Disclaimer: I own none of the recognizable characters. Just borrowing.

A/N: Please leave some reviews people. Just tell me whether you like it, love it, or hate it because I don't want to waste my time on this thing if it's no good. This is only my second fanfic so it would really help to have some input. Here's the first chapter.

The Book Man

Chapter 1

Blood dripped steadily across the back of my hand, staining the parchment that that woman was forcing me to write on everyday for a week. The ink being my own rather painfully given bodily fluids. I will not disrupt class with pointless opinions... over and over again. Today was Friday -- just a few more hours and I could go back to Gryffindor tower and sleep. Over the course of the week, my homework had managed to pile up quite a bit more than I had hoped and my grades were slipping, but now I would have the entire weekend for that. All I wanted now was rest.

I will not disrupt class with pointless opinions...

Back at Muggle Primary school, the teachers had always encouraged our input and questions, saying that they were always open to discussion. Not Umbridge.

It was the first time I had Defense Against the Dark Arts with her, when Harry was telling Umbridge off about Voldemort. (Yes, I say the name. I have never managed to see the point in that particular fear.) I had decided to stand up for Harry after she had sent him away and -- Wham! Here I am now, finally at the end of this hellish week, cutting open my hand with this cursed quill.

I chanced a glance at the silver watch on my wrist and inwardly groaned. It was 12:30 now and Filch still wasn't showing any signs that he was going to let me go anytime soon. Umbridge was busy with Potter, so I was stuck with the mad caretaker who just happened to have a vendetta against all students. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him still watching me, staring avidly at the open wound on my hand with the same nasty grin on his face as he had had when I started. Issues. That man had serious issues. I highly doubt that such an obsession with the torture of children was healthy, but I was not exactly in a position to say so.

I will not disrupt class... I will not disrupt class...

"He he," I ignored Filch's wheezy chuckle and tried to focus, but that was getting more difficult to do by the second. My head was swimming and I was having trouble suppressing the trembling in my limbs. Too much blood lost. I checked the time again, expecting hours to have gone by. 1:55 -- this was getting ridiculous.

As much as I detested the idea of asking for a reprieve, my head was starting to throb in rhythm with my hand and my thoughts were going fuzzy. "Mr. Filch? Er, I kind of have to go to bed at some point. It's getting late."

He narrowed his beady eyes at me and growled, "You'll go when I tell ya you can go, and not a moment sooner! Now get back to it!"

"But sir, I -- "

"Quiet! Or do you want me to get Professor Dumbledore in here?" 2:01. A waste of time indeed. I put the quill back to the bloody parchment and went on.

At 3 o'clock on the dot, I dropped the quill with a huff and swung the book bag onto my shoulders, trying to ignore the way little red and green spots invaded my vision and the thunderous pounding that had started in my head.

"What do you think yer doing?" Filch snapped at me, standing up behind his desk.

"I am going to Madam Pomfrey," I stated calmly. "If I don't stop this bleeding soon, I'll pass out." I stumbled my way out of the room and tried to slam the door behind me but given my weakened state, I doubt that it had the same effect. If I didn't play this out perfectly and convince Headmaster Dumbledore that I had had no choice but to leave, I knew that I would find myself on the school train home faster than Snape could say "50 points from Gryffindor."

If only I could find the bloody hospital wing! But every corridor blended in with the next and after only -- what? -- fifteen minutes of fumbling through the darkened hallways, I tripped over my own feet and fell. And I couldn't get up. The world spun dizzyingly around me and I clutched at the stones in the wall, trying to find purchase. A strange heat flickered against my slick palms as I tried to get my bearings.

"Miss Moody!" Oh, Professor McGonagall couldn't have come at a more perfect time. The scene I made sprawled across the floor, clinging to the walls a disheveled mess must look exceptionally dramatic and diar. "What has happened to you? You shouldn't be out of bed at this hour!"

"I was in detention... with Filch," I mumbled. I wasn't trying to do this, but the fact that I sounded utterly pathetic right then would certainly be helpful when I was trying to dodge expulsion.

"Can you stand? Good Lord! What's happened to your hand?" McGonagall had seen it -- and quite the sight it was! The entire back of my hand had become a bloody mess, appearing ten times worse than it actually felt, but maybe that was just because I couldn't see straight anymore or the fact that I could no longer control my legs beneath her or the blackness that swept over my brain like a lusciously soft blanket...