The war was over, Gaea was back in the dust, and Percy could finally get some well needed rest. He couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life in peace, living in the Roman town with Annabeth, occasionally visiting the rest of his friends. It was go...
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Friday dragged by just as the rest of the week had had. Despite Percy's outbreak, nothing changed with Professor Umbridge. I still had detention, just like any other day that week, and I had a feeling that today would be worse than all the previous ones. Umbridge would surely be pissed about what Percy had done and although McGongall saved him from consequences, the same couldn't be said for me.
The only thing that did change was that the whispered and stares moved from me to Percy. Someone else was the center of attention and for once, and I could just disappear into the shadows and pretend that I didn't exist.
The clock eventually hit five and the prospect of yet another detention with Umbridge did not appeal to me by far. Two things however sustained me. It was almost the weekend, and that meant the end of my detentions with Umbridge for the time being, something I had been looking forward to all week. The second was that through my dreadful last detention with Umbridge, I had a distant view of the Quidditch pitch from her window and might, with luck, see something of Ron's tryout.
It wasn't much but currently, those two things were the only ones that kept me going and at this moment in time, I was actually truly grateful for them.
I knocked on Professor Umbridge's door for what I truly hoped would be the last time, and entered the pink room that held not the kindest of memories. A blank parchment lay ready for me on the pink-lace covered table, a familiar pointed black quill right besides it.
"You know what to do, Mr. Potter," said Umbridge, smiling ever so sweetly.
I inched ever so slightly to the right, towards the window. Although my vision was limited, I could see the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaring up and down the pitch, while half a dozen black figures stood at the foot of the goalposts, waiting for their turn to show off their skills. It was impossible to tell which of those figures was Ron.
"Hem, hem." Umbridge cleared her throat and brought me back to my present reality.
It was like a ritual.
I must not tell lies, I wrote as the cut on the back of my right hand opened and began to bleed again.
I must not tell lies. The cut dug deeper, stinging and making my head spin.
I must not tell lies. Blood trickled down my wrist.
I glanced out the window whenever I had the chance. At this moment, whoever was fending the goalposts was not doing a very good job. Katie Bell had scored twice in the few seconds I could watch. I hoped that the Keeper wasn't Ron, and dropped my eyes back to my parchment dotted with quickly drying blood.
I must not tell lies.
I must not tell lies.
I looked up whenever I could risk it, whenever I heard the scratching of Umbridge's pen or the opening of a drawer. It was my last day of detention and I wasn't too keen on serving another week just for looking out the window. I watched a few more people try out but as the sky started darkening, I could no longer discern the Keepers from the far away trees.
