they bade ron and hermione good-bye and left the great hall for umbridge's office on the third floor. when harry knocked on the door she said, "come in," in a sugary voice. they entered cautiously, looking around.

they had known this office under three of its previous occupants. in the days when gilderoy lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of its owner. when lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. in the impostor moody's days it had been packed with various instruments and artifacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment.

now, however, it looked totally unrecognizable. the surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. there were several vases full of dried flowers, each residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolor kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. these were so foul that harry and elara stared at them, transfixed, until professor umbridge spoke again.

"good evening, mr. potter, miss lestrange."

elara started and looked around. she had not noticed professor umbridge at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.

"evening," harry said stiffly.

elara just slightly nodded.

"well, sit down," professor umbridge said, pointing toward a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up two straight-backed chairs. two blank pieces of parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for them.

elara grudgingly sat down in one of the empty chairs.

"er," said harry, without moving. "professor umbridge? er — before we start, i-i wanted to ask you a . . . a favor."

her bulging eyes narrowed.

"oh yes?"

"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 . . ."

elara knew long before harry reached the end of his sentence that it was no good.

"oh no," said umbridge, smiling so widely that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. "oh no, no, no. this is 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 along with miss lestrange. 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."

professor umbridge was watching harry 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 he would start shouting again. harry looked away from her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair next to elara, and sat down.

"there," said umbridge sweetly, "we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? miss lestrange could deal taking a page out of your book. now, you are going to be doing some lines for me tonight. no, not with your quill," she added, as harry and elara bent down to open their bag. "you're going to be using two rather special ones of mine. here you are."

she handed them long, thin black quills with unusually sharp points.

"mr. potter, i want you to write 'i must not tell lies,' " she said softly. "miss lestrange, i want you to write 'i must not disrespect'."

elara almost snorted. disrespecting idiotic and annoying people was what she was known for. well, that and the fact that her parents are bellatrix and rudolphus lestrange.

"how many times?" elara 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. elara raised the sharp black quill and then realized something was missing.

"you haven't given us any ink," said harry.

"oh, you won't need any ink," said professor umbridge with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.

elara placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: i must not disrespect.

elara screwed up her face in pain. harry seemed to have felt it too as he let out a gasp. the words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. at the same time, the words had appeared on the back of their right hands, cut into their skin as though traced there by a scalpel — yet even as elara 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. elara didn't have to look up at umbridge to see that she was staring at them with a grimly satisfied expression.

"yes?" said umbridge.

"nothing," said harry quietly.

elara placed the quill upon the parchment once more, wrote i must not disrespect, and felt the searing pain on the back of her hand for a second time; once again the words had been cut into her skin, once again they healed over seconds later.

and on it went. again and again elara wrote the words on the parchment in what she soon came to realize was not ink, but her own blood. and again and again the words were cut into the back of her hand, healed, and then reappeared the next time she set quill to parchment.

elara and harry would sneak glances at each other every so often that said, 'i cannot believe we're actually being tortured right now'.

darkness fell outside umbridge's window. elara did not ask when they would be allowed to stop. she did not even check her watch. she knew umbridge was watching them for signs of weakness and she was not going to show any, not even if she had to sit here all night, cutting open her own hand with this quill.

"come here," umbridge said, after what seemed hours.

they stood up. elara's hand was stinging painfully. when she looked down at it he saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin there was red raw.

"hands," umbridge said.

they extended their hands. she took each in her own. elara repressed a shudder as umbridge touched her with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings.

"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 elara left umbridge's office without a word. the school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight. they walked slowly up the corridor then, when they had turned the corner and was sure that umbridge would not hear them, broke into a run.

elara had not finished the drawing of the bowtruckles, nor had she written her essay. they skipped breakfast next morning so harry could scribble down a couple of made-up dreams for divination and so elara could start her essays, and was surprised to find a disheveled ron keeping them company.

"how come you didn't do it last night?" harry asked in reference to the dream journals, as ron stared wildly around the common room for inspiration. ron muttered something about "doing other stuff," bent low over his parchment, and scrawled a few words.

"just use my old ones, idiots," said elara, throwing her journals onto the table.

after a few hurried minutes, they finished copying down some of elara's dreams.

"that'll have to do," ron said, slamming the diary shut, "trelawney loves really horrifying stuff. thanks lara."

"no problem," grumbled elara.

they hurried off to north tower together.

"how was detention with umbridge, anyway? what did she make you do?"

elara hesitated for a fraction of a second, then said, "lines."

"that's not too bad, then, eh?" said ron.

"nope," said harry.

"hey — i forgot — did she let you off for friday, harry?"

"no," said harry.

ron groaned sympathetically.

it was another stressful for elara; she wasn't able to practice vanishing spells, as she had fainted for the last half of class. she and harry had to give up their lunch hour to complete their pictures of bowtruckles, and meanwhile, professors mcgonagall, grubbly-plank, and sinistra gave them yet more homework (although elara was ecstatic to do her astronomy homework), but she had no prospect of finishing homework that evening because of her second detention with umbridge.

"at least it's only lines," said hermione consolingly, as harry sank back onto his after getting yelled at by angelina. "it's not as if it's a dreadful punishment, really. . . ."

harry opened his mouth, closed it again, and nodded. elara was not really sure why she and harry were not telling ron and hermione exactly what was happening in umbridge's room: elara only knew that she did not want to see their looks of horror; that would make the whole thing seem worse and therefore more difficult to face. she also felt dimly that this was between herself, harry, and umbridge, a private battle of wills, and elara was not going to give umbridge the satisfaction of hearing that she had complained about it.

"i can't believe how much homework we've got," said ron miserably.

"well, why didn't you do any last night?" hermione asked him. "where were you anyway?"

"i was . . . i fancied a walk," said ron shiftily.

elara had the distinct impression that she and harry were not alone in concealing things at the moment.

the second detention was just as bad as the previous one. the skin on the back of elara's hand became irritated more quickly now, red and inflamed; elara thought it unlikely to keep healing as effectively for long. soon the cut would remain etched in her hand and umbridge would, perhaps, be satisfied. elara let no moan of pain escape her, however, and from the moment of entering the room to the moment of her and harry's dismissal, again past midnight, they said nothing but "good evening" and "good night."

their homework situation, however, was now desperate, and when they returned to the gryffindor common room they did not, though both thoroughly exhausted, go to bed, but opened their books and began snape's moonstone essay. with the help of one another (though mainly elara), they were able to have it done by one. they then dashed off answers to the questions professor mcgonagall had set them, cobbled together something on the proper handling of bowtruckles for professor grubbly-plank, and staggered up to bed, where elara fell fully clothed on top of the bed covers and fell asleep immediately.

thursday passed in a haze of tiredness. no matter how much elara drank coffee, she was still exhausted. ron seemed very sleepy too, though elara could not see why he should be. harry's and elara's third detention passed in the same way as the previous two, except that after two hours the words "i must not disrespect" did not fade from the back of elara's hand, but remained scratched there, oozing droplets of blood. the pause in the pointed quills' scratching made professor umbridge look up.

"ah," she said softly, moving around her desk to examine his hand herself. "good. that ought to serve as a reminder to the both of you, oughtn't it? you may leave for tonight."

"do we still have to come back tomorrow?" said harry, picking up his schoolbag with his left hand rather than his smarting right.

elara did the same, and slung it over her shoulder.

"oh yes," said professor umbridge, smiling widely as before. "yes, i think we can etch the message a little deeper with another evening's work."

harry kept glancing worriedly at elara's hand as they walked back to the gryffindor tower.

"stop worrying about me," elara said without glancing at harry.

"that's kinda hard considering you have words etched into your skin."

"why don't you take a gander at your own -- "

"ron?" said harry.

they had reached the top of the stairs, turned right, and almost walked into ron, who was lurking behind a statue of lachlan the lanky, clutching his broomstick. he gave a great leap of surprise when he saw elara and harry and attempted to hide his new cleansweep eleven behind his back.

"what are you doing?" said elara.

"er — nothing. what are you doing?"

harry frowned at him.

"come on, you can tell us," said harry. "what are you hiding here for?"

"i'm — i'm hiding from fred and george, if you must know," said ron. "they just went past with a bunch of first years, i bet they're testing stuff on them again, i mean, they can't do it in the common room now, can they, not with hermione there."

he was talking in a very fast, feverish way.

"but what have you got your broom for, you haven't been flying, have you?" harry asked.

"i — well — well, okay, i'll tell you, but don't laugh, all right?" ron said defensively, turning redder with every second. "i-i thought i'd try out for gryffindor keeper now i've got a decent broom. there. go on. laugh."

"that's brilliant!" said elara, clapping ron on the shoulder.

ron blinked.

"i'm not laughing," said harry. "it'd be really cool if you got on the team! i've never seen you play keeper, are you good?"

"i'm not bad," said ron, who looked immensely relieved at elara's and harry's reaction. "charlie, fred, and george always made me keep for them when they were training during the holidays."

"so you've been practicing tonight?"

"every evening since tuesday . . . just on my own, though, i've been trying to bewitch quaffles to fly at me, but it hasn't been easy and I don't know how much use it'll be." ron looked nervous and anxious. "fred and george are going to laugh themselves stupid when i turn up for the tryouts. they haven't stopped taking the mickey out of me since i got made a prefect."

"i wish i was going to be there," said harry bitterly, as they set off together toward the common room.

"yeah, so do — wait, what's that on the back of your hand, lara?"

elara, who had just scratched her nose with her free right hand, tried to hide it, but had as much success as ron with his cleansweep.

"it's just a — it's nothing — i fell —"

but ron had grabbed elara's forearm and pulled the back of elara's hand up level with his eyes. there was a pause, during which he stared at the words carved into the skin, then he released elara, looking sick.

"i thought you two said she was giving you lines? wait, harry does that mean — "

harry and elara hesitated, but after all, ron had been honest with them, so they told ron the truth about the hours they had been spending in umbridge's office.

"the old hag!" ron said in a revolted whisper as they came to a halt in front of the fat lady, who was dozing peacefully with her head against her frame. "she's sick! go to mcgonagall, say something!"

"absolutely not," said elara at once. "i'm not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she's got to me."

"got to you? you can't let her get away with this!"

"i don't know how much power mcgonagall's got over her," said harry.

"dumbledore, then, tell dumbledore!"

"no," said elara and harry flatly.

"why not?"

"he's got enough on his mind," said harry.

"well, i reckon you should — " ron began, but he was interrupted by the fat lady, who had been watching them sleepily and now burst out, "are you going to give me the password or will i have to stay awake all night waiting for you to finish your conversation?"

"you two and your pride. honestly, sometimes i wonder how you both haven't died," said ron as they entered the common room.

friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week. though elara glanced toward the staff table automatically when she entered the great hall, it was without real hope of seeing hagrid and she turned her mind immediately to her more pressing problems, such as the mountainous pile of homework she had to do and the prospect of yet another detention with umbridge.

two things sustained elara that day. one was the thought that it was almost the weekend; the other was that, dreadful though her final detention with umbridge was sure to be, she had a distant view of the quidditch pitch from her window and might, with luck, be able to see something of ron's tryout. these were rather feeble rays of light, it was true, but elara was grateful for anything that might lighten his present darkness; she had never had a worse first week of term at hogwarts.

"hey," said elara as she and harry walked to their doom (again). "i've got a name for umbridge."

"what is it? is it innapro — "

"yes, but that's not the point."

"lay it on me."

"that's what she said."

"lara," said harry exasperatedly. "really?"

"okay, okay. fine."

"what's the name?"

"umbitch."

harry had to stop walking. his laughter soon became breathless and elara joined in. in particularly high spirits, they knocked on professor umbridge's office door for what they sincerely hoped would be the final time, was told to enter and did so. the blank parchment lay ready for them on the lace-covered table, the pointed black quills beside it.