Nightmares (HP) (Drarry)

three: i must not be unprepared

Draco had dragged Harry to the infirmary by his hand, fuming and muttering to himself about god knows what. Harry had spent the rest of the evening in the Hospital Wing. Madame Pompfrey fussed over him; though he insisted he was fine. When she asked what caused the sudden sickness, Harry said it was likely his dream and described it to her. She pursed her lips and said she would talk with Dumbledore to see if it meant anything.

Hermione and Ron had stopped by before supper to drop off schoolwork he had missed. Then, they were on their way and Harry was alone again.

Harry sighed to himself and checked the time. The dining time would pass in five minutes. He looked down at his own plate of untouched food, as he didn't have much of an appetite. He threw the blanket away from himself and stood. He didn't want to risk being late to his detention with Umbridge. It'd only make it worse.

In all honesty, it couldn't be that bad, right? It's not like she physically hurt him. Well, Harry hadn't exactly read up on wizarding laws in these things, but it was probably illegal! Probably couldn't be worse than scrubbing cauldrons for Snape.

But that didn't erase the pit of dread in his stomach as he walked out her office. That woman-toad-hag-thing was dangerous. She couldn't be trusted.

Harry's first impressions of the office was; wow that's pink, and this looks like a horror movie. Decretory plates lined the walls, which was of gradiented pink bricks. A portrait of a creepy cat stared into his soul. The rest of the room wasn't any better, and it honestly hurt his eyes.

Umbridge stood at a large desk in the middle of the room with a grin that uneased Harry. Draco sat at one of the chairs at the table. He looked awkward, out of place. Harry almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Umbridge stated pointedly at him and Harry wanted to crawl out of his skin. Harry, getting the hint, sat down in the chair accross Draco.

"So," Harry cleared his throat, "Professor Umbridge, what's the punishment?" Her smile seemed to triple in sized and she gave a little 'hem, hem, hem' as she walked back to her desk and opened a drawer.

"You, Mr. Potter, will be writing lines," out of the desk came a long black writing quill. Draco's eyes widened at the sight of the quill and he tensed. Harry looked at his curiously. It was just a quill, after all, so why did Malfoy seem so... afraid. "And Mr. Malfoy will be watching."

Harry frowned and interjected. "That hardly seems fair-"

She tutted. "I decide the punishments, Mr. Potter. Not you." She held out the quill to and set out a long strip of parchment.

Holding in his sigh of frustration, Harry grabbed the quill. Bad vibes, bad vibes. "How many lines do you I have to write?"

"Until the lesson sinks in." Malfoy's face held a grim expression. "You will be writing 'I must not be unprepared,' until I say you many stop."

Harry put his quill on the parchment and began to write, not even noticing the small sting on the back of his hand at first.