Chapter Text
“I thought you said she was giving you lines?”
Harry hesitated, but after all, Ron had been honest with him, so he told Ron the truth about the hours he had been spending in Umbridge’s office.
“That 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!”
“No,” said Harry at once. “I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’s gotten to me.”
Ron stared at Harry like he’d grown a second head. “Harry, this isn’t some pride thing! Blimey, she’s hurting you! You’re a kid!”
“I’m a lot of things, Ron,” Harry said with a hard smile. “A kid isn’t one of them.” Why didn’t Ron understand? The adults couldn’t be trusted. McGonagall wasn’t going to do anything. They didn’t care about helping a freak like Harry. It was every person for themselves. Sure, Harry could rely on his friends, but when was the last time an adult had ever done anything for him? McGonagall sure as heck hadn’t helped him. Not when she saw with her own eyes that her letter was being addressed to the cupboard under the stairs and she didn’t do a single thing about it.
Ron shook his head. “Look, Harry, this isn’t just about you. You think you’re the only one she’s gonna hurt? What if she uses this quill on first years?”
“She…she wouldn’t do that, would she?” Harry asked nervously. The idea was, even now, unimaginable. Surely…surely something would stop her. No, he realized in a flash of horror. No one would. No one would believe a first year. They’d just assume they were exaggerating.
(How could you say such things about your loving family?
You’re exaggerating.
Your aunt and uncle may find it difficult to show affection to you, Harry, but they love you deep down…)
Harry shook his head to rid himself of those awful thoughts. “Okay, Ron. I’ll give McGonagall one chance.” He pursed his lips. “But I’ll only do it if you go with me.”
“Deal,” Ron said immediately. He looked Harry in the eyes. Harry wished he wouldn’t do that. Those blue eyes were so distracting. They weren’t blue like Dumbledore’s, sharp sapphires cutting their way through everything – objections, feelings, anything but doing what was necessary. They were blue like the ocean. A thing of awesome, terrible beauty. Light and playful when calm, but a magnificent, unstoppable force of nature when furious.
Ron snapped his fingers in front of Harry’s face. “Hey! Are you listening to me?”
“Uh…no?” Harry said, feeling his cheeks heating up with embarrassment. He really should stop zoning out around Ron. It was becoming increasingly and distressingly frequent. There was just something about his best mate that caused him to lose his composure. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
Ron sighed. “I was saying that I’ll always have your back, cause we’re best mates.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, unable to keep a morose note out of his voice. For some reason, the idea of being best mates with Ron made his stomach churn unpleasantly and he had absolutely no idea why. Wasn’t that a good thing?
Ron grabbed Harry’s hand and dragged him towards McGonagall’s office before Harry could make a run for it. Ron’s hand felt so warm and smooth and perfectly wonderful…he was woozy from the blood loss, Harry decided. That was the only reason these odd thoughts were entering his head, of course. There was no possible other explanation for it, of course.
“Harry’s got something to say to you about his detentions,” Ron announced the second they entered McGonagall’s office. The Transfiguration professor was still there, unfortunately, grading papers and looking very sour to be interrupted. Harry sighed. Couldn’t Ron see how this would end? Adults don’t care about children. It was a law of the universe, as constant as gravity.
But then again, gravity wasn’t too constant when you were on a broomstick, was it? Maybe Ron was right. Maybe this was worth a shot. The image of some first year Gryffindor with their hand sliced open went through Harry’s head and he steeled himself. He was a true Gryffindor and he was going to show it, no matter how useless it would be.
He placed his hand on the desk. McGonagall’s hand went chalk white. “Umbridge has been having me write lines with a quill that writes in my blood.”
“It’s not…not possible,” McGonagall whispered, almost inaudibly. Her hands were shaking as if she’d been the one forced to carve open her hand.
Harry slammed his other hand on the desk. “I knew it! I knew she wouldn’t believe me! This was a waste of my time, Ron! She’s just like everyone else! She doesn’t believe me!”
“Do not put words in my mouth, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall snapped, looking back to her old self. “Of course I believe you.” Harry narrowed his eyes, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “However…” Ah, there it was. “This isn’t quite enough evidence to bring her down.”
“Told you,” Harry said to Ron. “Yeah, everyone wants to help, but their hands are bloody tied, aren’t they?” He glared at McGonagall. “I should have expected this from the woman who addressed my letter to the cupboard under the stairs and didn’t even give a shit about –”
McGonagall’s eyes widened in pure horror and Harry couldn’t help but falter. “The cupboard under the stairs? Those awful Muggles made you sleep in a cupboard?” She shook her head in dismay. “Harry, I swear upon my magic, I did not know. Those letters are automatically created with an enchantment. I have never actually corresponded with you.”
“You…what?” Harry reeled for a few seconds, the entire world off its axis. Was it truly possible that an adult cared? An actual figure of authority gave a shit about him? No. The universe was truly trying to trick him, wasn’t it?
Ah, but Sirius cared, didn’t he? He loved Harry like he was his own son. At least, Harry hoped so. Some days, he had doubts. So was it truly too much of a stretch that McGonagall cared.
“Prove it,” Harry said eventually. “Prove you give a shit about me. Do something about Umbridge.”
For once, McGonagall didn’t seem to react at all to the foul language he was using. “Right. As I was saying, before I was interrupted with aspersions on my character.” She cast a glare on Harry, who gazed back at her unrepentantly. “We don’t have enough evidence yet to bring her down. So we will need to get some. An eyewitness, specifically. I believe you have an Invisibility Cloak, Mr. Potter?”
“Uh…” Harry floundered. He’d used that Invisibility Cloak for a wide variety of rule breaking activities. He wasn’t even sure he was allowed to have it in the first place.
McGonagall sighed. “Mr. Potter, possession of an Invisibility Cloak is within the rules of Hogwarts. Your father before you owned one, and I spent quite a lot of time badgering Albus to return it to you.”
“Okay, well, in that case, yes, I have one.”
“Good,” McGonagall said. “You’ll go to your next detention as normal. However, I will be there, invisible. The instant Umbridge uses that foul object on you, I will reveal myself and detain her.”
“But won’t the minister just get her off and put her back here?” Ron asked.
McGonagall gave a savage smile, very reminiscent of a lioness. “You let me worry about that, Mr. Weasley. Now, I believe eight points are in order for you, Mr. Potter, for having the courage to speak out about an injustice. And four points to you, Mr. Weasley, for supporting Mr. Potter in a very difficult conversation for him.”
“It was nothing,” Ron said. “Anybody’d do the same for their best mate.” Harry’s stomach churned again. It was just nervousness for how things would go down at the next detention, of course. It couldn’t be anything else.
Harry thought that things couldn’t possibly get any more nerve wracking, but since the universe delighted in proving him wrong, they, in fact, got worse. Ron had walked right up to the front of the DADA classroom and punched Umbridge right in the face as soon as he walked in the room. It had a strange effect on Harry, leaving him short of breath and his face flushing. The image of Ron punching his tormentor would live in his head rent free for quite some time. As had no doubt been Ron’s plan all along, he was given detention. Umbridge seemed to be quite gleeful about the fact it would prevent him from trying out to be Quidditch Keeper and even more gleeful about the fact Ron would be punished right next to Harry. God, how Harry hated that woman.
“What the hell was that all about?!” Harry shouted as soon as they’d left the classroom. “How could you do that? You’re putting yourself at risk!”
“Harry,” Ron said, his voice unusually solemn. “You’ve put yourself at risk so many times for me. You faced Quirrell alone. You faced the basilisk alone. You faced V – V – Voldemort alone. I’m not gonna let you face Umbridge alone. If she wants to hurt you, she’ll have to go through me.”
It was almost more unbelievable than the very existence of magic itself, Harry thought, that he could ever have a friend as amazing as Ron.
“I know I haven’t always stood with you in the past, mate,” Ron said, looking at the floor in shame. “But that changes now. It’s Weasley and Potter from now on. You and me! Together!”
“Together,” Harry said in a dreamy tone. He quickly let out a cough, hoping no one had noticed. “But…but what about your Quidditch tryouts! This is your dream!”
Ron shrugged. “There’s always next year, right? You’re more important than some game.”
“I’m more important to you than Quidditch?” Harry said in a high pitched tone that sounded alarmingly like Lavender.
Ron just gave a nod and a wink and walked away. Was that a flirtatious wink? Was Ron flirting with him?!
Oh, God. Oh, God, it was happening again! Harry had been trying to avoid the dreaded conclusion for ages, but it was undeniable now. This was just like last year, when Harry had realized that, in fact, Harry’s appreciation for Cedric’s stunning beauty, amazing Quidditch skills, and almost unbelievable sense of fair play was about as far from platonic as it was possible to get. But a thousand times worse, because this was his best mate!
He would not act on these feelings, he vowed. The last time, he had planned on asking out Cedric after the third task was complete. Instead, it was Cedric’s life that ended up completing and Harry was left alone, having to spend summer with a broken heart. The universe hated him and everyone close to him ended up suffering. What if fate decided to punish Harry again for wanting to be happy by taking away Ron? Harry couldn’t let that happen. Not in a thousand years. He would just bury his crush. Besides, Ron was probably straight anyway.
The day seemed to drag on interminably. When Umbridge was caught, who knew what she’d do? What if it didn’t work? What if Fudge manipulated her trial in her favor like he’d manipulated Harry’s own trial against him? How could Harry concentrate for a second when his crush best friend was going to be put into danger?
But the ever treasonous time flowed on and eventually, Harry and Ron, hand in hand (when had Ron’s hand become so comfortable?) went over to meet their fate. Why was this even his life? What had he done to make the universe hate him so much?
“Ah, Mr. Weasley, thank you so much for joining Mr. Potter for his…punishment,” Umbridge simpered as the two of them entered the torture chamber that was her office. Harry had given the Invisibility Cloak to McGonagall, but who knew if she’d be there? Despite Ron and Hermione’s assurances, Harry just didn’t feel like he could rely on any adults right now, especially the one who had brushed away his concerns about the Philosopher’s Stone. But he had no other choice but to hope McGonagall was there invisibly.
“I think you’ll find this to be most instructive,” Umbridge went on, barely even trying to hide her glee at seeing Ron getting tortured. “You, Mr. Weasley, will write the lines, I must not attack my betters.” It took all of Harry’s self-control to avoid leaping over his desk and plunging his wand up her nose like he’d done to the troll. Though, honestly, Harry was a lot fonder of the troll right now than he was of Umbridge. It probably would have been a better teacher than her.
Harry and Ron steeled themselves and sat down. “I’ll go first,” Ron said, and before Harry could do anything, he started carving up his hand with that awful quill without any hesitation.
There was a banging sound as McGonagall emerged from the Invisibility Cloak and hit Umbridge with a stunning spell, causing her to be slammed against the wall and landed in a crumpled heap. “That’s quite enough of that,” McGonagall said, her voice a nearly incomprehensible snarl, the roar of a lioness. “Dolores Jane Umbridge, for the crime of assault of a minor, I am placing you in custody pending delivery to the Aurors. Do not think your connections to the minister will get you out of this one.”
Umbridge gave a high pitched, girlish squeal of laughter that made Harry shudder. “Oh, Minerva, sweetie,” she said, as if McGonagall had told a very funny joke. “As we all know, dead men tell no tales.”
She drew her wand, stood up, and pointed the wand at Harry. But then she smirked and pointed it at Ron. “Avada Kedavra!”
But between the first and the second word, Harry leaped in front of Ron without hesitating for a single second. Green light smashed into Harry’s chest for the second time in his life and everything went black.