Tears (Sirius Black's daughter) Book 2

Chapter 17

Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week. Harry automatically glanced towards the staff table when he entered the great hall, it was without any real hope of seeing Hagrid and he turned his mind immediately to his more pressing problems, such as the mountainous pile of homework he had to do and he had another detention with Umbridge. 

Clara noticing his sudden mood change asked, "Harry, what's wrong?" Harry shook his head and replied, "Nothing, don't worry about it." 

"Is it to do with Umbridge?" She pressed. 

"Yeah, among many other things."

"Such as?" 

"Homework and I've not been able to see Hagrid at all." Clara thought for a second. 

"Give me all of your homework. I'll do it. I've done all mine. If I do your homework, you can go to detention. Then you can go to Quidditch tryouts whenever that is. And you can visit Hagrid." 

"Really?" Harry asked, seeming more hopeful. Clara nodded. 

"Snuffles would really hate to see his godson stressed." Harry smiled. "Heard from him lately?" Clara asked once they sat down with Hermione and Ron. 

"No.. any of you?" They all shook their heads. 

"He's more than likely being cautious if anything bad was to happen... Remus would tell Dumbledore and he would tell us." Having a father who is basically on the run means constantly being worried he'll get caught. Ok, yes he's in a hidden house but everyone is gone, meaning he's on his own most of the day and he could leave. Who knows how many people are aware of his dog form. 

At 4:30 that evening Harry left the common room and headed to the DADA room. At 5 he knocked on Professor Umbridge's door for what he sincerely hoped would be the final time and was told to enter. 

In the common room, Clara and Hermione started on homework. "I normally wouldn't condone doing someone else's homework but Harry needs it. I think it was really nice what you did." 

"Thanks 'mione."

After a couple of minutes of silence, Hermione spoke. "Why is Harry getting so many detentions?"

"Because of him speaking about Voldemort to Umbridge. She knows he's back I'm sure of it. She just wants a reason to punish him." Hermione nodded. 

Harry picked up the quill and glanced through the window, if he just shifted his chair an inch or so to the right... on the pretext of shifting himself closer to the table, he managed it. He now had a distant view of the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaring up and down on the pitch, while half a dozen black figures stood at the door of the three high goalposts, apparently awaiting their turn to keep. It was impossible to tell which one was Ron. 

I must not tell lies. Harry wrote. The cut in the back of his right hand began to bleed afresh. 
I must not tell lies.
I must not tell lies. The cut dug deeper, stinging and smarting. Blood trickled down his wrist. He chanced another glance out of the window. Whoever was defending the goalposts now was doing a very poor job indeed. 

I must not tell lies. 
I must not tell lies.

He looked up whenever he thought he could risk it; when he could hear the scratching of Umbridge's quill or the opening of a desk drawer. The parchment was now shining with drops of blood from the back of his hand, which was searing with pain. When he next looked up, it was dark and the quidditch pitch was no longer visible to the naked eye. 

"Let's see if you've got the message yet, shall we?" She moved towards him, stretching out her short ringed fingers for his arm. And then, as she took hold of him to examine the words now cut into his skin, pain seared, not across the back of his hand, but across the scar on his forehead. At the same time,  he had a most peculiar sensation somewhere around his midriff.