Chapter 5

Promptly at six that evening, I knocked on the door of Umbridge's office.

"Come in," said a sickly sweet voice.

I opened the door and went in, and became immediately revolted by the site of her office. I would admit with no qualms that though I was a witch, I was not a cat person. Actually, I believed even cat lovers would have been turned off by this office. I had never seen so many prissy cat ornaments in my life. Or so much pink florally stuff. The woman was nuts.

"Hello dear," Umbridge said, fixing me with a smile. She put down her quill and looked at me expectantly, as if waiting for me to say why I was there. Had I come at the right time? She had said six, hadn't she?

"Er…I'm here for detention, Professor," I said awkwardly.

"Ah yes…Miss Kemp, isn't it? Now, tell me why you received detention?" Her tone sounded like she really didn't know. Yep, the old bag was going to draw this out and make it painful.

"I had a newsletter in my bag," I said quietly.

"That's right." Umbridge smiled again. "And have you realised your mistake, dear?"

"Yes, Professor." No, you raving nitwit. I had made a mistake in the first place!

"I am pleased then. Now just as a little…reminder, I would like you to write lines for me."

"I didn't bring my quill, Professor."

"Oh I never intended to have you use your own quill, Miss Kemp," she said, with a girlish laugh. she stood up and motioned the table in front of her desk. "I have a very special one that I would like you to use."

"Oh…alright," I said, staring at the quill. A special quill? A quill was a quill.

"Sit down, dear, you will be here for awhile. Now on this piece of parchment, and all the other parchment I have here, you will write I will not break school rules. You won't need ink. You may begin."

I took the quill and began to write. I let out a small yelp of surprise. As soon as I had begun, a sharp pain shot through my hand. The red ink was glistening on the page. I noticed a cut in the back of my hand in the same shape as the letter I has started to write. I looked up at Umbridge. She either had not noticed or pretended not to, and was busy marking an essay.

I started to write again and felt the same pain searing in my hand. Gradually the words I will not break school rules formed on my hand. The writing on the parchment, I came to realise, was not red ink, but my own blood. The woman was sick.

I had gone through four sheets of parchment before Umbridge asked to see my hand. She declared the words to still be quite faint, but with more detentions to come, she would soon declare herself satisfied. Personally, I begged to differ. The words etched into my hand were as clear as the light of day. But I knew not to say so.

o

All the detentions with Umbridge that week continued in much the same fashion and by Friday the back of my left hand was red raw. My hand was throbbing so much it hurt to use it for simple things like holding a fork. I just hoped I would manage to brew that potion for Snape. Somehow, I didn't think a sore hand would be a good excuse for ruining another potion.

On Friday evening, Umbridge let me go a couple of minutes before seven and I had to run to the dungeons to avoid being late. I shouldn't have bothered. I arrived two minutes late, which in Snape's book was as bad as being twenty minutes late.

"You're late, Miss Kemp," he snapped irritably, looking up from his desk. "I have much better things to do with my time than wait for you to show up." That greasy bat. What would he have to do on a Friday night?

"Sorry," I muttered, wincing as the pain in my hand reminded me of its presence. I collected my ingredients and sat down at my desk, avoiding Snape's gaze.

I set to work, preparing the vast amount of ingredients. It was a difficult job to shred, dice, and skin with a throbbing left hand. I tried not to show that I was in pain, but it constantly felt like a million knives were stabbing my hand. At one stage, the pain became so bad that I gasped and the scalpel sliced into a finger on my right hand.

Thank Merlin, Snape hadn't looked up. I tried to stop the blood with a tissue I found in my pocket, but the blood just kept oozing out.

"Miss Kemp, I do not believe Fifth Year Ravenclaw blood was listed as an ingredient for a Transparency potion." I tried not to jump as I realised that Snape was right next to me. How did the man move so silently? He was staring down at me, his expression unfathomable. "Are you trying to be innovative in your potion making, or were you just being careless?"

"Just being careless, sir," I murmured, meeting his eye.

I didn't care if he saw the cut on my right finger, just as long as he didn't notice the whole sentence on the back of my left hand. He'd probably sneer at my stupidity for having landed so many detentions with Umbridge.

He shook his head. "Keep that tissue around your finger until I get a potion for it." With that he swept away towards his private stores. I would rather have gone to the hospital wing than have him touch my finger, but who was I to argue with the Great Lord and Master?

He returned carrying two small jars, which he placed on the desk adjacent to me.

"Hand," he said shortly. Obediently, I put out my right hand. Taking the tissue away, he examined the cut for a moment before pouring a couple of drops of potion on it. I gritted my teeth as the sting ran through my finger. He swiftly covered it with a small dressing and turned back to the desk.

"Thank you," I said quietly, not feeling optimistic about brewing the potion.

Snape didn't respond. Instead he opened the another jar. "Now your other hand," he said, looking at me expectantly.

I was truly confused. I hadn't shown him my other hand. In fact, I had gone to great lengths to hide it from him.

"I didn't cut my other hand, sir," I said, trying to keep my voice even.

He looked at me closely, his dark eyes boring into mine. "I asked you for your other hand, Miss Kemp."

I didn't know what else to do, so I showed him my left hand. Snape examined it with an expression of indifference.

"How did you know it was there?" I asked quietly.

He didn't answer at first. Instead he chose to assess how deep the cuts were. Finally, he spoke, his gaze remaining on my hand.

"I had heard in the staffroom that you had detention with Dolores Umbridge. I know what goes on in her detentions as a couple of Slytherins have been to them and have shown me the result. I didn't expect your detentions with her to be any different." He looked up at me. "I trust you have completed your final detention with her?"

I frowned. "Yes, sir."

He nodded. "Good. Let it remain that way."

At my puzzled look, he scowled at me. "I couldn't heal it if you had another detention, Miss Kemp. Umbridge mustn't suspect that students have sought help."

I still felt bewildered, but said nothing. Since when did Snape help anyone?

I watched as he soaked a piece of cloth with the substance from the jar. "Now, this will sting," he said quietly, "but the Murtlap Essence will prevent it from scarring."

I didn't want to appear weak, so I held my breath instead of gasping when I felt the potion touch my skin.

"I could have gone to the hospital wing instead of troubling you," I said.

"Yes, you could have," he said indifferently, "but Madam Pomfrey is being forced by Dolores Umbridge, all privacy acts aside, to account for every student she sees, no matter how small the injury. She would undoubtedly give you more than detention if she found out that you sought medical attention for an injury you sustained whilst in her detention."

He finally looked up and met my gaze, his eyes slightly narrowed. "It is between us that Professor Dumbledore has asked me to help students coming out from Umbridge's detentions. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," I answered, nodding. "Thank you."

"And I would advise against antagonising that woman further," he said smoothly, soaking a piece of dressing in Murtlap Essence before placing it on my hand.

"I didn't antagonise her to start with," I said crossly.

Snape paused and raised an eyebrow at me, his expression dangerous.

"Sir," I said, flushing.

He narrowed his eyes as he returned to his task, wrapping a thin bandage around my hand to keep the dressing in place.

"It's not like you to receive that many detentions in the first place, Miss Kemp," he went on. "I would keep your head down and away from Umbridge's notice if you wish to avoid further injury."

As Snape finished bandaging my hand, his fingers knocked against my bracelet, just visible under the sleeve of my robes. Suddenly, his grasp on my hand became stronger.

His face was locked in an expression of surprise for a moment, before being replaced with a hard look. I followed his gaze to the bracelet. We sat there in silence as he stared at it. Finally, he spoke, his eyes still fixed upon it.

"How long have you had that bracelet?"

"I don't know," I replied, watching him warily. "It has been there for as long as I can remember. I can't get it off."

"Of course you can't," he muttered, more to himself than to me.

Now it was my turn to be surprised. I looked up at him. "Sir?"

He didn't answer me. He reached out and touched the emerald locket, and I immediately felt a rush of warmth through my body. I jumped, looking back at him.

The unnerved expression on Snape's face told me he had felt it too and he let go quickly. The warmth vanished instantly.

It was terribly unsettling. That had never happened when Merle had touched it. Or Lisa. Or Terry. Or Dumbledore.

Snape continued to stare at the bracelet, his expression calculating. He suddenly looked at me, his black eyes fixed on mine.

"What was that, sir?" I asked, trying to keep the tremor I was feeling out of my voice.

He shook his head, looking away. "You may go, Miss Kemp," was all he said. He picked up his potions to put away.

"But I haven't finished my potion, sir." I looked down at my desk, covered with prepared ingredients.

"Are you daft?" he snapped. "I told you to go! You are dismissed!"

I picked up my bag and left as speedily as I could. I ran all the way back to the common and stopped for breath at the entrance. What had just happened? I knew Snape had felt the strange, but somehow comforting feeling too. Whatever it was, he had not seemed to like it.

And I was not sure I had either.