That disgusting, despicable…she can't possibly…it's against school rules, I know it is…she can't get away with inflicting physical harm on a student!" I slammed down my fork. "Harry has to go to Dumbledore, she can't get away with this!"

"He doesn't want to go to Dumbledore," Ron said wearily.

"McGonagall, then!"

"Hermione, you know Harry," Ron sighed. "He thinks it's his own private battle with Umbridge…if he complains, then she wins."

"There must be a rule against it, though," I said firmly.

"Well, look for one if you want, but I don't think it'll make a difference to Harry," Ron said. He shifted uncomfortably. "Don't…don't make a big deal about it though, all right? I don't think he wants people to know…"

"Not even me?" I asked, hurt that Harry would confide only in Ron.

"He probably wasn't going to tell me either," Ron replied hastily. "I just happened to notice it last night and I knew what it was right away…"

I picked up my fork, feeling slightly mollified, then frowned at my breakfast and put my fork down again. "Oh, it's no good…we have ten minutes before Herbology starts, I'm going to the library to look it up right now. It has to be against the rules!"

It's not.

It's ridiculous; they have the most specific rules against the most specific things. Students cannot be punished by being forced to walk on the ceilings upside down for a day…by being hung by their thumbs in the dungeons…by being transfigured into animals, insects, or inanimate objects (I had to wonder if that was added after the ferret incident in fourth year or if it was always there). But there was nothing about Scar Quills. It's a serious oversight in the rules, in my opinion, especially since Scar Quills were a popular form of punishment for students in the late nineteenth century…but of course, that can't possibly be acceptable today. I'd go to the headmaster if Harry wouldn't kill me for it.

Well, at least tonight's his last night of detentions.

True to my word, I didn't make a big deal about it to Harry. I didn't even tell him that Ron had said anything to me. At the end of Herbology, when Harry took off his gloves, I pretended to notice it and grabbed his hand to look at it. It had healed a lot since Ron saw it (wounds from Scar Quills heal fairly quickly, although the time it takes to heal lengthens with every time you use the quill), but you could still make out the words, shiny and pink on the back of his hand. I just gave him a pained look and then silently released his hand. Harry didn't say anything.

I had better go, lunch hour's almost over and Madam Pince is giving me queer looks, probably because this is my second visit to the library in one morning. Honestly, you'd think she'd be used to me by now.

11:02 p.m.

I'm so exhausted but I had to quickly write down what Harry just told me. Oh, first thing's first – Ron made Keeper, despite his doubts and self-depreciation. He came bursting into the common room a little after eight o'clock, followed by the rest of the team and a few other hopefuls who shot Ron dark looks and then stalked off to their dormitories.

Ron looked around wildly, spotted me (I had just sat down after putting out a few more elf hats for the night), then let out a great whoop and yanked me out of my armchair.

"I did it, Hermione! I'm Keeper!" he shouted joyously, doing a little dance for joy. I tried not to laugh at his little dance for joy.

"Well done, Ron!" I exclaimed. "See, and you weren't even going to try out!"

"Yes, little bro, welcome to the ranks of the finest Quidditch team on earth," said George, slapping Ron on the back.

"Assuming, of course, that you get through initiation first," Fred said solemnly.

The huge grin on Ron's face disappeared for a moment, and he looked at the twins, puzzled. "What?"

"There are certain rituals - " began Fred.

"Rites of passage, if you will," added George.

" – that one must undergo before becoming a member of Hogwarts' most distinguished Quidditch team," Fred finished.

"Now, Ron," said George. "Just how many acid pops are you willing to eat to be on the Gryffindor Quidditch team?"

"What?!" said Ron, alarmed.

"You have to at least beat Katie's score of thirty-two to get in," said Fred seriously.

"Don't listen to them, Ron, they're pulling your leg," called Katie from the other side of the room.

"Alas! Foiled again," George said wistfully.

"Ah, well. Come, George. This grand achievement of dear Ronniekins' must be celebrated," Fred proclaimed. He and George left through the portrait hole only to re-appear half an hour later with Butterbeer for everyone. I had half a mind to lecture them (doubtless they broke about a hundred school rules in the process of obtaining said Butterbeer), but Ron looked so happy that I let it go. This time.

While Ron was excitedly relating to Ginny the finer details of his tryout, I sunk back into my armchair (with a mug of the illegally-obtained Butterbeer, I am ashamed to admit) and had just made up my mind to start knitting a few more hats (so I wouldn't have to stay up til one o'clock in the morning knitting furiously like last night) when a thought occurred to me. I really am happy for Ron, but now both he and Harry are going to have Quidditch practices all the time…and well, it's always been Ron and I cheering Harry on in the stands at games. Now that he's on the team too…it's silly, I know, but I couldn't help thinking about it, and I think that's when I dozed off.

I woke up a little while later at the sound of someone dropping their bag next to me. I looked up to see Harry. Embarrassed to be caught dozing, I explained that I was up late last night making hats, since they're disappearing really quickly now.

"Great," said Harry rather breathlessly. "Listen, I was just up in Umbridge's office and she touched my arm and my scar started hurting like mad. Then I felt this really queer feeling in my stomach. So I jumped away from her, then she said I could go so I left as fast as I could." He said all of this very fast, and then looked at me expectantly.

"You're worried You-Know-Who's controlling her like he controlled Quirrel?" I asked slowly.

"Well, it's a possibility, isn't it?" said Harry in a low voice.

Personally, I didn't think that was very likely. Voldemort has his own body now, why would he need Umbridge's? I suppose he could have Umbridge under the Imperius Curse, but I get the impression that she is acting completely of her own accord. Then again, trained Aurors have trouble identifying someone under Imperius…but as I told Harry, it may have just been coincidence that his scar hurt when Umbridge touched him. After all, last year it hurt when no one at all was around; I recall Dumbledore saying something about it having to do with Voldemort's emotions at the time. He has to talk to the headmaster, even if he doesn't mention the Scar Quill. He has to tell him about his scar hurting, it could be important!

"Harry," I tried, "I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurt."

"I'm not bothering him with this," Harry said stubbornly. "Like you said, it's not a big deal."

Obviously you think it is a big deal, Harry, or else you wouldn't have come running into the common room to tell someone about it. However, snapping at Harry doesn't usually work with him, so instead I just said, "Harry, I'm sure Dumbledore would want to be bothered by this - "

"Yeah," said Harry bitterly. "That's the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn't it? My scar."

"Don't say that, it's not true!"

Harry said that he might write to Sirius about it instead, but I do hope he's careful if he's going to do something like that; Mad-Eye warned us about what we should put in letters, and with Umbridge around I think we have to be even more careful. If she or anyone else from the Ministry finds out where Sirius is hiding …

Harry promptly became irritable and announced that he was going to bed. Relieved that I could leave too without being rude, I went up to my own dormitory. Lavender and Parvati are still down in the common room, but I'm practically falling asleep and my writing's illegible. Ugh, I ramble far too much; I was supposed to write about Harry's scar and then get some sleep but then I went off on a tangent about Ron and the twins…I have to learn to focus.

But now I have to sleep. I'll learn to focus later.