Tears (Sirius Black's daughter) Book 2

Chapter 15

Harry knocked on the wooden door. "Come in," Umbridge's sickly kind voice spoke. Harry opened the door and walked in. She had completely transformed the office into a 5-year-old's bedroom. It was hideous. The walls were pink and there was a lot of cats on plates. "Good evening, Mr Potter," her voice spoke once again. "Sit," she ordered.

"You're going to be doing some lines for me today, Mr Potter. No, not with your quill. Going to be using a rather special one of mine," she says handing him a red quill. "Now... I want you to write, "I must not tell lies." Harry sighed quietly.

"How many times?" The boy asked. Umbridge walked behind him and looked out the window, smiling.

"Well, let's say for as long as it takes for the message to sink in," Harry goes to write but realises something.

"You haven't given me any ink," he states.

"Oh, you won't need any ink." Harry wrote what Umbridge said but all of a sudden began to feel stinging in his hand. As though someone was cutting his hand with a sharp object.

"Yes?"

"Nothing," said Harry after hesitation.

"That's right. Because you know, deep down... you deserve to be punished... Don't you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry left her office without a word. The school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight. He walked slowly up the corridor, then, when he had turned the corner and was sure she would not hear him, broke into a run.

He had not had time to practise Vanishing Spells, had not written a single dream in his dream diary and had not finished the drawing of the bowtruckle, nor had he written his essays. He skipped breakfast the next morning to scribble down a couple of made-up dreams for Divination, their first lesson and was surprised to find a dishevelled Ron keeping him company.

"How come you didn't do it last night?" Harry asked as Ron stared widely around the common room for inspiration. Ron, who had been fast asleep when Harry got back to the dormitory, muttered something about 'doing other stuff', bent low over his parchment and scrawled a few words. "That'll have to do," he said, slamming the diary shut. "I've said I dreamed I was buying a new pair on shoes, she can't make anything weird out of that, can she?"
"She can make anything weird," Clara said walking down the stairs. They hurried off to the North Tower.

"How was detention with Umbridge, anyway? What did she make you do?" Harry hesitated for a moment then said, "Lines."
"Not that bad then eh?"
"Nope."
"Hey-I forgot- did she let you off for Friday?" Ron asked 
"No," said Harry. Ron groaned sympathetically.

It was another bad day for Harry; he was one of the worst in Transfiguration, not having practised vanishing spells at all. He had to give up his lunch hour to complete the picture of the Bowtruckle and, meanwhile, Professors McGonagall, Grubbly-plank and Sinistra gave them yet more homework, which he had no prospect of finishing that evening because he had second detention with Umbridge. To cap it all, Angelina Johnson tracked him down at dinner again and, on learning that he would not be able to attend Friday's keeper tryouts, told him she was not all impressed by his attitude and that she expected players who wished to remain on the team to put training before their other commitments.

"I'm in detention!" Harry yelled after Angelina as she stalked away. "Do you think I'd rather be stuck in a room with that old toad or playing Quidditch?"

"At least it's only lines," said Hermione consolingly, as Harry sank back on his bench and looked down at his steak and kidney pie, which he no longer fancied very much, "It's not as if it's dreadful punishment, really..." Harry opened his mouth, closed it again and nodded.