Chapter 17: Detention: Game…

"Ah, Harry Potter! Come in, come in!" said the Toad with glee. "Have a seat, why don't you?" she gestured with one hand towards the single table and chair that was set up in front of her massive desk.

Reluctantly shutting the door on Malfoy, who had stopped just out of sight, Harry suppressed a shiver as the sight of the innocent looking blood quill on the table brought back the memory of his previous detention with this woman. Clenching the edge of his robe's sleeves in his hands to hide their shaking, Harry crossed the room and stopped just short of the desk, not quite able to make himself take the proffered seat.

"Please, Mister Potter," Umbridge crooned dangerously. "Take your seat."

Frustrated at his inability to retaliate against this woman's cruelty, Harry did as he was told, picking up the quill without comment.

"Good," she chirped, her voice once again filled with sugary sweetness. "Lines again today, I'm afraid. The lesson doesn't seem to have sunk in quite like I had hoped." The Toad's eyes sparkled with maniacal delight. "Same as before; 'I must not tell lies.' You may begin."

Giving an almost inaudible sigh, Harry did as instructed, placing the quill to parchment, bracing himself as he felt the prick on the back of his hand. Clenching his teeth, he drew the quill along, the shape of the first letter etching itself into his skin.

ooOO00OOoo

Grumbling, Draco turned away from the door that had been shut in his face and walked with careful steps away from Potter. By the time he reached the door just down the hall, his nerves were strung tighter than a piano wire, and were just as likely to sing.

Twenty feet, that's how far he could go before the pain would wash over him. Had it been twenty feet yet? He turned to glance behind him, and saw the door to Umbridge's office a mere ten feet away. Shaking his head at his own nervousness, Draco squared his shoulders and knocked on the door.

"Come in!" called a cheery voice, and Draco did as he was bid.

Stepping through the door, Draco banged the back of his right hand against the door and felt a momentary twinge. Making a face, he rubbed the sore spot surreptitiously against his back and shut the door behind him with his foot.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," the small man across the room said with a happy grin. "Do come in. Have a seat." He waved energetically towards the single pathway carved between the mountains of books and papers stacked haphazardly about the room.

He began to talk as Draco made his way cautiously along, eyeing the stacks with mistrust. "How are you feeling? No ill effects from the spell? Dreadful business this is; never would have imagined the Weasley boy would do something so horrid. Yes, there you go, have a seat. Don't mind the mess, it's usually like this. Helps me think, if you'd believe it. There's method to my madness, though nobody else can see it, I'm afraid."

Still chattering on cheerfully, Professor Flitwick busied himself by making a pot of tea and setting the serving tray to hover in front of Draco at a polite distance.

Tuning out the nattering nanny, Draco turned his focus inward. Something was off. Going over himself with a fine-toothed comb, he was unable to find anything amiss. Hair? Perfect. Clothing? Immaculate. Sneer? (He curled his lip.) Functioning. Professor? (He listened to the mans words for a minute. "Minerva wanted me to actually give you detention, because you hit Mr. Weasley. But who am I to blame you for that? So, I told her no, and she…") Distracted. Then, what?

Rubbing the back of his right hand absently with his left, Draco pondered the situation for a minute longer, before his actions registered in his brain. Glancing down sharply at his hand, he was surprised to realize that it felt almost like someone was drawing on him softly, but with a sharp fingernail. It was a rather uncomfortable sensation. Without really thinking about it, he began to follow the path of the fingernail, tracing the lines with a finger. There was the beginning of the letter 'I', the middle line and bottom formed before the top bar was laid on like a cap, the sloppy curves of a lower case 'm', the empty bowl of a 'u', and the sinuous curves of the letter 's' followed by the rather sharp, cross-like form of a 't'. Following their path across his hand, Draco continued to decipher each letter as it was traced softly against his skin.

"I must not tell lies." He muttered quietly to himself when he'd reached the end. "Must be the lines Potter is writing." He gave an inaudible sigh when he felt the words begin again, looking up to find the Professor looking at him sharply.

"What is it, Mr. Malfoy?" for all the man's diminutive stature, he was blessed with an agile brain and keen eyesight that never missed anything in his classroom. Draco cursed himself for forgetting such an important fact; he couldn't afford such things, now that his mother and father weren't around to protect him.

"Nothing, Professor," Draco said, sliding his left hand around the rest it's palm against the back of his right, "please, continue."

"Oh, no. This just won't do. I can see that there's something on your mind, and it has do to with your hand. Normally, I'm all for leaving students to their own devices, but I'm afraid you've been placed in a rather sticky situation, and nobody really knows how this bond is going to affect you two. You in particular," he said, his eyes piercing Draco, "have much to worry about, as I'm sure you know. You shouldn't hide anything from us, in case it leads us to a previously un-thought of weakness in this spell. I'm not trying to pry, Mr. Malfoy, just help."

"I'm aware of that, Professor." Draco said, sitting slightly straighter in his chair, trying to ignore the pricking sensation in his hand. "There's nothing to tell. I'm afraid that's just an absent-minded habit I've picked up from another student. I'm ashamed to admit that I've been trying, rather unsuccessfully, to get rid of it for the last year, but I haven't had any luck."

"Ah, I see," Flitwick said with a smile. "My mistake. Sorry to pry, but you know how it is. Biscuit?"

ooOO00OOoo

Two hours later, Harry emerged from the Toad's office, shaking and sweating, cradling his right hand gingerly with his left. He moved off down the hallway a bit, before leaning against the wall and closing his eyes, taking deep deliberate breaths to try and release both the pain and his anger before either one got the best of him. When the worst of the shaking had subsided, he straightened up off the wall and opened his eyes to see an irate Malfoy standing in front of him, arms folded, foot taping out an impatient cadence upon the floor.

"What," he demanded, irritably, "was that all about?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy." Harry said, too tired to inject venom into his voice.

"No?" Malfoy spat, taking two giant steps foreword. He grabbed Harry's right hand and, in a violent gesture, shoved the sleeve of his robes up past his elbow. "Then what is this?" he snarled, dragging the back of Harry's hand up before his eyes where he could see the hated red letters already fading to white. "Nothing? 'Cause it sure as Merlin's balls looks like something to me."

"Leave off," Harry said tugging ineffectually, trying to release his hand from the other boy's iron grasp.

"No. I personally don't give one smelly thestral's ass about you, Potter, but when what you do hurts me," here Draco pushed back the sleeve of his own right hand and placed it next to Harry's, showing the replica of the lines on his hand, "then I find it unacceptable."

"What?" Harry said, alarmed, grabbing at the pale hand before him, and snatching it back into his view before it was removed completely. "It cut you, too?" Harry asked, turning Draco's hand back and forth. "I'm sorry, I didn't think that it would."

"How touching," Draco sneered in defense, exceedingly uncomfortable with the way Potter was holding his hand, "the Savior is worried about my health. Don't be," he continued, snatching his hand back and placing it in his pocket. "it didn't cut me, whatever 'it' is, I simply got a rug burn from the friction of something rubbing continuously against my skin. But," here he eyed Harry with a dangerous glint in his eye, "apparently 'it' cuts. Care to tell me what 'it' is?"

"Not particularly," Harry said, stepping around Malfoy and beginning to walk quickly away.

"Well, that's an unacceptable answer. Try, again," Draco took four giant steps towards the retreating Gryffindor and cut him off, his legs much longer than the pint-sized fifth year in front of him.

"No."

Draco raised one elegant eyebrow, "No?"

"You heard me," Harry folded his arms in front of himself in a gesture of defiance. "I said, no."

"Well, that's just too bloody bad. Because I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."

Harry sighed. "Get out of my way, Malfoy."

Draco gave a truly evil smirk, "no."

Realizing that he was being taunted, and just as quickly dismissing the fact, Harry merely rolled his eyes and stepped around the irascible Slytherin in front of him.

"Perhapss, you sshould tell your Mate what happened." Serin put in cautiously.

"No, Sserin, we've been through thiss! I'm not hiss 'mate' and I'm not telling anyone about what that Toad iss doing to me. Thiss iss a fight between the two of uss and I'm not going to let anyone elsse interfere." Harry said irritably as he stalked down the hallway.

"But…that is foolissh! You will not allow me to defend you, ass iss my right, and you will not defend yoursself. And now you won't even tell your Mate what iss wrong! Why?" Serin was almost whining, the confusion making his voice perhaps a touch sharper than he had intended when speaking to his Wizard.

"Becausse it'ss my fight, that'ss why! Jusst…sstop badgering me about it, would you?"

Taken aback, Serin did as requested and lapsed into a sullen silence, and Harry gave a sight of relief.

"You're doing it, again."

Harry promptly clenched his teeth together to keep from grinding them to a pulp. "Doing what?" he forced out between tight lips as he headed for the Quidditch pitch. He needed to run.

"Talking to yourself in parseltongue. Some people would think that you're trying to appear dark," Draco drawled from Harry's left, easily keeping up with Harry with his longer legs.

"I don't give a damn what other people think about me, Malfoy. And I don't give a damn what you think of me, either. Just stay out of my business, and I'll stay out of yours."

There was a short pause in which Harry thought that Draco had dropped the subject, then…

"Are we going to run?"

"Maybe," Harry said warily, slowing his almost run to a more sedate walk, "Why?"

"Because, I just want you to know that if we are going to run, you'll need my cooperation to hide it from Madam Pomfrey. And you aren't going to get that unless you tell me what happened." There was a definite smirk on Draco's face as he passed Harry up and continued on towards the Quidditch pitch. "What are you waiting for, Potter?" he called tauntingly over his shoulder, "the pitch is this way."

ooOO00OOoo

"Spill." Draco said, as he hovered on his broom over a sprawled Harry Potter. "I'm not helping you with Madam Pomfrey if you don't tell me what happened, right now."

"All right, all right. Just gimme a sec," Harry said from where he lay on his back on the night cool grass, catching his breath.

Staring up at the stars, Harry couldn't help but wonder how it came to be that here he was, having already shared the secret of his running with Malfoy, about to share another secret; the one of what his detentions with Umbridge were really like. He hadn't shared either one with Hermione who had become his best friend now that Ron had turned into such an utter prat. And yet, here he was, catching his breath while Malfoy hovered on a broom, his constant sneer suspiciously absent, as he gazed about the pitch with mysterious eyes.

"Ok," Harry said, sliding his hands up to cradle behind his head, his right thumb absently stroking Serin on the head. "Well, as you know, I've got detention with Umbridge for saying that Voldemort," here he paused, while Draco gave an involuntary shiver, "Voldemort," he said again for emphasis, "has returned and is alive, again."

"Yes, Potter, I know that already, move on," Draco said snidely. He didn't want to hear about what had happened in the graveyard that night. He'd seen the haunted look on Potters face when he spoke about it in Defense, and wasn't willing to share in the nightmare of the Dark Lord's rebirth. Others might be morbidly curious, but he'd had enough death and destruction over the past two days to last him a lifetime.

"Well," Harry said, unaware of Draco's thoughts, "I was given three detentions for my impertinence and I served the first one before we were…bound," he spat the word, disgust written over his features and overflowing his voice. "I didn't tell anyone what it was about, I see it as a competition between the two of us, and I won't let her win." Here he pinned Malfoy with a sharp stare, trying to say without words that the Slytherin was not to repeat what Harry was about to say. Too bad that Draco was staring off into the distance and was unable to appreciate the level five glare that Potter had just sent his way.

Harry sighed at the ineffectual threat. "Anyway, I showed up the first time and she grumbled something about my being late, even though I wasn't, and told me to sit in the chair. I was going to write lines." He screwed his face up in a snarl and continued, "I was to copy 'I must not tell lies' until my hand cramped, or the time was up. Either one was fine with her. So I picked up the quill she had provided, and, since there wasn't any ink around, I assumed that it was a self-inking kind. Well, was I right."

On his broom, Draco was beginning to have doubts as to how much he wanted to find out what was going on in the detention after all. Just with what he'd heard, he was able to deduce what the rest of the story was going to contain, but he was unable to stop Potter. It was like watching a Quidditch player get hit with two bludgers at once. Everyone sees it coming before hand, but nobody bothers to tell the poor sod, who usually gets knocked unconscious and falls off his broom, unaware of the fact that he could have been saved if someone had just opened their mouth. As Potter continued talking, he turned his head unwillingly and looked down at the boy speaking so frankly about his experience, seemingly reciting a tale that had happened years ago or to another person, not something that must have been painful, traumatic, and, oh yes, had happened two hours ago.

"I start by drawing the line of the letter 'I' because that's where the lines begin, and boy am I surprised to feel a cut on the back of my hand. I stop and look down, sure enough, there's this little cut running down my hand, and almost exactly like the one I'd just drawn on my paper. Shrugging it off, I draw the last two bits of the 'I' only to have it replicated on my skin. Surprise, surprise. This is indeed a self-inking quill; only it inks itself with the blood of the person writing. Now, I see how this could be useful if you're a Vampire and required to sign a contract of some sort with your own blood, but it's just a little ridiculous to ask a kid to write his lines in school with something like that. The Toad just thought it was funny. Said that she was hoping to 'make and impression'. Too bad the cuts heal up almost as soon as they are made, but at the end of two hours my hand was aching, even if you couldn't see anything. This time, the marks didn't fade as fast." He pulled his hand out from behind his head and studied the back of it in the moonlight. "They're gone now, but they might not disappear next time." He shrugged and slipped his hand back behind his head, tale complete.

"You're a fool."

"What?" Harry yelped, jumping to his feet, "You wanna say that to my face?"

Malfoy turned his head slowly towards Harry, hair glinting like spun starlight, while his gray eyes resembled nothing so much as the dark side of the moon. Harry took a small, involuntary step backwards.

"You're a fool."

"Oh please," Harry said, with an inelegant roll of his eyes. "Like you'd've done any different if our positions had been reversed."

"Damn right, I would have!" Draco exploded, his anger as violent as it was surprising. "Under no circumstances would I have sat there and allowed that woman to make me write lines in my own blood. I would have been kicking and screaming, making such a fuss that Merlin in his grave would have come back just to tell me to shut up! I would not have sat there and merely taken it like some low-bred mongrel off the streets! And to even go back a second time, knowing what she was going to do; just like a dog, crawling back to its master. You are a pathetic fuck, Potter, thinking that the use of a blood quill for lines is some sort of contest between you and a Professor. I don't know anything about Muggles, and thank Merlin for that, but in Pureblood society we call the use of a blood quill torture, if you even know what that means."

Instantly, Harry bristled, "Of course, I know what it means, you purebred piece of shit! And this isn't it! Voldemort held me under the Cruciatus curse last year. That is true torture. This," he held his right hand up and waved it around, "this is nothing, a scratch, an irritation at best. Absolutely nothing compares to the Cruciatus curse, and I'll be damned if I let you compare one to the other."

"You stupid—" Draco cut off his words, took a deep breath, and tried again. "The more you talk, the more certain I am that your mother's supposed intelligence did not pass down to you. My father used to say that she and Professor Snape were always fighting for the top spot with the grades, and that she was surprisingly intelligent for…"

"…for a Mudblood, you mean?" Harry spat.

"I was going to say 'female' but 'Mudblood' works just as well," Draco shrugged, a common gesture made elegant by his breeding. "You, apparently, didn't inherit any of either her looks or her intelligence. Seems all you got from her are your damn green eyes." Harry's eyes sparked, and Draco nodded in grim satisfaction that this time, he had Potter's attention. Now, he was listening. "While the Cruciatus curse is undoubtedly a torture curse, there are many different types of ways to torture a person, Potter, and just because one is more painful than the other does not negate the fact that they are both forms of torture. Now," he continued, bowling over any attempt of Potter's at using the opening he'd given him, "while I've already said I don't give a thestral's ass about you, I've also said that I care a great deal about myself, and I have absolutely no intention of allowing you to continue with this stupidity. You have two options," turning his head ever so slightly, he observed the intense scowl on the other boys face, and he grinned inwardly. Nothing was so satisfying as playing Potter like a harp, "you can either handle this your own way, using whatever idiotic Gryffindor plan you can concoct, or you can do nothing and I'll handle it my way. Either way, this foolishness stops right here. I will not be subjected to another one of your pity-parties while you sit and torture yourself, sure in the knowledge that somewhere, deep in your twisted little past you've done something horrible enough to deserve that." He made a sharp, angry gesture towards Potters hand, safely hidden in the folds of his robe.

"Now," he continued, dismounting his broom and sending it back to the safety of the Quidditch locker rooms with a flick of his wand, "we might as well head back. It's well past midnight now, and there's nothing we'll be able to say to Madam Pomfrey to avoid a scolding, but it'll be less then if we show up an hour from now." Turning smartly on the heel of his boot, he began to stalk off towards the Infirmary, hoping that Potter would simply follow him, instead of standing there. He'd hate to have his leash yanked so soon after he'd just managed a scathing put-down to Potter.

ooOO00OOoo

Following after Malfoy, Harry grumbled silently in his mind. Just who did Malfoy think he was, anyway? He'd never cared about Harry up until now, unless it was to poke Harry until he found a weak spot, and then to dig in. So, why all the anger and dramatics?

"I like your Mate. You sshould listen to him more often."

Harry groaned. "Not now Sserin. I'm really not in the mood."

"Well, that'ss too bad," Serin said with a sniff, "becausse you'll jusst have to lissten, anyway. Your Mate caress about you," Yeah, cares to bash my head in, Harry thought testily, even as Serin continued, "and he wantss to sstop the Toad from hurting you, ssame ass me."

"Sserin…" Harry pleaded ineffectually.

"And," the adder continued, unperturbed, "he can do thingss I can't. He'll protect you when you won't protect yoursself." There was a pause, then Serin said slyly, "didn't you ssay that you weren't going to let anyone walk all over you, ever again?"

"Well, yess." Harry said uncomfortably, knowing where the conversation was going, "but I don't ssee what---"

"Yess, you do," Serin said staunchly, "and you know that we're right. That'ss exactly what the Toad iss doing to you, and you're jusst lying there and letting her do it."

"But," Harry protested weakly.

"It'ss okay, Wizard-mine," Serin said comfortingly, thumping the tip of his tail against Harry's head in what, he assumed, was supposed to be a comforting pat. "that iss what I am here for, to help you ssee the ssilly thingss you do. All we have to do now iss lay here and let your Mate fix thingss," he said with satisfaction.

"Wait, I never ssaid--!" Harry began.

"It'ss okay," Serin insisted, patting Harry on the head again, "your Mate will make thingss better, don't worry. I know him, he ssmells like trust."

"He, what?" Harry asked, baffled.

"He ssmellss like trusst. Just like the One That Knowss."

"He ssmellss like trusst?" Harry repeated doubtfully.

"Yess," Serin said slowly, as if to a small child. "If a persson ssmellss like trusst, you can trusst them. If they ssmell like…" he paused, as he struggled to find a word, "not-trusst, then you can't trusst them, ssee?"

"Er, not really."

"That's okay, Wizard-mine." Serin said with a final pat before settling in for a nap. "That'ss what I'm here for."

ooOO00OOoo

Malfoy was, damn him, right, and the two boys spent the following day under Madam Pomfrey's sharp gaze as she kept them doing any number of awful jobs for her, none of which involved the remainder of the potions, but quite a few of which involved scrubbing innumerous strangely smelling spots off the ceiling with an old rag and nothing but elbow grease.

By the time dinner had rolled around, both boys were sweaty, tired, smelly, and very, very cross. Dragging their tired bodies up the hall, they had quickly showered and changed in the prefect's bath, taking advantage of the fact that no student would bathe during dinnertime.

Both Hermione and Blaise had stopped by to see their respective friend, and while Blaise spent the duration of his time in the Infirmary pleading with Draco to do him some unspecified favor, Hermione simply told them that she hadn't been able to find anything yet, but she was still looking. As far as she was concerned, there was a way out of this mess, if one looked hard enough. Any spell that could be woven by one person could be unwoven by another. She simply had to find the right pair of sheers.

Patting Harry on the shoulder encouragingly, and, giving Draco a sly smile, she had retreated soon after, claiming that she'd just had a lighting bolt strike her, and she must act on it, before the idea faded. Staring after her for a bit, Draco had said something scathing about Muggles and their strange sayings, but there was an undeniable undertone of longing that led Harry to the assumption that Draco just might have the hots for his bushy-haired friend.

Keeping such thoughts to himself, at least for the moment, the two of them had continued on their way until here they were, just out of the showers and scarfing down a light supper before heading over to Professor's offices for their detentions.

The walk to the offices was mercifully silent, but just before Harry raised his hand to knock, Malfoy reached out and grasped him by the wrist in a tight clasp. "Remember what I said, Potter. Either you do something, or I will." Ultimatum delivered, he released Harry's hand and walked off, slipping through the door ten feet down the hallway.

Giving a sigh and shaking his head, Harry brought his hand once more to the door and knocked smartly against the frame.

"Come in!" Called the sticky voice, just like before, and, just like before, Harry entered the room, closing the door with one foot and leaning against it momentarily before moving to stand by the desk, still unwilling to take a seat until instructed.

"Sit down, Mr. Potter." The molasses in her voice thick enough to smother a gnat, "I do believe that you know the drill by now? You have two hours, get writing. And if you haven't produced a sufficient length of writing in that span of time, I'll simply have to give you a fourth detention to encourage hard work. That's perfectly fair, wouldn't you say?"

Harry gritted his teeth, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Then I suggest you get started."

And Harry did just that.

ooOO00OOoo

Draco sat down with as much aplomb as he could muster, given the circumstances. It was hard to be graceful when all of the stacks of stuff around you were doing their own strange, slow dance. Looking up, he saw one stack that he swore used to be by the door, sail by and settle itself at his feet like a happy dog, even going so far as to wriggle a little bit in pleasure. To his left, the stack of papers with one lone red book in the middle that was parked next to Professor Flitwick's desk yesterday, seemed to be dancing romantically with a column of newspaper clippings, the two wound around each other lovingly; trading sheets of paper as they revolved slowly about. Glancing about him, Draco only saw more of the same, and he resolved to just not watch. Especially since there was a pair in the back corner that were shaking violently, and he was unsure if they were fighting or…humping.

Closing his eyes against the madness and locking his jaw, Draco brought his teacup (from the tea tray, which was the only thing that had remained the same in this mad room, even the desk had wandered off to play hopscotch with two stacks of research material.) to his lips, taking as large a sip as possible considering the tightness in his jaw.

Just where was Professor Flitwick anyway?

ooOO00OOoo

Lowering his teacup with a sigh of relief, Draco smiled a bit and looked across the room to the Professor, who was waving his wand about, a frown set firmly across his features. Chanting steadily under his breath, he deftly instructed each of the wandering piles to return to their original positions, save for the columns that had been dancing to Draco's left, and the ones in the back corner that had been…fighting. Those he lined up in front of him and, with two decisive flicks of his wand, separated them back out from where they had been trading…material. Patting one gently on the side as the four of them scurried to their proper places in the room, Professor Flitwick addressed Draco.

"Terribly sorry about that, old chap, but sometimes they get the wanderlust, you know? And since they know they can't leave the room, or they'll fall apart like so much melted butter, they make do with trading places. Normally they make sure that they reset themselves properly before a new day starts, but sometimes they get so absorbed that I must come in and set them to rights." Walking towards his detainee, he brought his wand up and banished the remains from his dinner last night before walking over to his fireplace. "I'd've been here sooner, except my students have the same problem, but haven't quite learned to handle it like I have, so every once in a while I have to go in and straighten things out. Consequently, I missed dinner and I'm famished, you wouldn't mind if I got a bite to eat would you?"

"Certainly, not," Draco replied, graciously.

"Ever so kind of you. I don't suppose you'd like some as well?"

"Some scones might be nice."

"Right-o."

When things had finally settled down, and the food had arrived, Draco took a moment to look down at his hand, and concentrate on what he was feeling. Sure enough, just as soon as his attention turned towards the bond, he could feel the soft scratching of the fingernail against his skin, this time sharper, and with a bit more pressure. Unsure if it was just his imagination, Draco brought his hand up to his face and peered at it, frowning when he observed very faint rivulets running through the skin, as if the nail had indeed scratched him, very shallowly.

"So help me, if he draws blood..." Draco threatened softly.

"Hmm? What was that?" Professor Flitwick looked up from where he was enjoying his meal with one hand, and flipping through the large pages of a tome in the other.

"Nothing in particular," Draco said, sliding his hand through his hair to hide its proximity to his face. "Just talking to myself."

"Ah." The Professor said before returning to his meal.

Five more minutes passed, in which the scratching didn't stop, but nor did it get worse, and Draco was beginning to believe that Potter wasn't going to say anything, he was simply going to allow the torture to continue, resolved as he was to simply 'grin and bear it', bloody Gryffindors. Then, a sharp prick on the back of his hand struck a nerve, and his fingers reflexively opened, dropping his cup, where it shattered upon the ground. Yelping painfully, he glared down on his hand only to see a drop of blood welling up in the middle of his hand.

"That's it." He announced to the room, and a startled Professor, "I've had enough." Standing to his feet, he fixed the cup with a casual flick of his wand and placed it back on the service tray. "I am sorry about this, Professor," he said with a disarming smile. "But I must go and save my stupid bond-mate. It seems like he's gotten himself in a bad spot."

"Indeed," Flitwick pursed his lips in thought. "Do you need my assistance?"

"No, sir. In fact, I think it best if you stayed here. I intend to return shortly with Potter in tow, greatly upset about something. I would be ever so grateful if you would harbor us at that time." He gave a small bow and winked solemnly.

"Hmm. Well, I certainly don't see any reason for you to continue this detention, you've learned your lesson I believe. You are free to go," Filius said, making shooing motions with his hands.

"Yes, sir," Turning smartly on his heel, Draco exited the room, softly patting the stack that had been wriggling at his feet on the way out.

ooOO00OOoo

Harry looked up at the sound of running feet in the hallway, but hastily continued writing when the Toad opened her mouth to say something else. That last comment had been a bit much, and he'd dug his quill into the paper, using the pain to distract him enough to he wouldn't say anything to make the situation worse. A few seconds later, there was a pounding at the door.

"Professor Umbridge! Professor Umbridge!" came a voice through the door right before the handle turned and the door opened. "Professor Umbridge," Draco said, sailing through the doorway before she even had a chance to step away from her desk, "you wouldn't believe what I just saw," he said stepping forward until he was even with Potter's desk. "There were two first years just down the hall, and wouldn't you know, they were…" he trailed off as he glanced to the side and saw Harry, anger surging all over again as he actually saw a blood quill at work.

"Merlin!" he cried, turning to look at the Toad, (Potter must have been rubbing off on him.) "Professor, that's a blood quill!"

"Hem, Hem," she demurred, stepping back and placing her desk between herself and the new Lord Malfoy.

"A blood quill! You are using a blood quill on Potter? Making him write lines with it?" he drew himself up, the Malfoy ring on his finger, and the eye on his tie flashing dangerously. "How dare you, a ministry appointed teacher, use something as horrible as a blood quill against your students. This is completely unacceptable behavior for a Professor, even if it is against Potter, and I will see to it that the other Governors hear about this. Come with me, Potter." He said in an imperious tone, and Harry didn't have it in him to disobey. "You'll serve the rest of your detention with Professor Flitwick."

Tossing his head with an authoritative flick, Draco gestured at the door and Harry hastily scrambled to his feet, pausing once on his way to the door. Looking over his shoulder he got a smile of childish delight on his face, and he opened his mouth to say something stupid.

Draco cuffed him.

"Come along, Potter. Don't be a dunce."

"Mr. Malfoy!" the Toad called from across the room, having finally recovered from where she'd been gobsmacked. "Now, just a minute, Mr. Malfoy, things aren't what they seem."

"That is Lord Malfoy, if you please, and exactly how is it not what it seems?" he summoned the quill and held it up before him, showing her the trademark tip that allowed the nib to easily slice through human flesh. "This is, without a doubt, a blood quill."

"Well, yes, it is," She admitted, cocking her head to the side, "but I had a very good reason for using such a horrible device!"

"Indeed. And what, pray tell, is that?" Draco scoffed.

"Potter wasn't listening to a word I said. He was continually disruptive and disrespectful in my class. He even went so far as to say outright lies about You-Know-Who and that he'd returned from the dead! I had to give him detention, it was the only way to get him to stop spouting such horrid things," she whined at him, glancing up at him through her lashes in an effort to look coy, that only made her look like a frog that had been squashed by a wheelbarrow.

"And so you made him write his lines with a blood quill? Hardly a punishment suitable to the crime."

"I didn't use it immediately!" she objected, wringing her hands anxiously, "In fact, he's only been using it for a few minutes, regular lines just weren't getting through to him, I needed to make an impression."

"An impression," Draco repeated doubtfully. "Potter, come here," he commanded, waving his hand imperiously at the other boy.

Potter, for his part, held a quick, hissed conversation with himself before walking over, a mutinous expression set on his face.

"Show me your hand." Lord Malfoy demanded, and Harry did just that. Grasping the other boy's hand in both of his own, turning it back and forth, feeling a flash of amusement at the reverse of rolls from last night. "This," he observed, peering closely at the flesh that had been knitted, but was still raised and puffy, angry red marks scoring the skin, "is not the work of a few minutes. This has been going on for hours. You, Madam," he said dropping Harry's hand and turning the force of his gaze against the woman, "are a liar. And I've had quite enough of you. You'll be getting a message from the Governor's in the morning, good day." Turning about, the Lord Malfoy grasped Harry Potter by the arm and steered them from the room, his face implacable.

ooOO00OOoo

Okay, okay, I'm not stupid. I know that these double contractions aren't exactly words in the English language, but so sue me, you say that shit too! And I plan on using them to my little hearts content, so if they really bother you, I suggest sticking your fingers in your eyes and singing 'la la la' till the urge fades.

Other then that, you guys are awesome. Tootles!