Head Boy // Cedric Diggory

3. I Must Not Tell Lies

It took considerable explanation and negotiation, most of which with raised voices, before Phoebe was able to convince Harry, Ron, Fred, Ginny, and George that it was best for everyone that Qudditch was canceled for the year. Hermione came to her aid very quickly, agreeing that it was an unnecessary distraction. Phoebe knew her sister would agree too, but she was still nowhere to be found.

Harry only had one condition before he finally agreed, calling the entire Quidditch team to the pitch on Sunday morning for a final practice before Umbridge's 24 hours were up. And so, Phoebe, Fred, George, Katie Bell, Ginny, and Ron trudged out onto the field behind their captain as the sun began to rise for a friendly scrimmage.

It had been over a year since she, Harry, or Katie had been on a broom after the season was halted the previous year for the Triwizard Tournament. The Weasley's had clearly been practicing all summer, soaring into the air with ease, the others just behind them.

Only an hour had passed by the time the team had exhausted themselves, and so they defeatedly made their ways back to the castle. Their spirits were low, knowing it was unlikely they'd fly again until the next year, the twins and Katie particularly upset as it was their last time in the air with the team.

As they walked, Phoebe noticed a reddish-purple bruise on the back of Harry's hand, which certainly couldn't have come from their game. She debated mentioning anything, it could've simply been a reflection off of his garnet robes, but she felt a pang of responsibility in the pit of her stomach that encouraged her to say something.

"Harry, stop for a minute," she called over to him. The rest of the team continued up as her cousin crossed over to her.

"Something wrong, Phoebe?" he asked concernedly.

She hesitated for a moment before asking quietly, "What happened to your hand?"

He shook his head, starting to walk away, but she followed. "Don't worry about it."

"Harry, did someone hurt you?" she caught up to him, grabbing his hand. They both stopped as she stared in awe as scabbed over writing spelled out, "I must not tell lies."

"Umbridge," he muttered, pulling his hand back.

"Who knows?" Phoebe worried, her heart racing as she grappled with the fact that the new Professor was torturing students. Listening to her drone on about theoretical learning rather than actual practice was painful enough, but she couldn't imagine physically hurting a student.

"Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Pretty sure they already sent word to Lupin and Sirius."

"Well, have you told Dumbledore?" she asked, knowing if anyone could do something it would be him.

"Fat load of good telling him would do. He won't even look at me, much less speak to me," Harry shook his head.

Phoebe looked at the boy who was so clearly plagued by the impending downfall of everything he's ever known with nobody to look to for guidance. The two of them had always been close, Petunia and Phoebe's mother often leaning one another over the years, their families spending most holidays with each other. Phoebe had always wished there was more she could do for him, though, seeing the torturous conditions he lived in, sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs. She had always been too young, but now she felt it was almost her duty to look after him.

"Look, I know this may not sound like much and that rarely anyone believes you about what happened last year, but I do. And I will stand behind you in whatever is coming," Phoebe offered, resting her hand on his shoulder.

"I know you will, Phoebe. I just wish Fudge felt the same," he sighed as the two trudged up the hill back to the castle.

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