Umbridge's Pyrrhic Victory

Oleandra's first week at Hogwarts was testing her willpower, and her endurance was wearing thin. Every day, the teachers would give her mountains upon mountains of homework. And what little time she had bought herself by doing her homework in advance was quickly nullified by the colossal wastes of time that were Umbridge's detentions. Finally, after each detention session, at midnight, she would go on patrol until three in the morning, cutting even further into her precious hours of sleep.

Oleandra started to get used to having pounding headaches every single waking moment of her day. Her limbs shook when she exercised at night during her patrols, and she would quickly run out of stamina. As a result, the Sorting Hat refused to teach her to use her sword, claiming that she would only be hurting herself in her current condition. Oleandra had to admit that its assessment was correct.

Over the past three days, Umbridge had interrogated her at length about her summer and the visit to Dumbledore's office that she had mentioned, but Oleandra would always steadfastly refuse to answer. The Fairy magic binding Umbridge was steadily growing stronger, as her refusal to answer bolstered Umbridge's impression that Oleandra was hiding an important secret, when she actually wasn't.

But even as Oleandra's hold over Umbridge continued strengthening, so did her physical condition continue to plummet.

After each detention session, Oleandra would heal her wounds to prevent them from scarring, and since Umbridge could see that her message wasn't taking hold on her hand, Oleandra was having it much worse than Harry. At least, her hand didn't throb painfully at all times like his did, but her headaches more than compensated for that fact.

At five o'clock sharp on Friday, Oleandra and Harry showed up to their very last detention in Umbridge's office. As usual, they got to work writing lines, but Harry seemed distracted by the Gryffindor tryouts, which they could see out of the window. Tantalizing, but just out of reach.

Hours passed.

I must not tell lies, they wrote. I must not tell lies.

Oleandra could not tell lies by virtue of being a Greater Fairy at the core of her very being, so the message rang especially hollow within her.

She wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote.

More hours passed; it was now getting very dark outside. Oleandra feverishly continued writing; her head was beginning to spin.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

Blood pooled down Oleandra's sleeve.

"Show me your hand," said Umbridge softly, reaching for Oleandra's wrist. Tut-tutting, she shook her head sadly. "I don't think the message is taking hold. We might have to schedule additional detentions…"

Oleandra broke down.

She wasn't pretending, she really was at the end of her wits. And yet, it was also part of her performance, to make Umbridge think she had her. Umbridge had won this battle, yet in the end, she would lose the war.

"No, please! Please, please, don't," Oleandra gasped. "No more, I'll tell you..."

Apparently, her performance was a little too realistic. She felt a sliver of Fairy magic wrap around Harry.

"Don't tell her anything," Harry warned her, his eyes flashing.

Umbridge shot him a withering glare.

"Go on, dear," she said soothingly. "This is a safe space, you can tell me anything, you're doing the right thing."

"Dumbledore wanted me to tutor students," Oleandra mumbled, her eyes growing dull. "I s'pose it's because he thinks certain teachers might be lacking."

"Certain teachers?" said Umbridge quietly.

"Like, like… like Professor Trelawney!" said Oleandra in a fake panic, as if her implication that Umbridge was the incompetent one had been a slip of the tongue. "She's a fraud! What she's teaching isn't real!"

Umbridge looked thoughtful for a moment. She had heard of Oleandra's feats during the Triwizard Tournament; everyone in Europe had. Who could forget how Oleandra had finished off a Dragon single-handedly by calling down a lightning bolt from the heavens?

Umbridge's breathing accelerated in excitement, as a scenario began forming inside her head. The Ministry had purposely sent her to take the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts so that students wouldn't be able to learn combat magic, which they might turn against the Ministry. But it seemed as though Dumbledore was using a genius Triwizard Champion to train his future soldiers anyway…

So, Fudge's hunch had been right all along…

"So, Dumbledore wants to build his own private army, is that it?" she said. "It's worse than we thought, then… How many students are you tutoring? I want their names."

Oleandra vigorously shook her head. Everything was spinning, she shouldn't have made such abrupt movements with her head…

"Professor Dumbledore hasn't told me who or what to teach yet," said Oleandra dizzily.

Umbridge continued burying herself in misconceptions; the Fairy Magic linking Oleandra to Umbridge was growing more potent with each passing moment, but it still wasn't enough for her revenge… Not just yet…

"Is that so," said Umbridge sweetly. She was now more inclined to believe Oleandra's words, even though she had never uttered a single lie in her presence. "I certainly hope you won't entertain Dumbledore's wild suggestions any more, won't you, Miss Greengrass? I trust you'll know who to come to when he asks you to teach his little army?"

Oleandra nodded slowly.

"Well, then," said Umbridge cheerily, "let's see your hand, Mr. Potter. The message seemed to be taking quite well yesterday already…"

But the instant Umbridge took Harry's hand, pain seared across Oleandra's cursed scar; she let out a cry of pain and clutched at her chest. Similarly, Harry gasped in pain, wrenching his right hand away from Umbridge before holding it to his forehead; his eyes alternated between Umbridge and Oleandra in confusion.

"Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?" Umbridge said obliviously. "Well, I think I've made my point. You may go, the both of you."

Oleandra tried to get up, but she fell to her knees, her eyes swimming and her vision dimming. She had barely slept the entire week and she had lost too much blood to Umbridge's quill. And unlike Harry, Oleandra was a girl; she didn't have gallons of blood to spare, since she would already lose a good quantity of it every month regardless; enchanted quill or not. Long story short, she was currently extremely anaemic; her blood pressure was dangerously low, and her blood iron levels were practically inexistent.

"You might want to give Miss Greengrass a hand," Umbridge cheerfully told Harry. "I recommend spinach, by the way. Now, off you go!"

Harry put Oleandra's left arm around his neck and lifted her up using his shoulder. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, but she still retained enough of her faculties to put one foot in front of the other. This was extremely embarrassing for her, but thankfully, it was far too late in the night for anyone to be watching.

"I can't see," Oleandra mumbled deliriously. "I can't see…"

The two of them slowly inched their way towards the Hospital Wing, but as they travelled, Harry began thinking. His scar usually hurt when Voldemort was near, so could it be that Umbridge was possessed? Oleandra had also reacted; she'd been hit by the Killing Curse too, so perhaps he could verify if she really had a scar like his…?

Oleandra's semi-unconscious body slightly slid down his side, so Harry properly propped her back up onto his shoulder again. But as he did so, her summer blouse shifted, and Harry's eyes were instinctually drawn to the generous curve of pale white skin under her unbuttoned collar.

He gulped nervously.

Harry thought back to that dreadful moment, back in the cemetery. The Killing Curse had hit Oleandra right in the chest, but that area was obscured by just one more pesky button… He shook his head; it wasn't right to look without Oleandra's permission, so he banished the thought and dragged her all the way to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey took over.