* * *

            AT FIVE TO FIVE HARRY AND ELARA SET OFF FOR THEIR INEVITABLE DOOM. 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.

            "you know what to do," said umbridge, smiling sweetly over at them.

            elara picked up the quill and glanced through the window. if hse just shifted his chair an inch or so to the right . . . but harry had beaten her to it with the pretext of shifting himself closer to the table he managed it.

            i must not disrespect, elara wrote. the cut in the back of her right hand opened and began to bleed afresh. as soon as the last letter was written, elara felt far-off. as if she'd disassociated from herself and reality. 

            "no, no, no, no," elara muttered quietly. harry looked over at her.

            not now. not now. elara squeezed her eyes shut and forced to feeling off.

            i must not disrespect. the cut dug deeper, stinging and smarting. it was much harder not to flinch or wince or grimace now that elara was desperately fighting off a vision.

            i must not disrespect. blood trickled down her wrist. she could still feel the vision forcing itself on her.

            i must not disrespect.
            i must not disrespect.

            elara would grimace when she could hear the scratching of umbridge's quill or the opening of a desk drawer. elara kept begging with herself or whatever power there was that was forcing the vision onto her. it can wait, she told herself, i can't let umbridge know.

            i must not disrespect.
            i must not disrespect.

             the parchment was now shining with drops of blood from the back of her hand, which was searing with pain. the vision seemed to be subsiding. it was still there, gnawing at the back of her head.

             "let's see if you've gotten the message yet, shall we?" said umbridge's soft voice half an hour later.

             she moved toward them, stretching out her short be-ringed fingers for their arms. and then, as she took hold of elara to examine the words now cut into her skin, pain seared, not across the back of her hand, but across her head, like a migraine. elara screwed her eyes shut.

            "i think the message is etched in quite well, miss lestrange," said umbridge. "you may go."

            "i'll wait for harry," said elara quietly, getting to her feet.

            harry suddenly wrenched his arm out of umbridge's grip and leapt to his feet, staring at her. she looked back at him, a smile stretching her wide, slack mouth.

            "yes, it hurts, doesn't it?" she said softly.

            he did not answer.

            "well, i think i've made my point, mr. potter. you may go as well."

            they exited the room. elara fought off the feeling until she rounded the corner and allowed herself to fall susceptible. she felt far-off again. her bag fell from her shoulder and she stumbled.

            "harry — "

            "yep," said harry hastily, diving to catch elara as she blacked out.

            harry sighed, now supporting an unconscious elara as he looked around for what to do. it took a bit, considering she was already in an awkward position and that harry had never carried another person before, he was able to scoop her up and carry her bridal style. he had a bit of a struggle carrying her bag and his, but he managed halfway up the stairs until the head girl came along and offered to levitate elara to the gryffindor common room.

            it was kind of awkward walking up the stairs with the head girl, especially since elara was unconscious between them. harry glanced at the head girl before saying the password.

            "mimbulus mimbletonia!" he mumbled at the fat lady, who swung forward once more.

            "alright," said the head girl. "i'll carry her in, but tell lestrange to try and avoid passing out in corridors from now on."

            "okay," said harry, slightly offended, because elara couldn't exactly control that.

            unfortunately, there were plenty of people in the common room, only a few of whom already knew of elara's reasons for her fainting spells. a roar of sound greeted harry. ron came running toward him, beaming all over his face and slopping butterbeer down his front from the goblet he was clutching. he stopped short when he saw elara.

            "oh — uh, lara's fainted again?" said ron, and harry nodded. "anyways, harry, i did it, i'm in, i'm keeper!"

            "what? oh — brilliant!" said harry, trying to smile naturally, while his heart continued to race and his hand throbbed and bled.

            "have a butterbeer." ron pressed a bottle onto him. "lara can't be mad i didn't save her some 'cause she's gone and passed out. but i can't believe it — where's hermione gone?"

            ron's lack of tact was and always had been astounding.

            "she's there," said fred, who was also swigging butterbeer, and pointed to an armchair by the fire. hermione was dozing in it, her drink tipping precariously in her hand. lara was in the one next to it. the head girl had gone.

            "oh — lara's fainted again," said aurora, taking a swig of butterbeer. her elbow was swung awkardly on george's shoulder as she leaned against him.

            "well, hermione said she was pleased when I told her," said ron, looking slightly put out.

            "let her sleep," said george hastily. it was a few moments before harry noticed that several of the first years gathered around them bore unmistakable signs of recent nosebleeds. most of them were staring suspiciously at elara, whispering to each other asking if she was dead.

            "come here, ron, and see if oliver's old robes fit you," called katie bell. "we can take off his name and put yours on instead. . . ."

            as ron moved away, angelina came striding up to harry.

            "sorry i was a bit short with you earlier, potter," she said abruptly. "it's stressful, this managing lark, you know, i'm starting to think i was a bit hard on wood sometimes." she was watching ron over the rim of her goblet with a slight frown on her face.

            "look, i know he's your best mate, but he's not fabulous," she said bluntly. "i think with a bit of training he'll be all right, though. he comes from a family of good quidditch players. i'm banking on him turning out to have a bit more talent than he showed today, to be honest. vicky frobisher and geoffrey hooper both flew better this evening, but hooper's a real whiner, he's always moaning about something or other, and vicky's involved in all sorts of societies, she admitted herself that if training clashed with her charm club she'd put charms first. anyway, we're having a practice session at two o'clock tomorrow, so just make sure you're there this time. and do me a favor and help ron as much as you can, okay?"

            he nodded and angelina strolled back to katie bell. harry moved over to keep an eye on elara and to sit next to hermione, who awoke with a jerk as he put down his bag.

            "oh, harry, it's you. . . . good about ron, isn't it?" she said blearily. "i'm just so — so — so tired," she yawned. "i was up until one o'clock making more hats. they're disappearing like mad! where's — oh — she's out again."

            hermione looked around at elara. and sure enough, now that he looked, harry saw that there were woolly hats concealed all around the room where unwary elves might accidentally pick them up.

            "great," said harry distractedly; if he did not tell somebody soon, he would burst. "listen, hermione, i was just up in umbridge's office and she touched my arm . . ."

            hermione listened closely. when harry had finished she said slowly, "you're worried that you-know-who's controlling her like he controlled quirrell?"

            "well," said harry, dropping his voice, "it's a possibility, isn't it?"

            "i suppose so," said hermione, though she sounded unconvinced. "but i don't think he can be possessing her the way he possessed quirrell, i mean, he's properly alive again now, isn't he, he's got his own body, he wouldn't need to share someone else's. he could have her under the imperius curse, i suppose. . . ."

            harry watched fred and lee jordan juggle empty butterbeer bottles as george and aurora wrestled each other. george eventually won when he swung aurora over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and tackle her onto a couch. then hermione said, "but last year your scar hurt when nobody was touching you, and didn't dumbledore say it had to do with what you-know-who was feeling at the time? i mean, maybe this hasn't got anything to do with umbridge at all, maybe it's just coincidence it happened while you were with her?"

            "she's evil," said harry flatly. "twisted. she hurt lara. although, lara did make up a really funny name for her."

            "i'm not surprised," said hermione with an eyebrow raised and a slight grin. "but she also hurt you too. dhe's horrible, yes, but . . . harry, i think you ought to tell dumbledore your scar hurt."

            it was the second time in two days he had been advised to go to dumbledore and his answer to hermione was just the same as his answer to ron.

            "i'm not bothering him with this. like you just said, it's not a big deal. it's been hurting on and off all summer — it was just a bit worse tonight, that's all —"

            "harry, i'm sure dumbledore would want to be bothered by this —"

            "yeah," said harry, before he could stop himself, "that's the only bit of me dumbledore cares about, isn't it, my scar?"

            "don't say that, it's not true!"

            "i think i'll write and tell sirius about it, see what he thinks —"

            "harry, you can't put something like that in a letter!" said hermione, looking alarmed. "don't you remember, moody told us to be careful what we put in writing! we just can't guarantee owls aren't being intercepted anymore!"

            "all right, all right, i won't tell him, then!" said harry irritably. "you tell ron, i'm going to make sure lara's okay."

            "oh no," said hermione, looking relieved, "i'm absolutely exhausted and i want to make some more hats tomorrow, so i'm going to head to bed. listen, you can help me if you like, it's quite fun, i'm getting better, i can do patterns and bobbles and all sorts of things now. oh, and ask lara too, when she wakes up."

            harry looked into her face, which was shining with glee, and tried to look as though he was vaguely tempted by this offer.

            "er . . . no, i don't think I will, thanks," he said. "er — not tomorrow. lara and i've got loads of homework to do. . . . but i'll ask. . . ."

* * *

AUTHORS NOTE

-- i love elara

-- george and aurora's relationship? goals.
also i have plans to write a fic for them
when i'm done with this one

-- a peak into harry's pov.... HES SO CONCERNED
ABOUT ELARAS WELLBEING AHHHHHHHHHH

JANUARY 28, 2020