The Necessary Pains

Snape kept staring at the door long after the boy had left his office. He tried to calm down and irritably noticed that his hands were shaking with the effort. He grabbed the back of a chair but it was no use. Umbridge made Potter do lines - yes indeed! He seized the chair and threw it away in an outburst of anger - and stopped it inches from hitting the wall. His hands still trembling, he just about managed to keep the chair suspended in midair. He would do this by the rules. He would of course inform the headmaster. There was no way he would let Umbrigde get away with this. Not with physical abuse like ... There was only one reason why he hadn't informed Dumbledore right after he had seen that memory in Potter's mind - only one reason why he'd let Potter stop him with this I'm-fine-nonsense. Snape knew how the boy felt. He clenched his fist and the chair imploded with a soft 'thud'. Knowing, of course, didn't mean sympathising. He still didn't feel anything but disgust and loathing for Potter. On the contrary. All his assessments of the brat's complete lack of appropriate judgment were now thouroughly confirmed.

Snape was sure that Potter hadn't planned to inform any teacher, let alone the headmaster. For that would mean asking for someone's help, wouldn't it, but famous Potter was destined to do everything on his own. But the boy was fifteen, for God's sake. He should have learned something by now. It was different when you were - five ... and didn't have anyone to ... but Potter wasn't scared or alone. He was just unbelievably ignorant and unwilling to even consider the possibility there could be anything more important than his own stupid und dangerously misplaced pride. And - unfortunately -Potter seemed to be a model to others. Snape could well imagine what other students thought about his supposed-to-be martyrdom. "If Potter doesn't say anything, I can't run off to Professor McGonagall to tell on Umbridge. He's so brave!" Snape sneered. It was so easy for Umbridge to hurt them, to manipulate them. Because kids like Potter who mistook their lack of common sense for bravery helped sustaining her power. Potter only played into Umbridge's hands. He might think he'd won some heroic battle, but he only made sure that other students would suffer the same.

"Reparo!" Snape called and watched the chair reassembling. He then took a handful of floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. "Head -" He stopped again and cursed himself loudly. Why was he so hesitant? Why did he let the boy's words get to him like that? 'Please, it's not important. I can handle. I'm fine." Even if he didn't care about Umbridge's methods - but he definitely did - there were rules. And he'd always thought rules were important. Even during the time he'd been with Voldemort, even when he was frequently bending the rules to put Potter back in his place - or to make some other Gryffindor twerp feel miserable. Some part of him knew that this was more than a twisted view of things. But what was important was that following the rules kept him in line with doing the right things. With making the right decisions. And he'd regarded Hogwarts as the only place where people were trusting him with that.

But he also knew about Dumbledore's fears concerning the amount of control the Ministry could exert on Hogwarts through Umbridge. That Fudge had plans for placing the headmaster and all other teachers under Umbridge's guardianship. If Dumbledore acted on Umbridge she probably would find a way to speed up the process. And then rules wouldn't be worth the parchment they were written on, anyway. Except for Educational Decree No. twenty-odd.

And then he pictured Potter's hand once more and the painfully visible words on it. And with that came other memories. This time the chair exploded in a shower of splinters. Snape raised a hand to stop them but one had already hit his cheek. He felt a short stinging pain. Great. He stood in his own office, with this mess around him and a bloody scratch on his face. If he called the headmaster now ... A malicious smile twisted Snape's face. Perhaps he wouldn't do it by the rules. Perhaps it was time to find out about how good Umbrigde really was with Defence against the Dark Arts.

Snape pulled a little book from a shelf and two hours later he left his office. He hadn't bothered to repair the chair.

***

Harry had another week's detention with Umbridge. For the third time. But he didn't mind because he now had the DA. And that was worth more than anything that bitch could throw at him.

She made him sit down in front of the parchment and the quill. So Snape hadn't done anything to stop her from using them. No surprise here. Snape had probably been very satisfied when Harry begged him not to tell Dumbledore. Although Snape didn't use that kind of methods in his detentions himself, Harry was sure he enjoyed the idea that someone else was doing it for him. But Harry didn't mind that either. And besides, he hadn't expected Snape to help him. And he didn't want him to.

He took the quill without hesitation and wrote the first line. Then he wrote the second and the third and ... he stared at his hand where the skin opened and closed like all the times before. Only this time there was no pain. He tried to hide his excitement and continued writing, but Umbridge made him stop anyway.

"Mr Potter! What are you doing?" she addressed him in that unbearable voice of hers. Harry looked up. She sounded even more sqeaky than usual.

"I'm doing what I was told," he answered blankly. "I'm writing my lines."

She frowned at him with what seemed to be angry confusion. "Show your hand and write another one."

Harry did as he was told - with the same result. The writing showed on his hand, but he felt no pain. He made a strained face nonetheless.

"Go on," she ordered.

And then he saw it. When he wrote the next words, Umbridge's hand twitched almost unnoticeably but he was sure he'd seen it. She must have felt the pain. He almost dropped the quill in surprise but managed to make the gasp that escaped him sound like a painful noise.

She glared at him with an expression of loathing on her face that he was sadly familiar with. But she stayed silent and Harry knew why. Someone had been manipulating her quill, and she wasn't sure if Harry had something to do with it, or if he even knew that something was wrong. She couldn't be sure that he wasn't hurting because his hand was visibly bleeding. And the best part was - she couldn't ask him because then she would admit it, she would show weakness and give him the satisfaction of seeing her hurt and lose control. She stayed silent for the same reason Harry had stayed silent.

"Professor Umbridge? Shall I go on, or do you want me to do something else?" Harry asked, letting it sound hopeful.

She looked at his hand. The wound hadn't closed entirely and Harry could see her wager the possibilities. "Of course not. You'll finish your lines, boy."

She left his side and sat behind her desk where she started to grade some papers. She placed her left hand in her lap so Harry couldn't see it. The quill in his hand stopped shortly before he set it once more onto the parchment and started writing as fast as he could.

***

On the last day Umbridge gave up. When Harry entered her office she looked pale and tired and he noticed that her hand was twitching without him even touching any quill. He wondered if whatever spell was at work here had intensified or prolongued the pain.

"Potter. Sit."

He sat behind his usual table but the parchment was gone. And so was the quill. His heart started racing when she lay a book in front of him. He doubted that this possibly could be a normal book. But to his relief it was. Its title read 'The Wonderous World of the Ministry of Magic. A Guide to the Heart and Soul of the Magical World. Volume 16.'

"I think you have learned your lesson quite well, Mr Potter, don't you think?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Very well. I have something else for you tonight, to give you the chance to reflect more ... intellectually on the errors of your behaviour. I think that will do you a lot of good."

She made him do summaries on something he didn't remember a word of afterwards. He was on the edge all the time, waiting for something horrible to happen. But after three hours she dismissed him. Just like that.

He walked down the stairs to Snape's office and tried to decide whether to speak to him or not. He stopped in front of the entrance and still wasn't hadn't made up his mind, when Snape flung the door open and glared at him.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for being out of your dormitory past curfew. What do you want, Potter?"

"Er ... nothing."

"And five points for talking nonsense."

Harry felt his blood pounding. He hated Snape. He hated everything on him. There wasn't any difference between him and Umbridge.

"Speak up, boy, or you'll have to do it while powdering knorck roots."

Snape's lips curled in an nasty, knowing smile as if he'd just read his mind - which he possibly had, Harry thought even more angrily. Snape crossed his hands behind his back and sneered as usual.

"Look, Potter. Whatever is troubling your spoiled ego, I don't really care. I'm on my way to see the headmaster and unless you don't want to join me and lose more points, I would strongly suggest you return to your dormitory. Now."

Harry didn't move. "Why did you do it?"

"I thought I told you how to address me."

"Why did you do it, sir?"

"Because I like taking points from the only house capable of rivalling my own for the House Cup, Potter."

"I wasn't -"

Snape cut him with an impatient gesture. "How did it feel to win your little battle, Potter?"

Harry clenched his teeth. It had felt satisfying. "She could have stopped it anytime."

"And so could you, Potter, by telling a teacher. Which would have been the appropriate thing to do in the first place."

"But why ... "

"I hate rule-breaking, as you should know, Potter. I prefer subtlety. And some things are just so blatantly against the rules I can't tolerate them. Ten points from Gryffindor for insufferable delusion about... useless heroism."

"That doesn't answer my question, sir."

"You think so?"

Harry didn't reply and Snape didn't care to wait for an answer.