Note: First of all, a new TW! Past Child Abuse! There will be NO graphic depiction of child abuse, but it is mentioned and referenced!

Still in chapter 13, the torture quill comes into play! Well, this time we are going to deviate from the canon, thanks to Dean! I know, this change won't be for everyone (don't want to spoil it though) but it's Canon Divergence for a reason, innit? :D

Dean stepped forward and opened the door to Umbridge's office. The two students walked in with stiff expressions, but no matter how much Harry wanted to remain stoic, he just couldn't. The sight that met his eyes made his jaw drop, and a quick glance at Dean told him that he wasn't the only one whose perception was wrestling with reality.

It was all pink. And what wasn't pink was covered in hideous ornamental plates, with paintings of cute-as-puke kittens with disgusting big bows around their necks or on their heads. Harry had the impression that this must already be the punishment. Looking at this nightmare was punishment enough, wasn't it?

'Good evening Mr Potter, Mr Thomas,' Umbridge greeted them both.

Harry hadn't even noticed her, his eyes were hurting too much. She was perfectly camouflaged in her hideous outfit, which matched the tablecloth she had draped over her desk. If the desk had feelings, it would be deeply depressed right now.

'Good evening Professor Umbridge,' Harry greeted darkly, Dean merely nodded.

'Well, have a seat,' said Umbridge, gesturing to two tables where black parchment was already waiting.

Harry found the colour peculiar, Dean obviously did too. Harry could literally see that Dean wanted to make a stupid comment about it, but since his classmate had no interest in being in detention for the rest of this school year, he wisely kept his mouth shut.

Harry briefly thought about asking about Friday, but he saw Dean shake his head imperceptibly out of the corner of his eye. So Harry decided to drop it, he also thought that asking Umbridge for a favour would be pretty pointless. So he sat down at one of the tables, Dean's was right next to him.

Next to the parchment was a black quill which was unusually pointy.

'I want you to write "I must not tell lies",' Umbridge said softly.

'How many times?' asked Dean gruffly, leaning back as far as he could on the chair.

'Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in, Mr Thomas!' replied Umbridge in an unbearably cloying tone. 'Off you go.'

Harry reached for the jet-black quill, frowned and realised that something crucial was missing.

'We have no ink,' he said grumpily.

Umbridge said with a broad grin, 'You won't need any.'

Harry raised an eyebrow and glanced at Dean, who was also holding the quill in his hand and shrugging. They both placed their quills on the parchment and began to write.

Harry gasped, the words I must not tell lies appearing blood red on the parchment, and the words had also appeared on the back of his hand. Incised, scalpel had done it. The cuts disappeared immediately, but the skin remained inflamed and reddened.

Dean cursed and Harry winced. His classmate had thrown the quill onto the parchment and was holding his hand.

'Is there a problem, Mr Thomas?' asked Umbridge sweetly, looking at him with a smile.

Dean stood up with so much vigour that his chair fell over backwards, Harry looked at him with wide eyes.

'You must've lost your marbles, man,' Dean hissed at Umbridge, still holding his hand.

He took two large steps towards Harry (he had really grown up over the last few years), snatched the quill from Harry's fingers, grabbed him by the upper arm and pulled him to his feet.

Then he turned back to Umbridge. 'You can stick your quill anywhere you like, Umbridge! We –'

'Professor Umbridge!' she interrupted Dean in an agitated voice, she had also stood up and looked satisfyingly unhappy about the development of the situation.

'You'll have to earn that title first! So far, you've done nothing that even begins to qualify you as a professor!' Dean shouted at her, banging on Umbridge's desk very impressively, which vibrated pitifully.

Harry felt as if his heart had stopped. He stood there petrified, blood rushing in his ears and his mouth turned into a desert. Dean turned on a teacher. Dean risked being thrown out of Hogwarts by Umbridge, Harry thought in horror. But Dean couldn't be kicked out of school! Because – because – that's why!

After Dean's outburst of anger, it had become completely quiet, so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

'Mr Thomas,' Umbridge began, so calmly that Harry got a very, very uneasy feeling in his stomach.

'You have detention and –'

'– and that doesn't give you the right to torture us! Harry and I are going to leave now. We're going to leave now and report to Professor McGonagall,' Dean said in an icy voice, and before Harry's brain, which was struggling to follow what was happening, had even begun to kick into gear, Dean was already dragging him towards the door.

He yanked it open, pushed Harry out, followed him, turned round, shouted a 'Bye!' into the room and slammed the door behind him. Then, still holding Harry's upper arm in an iron grip, Dean stomped off in the direction of Professor McGonagall's office.

Harry followed him, stumbling, the gears in his head spinning so fast they threatened to run hot. They had already travelled a few corridors when Dean suddenly let go of him.

'Sorry, was lost in thoughts,' he mumbled, rubbing the back of his hand absent-mindedly.

Harry stopped, hesitating. 'Dean, she – she'll have you thrown out!' he stuttered, feeling a wave of panic wash over him, feeling an uncontrollable tremor creep into his limbs.

Dean shook his head seriously. 'On what grounds? That I won't let her torture me? That's bollocks. She'll have to come up with something wild, and she'll have to prove it first. I know the professors will believe us, not that deranged cow.

'Harry …'

The pain on his hand, sudden and unforeseen, memories flooding back to Harry from long ago and actually not so long ago. Of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. It wasn't that they ever wanted to touch him, certainly not. But sometimes, when they were terribly angry –Harry hated the carpet beater so much …

'Harry.'

Two large hands placed themselves on his shoulders and he blinked. Dean stood in front of him, bending down to him with concern.

'Harry, are you okay?' Dean asked softly, squeezing Harry's shoulder gently.

But Harry couldn't say anything, and even if he could, what should he say? Dean stepped up beside him and put an arm around his shoulder, rubbing it gently.

'Looked like you'd just been somewhere else,' Dean said softly.

Harry stood silently beside him, trying to shrug.

'Come, I'll take you to the common room, to the dormitory. I'm going to see Professor McGonagall on my own and –'

'N-no,' Harry said, his voice rough and cracking. 'I want – want to come with you!'

Dean stood silently beside him, continuing to rub Harry's shoulder, pondering.

'Okay,' he finally decided, and together they walked to their Head of House.

Professor McGonagall opened the door in surprise after Dean knocked hard.

'Mr Thomas? Mr Potter?' She scrutinised the two of them intently, then frowned.

'Shouldn't you have detention with Professor Umbridge?'

'Yes, we should,' Dean said darkly. 'Can we come in?'

Professor McGonagall replied in the affirmative and stepped aside. There was only one chair in the room, but she quickly turned one of her snow-white quills into a second chair, which turned out to be far more comfortable than the first.

Dean gently manoeuvred Harry into the more comfortable one and sat down in the other.

Professor McGonagall took a seat behind her desk and looked at both of her students waiting.

Dean cleared his throat. 'Umbridge –'

'Professor Umbridge.'

'With all respect, Professor, that woman doesn't deserve the title. Let me explain,' Dean continued as Professor McGonagall was about to raise her voice. 'This woman … Do you know what Umbridge's idea of detention is? She wanted us to write lines with a quill. With our own blood.

'Show her, Harry.'

Harry looked up in panic. Show her? No! No, no, no, that wasn't an option, that was completely out of question! Because – because – that's why! Quickly, he sat down on his hand, Dean frowned, Professor McGonagall looked back and forth between the two boys in confusion. Instead of reaching for Harry's hand, Dean held out his own. Since they had only written the words once, the injury could only be guessed at, but Professor McGonagall didn't have to rely on her own eyesight.

She drew her wand, cast a charm, and the back of Dean's hand lit up.

I must not tell lies.

Professor MGonagall watched the words silently for a while. She put her wand aside and Harry noticed that her hand was trembling slightly.

'I understand, Mr Thomas. You and Mr Potter may go to the common room. I will talk to Professor Umbridge,' she said in a voice that sounded so controlled that it was tense to the breaking point.

Harry stumbled to his feet, he had to get out of here. He really wanted to come with Dean, without being able to say exactly why. Perhaps because he wanted to prove something to himself. But what? He didn't know, he rushed out into the corridor.

Dean followed close on his heels as Harry dashed through the door and ran off towards Gryffindor Tower.

'Harry!'

Dean had easily caught up to him, he was so much taller and had so much longer legs, it was easy for him to keep up with Harry.

Harry didn't want to stop and to his relief Dean didn't seem to have any intention of stopping him either. He just ran alongside Harry, as if he was just trying to make sure he didn't hurt himself on his run.

Finally arriving at the portrait, he was so short of breath that Dean had to say the password. The portrait swung aside, Harry stumbled into the common room and, without looking round, continued towards the stairs to the dormitory.

'Harry! You're back already? Harry?' Hermione got to her feet in surprise, she had been sitting at one of the tables, engrossed in one of her essays, but Harry ignored her and shot up the stairs.

'Harry?!'

'He's not feeling too well right now,' he heard Dean say quietly to her.

'What's happened?' she asked worriedly.

But that was all Harry could hear. He threw the dormitory door on its hinges, changed to his pyjamas and crawled under the duvet.

He hated Umbridge.

He hated that quill.

He hated the carpet beater.

The next morning, Harry dragged himself down the stairs, he was late, he hadn't slept well, waking constantly and lurching between terrible dreams and unwelcome reality. He dreamt of sitting in Umbridge's office again, quill in hand, the words cutting deep into the back of his hand.

Dean wasn't there.

He was trapped, with her, in that room, he couldn't get out. He was never getting out.

When he arrived in the common room, Dean, Ron and Hermione were already waiting for him. Ron looked just as exhausted as Harry felt, wondering what his red-haired friend was hiding from him.

Hermione eyed Harry worriedly and closely. Had Dean told her something? Judging by the look on her face, yes.

'How are you?' Hermione asked cautiously.

Harry looked at her grumpily. 'Lovely, like reborn. Literally. Helpless, half-blind and totally inept at pretty much everything.'

'Harry …' Hermione looked at him sadly and helplessly.

'Hey, that might cheer you up a bit, mate.' Dean let his bag slide off his shoulder, flipped it open, took out a few pages of parchment and handed them to Harry.

He took them uncomprehendingly and looked at Dean questioningly.

'No detention, so I pulled an all-nighter for the essays. I got them all done. Hermione helped me.'

Smiling, he nodded at Hermione, who smiled weakly back.

'I finished drawing the Bowtruckle for you, too. Drew it in a way, so Grubbly-Plank would believe it is yours, of course. Well, the only thing I can't do for you is the Vanishing Charm.'

'You could hide behind Harry and cast the charm for him,' Ron suggested, chuckling, Dean laughed.

'I'm fairly certain Professor McGonagall would notice.'

Harry looked at the essays Dean had given him. 'H-how did you manage to copy my writing?'

Dean raised an eyebrow. 'I'm a wizard, Harry.'

Harry started laughing, shaking his head, what a morning. What a morning. For a brief moment, he felt like hugging Dean, but … Yeah, that would come across a little weird now. Harry mentally gave himself a slap and instead grinned as wide as his tired face would allow.

'Dean – I don't know what I'd do without you now!'

'Homework?' Dean suggested jokingly.

Hermione cleared her throat. 'I helped, remember?'

Harry didn't mind hugging Hermione though, so he did. She giggled sheepishly and hugged Harry back tightly. He was a little surprised that she had no objections to Dean doing his homework. Especially in O.W.L.-year. But apparently, in her opinion, yesterday's experience was terrible enough for him to have earned it.

Ron pouted mockingly. 'Okay, so why didn't anyone do my homework?'

Dean snorted. 'Because they didn't torment you with a torture quill, that's why. Your business if you'd rather hang around outside instead of getting you're stuff done.'

Ron's face turned red. 'I wasn't hanging around, I – never mind!'

Grumbling, he stomped out of the common room, the others following him.

Harry felt light, so light. Like a fed... snowflake. Yes, he still had to practise the damn Vanishing Charm, but everything else was done and dusted – thanks to Dean. How much time had Dean spent in the common room last night trying to get it all together? Judging by the bags under his eyes – a very long time. A large part of Harry wondered why he was taking this on, he could have just done his homework and generously let Harry copy. Instead, he had gone the extra mile of copying his writing and wording.

Something occurred to Harry as they stepped into the Great Hall. 'Oh bugger, I didn't wrote anything for that stupid dream diary!'

'Did you dream anything?' Dean asked casually.

'Yeah, but I don't want to write that down. It's none of Trelawney's business. I need to think of something quick.'

He dug his diary out of his bag and scribbled something in it, eating toast Dean looked over his shoulder.

'Write that a monster ate you in bed,' he suggested, chewing.

Harry snorted. 'What?'

'Yeah, if you're going to make something up, make it so she's grossed out. Okay, and then the monster just ate your insides and –'

Hermione coughed. 'I'm having breakfast!'

'– pulled your guts out and –'

'Yeah, okay. I think Trelawney will think that's disgusting enough,' Harry said, chuckling and writing down Dean's gross idea.

Ron slid next to the two of them and looked at Dean hopefully. 'Could you spice up my dream too?'

Hermione snorted contemptuously. 'A little less disgusting would be nice, thank you!'

'Mr Potter, Mr Thomas?'

The two looked up from their breakfast as Professor McGonagall approached Harry and Dean.

'I had a conversation with Professor Umbridge,' she began, Harry felt a shiver run down his spine, Dean's face hardened.

'You still have detention with her, of course, but,' she looked sharply at Dean, who had already opened his mouth in protest, 'on my terms. You will write your lines, with a normal quill and normal ink. As agreed, all week at five o'clock.'

The lightness that had flooded Harry for a short time washed out of his body and he slumped down on the bench like a balloon that had deflated. Yes, he didn't have to write with that dreadful quill, but he still had detention, all week – back in that office, with that dreadful woman. Harry felt like he was suddenly getting a lot less air.

Dean rubbed his back gently.

'Don't worry about it. We'll get through this together.'

Note: I had two options in mind and played around with them for a while. It was actually the first two scenes and outcomes that I planned before I started writing my half-baked idea.
The first idea was that Dean is suffering with Harry. Also hiding it and keeping it a secret, because his parents would take him out of school as soon as they heard that Dean was being tortured by a teacher. So it would be Harry and Dean, having this connection, suffering together.
That wasn't too bad, but then I decided I wanted something else. I want a character who helps Harry and saves him some trouble and pain. Dean is my ex machina, yeah, it's a power fantasy in a way, I know, but sometimes we need that, don't we? :)