The news about my shouting match with Umbridge had travelled exceptionally fast even by Hogwarts' standards. I heard whispers all around me in the Great Hall as I sat eating between Fred and Terry. People kept coming up to me and telling me that they believed me, that they supported my defiance in Umbridge's class, and that they would support me when the chance came up. 

"Anyway, well done, Daisy. That was awesome." Ernie Macmillan added before walking back to the Hufflepuff table. 

Cedric looked from Ernie to me, and shot me a grin and a thumbs-up. I returned the gesture. 

Kylie turned towards me as Hermione, whom she had been talking to, turned to ask Ron something. 

"Are you usually this much of a shit-stirrer in class, Daisy?" She asked casually, her eyes twinkling. 

"Absolutely." I said, at the same time Terry nodded furiously. 

Kylie smirked. "That's hot. I like me a girl who stands her ground." 

I smirked back. "I do stand my ground. Umbitch can't take me down." 

"Whoop, go Softpaw!" George and Terry cheered loudly, disrupting the peace of the Hall, as Fred shot Kylie a dirty look. 

"Go, Softpaw!" A few others from down the Gryffindor table cheered after, and soon the Gryffindor table was chanting back and forth, to the amusement of the other houses. 

"Right, let's go up to the common room. We have more employees." Fred hissed into my ear, and I nodded, grinning. 

~~~

The common room was almost empty; nearly everyone was still down at dinner. Crookshanks uncoiled himself from an armchair and trotted to meet us, purring loudly, and when I sat at the fireside in the far corner of the room he leapt lightly on to my lap and curled up there like a furry ginger cushion. 

Fred and George sprinted upstairs as Terry tried to hide the blue on his robes, and I beckoned Lee over. Literal moments passed before the two ginger boys hopped down the last step of the spiral staircase leading up the the boys' dormitories, Fred holding a large paper bag. 

Five minutes later, Fred, George, Terry, Lee, and I were sitting at the centre of a knot of innocent-looking first-years, all of whom were chewing the new Fainting Fancies we had developed.

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. 

"So, looks like everyone reacted the same this time." I said. 

"Yeah, the changes we made to the recipe really made a difference." Terry commented, scrawling his words down onto his clipboard. 

Most of the people watching were laughing; Hermione, however, squared her shoulders and marched directly over to where Terry, me, Fred and George were now standing with our clipboards, closely observing the unconscious first-years. Ron rose halfway out of his chair, hovered uncertainly for a moment or two, before sinking as low in his chair as his lanky frame permitted.

"That's enough!" Hermione said forcefully to me, Terry, Fred and George, all four of us looking up in mild surprise.

"Yeah, you're right." George said, nodding. "This dosage looks strong enough, doesn't it?" 

"I told you this morning, you can't test your rubbish on students!" 

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

"I don't care, it could be dangerous!" 

"Rubbish." I said.

"Calm down, Hermione, they're fine!" Lee said reassuringly as Terry walked from first-year to first-year, inserting purple sweets into their open mouths.

"Yeah, look, they're coming round now." Terry said.

"Terry, you're not even supposed to be in here, don't test your luck." Hermione said, a hint of a growl in her voice. 

A few of the first-years were indeed stirring. Several looked incredibly shocked to find themselves lying on the floor, or dangling off their chairs. I sniggered. It was amusing that we hadn't warned them what the sweets were going to do.

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

"I - I think so." She said shakily.

"Excellent." Fred and I said happily, but the next second Hermione had snatched both my clipboard and the paper bag of Fainting Fancies from mine and Fred's hands.

"It is NOT excellent!" 

"'Course it is, they're alive, aren't they?" Fred said angrily.

"You can't do this, what if you made one of them really ill?" 

"We're not going to make them ill, we've already tested them all on ourselves, this is just to see if everyone reacts the same -" I said. 

"If you don't stop doing it, I'm going to -" 

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

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

Onlookers all over the room were laughing. Hermione drew herself up to her full height; her eyes were narrowed and her bushy hair seemed to crackle with electricity.

I'd never been more attracted to my friend. 

"No," She said, her voice quivering with anger, "but I will write to your mothers. And Daisy, to your godparents." 

"You wouldn't." George said, horrified, taking a step back from her.

"Oh, yes, I would." Hermione said grimly. "I can't stop you eating the stupid things yourselves, but you're not to give them to the first-years." 

"Wouldn't work on me. Sirius and Emily would probably send me gifts if you told them what I was doing." I shrugged. 

"My parents honestly don't give a fuck what I do at school, as long as it's not murder or swearing at a Hufflepuff." Terry added. 

But the twins were eyeing Hermione. They looked thunderstruck. It was clear that as far as they were concerned, Hermione's threat was way below the belt to them. With a last threatening look at us, she thrust my clipboard and the bag of Fancies back into our arms, and stalked back to her chair by a fireplace. Ron was now so low in his seat that his nose was roughly level with his knees. Harry and Kylie were watching us with amused looks on their faces. 

I watched Hermione berate her two fellow prefects for not helping with her hands on her hips in interest. 

She's hot. 

Without another thought, I stepped over a firstie and made my way across the common room towards my brother and his friends. I grabbed one of Hermione's arms and tugged her towards the door towards the girls' dorms as she made indignant noises. I opened the door and pushed her through it, and followed, pulling it shut behind me. 

"Daisy - what the -" 

I shut her up with my lips on hers. Hermione froze for a second, surprised, then - to my delight - responded. Her lips moved furiously with mine, and she pressed me hard into the door. I was shocked at her level of forcefulness as her tongue worked its way into my mouth, her soft, warm lips moving passionately and almost angrily against mine. She bit down on my bottom lip, and I let out a quiet moan. 

And as quickly as her lips were on mine, they were off mine, Hermione had shoved me away from the door, and had wrenched it open, disappearing back into the common room. 

I fell back against the spiral staircase, touching my lips in awe. 

Woah. 

~~~ 

The next day, I had barely reached the entrance of the Great Hall for dinner, when a loud and angry voice yelled, "Oi, Potter!" 

"What now?" I groaned wearily, turning to face Angelina, who looked as though she was in a towering temper.

"I'll tell you what now." She said, marching straight up to me and poking me hard in the tit with her finger ("OW!"). "How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?" 

"What?" I said. "Why does that... oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!" 

"Now she remembers!" Angelina snarled. "Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone? Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!" 

"I didn't decide not to be there! What the fuck!" I said, stung by the injustice of these words. "I got detention from that Umbitch woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Poo." 

"Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off on Friday." Angelina said fiercely. "And I don't care how you do it. Tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you're there!" 

She turned on her heel and stormed away.

"I'm not doing that." I said stubbornly. "I have dignity; I'm not sacrificing my sense of pride for anything." 

"Not even Quidditch?" Terry grinned. 

"Not even Quidditch." 

"What about me?" Fred muttered in my ear. 

I looked at him inquisitively. Fred smirked. 

"I wanna make you beg for me..." He clarified in a low voice. 

I shivered. "Yeah... maybe..." 

George and Terry looked at us. 

"What would you sacrifice your dignity and pride for, Softpaw?" George asked. 

I ignored him, leading the way into the Great Hall with my face burning and Fred smirking behind me. 

At ten past five I bade the other three goodbye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When I knocked on the door she called, "Come in," in a sugary voice. I entered confidently, looking around.

I had known this office under four of its previous occupants. Now, however, it looked totally unrecognisable. 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 I stared at them, transfixed, until Umbridge spoke again. 

"Good evening, Miss Potter." 

I started and looked around. I 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. 

Nice, Gabriel. Thanks for the tip regarding the list, lmao. 

"Shit evening, Umbridge." I said coolly.

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

"Professor Umbridge. Before we start, I wanted to ask you a... favour." I grinned. 

Her bulging eyes narrowed.

"Oh, yes?" 

"Well, I'm actually super famous and I'm the only girl who has ever survived the Killing Curse. I'm the most popular girl in this school and everyone fucking loves me. I'm also super hot, and all the boys and girls want to fuck me." I tossed my hair behind my shoulder. "Not to mention I'm part of the popular prankster group, the Insurgents, and I'm currently half-dating one of the members of the famous wizarding band the Weird Sisters. So what I'm trying to say is..." 

"Oh, no." Umbridge said, 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, Miss Potter. I do not care how special you are. 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. I think it rather a good thing that you are so popular. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach the student body here." 

I smirked. "So I tell 'evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories', do I? Okay. Well, you didn't let me finish. What I was trying to say was... I'm practically royalty. And so I deserve a better chair than that. So can I have a better chair, mate?" 

Umbridge's weird smile faltered slightly. "No, Miss Potter. The chair that is there is the chair that is yours. You do not deserve anything better than what other pupils would get." 

My smirk grew wider. "The chair that is there is the chair that is mine? Okay..." I raised my hand, focusing on the chair in front of me. I closed my eyes, feeling my wand vibrating slightly as I channelled my Grace through it, to make it seem as if I was using my wand. I opened my eyes, and lo and behold, there was a comfy, squashy armchair in place of the chair that was there before. 

Umbridge was staring at the armchair, mouth open. I folded my arms, regarding her with amusement. 

"Sit, Miss Potter." She said, her voice losing some of its fake sweetness. I laughed softly to myself; she clearly didn't know how to turn the chair back, and wasn't about to show herself up in front of me. 

I sat.

"Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Miss Potter. No, not with your quill." Umbridge added, as I bent down to open my bag. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are." 

She handed me a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point. I scoffed at it. 

"I want you to write, 'Bad girls deserve to be punished.'" She told me softly.

"Whatever. How many times?" I rolled my eyes. 

"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in." Umbridge said 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. I raised the sharp black quill, then realised what was missing.

"You haven't given me any ink." I said.

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

"Crazy bitch." I muttered, placing the point of the quill on the paper, and writing: 'Bad girls deserve to be punished.' 

I 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 my right hand, cut into my skin as though traced there by a scalpel - yet even as I stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.

I looked round at Umbridge. She was watching me, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile.

"Yes?" 

I stared her down, another smirk unfolding on my face. "You're in luck, Professor. I happen to be SO into BDSM." 

Umbridge's smile wavered. 

I looked back at the parchment, placed the quill on it once more, wrote 'Bad girls deserve to be punished,' and felt the searing pain on the back of my hand for a second time; once again, the words had been cut into my skin; once again, they healed over seconds later.

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

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

"Come here." She said, after what seemed like hours.

I stood up. My hand was stinging painfully. When I looked down at it I saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin there was red raw.

"Hand." She said.

I extended it. She took it in her own. I repressed a shudder as she touched me with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings. I jerked it back after a moment, furrowing my eyebrows at her. 

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

"K, Umbitch." I said as I swept out of her office. The school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight. I walked slowly up the corridor, then, when I had turned the corner and was sure she would not hear me, broke into a run.

~~~ 

Hermione was now avoiding me, Ginny kept eyeing me up and down with interest, Fred and Kylie kept looking at each other like they hated each other, George kept checking me out when he thought I wasn't looking (but I could definitely see him out of the corner of my eye), Terry and Draco couldn't keep their hands and mouths off each other to the point that it was kinda gross to sit next to them when they were together, Harry kept going on about the three-bedroomed flat, and to cap everything, Angelina tracked me down at dinner again and, on learning that I would not be able to attend Friday's Keeper tryouts, told me she was not at all impressed by my attitude and that she expected players who wished to remain on the team to put training before their other commitments.

"I'm in detention!" I yelled after her as she stalked away. "D'you think I'd rather be stuck in a room with that old fucking toad or playing Quidditch?" 

"At least it's only lines." Terry said consolingly, as I sank back on to my bench and looked down at my steak and kidney pie, which I no longer fancied very much. "It's not as if it's a dreadful punishment, really. I remember that one time when we had detention with..." 

I opened my mouth, closed it again, and nodded, pretending to listen as Terry went off on a tangent about our many, many detentions. I was not really sure why I was not telling them exactly what was happening in Umbridge's room: I only knew that I did not want to see their looks of horror; that would make the whole thing seem worse and therefore more difficult to face. I also felt dimly that this was between myself and Umbridge, a private battle of wills, and I was not going to give her the satisfaction of hearing that I had complained about it.

~~~

The second detention was just as bad as the previous one. The skin on the back of my hand became irritated more quickly now and was soon red and inflamed. I thought it unlikely that it would keep healing as effectively for long. Soon the cut would remain etched into my hand and Umbridge would, perhaps, be satisfied. I let no gasp of pain escape me, however, and from the moment of entering the room to the moment of my dismissal, again past midnight, I said nothing but "Shit evening" and "Shit night." 

Thursday passed in a haze of tiredness. Ron seemed very sleepy too, though I could not see why he should be. My third detention passed in the same way as the previous two, except that after two hours the words 'Bad girls deserve to be punished' did not fade from the back of my hand, but remained scratched there, oozing droplets of blood. The pause in the pointed quill's scratching made Umbridge look up.

"Ah." She said softly, moving around her desk to examine my hand herself. "Good. That ought to serve as a reminder to you, oughtn't it? You may leave for tonight." 

"Fine. Do I still have to come back tomorrow?" I rolled my eyes, picking up my schoolbag with my left hand rather than my smarting right one.

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

I had never before considered the possibility that there might be another teacher in the world I hated more than Snape, but as I walked back towards Gryffindor Tower I had to admit I had found a strong contender. She's evil, she's an evil, twisted, mad old bitch - 

"Who goes there?" 

I flinched violently, flattening myself against the stone wall, thrusting my arms up to protect my face. Visions of Floppy surprising me in the corridors when I was alone, and Tom Riddle paying me surprise visits in the Malfoy's basement last August flashed across my mind, and I let out an unwilling, tiny whimper. 

"Oh, it's only you - hey, hey, what's the matter? Are you okay, Daisy?" 

Fred was peeling my arms away from my face, caressing the skin on my wrists. His chocolate eyes were warm with concern, and I melted into his arms. 

"I'm okay, Freddie. I'm glad it's just you." 

"Is this about You-Know-Poo or Floppy again?" Fred said quietly, and I nodded. "Need distracted?" I nodded again. "Okay... well, I was keeping watch because Bushy, Hopper, and Lee are testing - Softpaw, what's that on the back of your hand?" 

I, who had just scratched my nose with my free right hand, tried to hide it, but failed.

"It's just a cut - it's nothing - it's -" 

But Fred had grabbed my forearm and pulled the back of my hand up level with his eyes. There was a pause, during which he stared at the words carved into the skin, then, looking sick, he released me.

"I thought you said she was just giving you lines?" 

I hesitated, but after all, Fred was my best friend, so I told him the truth about the hours I had been spending in Umbridge's office.

"The old fuckin' hag!" Fred said in an angry, revolted whisper as we came to a halt in front of the Fat Lady, who was dozing peacefully with her head against her frame. "She's fucking sick! Go to McGonagall, say something!" 

"No." I said 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!" Fred steamed. "So - we're making her life difficult here, then? Is that what you want instead? Because we can absolutely do that." 

"Yeah, I guess." I examined my short fingernails. "We're due to start an Ultimate Prank War this year, aren't we? Let's aim everything at her." 

"Well, I reckon we should -" Fred began, but he was interrupted by the Fat Lady, who had been watching us 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?" 

It was another night of hanging out in the common room beside the fireplace, and the others had let the first-years go early tonight, as they had noticed Fred was gone from the classroom they were testing them on in. Fred had made me tell the others about the detentions when they came in, and the two boys reacted with anger and indignation. 

The portrait hole opened. Fred suddenly sat up straight and looked out of it, then back to me. 

"Hey, Daisy. Come with me a minute, will you?" 

I blinked, surprised that he used my real name in such a non-intimate moment. George and Terry were smirking at us, though, so I had to get up and follow Fred out of the common room to get away from their infuriatingly teasing expressions. 

Fred's hand took mine, and he led me into an empty classroom. I grinned, expecting him to spin me around and plant his lips on mine, but his other hand shot up and forced something into my mouth. 

"Swallow." Fred said, his eyes boring into mine. 

A shiver ran through me. Um, hell yes. This is hot. If this thing in my mouth was something else (if you know what I mean), I'd be squirming and damp right now. 

I did as he said, making sure to maintain eye contact with him as I did so, but there was no reaction in his eyes. Something prickled inside me. This was strange. Something's not right here. First of all, Fred wouldn't just use my real name like that randomly in that context. Secondly, in any normal situation, when I swallow something whilst making eye contact with Fred Weasley, he DEFINITELY doesn't just stand there with no expression on his face and no tent in his trousers, if you know what I mean. 

And I knew what was wrong a moment later when the room started to spin around me, black spots appearing in my vision, the last thing I saw being the purple half of a Fainting Fancy in Fred's fingers. 

~~~ 

I woke up to Fred, George, and Terry's frantic faces above me, looking down into my eyes. 

"Oh, thank fuck." Terry let out a huge breath as the twins fell back, puffing. 

"What the hell happened?" I groaned, struggling to sit up. Fred reached out, placing a hand on my chest. 

"Don't move. Just relax a second." 

Terry glanced at the twins. 

"What?" I insisted. 

Fred took a deep breath. "I was under the Imperius Curse." 

"What?" I gasped loudly. This time I did sit up, and I noticed we were in my dorm, and I was on my bed. 

Fred exchanged a glance with George, and Terry traced his hand up and down my arm soothingly. 

"It was that bastard Floppy. He got me somehow. He made me take you out of the common room and into that room, and force-feed you the yellow part of a Fainting Fancy." Fred said, his eyes shimmering with anger. "You obviously fainted, then he made me dump you in a chair and leave. He made me handcuff myself to a cubicle in the boys' bathroom then released me from the Curse, and I could only escape when Cedric found me. I sprinted back to the classroom but you'd already been moved; I came and got these two -" 

"- And we found you in the entrance to a secret passageway," George said sympathetically, "with Floppy on top of you, with your clothes off - he was about to -" 

It seemed George couldn't finish his sentence. Him and Fred exchanged a dark glance, filled with anger. 

"Fucking asshole." Terry muttered furiously. 

"Of course, we strung him up from the Astronomy Tower again." Fred said casually. "He didn't get to hurt you this time. But I would have killed him if the two more sensible ones of this group didn't stop me." 

I shivered, glancing down at myself. I was fully clothed again. Why the fuck was Floppy trying so hard to sexually assault me? Shouldn't he be focused on trying to get my Grace? 

"Was he trying to get my powers at all?" I asked. 

"Nope." Fred said as George and Terry shook their heads. 

I thought an assignment from Riddle was something his followers should be taking seriously. Unless Floppy's assignment is to rape me, why's he switched from getting my Grace to... this? 

"I hate that he was able to control me." Fred said, with venom in his voice. "I hate that he could make me do that to you. I was watching all this happening without a damn way to stop it." 

I gave him a small smile. "I guess I'll just have to teach you guys how to resist the Imperius Curse then..." 

~~~ 

Friday dawned sullen and sodden as the rest of the week. The fact that I couldn't remember Floppy assaulting me at all, and that Fred was Imperio'd, kept my spirits down. Two things sustained me that day. One was the thought that it was almost the weekend; the other was that, dreadful though my final detention with Umbridge was sure to be, I had a distant view of the Quidditch pitch from her window and might, with luck, be able to see something of Ron's tryout - Ron had confessed to me that he was going to try out for Keeper, in an attempt to impress me, as Fred and I smirked at him. 

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

"You know what to do, Miss Potter." Umbridge said, smiling sweetly at me.

I picked up the quill and glanced through the window. If I just shifted my chair an inch or so to the right... on the pretext of shifting myself closer to the table, I managed it. I now 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, apparently awaiting their turn to Keep. It was impossible to tell which one was Ron at this distance.

'Bad girls deserve to be punished,' I wrote. The cut in the back of my right hand opened and began to bleed afresh.

'Bad girls deserve to be punished.' The cut dug deeper, stinging and smarting.

'Bad girls deserve to be punished.' Blood trickled down my wrist.

I chanced another glance out of the window. Whoever was defending the goalposts now was doing a very poor job indeed. Harry scored twice in the few seconds I dared to watch. Hoping very much that the Keeper wasn't Ron, I dropped my eyes back to the parchment shining with blood.

'Bad girls deserve to be punished.' 

'Bad girls deserve to be punished.' 

I looked up whenever I thought I could risk it; when I 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 I doubted I would be able to see the sixth and seventh people at all.

'Bad girls deserve to be punished.' 

'Bad girls deserve to be punished.' 

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

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

She moved towards me, stretching out her short ringed fingers for my arm. And then, as she took hold of me to examine the words now cut into my skin, pain seared, not across the back of my hand, but across the scar on my forehead. At the same time, I had a most peculiar sensation somewhere around my midriff.

I wrenched my arm out of her grip and leapt to my feet, staring at her. She looked back at me, a smile stretching her wide, slack mouth.

"Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?" She said softly.

I turned on my heel and stormed out of the room. 

After marching through the corridors, my heart pounding, I finally reached the Fat Lady, and as she swung forward to let me in, a roar of sound greeted me. Ron came running towards me, beaming all over his face and slopping Butterbeer down his front from the goblet he was clutching.

"Daisy, I did it, I'm in, I'm Keeper!" 

"Oh - awesome!" I said, trying to smile naturally, while my heart continued to race and my hand throbbed and bled.

"Have a Butterbeer." Ron pressed a bottle on me. "I can't believe it - where's Hermione gone?" 

"She's there." Fred said, 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.

"Well, she said she was pleased when I told her." Ron said, looking slightly put out.

"Let her sleep." George said hastily. It was a few moments before I noticed that several of the first-years gathered around us bore unmistakeable signs of recent nosebleeds.

"Come here, Ron, and see if Oliver's old robes fit you," Harry called, "we can take off his name and put yours on instead..." 

As Ron moved away, Angelina came striding up to me.

"Sorry I was a bit short with you earlier, Daisy." 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 one of your mates, 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 Charms 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 favour and help Ron as much as you can, OK?" 

I nodded, and Angelina strolled back to Katie.

Fred, George, and Lee were juggling empty Butterbeer bottles, but Terry was jabbering away to me about something to do with Muggle politics; something about gay rights in the UK, and while usually I'd be so down to talk about this sort of stuff with him, tonight I just wasn't feeling it. 

"...And I think this'll be a turning point. They can't keep treating us like this while more of us are speaking up. Finally, we're getting more recognition in the media." 

"Great." I said distractedly; if I did not tell somebody soon, I would burst. "Listen, guys, I was just up in Umbridge's office and she touched my arm..." 

Fred and George turned. The three boys sat down, the twins giving their bottles to Lee, and they listened closely. When I had finished, George said slowly, "You're worried You-Know-Poo's controlling her like he controlled Quirrell?" 

"Well." I said, dropping my voice. "It's a possibility, isn't it?" 

"I suppose so." Terry said, though he 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, the wee fucker, 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..." 

I watched Lee juggling the empty Butterbeer bottles for a moment. Then Terry said, "But last year your scar hurt when nobody was touching you, and didn't the Dumbles say it had to do with what You-Know-Poo was feeling at the time? I mean, maybe this hasn't got anything to do with Umbitch at all, maybe it's just coincidence it happened while you were with her?" 

"She's evil." I said flatly. "Twisted."

"That's true." Fred growled. His arm, which was around my shoulders, shifted, and I was held harder into his side. "I wouldn't be surprised if You-Know-Poo could shapeshift, and he turned into her. Evil fucking -" 

"Or when he's close!" Terry said suddenly, his eyes wide. He had been sitting back for a moment, quietened, with his thinking face on. "Your scar hurts when he's close or happy or angry or whatever. What if he's close? You heard what Softpaw said Floppy told her. You-Know-Poo wants her badly. How badly? Badly enough to come to Hogwarts despite Dumbledore being here?" 

"Or maybe he's just happy about something." George said grimly. 

"And if so; what's he happy about?" Fred said, glancing at me. 

I sat back. That's a good question.