Purple Rain.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

"Oh yes?" Umbridge asked, her bulging eyes narrowing.

"Well I'm... I'm on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was— was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it— do it another night... instead..." Before Harry had even reached the end of his sentence, he knew the answer would be nothing good.

"Oh no," said Umbridge, smiling so widly that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. "Oh no, no, no. That if your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr. Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you."

Harry felt the blood surge to his head and heard a thumping noise in his ears. So he told evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, did he?
Umbridge was watching him with her head slightly to one side, still smiling widely as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether or not he would begin shouting again. With great difficulty, Harry looked away from her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair and sat down. He caught (Y/n)'s sympathetic stare and, as understanding as she looked, there was something about her stare that encouraged Harry to stay level-headed.

"There," said Umbridge sweetly, "we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you two are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr. Potter and Miss (Y/l/n). No, not with your quill," she added as Harry bent down to open his bag. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are."
Umbridge handed both of them a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point. (Y/n) instantly grew off-put by the quill and her walls went right back up and she peered cautiously at Umbridge.
"I want you to write 'I must not tell lies,'" Umbridge told them softly.

"How many times?" Harry asked with a creditable imitation of politeness.

"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," said Umbridge sweetly. "Off you go." She moved over to her desk, sat down, and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Harry raised the sharp black quill and then realized what was missing.

"You haven't given me any ink," Harry said. "Us, sorry," he added.

"Oh, you won't need ink," said Professor Umbridge with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.
(Y/n)'s suspicions grew even worse. Harry sent her a positively bewildered look to which she gave a little shrug. Harry placed the point of the pill on the paper and wrote: I must not tell lies.
Harry let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the word had appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel— yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.
Harry looked around at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile.
"Yes?"

"Nothing," said Harry quietly.
He spared a glance at (Y/n) and for a moment he wondered if the same thing was happening to her, for she was giving no reaction— merely writing away with her left hand as though entirely unbothered. If he hadn't known (Y/n) as well as he did, he would not have noticed the flutter of her eyelashes or the twitch to her mouth, both of which were silent signs of pain. As though feeling his eyes on her, (Y/n) had reached her leg out and lightly kicked Harry's shin, reminding him of what they were to be doing.
Harry looked back at the parchment, placed the quill upon it once more, wrote I must not tell lies, and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; once again the words had been cut into his skin, once again they healed over seconds later.
And on it went. Again and again, Harry and (Y/n) wrote the words on the parchment in what was soon determined to be their own blood. Again and again, the words were cut into the back of their hands, healed, and then reappeared the next time the quills touched the parchment.
Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window. Neither Harry nor (Y/n) dared ask when they were allowed to stop. No words were spoken and no watches were checked. Harry and (Y/n) were both stubborn people, so much so that they would not be showing the weakness Umbridge was so desperate to find, even if it meant sitting and writing until morning.

"Come here," Umbridge said after what seemed to be hours. 
Harry stood up and (Y/n) followed. Glancing down at his hand, Harry found no evidence of a cut, but that his light brown skin was irritated where a cut would be.
"Hand," Umbridge demanded.
Harry extended his and Umbridge took it in her own. He repressed the urge to shudder as she touched him with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings. She silently held her hand out for (Y/n)'s hand and examined it.
"Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet," Umbridge said, smiling. "Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go."

Harry and (Y/n) left her office without a word. The corridors were quite literally abandoned by this hour. They paced slowly until they reached a corner. During that time, (Y/n) had gotten out her walkman, headphones, and wand. She slid on her headphones and walkman before they rounded the corner and upon doing so, they broke into a run.

"Wait, wait, wait!" (Y/n) hissed right before they could reach the floor of their towers.

"What?" Harry whispered, coming to an abrupt stop. (Y/n) took Harry's arm and ducked behind one of the pillars in the hall, cautiously peeking out.

"There," (Y/n) whispered, nodding her head. Harry had to lean further out in order to see past (Y/n).
The cost of Cassius Warrington had just emerged from the very direction Harry and (Y/n) needed to go. Even if (Y/n)'s grip on Harry's arm hadn't tightened, he would have caught the hint that a slight detour was needed.

"Come on," Harry said quietly. "We'll go get a snack from the kitchens."

"Yeah. Okay," (Y/n) nodded. Harry took the lead this time, guiding her back the way they came and heading down to the entrance hall. (Y/n) didn't take her eyes from her oblivious boyfriend's ghost until he was no longer in her sight.

"How'd you know he was coming?" Harry whispered.

"Well, I didn't originally know it was him," (Y/n) said. "Ghosts have this kind of... whispy sound, you know? I don't know how to describe it... Like, a hiss whenever they move." Harry nodded in understanding. "And if it was any other ghost, I'd be just fine... But he started humming." Harry merely nodded, leading the way down to the basement. "Gosh, I really ought to go and talk to Adrian, huh? He and Cass were, like, best friends. He must be devastated— Oh, but how do I do that? We haven't talked in ages. I feel really bad for practically stealing his best friend..."

"Who's Adrian?" Harry asked.

"Cassius's friend," (Y/n) answered.

"Yeah. I got that," Harry huffed. "But you've never mentioned an Adrian."

"We were study partners for a couple years," (Y/n) answered. "And then we just... stopped. I met Cassius through him," she said. "You really don't know anyone, do you?"

"I do!" Harry said defensively.

"Okay, who's Marietta Edgecomb?" (Y/n) challenged. Harry silently looked away, making (Y/n) grin. "Come on, dude! She's my friend and Cho's too!"

"What, you think your guys' friends are who I'm interested in?" Harry asked. (Y/n) rose an eyebrow.

"I mean, if you're interested in dating Cho, you'll have to have some sense in who her friends are," (Y/n) said. Harry sighed heavily. 

"You avoid Cho's friends too," Harry said.

"I've got reasons for that," (Y/n) said. "I still haven't forgiven my house for isolating me during my second year when I lost fifty points— that I immediately won back by the way!" she fumed. "And also, Cho's friends aren't my kind of people... But I can still point them out for you. I'll be a great wingman... wingwoman." Harry snorted and the two fell silent. (Y/n) used her wand and various healing spells she knew off the top of her head to try and heal her hand quicker but any kind of magic used only seemed to make the stinging worse. She sighed depressively.