Certain Dark Things || Book Five

xxxviii. deserved

Harriet stayed silent as she followed Madam Umbridge toward the school.

The older witch had no qualms about taking her time, a smug smile stretched over her wide mouth as she picked her way along the path and then up the stairs. Of course, she wasn't silent. She stopped every student they passed to nag on some perceived fault: their shoes weren't polished, their robes weren't straight, their ties weren't tightened. She tutted at couples until they stepped away from one another and nicked a Fanged Frisbee from a pair of first years on the lawn. All the while, her smile grew more pleased, as if she couldn't imagine a better time than making children miserable.

Anxious sweat built on the back of Harriet's neck, and she could feel the dampness under her arms as well. She wouldn't admit it aloud, but dread squeezed her heart like a fist turning fruit to jam. How much did Umbridge know? Was Harriet going to be expelled?

Hermione and Elara had gone on ahead—to where, Harriet didn't know. Hopefully to Dumbledore or Snape or—somewhere Umbridge couldn't find them or subject them to terrible torture.

In the entrance hall, she saw Gabriel Flourish standing at the top of the dungeon steps. His mouth popped open in wordless shock before he turned around and rushed back down the stairs.

Harriet grimaced.

She dragged her feet the whole way to Umbridge's office on the fifth floor. Seeing the door, and then the single desk where she'd been forced to carve open her own hand almost brought Harriet's breakfast back up. She swallowed the saliva in her mouth, certain she'd be sick, and numbly staggered to the chair by the main desk Madam Umbridge indicated. She sat down.

The other witch took a seat as well, folding her hands together in front of herself. "Well, Miss Potter," Umbridge said. "It's not a surprise to find you in my office once again."

"You did invite me here, ma'am," Harriet told her, keeping her voice calm and polite. It didn't quiver, which bolstered her courage. "So maybe it's not so surprising."

Umbridge's smile tightened, and her eyes narrowed.

"Do you understand why you're here, girl?"

Harriet shook her head. "No, Madam Umbridge."

"I think you do." A tea service sat on the edge of the desk, an ugly thing Aunt Petunia probably would have liked, with fat cabbage roses and ungainly scrolled handles. Umbridge made herself a nice cuppa and didn't offer one to Harriet, not that Harriet would have taken it. She'd rather guzzle Bubotuber Pus.

"I really don't, ma'am."

"Where were you today, Miss Potter?"

Harriet's heart lurched, but she otherwise remained unshaken. She couldn't know. She couldn't. No one knew they'd been in Verwerry aside from Harriet and her friends, unless Umbridge had thought to interrogate the Knight Bus driver in the minutes between them debarking and walking toward the school. "Hogsmeade?"

"I have been informed by reliable sources that you were not."

Sources? What does she—? Harriet's mouth twitched. Guardians. There had to be Guardians of the Magical Right in the village. Damn, we didn't think of that.

"I dunno what to tell you. We went to the village. We went to Honeyduke's, Tomes and Scrolls, then stopped at the Three Broomsticks."

Umbridge's eyes narrowed again, sharp needles aimed for Harriet's throat. "I thought our lesson the other evening had sunken in. It seems not. Here you are, lying again."

Harriet didn't reach for her bandaged hand, but it was a near thing. "I was in the village," she reasserted. "Isn't it more likely whoever was meant to be watching Hogsmeade for you made a mistake?"