Azkaban

I Must Not Tell Lies

Once dinner was over and she finished her parting words with Dumbledore, Amarea made her way to her bedroom, avoiding the curious eyes of Harry that had stayed on her for most of the evening. After just a few minutes of laying on her bed, Amarea slipped into sleep. Her poor health, combined with sleep deprivation has overpowered her, winning the battle of wanting to stay awake. 

Unlike most of her dreams, Amarea found herself at Hogwarts. Silently getting up, she grips the stone wall for support, her gaze scanning the room. The Defense Against The Dark Arts room looked the same as always, the only difference being a strange blue-violet haze that tainted everything around her. Feeling herself being pulled towards the stairs, she follows the feeling, coming face to face with the door. Reaching up to knock, her fist comes down on the rough wood. Amarea is met with silence, moving to repeat the movement. Only then does she realize her bare hands.

She pauses, raking her eyes over her small hands. It was weird to see her hands out in the open like this; she only took her gloves off when necessary, and always double-checked if there was anyone around to see her. 

Footsteps on the stairs make her body hit the wall, her hands clutching at the thin fabric at her sides. The long white dress only made her more uncomfortable. She felt exposed, trying in vain to hide her body in the shadows of the candlelight. Harry finally reaches the top of the stairs, pausing at the top and staring at the door handle in front of him. Amarea's eyes dart around quickly, slowly realizing that he couldn't see her. Reaching his hand up, he knocks on the door twice, opening it after a few moments.

Amarea quickly follows behind him subconsciously, anxiety eating at her stomach the second she steps into the room. Watching as Harry seats himself, she slowly inches closer to the pair. Her hands fidget with each other and when she looks down, she finds Harry doing the same. 

She was feeling his emotions. 

A blank piece of parchment was laid on the lace-covered table in front of Harry, a pointed black quill beside it. "You know what to do, Mr. Potter," Umbridge says, her voice cutting through the silence. It makes Amarea flinch slightly internally and Harry readjusts his shoulders. Picking up the quill, he glances out the window, Amarea following his gaze. She watches as he shifts his chair a couple of inches to the right, trying to get a good view of the tryouts that were happening. 

Taking a breath, Harry starts to write. I must not tell lies. Blood starts to seep out of his hand, making Amarea hold her breath. 

How did she not realize it earlier?

As he continues to write, she grows more uncomfortable. 

I must not tell lies. 

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies. 

A warmth on Amarea's hand makes her look down. The words he had been writing were etched into her hand, red liquid spilling out of the cuts. Looking back and forth between her and Harry's hands, she takes a shaky breath. She couldn't tell if it was the anger or pain that made her hands shake, but as she watched Harry's hand bleed, she only got angrier. 

The parchment on the desk was shining with drops of blood. Harry looks at the window, the Quidditch pitch no longer visible. "Let's see if you've gotten the message yet, shall we?" Umbridge moved towards Harry, stretching out her short be-ringed fingers for his arm. As she took hold of him to examine the words that adorned his skin, pain on her forehead made Amarea wince. Harry did the same, having a peculiar sensation on his midriff at the same time. 

Wrenching his arm out of her grip, he leaps to his feet, staring at her. The professor looks back at him, a smile stretching her mouth. "Yes, it hurts, doesn't it," she asks softly. Harry doesn't answer. Amarea's heart was beating hard and fast in her chest as she watched the exchange. "Well, I think I've made my point, Mr. Potter. You may go."

Harry grabs his pack and leaves the room quickly, leaving Amarea and Umbridge alone. Black spots dance across Amarea's vision as she watches Umbridge smile wider. It was sick. Everything about this made Amarea sick to her stomach. Trying to take a step forward, she stops herself, swaying on her feet. Amarea's vision becomes darker, her body falling forward into a black abyss.

Gasping, the black-haired sorceress sits up in her bed. Her mind races with thoughts, and she quickly finds her gloved hand, peeling off the fabric. Heavy breathing fills the room as she looks at the words that dug into her skin: I must not tell lies. Her feet hastily carry her to her bathroom, pulling out a bandage and securing it around her hand, pulling her glove back on afterwards. She leaves it on her sink, quickly pulling on her black shoes and cape. Racing down the halls, portraits gasp at the light illuminating the halls.

Finally reaching her destination, she gasps for breath. "Open the door."

"Password?"

Amarea looks up in anger at the Fat Lady. "I don't have fucking time for this. Open the damn door."

The Fat Lady shakes her head, not even looking at Amarea. Her body shakes with anger as she stares at the portrait. "Do you fucking know who I am? Open the fucking door." Finally getting her attention, the Fat Lady gasped at Amarea's ragged appearance, swinging open within seconds. Sound fills Amarea's ears as she steps into the Common Room. A body bumps into hers, making her spin around. "Watch it."

"Woah, Amarea. Didn't expect to see you here." The red-head beams at her, making Amarea relax slightly. Shaking her head, she tries to stay focused. 

"I need Harry," she says.

George's eyebrows raise at her sentence, his mouth dropping slightly. "Oh," he says rubbing his hand against the nape of his neck. "You and Harry then?"

"What," Amarea asks, jerking with surprise. "No, oh my fuck! I need to talk to him, where is he?"

George flushes and he points behind her, mumbling something about Harry before walking away. Amarea narrows her eyes in confusion before spinning around and walking over to Harry. She grabs his sleeve and pulls him to an unoccupied corner. Not listening to his protests, she grabs his hand, turning it. Amarea clenches her jaw at the words. Spinning on her heel, she exits the common room, not even speaking a word to Harry. 

"Wait!"

A hand flies to her shoulder, making her flinch. "You can't tell anyone about that," Harry pleads.

Amarea takes a deep breath, shaking her head in anger. "She's not getting away with this."

"It's not-"

"Harry for once in your life, just shut up, please. Actually, no, explain. Why the hell would you not tell someone about this? For fucks sake, look at your hand! This isn't ok."

"I never said it was okay," Harry replies.

"Then why didn't you tell someone?"

"Dumbledore has other stuff on his mind. And I know you do as well. I didn't want to bother you. I know you're dealing with stuff we don't know about."

The candlelight flickers around them, quiet noise coming from behind the painting. Amarea lifts her hand, staring at it for a moment. "Harry, look at me," she whispers, softly grabbing his shoulder. "I will always make time for you, okay?" Harry nods, slightly shocked by the gentleness in her voice. Taking a breath, Amarea brings him into a hug, careful not to touch her face to his skin. "You're never a bother, Harry. I promise."

"Thank you," he mumbles, putting his arms around her. After a few moments, he speaks again, "You know, you give pretty good hugs. You should hug me more often."

Amarea chuckles, "Yeah?"

Harry tightens his arms around her, humming, "Yeah."