CHAPTER SIX:

Third Person P.O.V.:

Charlie decided to skip dinner in the Great Hall that night, not wanting to deal with the obvious whispers and accusing looks. The news about his shouting match with Umbridge would have travelled exceptionally fast by now, and he couldn't be bothered with having to explain himself repeatedly.

Rain pounded on the windowpanes as he strode along the empty corridors back to Gryffindor Tower. Charlie felt as though his first day had lasted a week, but he still had a mountain of homework to do before bed. A dull pounding pain was developing in his head, overwhelmed with all that was going on. He glanced out of a rain-washed window at the dark grounds as he turned into the Fat Lady's corridor. There was still no light in Hagrid's cabin.

"Mimbulus Mimbletonia," muttered Charlie, before the Fat Lady could ask. The portrait swung open to reveal the hole behind it and he scrambled inside.

The common room was almost empty; nearly everyone was still down at dinner. The room was only occupied by one person in particular, Hermione Granger, who was sitting in her favourite armchair by the fire; Crookshanks curled on her lap like a furry ginger cushion.

Hermione's head turned in her boyfriend's direction immediately upon his entry. Her eyes flashed half-worried, half-relieved as Charlie smiled at her, trying to ease the obvious tensed state that she was overcome with.

"Why aren't you at dinner?" he asked as he moved to sit down onto the couch; Hermione's eyes following him as he did so.

"Because I knew you wouldn't be there after what happened," Hermione responded simply; she knew him too well.

Moving Crookshanks off of her lap onto the floor, Hermione got up and moved to the couch, sitting down on Charlie's lap and cuddling into his chest as his arms wrapped tightly around her. He smiled contently before gazing into the flames, feeling drained and exhausted.

"So," Hermione drawled on in an adorable manner within the crook of Charlie's neck, "what kind of punishment did Umbridge end up giving you?"

"Detention. Every evening this week," Charlie said, slightly amused, shifting his gaze back down to his girlfriend. "And on the first day? I think I've set a new record."

"That's not funny," scolded Hermione, smacking him on the arm. "You could've been expelled."

"My grandfather would never let that happen," shrugged Charlie. "Plus, with me gone, Umbridge's use around here is pretty limited."

"What do you mean?" Hermione said curiously, and Charlie gulped, realizing he probably said too much.

"I just mean that she's obviously here to spy on us," Charlie said, divulging in a half truth. "I'm almost certain that choosing Umbridge to teach is my father's way of keeping tabs on Dumbledore..."

He trailed off, refusing to say the words: ...and me.

"I suppose you're right," Hermione sighed, nuzzling herself further into Charlie's embrace. "I just can't believe this is happening. Employing someone who's refusing to let us do magic... and in our OWL year, too!"

Charlie laughed; of course, his girlfriend's biggest concern was of her studies.

"I'm sure you'll do great regardless," he whispered, smiling, before leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Myself, on the other hand," he added as leaned back up, "well, I'm already falling behind with homework, and it's only the first day."

"I'll help you," Hermione whispered, reaching a hand up to caress the side of Charlie's face. "Just a couple more minutes of cuddling... or maybe we could..."

She trailed off as she pulled his head down towards hers, their lips meeting for the first time since they had returned to school. Hermione maneuvered herself to sit up, straddling him with a single movement, while their lips were still attached. She deepened the kiss in the process, as her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him closer.

Charlie placed his hands firmly around her waist, holding her steady as they snogged deeply in the common room; the sound of the cackling fire mixed in with the sounds of their heavy breathing. He ran his hands up her back as he detached himself from her lips, only to kiss the side of her face down towards her neck, sending chills down Hermione's spine and causing goosebumps to rise across her entire body.

Hermione released a soft moan as he did so, whispering in his ear, "God, I missed your kisses."

Charlie smiled cockily against the crook of her neck as he trailed kisses down it; nibbling down on the skin, leaving marks that were sure to be visible in the morning, but neither of them cared. Hermione groaned in pleasure before pushing his head back and smashing their lips together once again; their tongues battled for dominance, savouring the taste in each others mouths without a care in the world.

In all fairness, after a long, stressful day of dealing with the horrifically pink, toad-like woman who had come to spy on him, sharing a moment like this with his girlfriend was very much needed. Charlie had thought of this many times before, but being with Hermione really did make all of his problems fade away. He felt his best whenever he was near her... with Hermione, time stood still; with Hermione, there was no one else who mattered.

As though she had read his mind, Hermione pulled back, breathing heavily, as she stared into his sparkling eyes. Her hands were tangled in his hair and her lips were swollen pink as she smiled down at him - but, you see, this smile was nothing that Charlie had ever seen before. It was if something was waiting to be spoken from her lips; something she longed to say, and had finally found the courage. He stared into her auburn eyes with curiosity, listening to their hearts beating rapidly together, as he awaited for her to say what was on her mind.

"Charlie," she breathed out, excitement evident in voice, "I lov-"

"Mimbulus Mimbletonia!"

Hermione and Charlie's head instantly snapped towards the common room entrance. Hearing it creak open, they jumped away from one another, incredibly flustered and unsatisfied. Stifling a groan of annoyance, the bushy haired girl watched carefully as Ron and Harry entered the common room.

"There you guys are," Harry said as soon as he saw them. "Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I wasn't hungry," Hermione lied at once, standing awkwardly next to the fire.

"And I, uh," Charlie stuttered, avoiding Ron's intense gaze that fell upon him, "I just got back from McGonagall's."

"Well you didn't miss much," Harry said bitterly towards Charlie. "Same old, same old. People making us out to be bloody liars."

Charlie sighed, already missing his alone time with Hermione. He didn't even have time to process what she was going to say, and his heart raced at the possible outcomes of the conversation between them, had it not been interrupted.

"It'll all blow over eventually," he said flatly, falling back down on the couch. "I reckon, we have to -"

"How long were you two up here alone?" Ron interjected, sounding incredibly miffed.

The room became silent for a moment as the ginger looked curiously between Hermione and Charlie. The bushy haired girl had maneuvered her hair to cover the marks on her neck, which simply added to Ron's suspicion.

Hermione furrowed her brows, "Why does that matter, Ronald?"

"Why can't you just answer the question?"

Charlie laughed, harsher than intended, "Because it's a stupid question."

"It's a fair question," Ron said bitterly.

"Would you relax?" sighed Charlie, getting slightly annoyed. "We were only in here for a maximum of two minutes before you showed up," he and Hermione shared an amused, yet discrete glance before he added. "so, no use in getting your wand in a knot - still, I don't understand why the mere thought of Hermione and I being alone is suddenly such a big issue for you."

"It's not," grumbled Ron, glaring at Charlie. "I just don't understand why everything between the two of you is so secretive all of the time."

"Why would that be any of your -"

"Charlie, please, don't start arguing again," interjected Hermione with a sigh. "Can't we just... let's just do that homework, get it out of the way..."

Sighing in defeat, Charlie collected his schoolbag from the corner and returned to the couch by the fire, his friends following suit. People were coming back from dinner now. Harry and Charlie kept their faces averted from the portrait hole, but could still sense the stares they were attracting.

"Shall we do Snape's stuff first?" muttered Ron, dipping his quill into his ink; acting as though nothing had happened. "'The properties... of moonstone... and its uses ... in potion-making...'" he whispered, writing the words across the top of his parchment as he spoke them. "There."

He underlined the title, then looked up expectantly at Hermione.

"So, what are the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making?"

But Hermione was not listening; she was squinting over into the far corner of the room, where Fred, George and Lee Jordan were now sitting at the centre of a knot of innocent-looking first-years, all of whom were chewing something that seemed to have come out of a large paper bag that Fred was holding.

"No, I'm sorry, they've gone too far," she said, standing up and looking positively furious. "Come on, Charlie."

"Wait, what?" said Charlie, dumbfounded. "No - come on, Mione! We can't tell them off for giving out sweets."

"You know perfectly well that those are bits of Nosebleed Nougat or - or Puking Pastilles or -"

"Fainting Fancies?" Harry suggested quietly, looking over to the scene.

One by one, as though hit over the head with an invisible mallet, the first-years were slumping unconscious in their seats; some slid right on to the floor, others merely hung over the arms of their chairs, their tongues lolling out.

Most of the people watching were laughing; Hermione, however, squared her shoulders and marched directly over to where Fred and George now stood with clipboards, closely observing the unconscious first-years. Charlie rose halfway out of his seat, hovered uncertainly for a moment or two, then walked over with a sigh, standing behind his girlfriend; unwilling to face her future wrath, had he not obliged.

"That's enough!" Hermione said forcefully to Fred and George, both of whom looked up in mild surprise.

"Yeah, you're right," agreed George, nodding, "this dosage looks strong enough, doesn't it?"

Hermione scowled, "You can't test your rubbish on students!"

"We're paying them!" said Fred indignantly.

"C'mon mate," Charlie said gently, Fred glanced between him and Hermione with a smirk. "What if they're dangerous? I don't think Madame Pomfrey would appreciate all the first-years showing up to the hospital wing covered in boils or -"

"No worries, Char! Look, they're fine!" interjected Lee reassuringly as he walked from first-year to first-year, inserting purple sweets into their open mouths.

A few of the first-years were indeed stirring. Several looked so shocked to find themselves lying on the floor, or dangling off their chairs, that Charlie was sure Fred and George had not warned them what the sweets were going to do.

"Feel alright?" said George kindly to a small dark-haired girl lying at his feet.

"I-I think so," she said shakily.

"Excellent," said Fred happily, but in the next second Hermione had snatched both his clipboard and the paper bag of Fainting Fancies from his hands.

"It is NOT excellent!"

Fred furrowed his brows, "Course it is, they're alive, aren't they?"

"Alright, let's all calm down for a second," sighed Charlie, stepping in front of Hermione before she pounced on the twins. He turned to Fred and George with a slight frown, "Listen, as much as it sucks to do this, if you don't stop I'll have to -"

"Give us a detention?" said Fred, in an I'd-like-to-see-you-try voice.

"Make us write lines?" challenged George, smirking.

Onlookers all over the room were laughing, but Charlie raised a playful brow suddenly, smiling widely, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

"No, no," he said, a cocky smile appearing on his face, "but I will write to your mother."

"Char," gasped George, horrified, taking a step back from him, "you wouldn't!"

"Oh, yes, he would - I'll make sure of it!" affirmed Hermione, victoriously. "We can't stop you from eating those stupid things yourselves, but you're not giving them to the first-years."

Fred gazed at Charlie, looking thunderstruck, "I didn't think you had it in you, mate."

"Alright fine," sighed George as he extended a hand. "Just don't be writing to our mum and you've got yourself a deal."

With a laugh, Charlie shook George's hand as Hermione thrusted Fred's clipboard and the bag of Fancies back into his arms. After that, she stalked back to her chair next to the fire, pulling her boyfriend along with her.

The core four spent about an hour trying to work on their homework together, but Hermione was the only one fairly interested. Charlie shook his head, his pounding in his head from before was getting worse. He thought of the long essay on giant wars and the pain in his right temple stabbed at him sharply. Knowing perfectly well that when the morning came, he would regret not finishing his homework that night, he piled his books back into his bag.

Hermione gazed at him curiously, "Where are you going?"

"I'm knackered," Charlie said through a yawn. "I'm off to bed."

"Here, here," Ron chanted, getting up; again, acting as though nothing had happened.

Harry yawned along with Charlie, "I'm going to bed too, then."

Hermione sighed, secretly wishing that she could get Charlie alone for a minute before they all headed off to bed, but it was no use: her boyfriend was practically swept off towards the dormitories by Harry and Ron. Shortly after, Hermione hobbled her way up to her dorm room and fell gracefully onto her bed.

She sighed contently into her pillows, thinking of the time she spent with her boyfriend before they were so rudely interrupted. Hermione dreamt about Charlie's reaction as she fell asleep that night - his reaction to the three little words that she almost got to say...

--------------

The following day dawned just as leaden and rainy as the previous one. Hagrid was still absent from the staff table at breakfast, which was already a poor start to Charlie's day.

Double Charms was succeeded by double Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall both spent the first fifteen minutes of their lessons lecturing the class on the importance of OWLs.

"What you must remember," said little Professor Flitwick squeakily, perched as ever on a pile of books so that he could see over the top of his desk, "is that these examinations may influence your futures for many years to come! If you have not already given serious thought to your careers, now is the time to do so. And in the meantime, I'm afraid, we shall be working harder than ever to ensure that you all do yourselves justice!"

They then spent over an hour revising Summoning Charms, which according to Professor Flitwick were bound to come up in their OWL, and he rounded off the lesson by setting them their largest amount of Charms homework ever.

It was the same, if not worse, in Transfiguration.

"You cannot pass an OWL," bellowed Professor McGonagall grimly, "without serious application, practice and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an OWL in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work. So... today we are starting Vanishing Spells. These are easier than Conjuring Spells, which you would not usually attempt until NEWT level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your OWL."

She was right; Charlie found Vanishing Spells quite difficult. By the end of a double period, neither he, Harry or Ron had managed to vanish the snails on which they were practising. Hermione, on the other hand, successfully vanished her snail on the third attempt, earning her a ten-point bonus for Gryffindor. She was the only person not given homework; everybody else was told to practise the spell overnight, ready for a fresh attempt on their snails the following afternoon.

Now panicking slightly about the amount of homework they had to do, Charlie, Harry and Ron spent their lunch hour in the library looking up the uses of moonstones in potion-making. Hermione joined them, of course, but not for homework purposes, she simply just wanted to see her boyfriend. By the time they reached Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon, Charlie's head was pounding again.

The day had become cool and breezy, as they worked outdoors during Care of Magical Creatures with Professor Grubbly-Plank. Although an interesting lesson on Bowtruckles, Charlie couldn't help but have his mind wander onto the whereabouts of Hagrid, and it didn't help that at every chance they got, Draco and his band of misfits were poking fun at the situation.

After lunch, Professor Sprout started their lesson by lecturing them about the importance of OWLs. Charlie wished all the teachers would stop doing this; he was starting to get an anxious, twisted feeling in his stomach every time he remembered how much homework he had to do, a feeling that worsened dramatically when Professor Sprout gave them yet another essay at the end of class. Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Professor Sprout's preferred type of fertiliser, the Gryffindors trooped back up to the castle an hour and a half later, none of them talking very much; it had been another long day.

Heading down to the Great Hall to get some food with his friends, Charlie's head was so flooded with worry about his detention Professor Umbridge at five o'clock, that he hadn't even realized that he had almost walked straight into an angry-looking Angelina Johnson.

"Oi, Hawthorne," she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. "How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?"

"What?" said Charlie, furrowing his brows in confusion. "Why... oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!"

"Yeah, well, you're going to have to try and get out of it somehow." Angelina suggested with a huff. "We need you there."

"I'll never get out of it, Angelina," Charlie sighed. "I really am sorry."

"Well, just..." she trailed off, noticing the stress evident from the boy's face. "just don't do it again, okay?"

She turned on her heel and stormed away without another word. After that, Charlie walked into the Great Hall and indulged in a dinner with his friends, trying to forget that he had a date with the devil in a couple of hours.

---------------

At five to five, Charlie and Harry bade the other two goodbye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When they knocked on the door she called, "Come in," in a sugary voice. The two Gryffindors entered cautiously, looking around.

The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolour kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Charlie stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again.

"Good evening, Mr. Hawthorne."

Charlie jumped and looked around. He had not noticed her 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.

"You too, Mr. Potter," she beamed, glancing towards Harry. "I regret to inform you, however, that there's been a change of plans. You will be serving your detention with Professor Snape today."

"What? But I'm -"

"No buts, Mr. Potter," Umbridge scolded from her desk. "Professor Snape has assured me that your punishment will be thoroughly followed through downstairs in his classroom this evening." She pointed to the door and added, "Off you go."

Harry glanced at Charlie one last time; the two subconsciously thinking the same thing - they were screwed, either way. With a final nod from his friend, Harry set off for the dungeons, and Charlie could've sworn he heard the boy with glasses groan from the hallway.

The door closed behind Harry automatically, and instantly, Charlie felt incredibly uneasy being in the room alone. Professor Umbridge was watching him curiously as if finding joy in watching the boy squirm in anxiousness.

"Good evening, Mr. Hawthorne," she repeated; basically informing him to address her properly.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably on the spot, muttering, "Good evening, Professor Umbridge."

"Well, sit down," she demanded, pointing towards a small table draped in lace beside her desk, to which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him.

"So, Mr. Hawthorne," Umbridge called again as she watched him sit down, dropping his schoolbag to the side. "This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories. 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, is that clear?"

Charlie felt the blood surge to his head and heard a thumping noise in his ears, the anger within him rising: nasty, attention-seeking stories... yeah, right.

Umbridge was watching him with her head slightly to one side, smiling widely, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether he would start shouting again.

"Mr. Hawthorne," she taunted. "Do I make myself clear?"

Choking back his pride, Charlie nodded slowly, "Yes, Professor Umbridge."

"There," said Umbridge sweetly, "we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr. Hawthorne. No, not with your quill," she added, as Charlie bent down to open his bag. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are."

She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point.

"I want you to write five different sentences for me today, Mr. Hawthorne," she told him softly. "The first one will be, 'I must not tell lies.' Followed by,'I must respect my superiors,' and then, 'I should be more like my father,' and after that, 'I am a filthy, blood traitor,'" she spat that one in slight anger before adding, "and finally, 'I accept this as my punishment.'"

Charlie furrowed his brows, taken aback by the attack on his character with five simple sentences. However, knowing that an outburst is what Umbridge wanted, he reminded calm, though his jaw was clenched.

"How many times?" Charlie asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness.

"Let's say... as long as it takes for the message to sink in," said Umbridge kindly with a slight smirk. "Off you go."

She moved back over to her desk, sat down and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Charlie raised the sharp black quill, then realised what was missing.

"You haven't given me any ink."

"Oh, you won't need ink," said Professor Umbridge, with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.

Charlie placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: 'I must not tell lies.'

He let out a gasp of pain. 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 Charlie's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel - yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.

Charlie looked around at Umbridge in utter disbelief. She was watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile.

"Yes?"

"Nothing." Charlie said through gritted teeth.

He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill on it once more, wrote I must respect my superiors, and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; once again, the words had been cut into his skin; once again, they healed over seconds later.

And on it went.

Again and again Charlie wrote the words on the parchment in what he soon came to realise was not ink, but his own blood. And, again and again, the words were cut into the back of his hand, healed, and reappeared the next time he set quill to parchment.

Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window, Charlie did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs of weakness and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit there all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill -

"Come here," she called, after what seemed like hours.

He stood up. The back of his hand was stinging painfully, covered in carved out words. When he looked down at it he saw that the cuts had healed, but that the skin there was red and raw.

"Hand," she demanded.

He extended it. She took it in her own. Charlie repressed a shudder as she touched him with her thick, stubby fingers.

"Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet," she said, smiling wickedly. "Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go."

Charlie left her office without a word. The school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight. He walked slowly up the corridor, then, when he had turned the corner and was sure she would not hear him, broke into a run.

He had not had time to practise Vanishing Spells, had not written a single answer on his numerical worksheet and had not finished the drawing of the Bowtruckle, nor had he written his essays. He skipped breakfast the next morning to scribble down a couple of made-up answers for Arthimancy, his first lesson, and was surprised when his friends had stayed with him in the common room that morning.

"How was detention with Umbridge?" Hermione inquired, gazing at Charlie curiously, while sipping her coffee in front of the fire.

"Yeah, what'd she make you do?" Harry asked. "Snape just made me sort rotten Flobberworms from good ones, without gloves or magic."

Charlie tensed, but kept his head down upon his parchment, shielding his right hand as much as possible.

He hesitated for a second, then said, "Lines."

"Oh, well, that's not too bad, eh?" said Ron, trying to lighten the mood. "Could've been worse."

"Yeah," muttered Charlie sadly, "could've been."

Feeling the immediate gaze of Hermione on the side of his face after his change in tone, Charlie stood up abruptly, heading for the portrait door before his girlfriend could ask questions.

"I'll see you guys later," he said hastily. "I'm going to try and get this essay done before class."

And with that, he slipped out of the common room without question.

It was easily, another bad day for Charlie; he was one of the worst in Transfiguration, not having practised Vanishing Spells at all. He had to give up his lunch hour to complete the picture of the Bowtruckle and, meanwhile, Professors McGonagall, Grubbly-Plank and Vector gave them yet more homework, which he had no prospect of finishing that evening because of his second detention with Umbridge.

Charlie sank onto the bench in the Great Hall at dinner, looking down at his steak and kidney pie, which he no longer fancied very much; the back of his hand stung at the mere thought of another torture session with Umbridge.

"Oi, Charlie," Ron called, bringing his friend from his troubled thoughts. "Harry and I are gonna go play some Quidditch after dinner, do you fancy -"

He was cut off as Harry smacked him on the arm for being completely tactless.

"I've got detention," Charlie said flatly, looking up briskly before moving the food around on his plate with his left hand as opposed to his right to avoid confrontation.

"Oh, right... yeah," Ron muttered, rubbing his arm, and Charlie could tell that the ginger genuinely forgot about his friend's week of detention.

"At least it's only lines," Hermione said consolingly, trying to ease her boyfriend's saddened state, which she assumed was simply caused by missing out on Quidditch. "It's not that dreadful of a punishment, I'm sure."

Charlie looked up at her instantly after this comment. He opened his mouth, but closed it quickly, nodding instead. He was not really sure why he was not telling Harry, Ron, or even Hermione exactly what was happening in Umbridge's room: he only knew that he did not want to see their looks of horror - that would make the whole thing seem worse and therefore, more difficult to face. He also felt dimly that this was between himself and Umbridge, a private battle of wills, and he was not going to give her the satisfaction of hearing that he had complained about it.

The second detention was just as bad as the previous one. The skin on the back of Charlie's hand became irritated more quickly now and was soon red and inflamed. The boy thought it unlikely that it would keep healing. Soon the cuts would remain etched into his hand and Umbridge would, perhaps, be satisfied. He let no gasp of pain escape him, however, and from the moment of entering the room to the moment of his dismissal, again past midnight, he said nothing but 'good evening' and 'goodnight'.

His homework situation, however, was now desperate, and when he returned to the Gryffindor common room he did not, though exhausted, go to bed, but opened his books and began Snape's moonstone essay. It was half past two by the time he had finished it. He knew he had done a poor job, but there was no help for it. Charlie then scribbled down 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 he fell fully clothed on top of the covers and fell asleep immediately.

Thursday passed in a haze of tiredness. Charlie's third detention passed in the same way as the previous two, except that after two hours the words abundance of words on the back of his hand did not fade, but remained scratched there, oozing droplets of blood.

The pause in the 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 you, oughtn't it? You may leave for tonight."

"Do I still have to come back tomorrow?" Charlie asked, picking up his schoolbag with his left hand rather than his weak right one.

"Oh yes," said Professor Umbridge, smiling as widely as before. "Yes, I think we can etch the message a little deeper with another evenings work."

Charlie had never before considered the possibility that there might be another teacher in the world he hated more than Snape, but as he walked back towards Gryffindor Tower, he had to admit he had found a strong contender.

Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week, the bags under his eyes were proof of his lack of sleep over the past few days. Charlie had somehow managed to avoid the confrontation about his distant behaviour from Hermione as he continued to make up excuses about catching up with homework; which she, of course, would never get in the way of.

Two things sustained Charlie that day. One was the thought that it was almost the weekend; the other was that, dreadful though his final detention with Umbridge was sure to be, he had a distant view of the Quidditch pitch from her window and might, with luck, be able to see something of the Quidditch tryouts. These were rather feeble rays of light, it was true, but Charlie was grateful for anything that might lighten his present darkness; he had never had a worse first week of term at Hogwarts.

At five o'clock that evening, he knocked on Professor Umbridge's office door for what he sincerely hoped would be the final time, and was told to enter. The blank parchment lay ready for him on the lace-covered table, the pointed black quill beside it.

"You know what to do, Mr. Hawthorne," said Umbridge, smiling kindly at him.

Charlie picked up the quill and glanced through the window. He had a distant view of the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaring up and down the pitch, while half a dozen black figures stood at the foot of the three high goalposts.

'I must not tell lies,' Charlie wrote.

The cut in the back of his right hand opened and began to bleed afresh.

'I must respect my superiors.'

The cut dug deeper, stinging and oozing with blood.

'I should be more like my father.'

Blood trickled down his wrist.

'I am a filthy, blood traitor.'

Each of the sentences on his hand cutting deeper and deeper, leaving prominent gashes in his hand.

'I accept this as my punishment.'

A single tear fell down Charlie's face as a side effect from the pain, but he quickly wiped it away. He had, by the fifth day, filled over one hundred pages of the same five sentences.

He looked up whenever he thought he could risk it; when he could hear the scratching of Umbridge's quill or the opening of a desk drawer. The third person to try out was pretty good, the fourth was terrible, the fifth dodged a Bludger exceptionally well but then fumbled an easy save. The sky was darkening, and Charlie doubted he would be able to see the sixth and seventh people at all.

'I must not tell lies.'

'I must respect my superiors.'

'I should be more like my father.'

'I am a filthy, blood traitor.'

'I accept this as my punishment.'

The parchment was now dotted with drops of blood from the back of his hand, which was searing with pain. When he looked up again, night had fallen and the Quidditch pitch was no longer visible.

"Let's see if you've got the message yet, shall we?" said Umbridge's soft voice half an hour later.

She moved towards him, stretching out her short fingers for his arm. And then, as she took hold of him to examine the words now cut into his skin, Charlie's face dropped at the sight of his hand. The back of his hand now resembled a jumbled crossword puzzle, words overlapped and went in different directions, yet, the deep cuts were hard to hide.

He wrenched his arm out of her grip and leapt to his feet, staring at her in horror. She looked back at him, a smile stretching her wide, slack mouth.

"Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?"

He did not answer. His heart was thumping very hard and fast. He clutched his right hand with his left one, trying to numb the pain.

"You know, I've heard so much about you, Mr. Hawthorne," Umbridge said, her voice becoming sinister as she stared at the boy with menacing eyes. "Your father had informed me all about you before I arrived here, and now that I've seen your behaviour firsthand, it comes as no surprise to me that Fenwick is undoubtedly ashamed by the mere thought of you. Somehow, however, I believe that deep down, you know that you deserve to be punished. Don't you, Mr. Hawthorne?"

Charlie said nothing. Instead, he stood there, clutching his hand, trying to stop the bleeding while swallowing the harsh words that the woman spat towards him.

"That's what I thought." Umbridge smiled triumphantly. "Well, I think I've made my point, Mr. Hawthorne. You may go. Oh, and one more thing," she added as Charlie grabbed his schoolbag from the floor, "I would very much recommend that you keep your comments to yourself from this point forward. If not, then well, we always have the other hand, don't we?"

Again, swallowing her words with relentless restraint, Charlie turned towards the door and left the room as quickly as he could.

'Stay calm,' he told himself, as he sprinted up the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower. Breathe, stay calm. 'Nothing has power over you, unless you -'

His thoughts were cut short by the stinging sensation he felt throughout the entirety of his right hand.

"Mimbulus Mimbletonia," he gasped at the Fat Lady, who swung forwards once more.

A roar of sound greeted him. The common room was packed with celebrating Gryffindors, which could not be any worse for Charlie in the state that he was in. Ron came running towards him, beaming all over his face and slopping Butterbeer down his front from the goblet he was clutching.

"Charlie, I did it, mate! I'm in, I'm Keeper!"

"What? Oh - brilliant," Charlie said hastily, trying to smile naturally, while his heart continued to race and his hand throbbed and bled. "I didn't even know that you tried out."

Harry had come over, slinging his hand over Charlie and Ron's shoulders, appearing completely sloshed on Butterbeer, grinning from ear to ear.

"Isn't this great?" slurred Harry. "The three of us! Quidditch players - Slytherin won't know what hit them."

"Right, yeah," Charlie said nervously, peering over their heads, catching sight of Hermione making her way through the crowd towards them. "Uh listen, I've got uh, loads of homework to do, so uh, I best head upstairs and make some headway. Congrats though, Ron -"

"Oh c'mon!" frowned Harry; the Butterbeer talking for him. "It's a party!"

"Yeah, I know," Charlie said softly, while trying to keep lookout for Hermione, "but I'm swamped with homework, so I'll just..."

He slipped out from under Harry's arm and darted towards the stairs up to the dormitories, pushing his way passed celebrating students who were trying their hardest to get their favourite Chaser join the party.

"Charlie, mate, grab a Butterbeer!"

"We're celebrating!"

"Charlie, over here!"

"Come dance with us!"

He ignored them all, however, and sprinted up the stairs without a second thought. Charlie made his way into his empty dormitory, shutting the door behind him as he leaned his back against it, releasing a shaky breath as he looked down to his hand.

The bleeding wouldn't stop and, unlike every other time, there were no signs of the skin healing over. Charlie bolted into the on-suite, turning on the tap and running his hands under the cold water. He released a panicked breath as the blood from his hands ran down the drain, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror.

"Fuck," he muttered, slamming his hands down on the sides of the sink in anger. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Charlie shook his head aggressively, trying to rid it of negative thoughts as he clutched his right hand to his chest, breathing slowly to avoid the potential breakdown looming in his mind. He hastily moved his way back into the dorm room to find some gauze, but jumped immediately upon realization that he wasn't alone anymore.

Stood in the doorway, with her back against the door, was none other than Hermione Granger, who had closed the door immediately following a quick glance at her boyfriend's right hand that appeared bloody and scratched.

"What are you doing up here?" Charlie asked nervously, hiding his right hand behind his back at once. "You should be downstairs celebra-"

"What's wrong with your hand?"

Charlie's face fell, but he was quick to raise his left hand, furrowing his eyes in a fake look of confusion to ease her worries.

"Nothing, look," he said, trying to be convincing as possible as he brandished his left hand, but Hermione wasn't buying it.

"No," she said accusingly, pointing to the right side of his body, "your other hand."

When Charlie refused to give her an immediate answer, she locked the door behind her with a single flick of her wrist, her eyes focused on the hidden arm behind her boyfriend's back as she hastily moved towards him.

Panicking as she moved closer to him, Charlie pleaded, "I cut myself, that's all. It's nothing to worry..."

He trailed off, however, as Hermione reached him, she narrowed her eyes before yanking his arm out from behind his back. Her face dropped as she pulled the back of Charlie's hand up level with her eyes. There was a pause, during which she stared at the words carved into the skin, tracing the gashes on his hand with her thumb.

"Who did this to you...?" she whispered, so lightly in disbelief as she held his hand in hers. When her boyfriend didn't answer, she gazed up at him, her eyes radiating immense concern. "Charlie?"

"It's okay," he said softly, pulling his hand back from her grasp. "I'm okay, it's noth-"

"That's NOT nothing," Hermione scolded at once, gesturing towards the hand that had returned to his side. "So, don't you dare lie to me again."

Charlie sighed, sitting down on his bed in defeat; his head focused on the floor, "I told you that she was making me do lines."

Hermione's eyes widened in horror as the simple sentence had revealed everything she needed to know. Under any other circumstances, she would have cried at the idea of her boyfriend in such pain, but Hermione knew she had to remain strong in that moment, given Charlie's already fragile state.

"Merlin, Charlie," she breathed out shakily, sitting beside him, taking his hand back in hers. "That old hag... she's sick..." she added exasperatedly, caressing the scars once again.

"The quill has some sort of spell on it," Charlie explained sadly, "it uses blood as the ink."

Hermione let out a small whimper, her jaw dropping slightly, but covered it by leaning down, placing kisses on the back of his hand endearingly.

"You have to go to McGonagall and tell her -"

"No," Charlie said at once, causing Hermione to frown. "I'm not giving Umbridge the satisfaction of knowing she's got to me."

"Got to you?" Hermione questioned in disbelief, "This is torture. She's abusing her power! You can't let her get away with this - I won't let you."

Charlie shrugged, his gaze still locked on the floor, "I doubt McGonagall has any power over her."

"Then go to your grandfather!" Hermione suggested at once. "Tell him what's happened -"

Charlie shook his head, "He's got enough on his mind right now."

"And?" Hermione furrowed her brows, "He'd drop everything if he knew what was going on! It's simple -"

"No," dismissed Charlie, a little harsher than he intended, shifting his intense gaze to Hermione. "Don't you get it? Whatever this is, it's not simple." He got off the bed with a sigh before adding, "Nevermind, you wouldn't understand."

"Then help me to," Hermione said at once, joining Charlie on his feet; unwilling to let him try and ignore what was going on. "We're in this together, don't you get that? Your problems are my problems, your happiness is a priority to me, and I wanna know your struggles so that I can help you work through them."

Hermione and Charlie stared at one another for a moment, not saying anything verbally, but speaking volumes with their eyes. His mind raced with possibilities with how to go about this situation. He wanted to confess everything, though he knew he couldn't -

How could he tell her about everything that was consuming his mind without divulging too much?

Charlie exhaled slowly, and Hermione, noticing how tense he was, joined their hands together to calm his nerves before he spoke.

"Umbridge is not only here to spy on Dumbledore," Charlie breathed out as Hermione squeezed his hands in reassurance. "I think she's here to keep tabs on me and report back to my father."

Hermione furrowed her brows once again, "Why would your father want to keep tabs on you?"

"At the end of the last year," Charlie began with a gulp; Hermione gently urging him to continue, "my father and I got into a little disagreement about the truth about what happened in the maze, and things got... intense, for lack of a better word."

"What do you mean by intense, Charlie?" Hermione asked shakily, though her mind was racing with horrid possibilities.

"He was more aggressive than I had ever seen him," Charlie admitted, a tear falling down his face. "H-He told me that no one could find out the truth, and that he was going to make sure that I kept my mouth shut."

Hermione was crying now too. Her heart broke for Charlie as he struggled to say the right words.

"The truth about what?"

Charlie hesitated for a moment - this was the part of the story he couldn't say out loud.

"The truth about the Dark Lord's return," he lied, choking down his built-up pain. "I told you once before how much being Minister means to my father. He loves the position in power that forces people to cower beneath his feet. Which is why, no one could ever know that my father is well-aware of the Dark Lord's return... he will never admit it. His admittance would be his downfall."

"So this whole time, he knew?" Hermione repeated, processing the information. "Your father knows that You-Know-Who is back, despite his constant denial of the fact, and now he's sent Umbridge here to keep you quiet because you're the only one who knows he's full of it?"

Charlie nodded slowly before his head fell to the floor in shame. It wasn't the whole truth, of course, but it was all that Hermione could know for now.

"So, he's aware of what that twisted and sick woman is doing to you?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if he gave her the go-ahead," Charlie said darkly.

"My god, Charlie," Hermione breathed out before moving to wrap her arms around his neck, leaning her forehead against his. "Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

Because my father's threatened to kill everyone I love if I actually exposed the entire story -

That was the truth, but of course, he couldn't say that now, could he?

"Because I wasn't sure how you'd react," Charlie gulped nervously. "I thought if I just kept quiet, it would all go away, but it just keeps replaying in my head on a constant loop."

Hermione's eyes widened as if a lightbulb had gone on in her head before she looked into Charlie's eyes, searching for answers.

"The nightmares you talked about," she whispered gently, "they weren't just about the graveyard, were they? This has been playing on your mind the entire time, hasn't it?"

That, and the fact that my father is a Death Eater, who tried to kill me, yes -

But again, Charlie couldn't say that.

"Yeah," he breathed out slowly. "I don't know what to do, 'Mione... I feel trapped."

Hermione shuddered at the mere attempt of trying to think about what her boyfriend must've been going through. She was at a loss for words at this newfound revelation. She knew Fenwick and Charlie's relationship was strained, of course, but she never knew that Minister Hawthorne was capable of threatening his own son - little did she know that was only the half of it.

"We'll figure something out," Hermione said reassuringly with a tiny glimmer of hope. "We'll tell Dumbledore or -"

"No!" Charlie panicked, his eyes widening. "We can't tell anyone! He can't find out that I told anyone... he can't... please, you have to promise -"

"Okay, okay," Hermione soothed, playing with the hair on the back of his neck to calm him down. "But what do we do then? What if things keep getting worse?"

"I-I don't know," Charlie stuttered, releasing a heavy breath. "Things will eventually come to light, I'm sure... but until then -"

"We have each other," Hermione said against his lips, a small smile curling on her lips to lighten the mood. "No more keeping things bottled up though - I'm here for you, okay? Like I said, we're in this together... always."

"Okay," Charlie repeated, suddenly feeling better than he had all week.

(A/N: don't you just love maturity in a relationship 👏🏼)

Slowly, he leaned down to capture her lips with his, saying 'thank you' for sticking by him throughout his inner turmoil, and most of all, being understanding in a time where he needed her most. Hermione put everything she had into that kiss, wanting Charlie to feel nothing but joy, happiness, and even... love.

Much to Charlie's confusion, however, Hermione pulled back after a few moments, only to reach down and take his right hand into hers once again.

"What are yo-"

"You're not a liar," she whispered in contradiction to the, 'I must not tell lies,' carved into his hand.

Hermione leaned down and placed a kiss over the scar, the stinging immediately subsiding as though she had the power to heal everything broken and scarred within him.

"You're not inferior to anyone."

Another kiss on top of the words, 'I must respect my superiors.'

"You're nothing like your father."

Another kiss on the back of his hand.

"You're not a filthy, blood traitor."

And another; completely covering the area with soft kisses.

"And you will not accept this as a punishment."

With one final kiss on his hand, Hermione looked back up into Charlie's dark, brown eyes.

"I won't let you."

"And why is that?" Charlie whispered with a hint of self-doubt. His eyes shifted between her eyes and her lips, searching for an explanation.

Charlie could hear his girlfriend's heart race as she stared up at him, the same smile from before reappeared on her lips making him incredibly curious. Hermione held his face endearingly, staring at him with immense passion, genuineness, and admiration as she spoke in a low whisper -

*

*

*

*

*

"Because I'm in love with you."

--------------
Author's Note:
*this chapter was not proof read*

Yes, I'm leaving you on a cliffhanger ;)

Hope you enjoyed! If you did, be sure to like, comment, and share <3

Quick question, how mature do you want this story to become...? What do you guys want me to do 👀

Let me know! Much love to you all!

xo, Selena

*

*

*

ALSO! This is called progression:

"Because I wanted to."

- fast forward -

"Because I'm in love with you."