Potter's Girl / Butterfly Effect.

50. Ought Not to Cry Over Spilled Milk

CHAPTER FIFTY;

OUGHT NOT TO CRY OVER SPILLED MILK

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Friday brought an unspoken buzz of excitement amongst the students – a buzz of the weekend, no classes for a whole two days, and on top of it all, Quidditch tryouts for Gryffindor. Cassie did not share this excitement with her classmates, though thankfully, neither did Harry. He seemed just as grim and sullen as her.

   At five o'clock, her and Harry knocked on Umbridge's office door, just as they had for the past three days. A chirpy voice chimed through the door and told them to enter; they did so, to see the blank parchment and damning black quills lying on their desks, just as they had for the past three days.

   "You know what to do, I expect," Umbridge hummed, smiling sweetly at the two of them.

   Cassie picked up her quill and took her seat. She lifted her head as a whistle blew faintly from the Quidditch pitch; glancing out the window, she realized she could catch a bit of the tryouts. A bitter taste in her mouth, she returned her attention to her lines and drilled them for the entire time. Not once did she lift her head until Umbridge told them time was up.

   Her hand did not heal as easily as it had the other nights. Usually, it scarred and smoothened over within a few minutes after she finished writing, yet Umbridge's message must have finally 'sunken in', as she put it.

   "It hurts, doesn't it?" Umbridge was asking Harry as he pulled his hand from her grip with a scowl. He did not answer, but Cassie noticed he had gone a few shades lighter and begun sweating. She looked upon him in concern, but he did not meet her eyes. Umbridge glanced over him again. "I think I've made my point, Mr. Potter. You may go."

   Cassie followed Harry as he reached for his bag, but she paused abruptly as someone grabbed hold of her wrist. She turned to see Umbridge smiling sweetly at her. The woman tilted her head to the side, then said, "I believe I said Mr. Potter, not Miss Black."

   The teenager wrenched her wrist from the woman's grip furiously, yet did not say anything further. Harry watched from behind, his eyes glancing between the two witches. Cassie did not look back before saying, "Go, Harry, I'll be fine."

   He went. Reluctantly.

   "My message has not had the effect on you I hoped it would have," said Umbridge, tutting her lips in disappointment. Cassie rolled her jaw and flickered her eyes to the quill, now on Umbridge's desk.

    "I believe your message has been received well enough," she said in a low voice. She lifted her hand and faced the raw side toward Umbridge. "See?"

   "Oh, no," Umbridge tittered, shaking her head sweetly. "I mean that you must not tell lies." Cassie's confusion must have shown in her expression, because Umbridge smirked and went on. "You have told a lie to Mr. Potter."

   It dawned on Cassie. "When I said I would be fine. You're saying.. what, you're planning to do worse than a flesh-eating quill?"

   "Tell me where Sirius Black is and we won't have this problem." Umbridge's voice dropped decibels and she leaned in, a brown eyebrow raised expectantly. "The Ministry knows you know where he is. Tell me, and there will be no repercussions."

   "When you say no repercussions," said Cassie, crossing her arms and ignoring the searing pain when her hand made contact with her own skin, "I assume that means besides my father getting his soul sucked out painfully from his body?"