Harry and George made their way up to the castle, breathing like trolls but not saying a word to each other.
All Harry could think about was Malfoy's bloody nose and bruised lip, and it made a cool ball of grim satisfaction swell inside him. Of course coupled with that was his realization that he had just royally screwed himself, and the team…and Angelina…
He prayed that Umbridge wasn't going to retract her agreement to allow them to play, and as they made their way down the hall towards McGonagall's office, his anger settled enough to really begin worrying about his fate.
McGonagall was hurrying along behind them before they even reached her door, taking the scarlet cloak from around her shoulders viciously and jabbing a finger at her door. "IN!" she commanded, and they hurried into the office at her urging. Harry watched her angrily toss the cloak aside into a chair and she whirled around to face them from behind her desk, her eyes ablaze with vehemence. "Explain yourselves!" she snapped, causing George to flinch despite his surly demeanor. "To attack that boy, two on one like that! I have never heard of such disgraceful behavior!"
"Malfoy provoked us," Harry gritted his teeth, feeling the anger from the fight threatening to rise up again.
"Provoked you?" McGonagall slammed her fist onto her desk, causing her biscuit tin to clatter to the floor and burst open. She stepped around, her boots crushing the Ginger Newts mercilessly, and loomed over the boys. "What could he have said that would cause you to behave so-?"
"He insulted my family and Harry's mother!" George shouted back, causing both Harry and the Professor to look at him in disbelief at his nerve. "He said some really messed up stuff, and he's lucky I didn't-!"
"Silence!" she erupted right back. George snarled in protest, but got quiet and remained so. McGonagall took a deep breathe and let it out, pressing her fingers to her temples as if she were fighting off an exploding headache. The boys waited. After a moment of quiet, she spoke again, this time without shouting but still managing to include every bit of menace she'd held before. "Your behavior, no matter what provocation Draco Malfoy offered, was appalling. Throwing your fists around like a pair of uncivilized Muggles-!" Harry flinched. "-is not the answer to any conflict, ever! I thought I'd made myself clear earlier! Do you realize what you've-?"
"Ahem."
Harry's insides grew cold and he, along with George, turned around to face Delores Umbridge, who was standing at the door to the office smiling in that revoltingly sweet way. That smile was a sure sign for Harry that immanent doom was upon them. Minerva narrowed her eyes to mere slits as she regarded the fellow teacher with thinly-masked contempt.
"Yes, Delores?"
"May I offer some help, Minerva?"
"Help? What do you mean 'help?' " She said the word as if it was foreign to her, and Harry wanted desperately for his Head of House to throw that loathsome bitch out of her office. But she only crossed her arms and watched the other woman impatiently as she stepped into the room; that smile was still dripping with poisonous honey.
"I thought you could use the extra authority," the unpleasant woman simpered. "And after all, I did witness the attack."
If it were at all possible, Harry thought Professor McGonagall's nostrils would spit fire. He was waiting for the victory to come; waiting for her to send Umbridge packing, and thought that it was going to happen, too, judging from the look of pure scandal that had settled itself forcibly upon his professor's face.
"Well you thought wrong, Delores." She turned and glared at Harry and George, not skipping a beat, and began to yell at them again as if the other teacher had not interrupted them at all. "You two are in a world of trouble. Your behavior today was disgusting. You had better believe the Headmaster will hear about this, and I'm giving you a week's worth of detention and you had better not so much as glance in Malfoy's direction, or I'll-!"
"Ahem…"
Harry would risk any manner of punishment in order to reach down Umbridge's throat and unclog it with his bare hand. McGonagall looked as if she felt the same, and closing her eyes for the briefest moment, she turned to the other teacher again.
"Yes?"
"Detention, Minerva?" Umbridge chirped as if Professor McGonagall had made an ironic joke. "I think they deserve rather more than that."
"Well I'm afraid it isn't up to you, Delores. You see, I am their Head of House, and I will be handing out their punishment."
"Well, actually, I think it is up to me. Now where is it? Cornelius and I just drew it up this morning…" she tittered absurdly and shook her head, searching through her handbag. "I mean…the Minister and I…" Harry's throat closed. He could feel with each passing second that something awful was about to spring forth from that handbag. He watched Umbridge produce a roll of parchment and unroll it, her nauseating voice ringing in his ears. "Ah, here it is. Yes it was you who inspired me to amend the last decree, Minerva—your adamant disagreement with my decision not to allow this team to reform. Why, I couldn't understand why you would go over my head to Headmaster Dumbledore or why you could not see what I saw—what has clearly been demonstrated this morning…"
She went on but Harry felt that white noise effect coming upon him again, and he stood there, pale and shaking with dread, as Umbridge read out the Minster's signed decree, stating that the High Inquisitor was to have final authority in all punishment or removal of privileges from students, not to be contradicted by teachers for any reason. With a satisfied little sigh, she rolled the parchment up again and placed it lovingly back into her handbag before blinking over at the lot of them.
"Now, as you can surely understand, these two boys—and this one's twin, also, I think…yes if he hadn't been restrained I'm certain he would have attacked poor Malfoy as well—deserve a great deal more than a week's detention." McGonagall was silent; her fists were clenched at her sides, her jaw locked in stunned outrage. "Yes, I think I shall have to ban these two, and his brother, from playing Quidditch ever again while they remain at Hogwarts."
Harry's eyesight was attacked by white-hot anger, and he felt as if he would faint. "Ban us? From playing?" he whispered weakly, almost to himself. "Ever again?"
"That's right, Mister Potter. And I'll be confiscating your brooms as well. I've a safe place for them in my office."
Harry struggled to keep up with what she was saying, but it was as if everything was moving in slow motion. He heard her say that he, Fred, and George were not to play Quidditch again for the entirety of the rest of their years at Hogwarts, and then she uttered "brooms…my office…confiscate…" It didn't make sense how someone could be so unquestionably evil while acting as if she were doing her victims the biggest favor.
"And the others?" McGonagall croaked.
"Oh, I'm not unreasonable, Minerva!" Umbridge chuckled as if they were old friends having a little disagreement. "I see no reason to keep the rest of them from playing, but violence begets violence, and these rotten apples must be removed from the bunch."
With that, she gave a little wave and excused herself, having the audacity to tell Minerva to enjoy the rest of her Saturday.
Harry separated from George when they reached the common room and stalked silently to his dorm, where he sat down roughly on his bed, bringing his knees up to his chin. He fumed this way, alone, for almost an hour before Dean and Seamus showed up. Seamus had obviously been filled in by Dean on the fight, but neither of them looked as if they wanted to tempt Harry's fury by asking him what happened in McGonagall's office. At any rate, Dean looked as if he knew already…he was walking rather stiffly, his head down, and he threw himself on his bed and drew the curtains.
Seamus took up one of Fred and George's Fanged Frisbees and shuffled out again, giving Harry one side-long, sympathetic glance before he disappeared.
Harry let his anger slowly seep out of him, and the overcast morning melted into a dark and rainy afternoon. The rain tapped at his windows lightly as Harry sat there, still in his Quidditch gear, going over the events of the incident again and again. It had all been planned by Malfoy, he just knew it. The malicious little snot had done everything he could to get Harry and the others to react to him, and they'd fallen for it like idiots. Harry could not believe his own foolishness. He called my mother filthy! And poor Ron's family losers! What else was I supposed to do, just sit there and take it? He screamed at himself in his head. He knew the answer to that question, and he dreaded facing the others.
"Umbridge said right there on the pitch that you guys wouldn't be allowed to come back," Dean muttered from behind his curtains.
Harry's thoughts quieted as he looked over at Dean's four-poster, shaking his head with a sigh. "Of course she did…" It didn't surprise him at all that she would announce their punishment to the team even before she'd given it. It had probably been her intention all along, and if Harry were a betting man he'd swear that she and Malfoy plotted it together, the rotten pair of them. "How did Angelina take it?" he asked, now, the beautiful captain suddenly sticking out in his mind.
Dean drew back his curtains and sighed, looking just about as tired and miserable as Harry felt. "I think she would've cried if we weren't all watching her, mate."
Harry cursed under his breath. He had done it, all right. Angelina would never forgive him. He was amazed that Dean was even talking to him. Announcing gloomily that he was hungry and that it was about time for some lunch, Dean dragged himself from his bed and headed towards the door.
"You coming?"
"No…"
"Right. See ya later, then."
Harry gave a half-hearted nod and fell back on the bed, closing his eyes dejectedly. He lay there for a long time mentally kicking himself. Of all the days to lose his temper…of all the days to do something stupid…he picked this day, a week away from their first match. Harry thought about his mother, and wondered if she would really condone him pounding Malfoy's face in for her sake. He just couldn't take anyone, especially that dick-less little git, speaking of her or his father in any way other than with respect and kindness. And Ron's parents…they were the most wonderful and kind people he'd ever met, besides Dumbledore, wizards or not. Malfoy simply had no clue what he was talking about, and Harry thought rather bitterly that it was just as well the kid's own father was such a bloody evil bully.
He heard a creak at the door and looked up to see Ron walking in slowly, a vacant expression on his pale features. Harry sat up and watched his friend cross the room, settling himself on his own bed.
"Where've you been?"
Ron shrugged, not looking at Harry. "Walking." His Quidditch robes were damp, and so was his hair, which hung in his eyes. After a beat, Ron looked up at Harry miserably and muttered, "I'm sorry, Harry."
Harry frowned. "What for? I'm the one who hit Malfoy first."
"No, I did. I kicked the Quaffle right at him." Ron admitted, flinging his broom down angrily. "I was about bloody ready to pop him one meself, and I would've done, too, if it weren't for Hermione!" Harry had suspected at the time that Ron's save was somehow directed at Malfoy. He still didn't think it mattered. Even if Malfoy had complained to Umbridge, he wouldn't have been able to prove that Ron did it on purpose. Harry pointed this out to his friend, also explaining that if he hadn't attacked Malfoy, they wouldn't be in this mess. "Yeah but if I hadn't been so terrible, he wouldn't have said all those things, and I wouldn't have kicked the Quaffle at his head."
"That's stupid, Ron, of course Malfoy would've said those things no matter how well you did."
Ron looked as if he wanted to argue some more, but relented. He opted instead to tell Harry that Hermione had been hit by a Silencing Charm when she was trying to yell over Draco's insults. "Who d'you think did it?" he asked, though Harry hadn't even gotten his mouth open properly to respond before he spat: "I'll bet it was that Zacharius Smith!"
Harry shrugged. "Maybe. Or it could've been that Tom bloke. He didn't look as if he wanted Malfoy to shut up."
There was a knock at the door and both boys looked over to see Hermione standing there. She asked quietly if she could come in, and though Harry was tempted to tell them both to leave him alone, he nodded.
"Everyone's just coming back from lunch," Hermione said grimly. "Though, no one ate much."
"I don't think I'll have an appetite for a long time." Harry muttered to himself. Ron gave a noncommittal noise of agreement. The room was quiet. The faint sounds of rain on his windowpane served to sap the remainder of Harry's energy. He sat there staring at his Quidditch boots, wishing that he had the spirit to try and talk to his two friends, but he did not.
"You two have got to face everyone eventually, you know," Hermione told them almost timidly. Harry looked up to see her wringing her hands, watching them both imploringly. "Even Fred and George came down to lunch. Angelina wasn't hard on them…she understood. I mean, she is a bit upset, but who isn't?"
"A bit upset?" Harry snapped suddenly, despite himself. "Hermione, we've been sacked from the team! She doesn't have any players left! The match against Slytherin is next week!"
"Don't yell at me, Harry, I was only saying-!"
"Harry's right, we're doomed." Ron interjected. "I should just quit, as well. Angelina doesn't need me mucking things up worse."
"If you quit, there'll only be three players left," Harry said through clenched teeth. "Don't be a twit, Ron."
"Oh will both of you get a grip?" Hermione yelled at them. "Arguing and being sullen isn't going to make things better. Nor is quitting the team, Ronald." She added this last when Ron opened his mouth to retort. "What we need is action. What we need is-"
"The Room of Requirement…" Harry spoke.
"What?" Ron frowned at both of them. "That's what we need? How's that gonna help us beat Slytherin next Saturday?"
"No, Ron, screw next Saturday's match," Harry told him, ignoring the ginger-haired boy's offended expression. He sat up more and pulled off his Quidditch gloves, the energy he'd depleted fighting Malfoy slowly coming back. "We need to have a meeting. As soon as possible."
"Who does?" Ron still looked puzzled.
"I can spread the word," Hermione said anxiously, ignoring Ron as well. "I can start right now."
"Can you tell everyone by dinner?"
"Sure. Ronald, you have to help."
"Right." Ron, catching on at last, nodded seriously.
Harry was experiencing a surge of determination and restlessness now, and he stood up from the bed to begin pacing the length of the room. His brain began to work, the memory of what his godfather had said the night before playing back at him like Muggle film. All you have to do is walk past the wall three times and think hard on…on what? Harry thought, frowning and cursing under his breath.
"What's in the bean, Harry?" Hermione asked, watching him.
"What was Sirius going to say before Umbridge tried to catch him?" Harry muttered, more to himself than to her.
"You're sure it was Umbridge?"
"Of course I'm sure. She may not have known who he was, or who he was talking to, but she knew someone was using the floo to gain access to the common room and she was trying to catch him. I'll bet she suspected it was someone for me, though…"
"What if she somehow intercepted your letter from Sirius? Maybe she read it?"
Harry nodded his agreement, clenching his fists angrily. His right hand was throbbing, but when he looked at it, he realized that it was because of the small cut on his knuckle where Malfoy's tooth got him, and not from the now healed 'I will not tell lies' carved into his skin. He thought about both Malfoy and Umbridge, and the more he thought about them the more determined he became. He was squeezing his fist so tight that the scar on the back of his hand gleamed white from the blood rushing down to his cramped fingers.
"Tell everyone to meet us in the Room of Requirement tomorrow night after dinner."
"But how will we get in?" Ron wanted to know. "What're we s'posed to think hard about?"
"Harry, what happened last year?" Hermione questioned him.
Harry thought back. "We were just standing out in the hall."
Hermione frowned. "I can't believe you just stood there in the middle of the hall with fire whiskey!" she berated him, momentarily setting aside their more important query. "What if you'd been caught? You would've been expelled for sure!"
"I know…" Harry admitted. "I tried to tell them that, but they kept insisting that we had to use the-" Harry stopped, thinking hard. What had George done? "Oh! He kept saying 'we need somewhere to finish this baby off…' " Hermione scowled, but Harry ignored her. "Fred was pacing…Ha! I think all we have to do is think hard about what it is we need the room to be. I'll bet when they were running from Filch they just desperately needed someplace to hide, so it turned into a cupboard."
"That makes a lot of sense," Hermione agreed, as if it should've been obvious. "So we'll try it, then."
Without warning she punched him in the arm, hard. Harry glared at her but soon realized that she'd only done it as a delayed reaction to his adventure with the twins, and as a belated warning never to do anything so stupid and reckless on school grounds again. Ironic, Harry thought, we're about to set ourselves up to get about thirty kids expelled…
Hermione waited for Ron to change out of his Quidditch gear and together they headed off to tell the others about the meeting. Harry told them not to be too obvious, and Hermione suggested that they start by telling their own house members and then spreading the word through everyone else as quickly and quietly as possible.
They left Harry alone, finally.
He began to plan out what he was going to do at their first meeting. He wrote a few things down, deciding that the Disarming Charm, Expelliarmus, was what they should learn first. He made notes like these for a few hours before he realized that it was nearing dinner time and neither Ron nor Hermione had come back yet. Carefully hiding his notes under his mattress with his Invisibility Cloak, Harry debated with himself on whether or not he wanted to go down to the Great Hall.
On the one hand, he really wanted to talk to Angelina. He felt he owed her an explanation, as well as an apology, for his cock-up. Hearing Hermione tell him that Fred and George had faced her and she'd understood why they'd reacted to Malfoy was a relief, but Harry knew that in the end the fact still remained that they had no team left, and it was mostly his fault. He had acted first, and he sat in the dark convincing himself that if it hadn't been for his lead, things wouldn't have escalated the way it did. But still…he relished the memory of beating the piss out of Malfoy.
He thought about the last time he and Angelina had spoken alone together, and the gentle yet assertive kiss she'd given him in the quiet of the common room. The memory made his stomach flutter. The fluttering could've been hunger, but Harry chose to give it the more romantic explanation. He cursed himself for being such an idiot. No wonder Cho chose Cedric over me, he thought gloomily. He always seemed to keep his cool and he probably would've just ignored Malfoy. He would've made sure we got to play like I should've done. Fuck all, Angelina was counting on me!
The thought of Cedric forced Harry's mind back into dark territory, and he found himself thinking about Voldemort. His dreams had everything to do with the murderous wizard; Harry was sure of it. That corridor and the door he could never reach…this was a real place. The thought clicked in his head without warning and the boy knew it to be true almost instinctively. He was trying to gain access to something through that door. Something important. Something he wanted desperately. It wasn't Harry running down that corridor. It was Voldemort, and whatever it was he wanted, Harry had to find some way to keep him from getting it.
He did not go down to dinner. Ron had come back to tell him that he and Hermione had gotten to nearly everybody, and that by the next day everything would be in place. He and Neville tried to entice him to come to dinner with them: Ron pointed out that he in no way wanted to face Malfoy or the other students after what had happened, and that he was choosing his stomach over his humiliation, but Harry only explained that Ron wasn't the one who got banned from playing ever again by participating in a petty fight.
Night fell and the rain subsided.
Harry attempted to try and write more of Snape's essay, but very quickly gave up, having no desire to pretend dedication to the subject. He realized that he had been sitting around all day in his Quidditch gear; he was filthy and certain parts of him ached a little from the fight. He decided to take a shower and go to bed early. There was no point in working himself up to talk to people—he would do that tomorrow. He would apologize to the team and talk privately with Angelina. He hoped that she wasn't too upset with him, and vowed silently to help her make up for the loss of her three best players in any way he could. Finding a new Seeker and two Beaters before the next match was going to be hard, and even if they did chances were Angelina wouldn't be able to practice them enough to win Saturday. But Harry had to try and help.
Ignoring the hollow feeling in his stomach from not eating, Harry made his way quietly down to the boys' showers. He was thankful that not many people were in there—just a couple of first years Harry had never spoken to before, who saw him and stared but didn't attempt to bother him. He found a stall and turned on the hot water, not realizing until the soothing spray was gently hitting his skin how cold he'd been. As he was sticking his head into the steamy stream, his mind cleared and he felt relaxed for the very first time that day. Harry absentmindedly lathered his sponge and began to wash himself, not really paying attention to any one thing, but letting all of his worry and frustration escape over the top of the shower curtain along with the steam from the water.
He was feeling ten times better and his muscles were softening and loosening up when he got a sharp, searing jolt of pain in his forehead—right through his scar. Harry grimaced and cursed loudly, dropping the soapy sponge and leaning forward. The water ran over his eyes and face, making his vision even blurrier than it normally was without his glasses. The pain persisted, growing more intense as he lifted his hands and pressed them against the tile before him. In addition to the severe ache in his scar, Harry felt anger. Not his own…someone else's. Voldemort's. He knew this, even as he was fighting these feelings.
"Urghhh…" he growled, gritting his teeth and constricting his fingers so that they clawed the slippery tile futilely. "Why haven't they got it yet? Time is running out!" he hissed, his own voice sounding miles away as this strange, inhuman sound escaped his lips. Imbeciles! Incompetents! FOOLS! Harry thought wildly, his head feeling like it would split apart from the pain. There was a blinding crescendo of fury and panic that hit him hard, causing him to slide down to the floor of the stall with the water driving his hair into his eyes as it hit his bowed head. A second later, the feelings eased off and were gone—leaving Harry panting slowly on his knees in the shower.