Harry sank heavily into a sitting position on his bed and set his left hand onto his knee, palm up, and his right hand onto his other knee, palm down. His eyelids felt as though something was pressing into them, forcing them down, and keeping them from opening again.

And his hands–

Harry shook his head slightly, glad that in the darkness of the dorm, he could not see the damage that Umbridge had done– had forced Harry to do– to his hands.

He should have known something like this was coming, honestly. But he'd been so deep in denial that he had been too blind to see all the warning signs.

Several days ago, Dumbledore had been kicked out by Umbridge. Since then, she had been doing her best to usurp Dumbledore as Headmaster, but she'd not been able to manage it completely. Thanks to small rebellions from everyone up to and including the castle itself, all she'd managed to do was give herself a new, meaningless title.

And because these rebellions were so ubiquitous, Umbridge rarely managed to catch the perpetrators. Everything was going poorly for her– she couldn't get into Dumbledore's office, she couldn't find Dumbledore, she couldn't keep the students under control, the list went on– so she must have been feeling restless and impotent. Which, if Harry hadn't been so determinedly blind, he would have seen how dangerous this combination was for his own well-being.

But he had been deeply in denial, so when Umbridge had held Harry back after class with even less of a reason than normal to give him a detention, he should have been wary that things would take a turn for the worse.

Should have been– because he hadn't even considered the possibility. Even when he had been complaining about the detention to Ron and Hermione during lunch, he hadn't thought to worry about it.

Because while he certainly didn't like carving lines into his hand, it'd become almost routine at this point, and so he knew he could handle it.

So when Harry had sat down in Umbridge's office and picked up the blood quill, ready to continue where he'd left off after his last detention, he'd been relatively calm.

The first shock of the evening had come when Umbridge had waved her wand and muttered some spell that had caused Harry's left hand to be pinned to her desk, palm up. His heart started to pound at this, but he'd been confused more than anything else.

Umbridge had quickly informed him, in a disgustingly simpering tone, what she was doing. She had decided that "more drastic measures" were needed to correct Harry's behavior. To this end, she had found a stone that would detect– and punish– rebellious thoughts. She had pinned Harry's hand to the desk to prevent him from trying to displace the innocuous-looking stone that she placed on his palm.

Harry had tried to censure his thoughts, to think only of meaningless things, to occupy his mind with counting backwards and remembering his to-do list.

But the pain of the lines, combined with his exhaustion, made it too difficult to keep up. At first, the stone had heated so negligibly that he'd barely noticed it. Then, as he'd forgotten more and more frequently to censor his thoughts, the warming sensation had quickly become a searing burn.

Eventually, the stone glowed red-hot with each bitter thought, and Harry had been simultaneously too tired and too incensed to control his thoughts. This had led to a vicious cycle of Harry thinking a 'forbidden' thought because of the pain, and then getting hurt worse because of the thought.

Maybe if he had gotten better at Occlumency, he would have been able to keep his head clear of incriminating thoughts. But Harry was terrible at Occlumency, and so, in addition to the bleeding line on his right hand, Harry now had a circle of painful, burnt skin on his left palm.

Harry bitterly thought that it was for the best that he'd been kicked off the Quidditch team, because he didn't think he'd be able to grip a broomstick in this state, let alone catch the snitch.

More than anything, Harry wished he hadn't told Ron and Hermione not to wait up for him. Harry had been so convinced that the detention would be routine that he'd also convinced them not to wait up for him. And now he would be stuck with no way to relieve the pain.

Harry shook off his disappointment in himself. He certainly wasn't going to wake his friends now that he was back, so he was just going to have to live with the pain, at least until the morning, when he could ask Hermione for something to help his hands.

He shifted back on his bed so that he was leaning against his pillows, then awkwardly shoved his legs under the covers so that he was sitting up.

Harry carefully reached up with his right hand to remove his glasses and place them on his bedside table. As he did so, he noticed a tiny jar, one no larger than the first joint of his thumb, resting on his desk. He certainly hadn't put it there, so he replaced his glasses onto his face and shifted closer to his bedside table.

Using the side of his left hand, Harry swept the jar off the table and onto his right palm. A note that the jar had been placed on top of also landed in Harry's palm.

Harry shuffled back to lean against his pillows again. He carefully tilted the jar off of his palm and onto his lap, then unfolded the note. Holding the note carefully, Harry tilted it around, trying to catch enough moonlight to read it– he could cast Lumos, but that would require wielding his wand, and he didn't think he was up to that, at the moment.

After a few moments of experimentation, Harry found an angle that caught enough light to let him read the note.

For your hand. – Hermione.

He should have known that Hermione wouldn't have been satisfied with just going to bed. She was truly an incredible friend.

Carefully, painfully, Harry opened the jar with his injured hands. He was dismayed to realize that there was only enough of whatever was in the jar to treat one of his hands. Looking between the two injuries, Harry decided to use the cream on the quill injury because it was the injury that Hermione knew about.

Since the stone had caused a burn, it might need a treatment different than the cuts from the quill, and Harry didn't want to risk wasting the cream on the burn, just in case it didn't work.

Harry rubbed the cream into the back of his right hand,then sighed in relief as the pain faded from an angry screech to a manageable throb. Then he replaced the lid of the jar and put both the jar and his glasses onto his bedside table. As he did so, Harry realized that he had a decision to make. Hermione didn't know about the stone or the burn on his hand, and so he had to decide whether he wanted to show her the new injury or not.

On the one hand, if Harry did show Hermione, she might know of something he could use specifically for the burn, but on the other, he didn't want to worry her unnecessarily.

Harry slid down further into his bed so he was laying down properly.

It really had been a very long day. And now that Harry was laying down in bed, the weight pressing into his eyes seemed to get that much heavier and harder to resist. Harry's jaw cracked in a massive yawn, and as he released it, he curled onto his side.

Harry felt the pull of sleep tug on his consciousness and decided to give in; he could make a decision in the morning.

The next morning, Harry woke up to a burning sensation in both of his hands. While this feeling had become the new normal for his right hand, it took him a long time to figure out why his left hand was aching too.

Harry groaned miserably into his pillow as he remembered the previous night's detention with Umbridge.

"Oh, so you are awake," Ron said as he yanked back the curtains of Harry's bed.

Harry groaned again, louder this time, and tossed a pillow in the general direction of Ron's head. "Don't want to be, though," Harry said, his head still buried in his other pillow.

Then Harry felt Ron pulling at the foot end of his covers, so he flopped over onto his back and, without thinking, grabbed at the covers with both hands. This was a mistake. Harry immediately released the covers and curled into the fetal position with both hands cradled against his chest.

"What happened, Harry?" Ron asked, sounding concerned.

"Umbridge," Harry said simply, knowing that this single word would give Ron all the information he needed.

"That bitch," Ron spat. "How long did she keep you?"

Harry awkwardly shrugged the shoulder that wasn't pressed into his bed. "Dunno," he added for good measure.

"I'm going to get Hermione," Ron said. Before he left, he replaced the covers that he'd removed, tucking them in gently around Harry.

Harry had been about to stop Ron, to tell him about what else had happened at the detention, but the gentle action of Ron tucking Harry back into bed had made Harry take in a shuddering breath and lose his train of thought entirely.

Ron unthinkingly did things like that all the time, and Harry knew that it just came naturally to Ron; for Ron, it was normal for people to do things like that for each other. But for Harry, the small gestures meant so much more.

And after the horrible night he'd had, that gesture had made Harry feel as though he was falling apart. Harry gave himself a moment to focus on his breathing and on ignoring the pain in his hands, and then he forced himself to pull it together. Ron and Hermione would be coming back soon, and he didn't want to worry them anymore than he had to, especially since he'd vaguely decided to tell them about the stone from hell.

Harry sat a bit longer, and then he carefully unfolded himself from the ball he had curled into. He used his legs to get the covers off, and then swung his legs around and down onto the ground. Harry sat sideways on his bed, staring blankly down at a random spot between his feet.

The sound of someone coming back into the dorm from the shower was what finally motivated Harry to shove himself to his feet and shuffle over to his wardrobe. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that it was Seamus who'd come back, so Harry muttered a quiet, "Good morning."

Seamus snorted incoherently in response.

Harry nudged the door to his wardrobe open with his elbow, doing his best not to jostle the injuries on either of his hands.

The best part of Hogwarts having uniforms was that he didn't have to expend mental energy on picking out an outfit.

Harry pulled out a stack of clothing that had all the components of the uniform ready to go and set it on his bed. Then he set about the slightly-difficult proposition of getting dressed with both hands injured. When he got to buttoning up his dress shirt, he gave up and resigned himself to asking Ron for help.

His stomach turned at the thought of Ron and Hermione getting worked up for him again– as he was sure they would when they realized he was too injured to properly dress himself. Maybe… since the stone wasn't much different from the quill… Ron and Hermione wouldn't get that upset over it.

Harry sat down on his bed to wait for Ron and Hermione to come back, and not long after he did, Hermione burst into the dorm.

"Harry, what happened?" Hermione asked as she hurried over to him.

"Oi– I'm getting dressed here!" Seamus said indignantly.

"I'm not looking," Hermione said. To prove her point, she turned her back solidly on Seamus and sat down on Harry's bed.

Seamus made a face at her back, then rushed through tying his tie. When he was done, he hurried out of the dorm room, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone.

"Ron said that it hurt when you tried to grab your covers, but the cut is on the back of your hand, so I'm worried something is really wrong," Hermione said in a rush. Then she added impatiently, "Well? Let me see it!"

Harry rolled his eyes to stall the moment where he had to tell them about this latest development with Umbridge. Then he took a deep breath and said, "You're not going to like this."

"We never do. But it's not your fault, it's Umbridge that we really don't like," Ron said.

Harry smiled in acknowledgement of the reassurance. Then he held out his left palm. "She tried something new last night."

"So, no lines, right?" Hermione asked absently, as she turned Harry's hand over in her hand.

Harry sighed and put his right hand next to his left one, showing the angry, red cut. "Oh, she still had me doing lines," he said grimly. "I already used the potion you left me last night on the lines."

Hermione's hand tightened briefly around the hand with the burn. Harry gasped as the pain in his hand flared, and she immediately shifted her grip.

"Sorry, Harry. Um, so, I brought more minor cut healing potion, but I don't know if it's what you need for a burn like this," Hermione said, sounding anxious.

Harry rolled his shoulders back. "It's not like I have any better options– but, if you're worried about wasting–"

"No, no. That's not it at all, I'm just worried that it won't help you, and you'll be in pain all day, because Merlin knows we'll never convince you to go to the Hospital Wing for this."

"It's not that big of a deal. And, y'know, the potion worked well on the quill cuts, so maybe it'll work well on the burn too."

Hermione still looked doubtful, but she reached into her pocket and pulled out another jar of potion. "I'll reapply it to the quill injury first, then do the burn. So give me your other hand."

Harry held out the requested hand again and then carefully set his left hand back down onto his bed.

As Hermione layered the potion onto his cut, the pain relieving quality of the potion made him want to cry with relief. When he'd woken up this morning, the pain in his right hand had returned with a vengeance, but now it was gone again.

Hermione set the container of potion down on the bed next to Harry, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a roll of bandages. "I only have one roll, because I didn't know you had multiple injuries," she said. Then she unrolled the bandages and pulled out her wand. "So I'll have to cut this one in half. It should still be long enough for both hands, though."

"I'm just grateful you have any bandages at all," Harry said.

"I knew you'd probably need them," Hermione said, shrugging as she finished securely wrapping his right hand. Then she gestured for him to give her his left hand, and he did so, hoping that the potion would work on the burn. The wound was painful enough that it would be a distraction if the potion didn't work.

Hermione applied the cream to Harry's palm. To Harry's dismay, the burning sensation failed to be affected. It wasn't any worse, thankfully, but it certainly wasn't any better.

"Did it work?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. He waited a moment longer, hoping the effects were delayed, maybe because of the differing type of injury. When the pain still failed to fade, he sighed and said, "It's fine, at least one of my hands is better, right?"

"It's not fine. Screw Umbridge," Hermione said with rancor. Then she added bitterly, "And where the hell is some aloe vera when you need it?"

Aloe vera sounded amazing right about now. Harry had never had the opportunity to use any on the minor burns he'd acquired when cooking for the Dursley's, but he'd seen Petunia apply it to the occasional sunburn that Dudley would get, and so he'd always wished for some.

"There's no magical version of aloe vera, is there?" Harry asked flatly. He didn't really think there was, since he was sure Hermione would already have mentioned it if she knew of something, but it was worth the ask.

"Wait, what's aloe vera?" Ron asked.

"I don't think so, Harry. At least, not that we'd have access to," Hermione said regretfully. "And aloe vera is a Muggle plant most frequently used to treat minor burns."

"Damn, that would be nice to have in the summer," Ron said.

Hermione had finished wrapping his left hand, so Harry stood up. He asked Ron, "Would you mind helping me button my shirt?"

"Of course," Ron said, moving around the bed.

"I'll just wait for you in the common room," Hermione said.

Harry and Ron watched her leave the room. Then Ron did up the buttons on Harry's shirt and knotted Harry's tie. It was a little awkward, and Harry spent the entire time looking anywhere but directly at Ron. At least there was no one else here to witness it.

Once Harry was dressed, he and Ron walked down to the common room together. They met up with Hermione, who had been reading while she'd been waiting for them, and they all headed down to breakfast together.

Throughout the walk to breakfast and during breakfast itself, Ron and Hermione carried most of the conversation with little input from Harry. Harry was quickly finding that the longer he was awake, the more tired he felt. He just wasn't up to conversation.

Morning classes passed by in a bit of a blur. Harry had gotten lucky for once in his life. Both Herbology and Transfiguration had only been theory– it would have been difficult to participate in a practical lesson with his hands injured the way they were.

As he got up from lunch, Harry had the foreboding feeling that Potions would not follow the same trend.

"Do you know what we're doing today?" Harry asked Hermione as they walked down to the dungeons.

Hermione eyed him, then said, "We're brewing Paint Stripping Solution today."

"Er– how volatile is that?" Harry asked nervously.

"Very. It's our OWL year, Harry. The potions are harder than ever, you know that."

"Well," Harry said, with false cheeriness, "this ought to be good."

Harry knew that Potions was not going to go well for him today. His left hand still hurt, and he was even more exhausted than he had been this morning. He'd be lucky if he made it through the lesson without falling asleep, let alone without blowing up his potion.

"You should probably partner with Hermione today," Harry said to Ron. He was clearly not going to be performing at the top of his game today– which was barely adequate to make it through the class as it was– and he didn't want Ron's grade to suffer because of him.

"And who are you going to work with?" Hermione asked.

"Neville," Harry said. Neville was even worse at potions than Harry and Ron were, so Neville usually worked alone to minimize collateral damage. But since Harry was feeling so awful, he was probably going to be only a bit worse at potions than Neville normally was. Harry would still feel bad about bringing Neville down, but he thought that Neville would understand.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"No, but when do I ever have good ideas?" Harry asked rhetorically.

In response to this, Ron and Hermione spent the rest of the walk to the classroom trying to hype Harry up. Harry appreciated their efforts, but they failed to have any significant impact. Especially since he kept heaving large, jaw-splitting yawns that severely damaged his ability to listen to them.

They had just arrived outside the classroom door when Hermione abruptly said, "I really think you ought to go to Madam Pomfrey instead."

Harry checked over his shoulder to make sure nobody was listening. There were several other students gathered, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to them. "You know why I'm not going to do that."

"Yes, and I think you ought to set aside those reasons for the sake of your own health!" Hermione said urgently.

Harry frowned slightly, then shook his head. If he went to Madam Pomfrey, she'd probably report Umbridge to McGonagall, and then Umbridge would hear about it and fire the both of them. And Hogwarts needed McGonagall and Pomfrey too much for Harry to chance that. And besides, this was a private battle of wills between Harry and Umbridge. He didn't want to get anyone else involved.

Harry was saved from having to respond to this by the classroom door swinging open.

"This isn't over," Hermione muttered as they walked to their seats.

Harry shrugged, knowing there was no way she would convince him to tell anyone.

Harry split off from Ron and Hermione to sit down next to Neville in the back of the room. Neville gave him a curious look. In response, Harry held up his bandaged right hand and quietly said, "I'm sorry about this."

"Potter!" Snape spat from the front of the room. "Move to the front desk. For speaking out of turn, you will be working alone today."

Harry sighed and grabbed his bag again. He'd just sat down, so at least he didn't have to pack up his things. Normally, being called out so unfairly would make him seethe with rage at Snape, but today he simply didn't have it in him to muster up the necessary energy for it. And truth be told, he might do a bit better sitting in the front of the room because he'd be able to see the board better.

Unfortunately, this was also the biggest downside to the arrangement. With Harry seated front and center in the classroom, Snape was right in front of him, glowering malevolently.

Harry quickly turned his attention towards unpacking his brewing supplies in order to avoid making accidental eye contact.

The first portion of the double period was spent with Snape giving an overview of the potion they were going to be brewing.

Harry barely absorbed any of it. He knew that he ought to pay close attention, that the potion they would be brewing was volatile and easy to mess up. And he also knew that he was working alone and couldn't rely on a partner for help. But he just couldn't manage to absorb anything that Snape was saying.

The drone of Snape's lecture was ordinarily enough to make Harry doze, and today wasn't an ordinary day. Harry was so tired and distracted by stress that he was sure that if it weren't for the pain in his hands and the discomfort of sitting at the front of the class, he would have fallen asleep in the middle of the lecture.

Harry's thoughts were moving sluggishly. His left hand still burned and his right hand was beginning to ache again, and he had to keep himself from picking at the bandages on his hands. As he was rubbing at the bandages absently, he realized that he had forgotten one more consequence of sitting directly in front of Snape.

It was going to be nearly impossible for Harry to keep his bandages hidden. But then again, maybe it didn't matter if Snape saw. Snape wasn't exactly a warm person, and if he saw the bandages, he'd probably just assume that Harry had injured himself doing something stupid.

It wasn't like he'd force Harry to go to the Hospital Wing like some of the other professors might have. And really, there was no reason for Snape to know the truth about Harry's injuries. Harry was just being anxious over nothing, so he did his best to force his errant thoughts back to the lecture.

He wasn't very successful, because before Harry knew it, Snape was telling them to get started with brewing. Harry quickly joined the crowd in gathering supplies. He'd taken in practically none of Snape's lecture, and he just knew that this wasn't going to go well.

On his way back to his workstation, Harry saw that Malfoy and his partner Nott had switched seats with whoever had originally been in the row behind Harry. Harry had a bad feeling about having the two of them seated behind him, but Snape was hardly going to do anything about it, even if Harry made the mistake of complaining, so Harry grit his teeth and set about laying out his ingredients.

As Harry scanned the instructions laid out on the board, he felt a knot of panic tie itself in his gut. There was no way he'd be able to manage this on his own. There were simply too many finicky steps that required incredibly high levels of precision.

Harry closed his eyes briefly and rubbed at his face with the back of his left hand. All he could do was try his best to make it through without actually exploding the potion. He knew that it was too much to hope that he could manage an actual finished product.

Pulling his hands away from his face, Harry did his best to focus on the task at hand.

He did his best to follow the instructions on the board. He really did. But it seemed like every time he thought he'd figured out the next step, something happened to break his concentration. Snape would hover over him and make unhelpful comments. Malfoy would distract him with a nasty insult. And the entire time, his hands were aching and he was exhausted and it just never seemed to end.

So when his potion exploded violently, Harry was not at all surprised.

As soon as the surface of the potion had begun to boil upwards, Harry had leapt away from the potion, flinging his arms upwards to protect his face.

The boiling liquid soaked through the sleeves of his robe and the bandages on his hands as though they were paper, and Harry grit his teeth against the impulse to cry out. He staggered backwards another step, arms still held tightly over his face.

After a moment Harry realized that someone was screaming. His teeth were still clenched together, so he knew it wasn't him. He frowned in confusion, but was quickly distracted from his concern as the horrible burning sensation in his arms began to morph into a horrible itching sensation. Harry pulled his arms away from his face, and the first thing he noticed was that his sleeves were still completely intact and entirely undamaged.

Whatever the disaster was that Harry had accidentally brewed, it had ignored his sleeves as if they didn't exist.

Harry contemplated his shockingly-intact sleeves. After a moment, he realized that whoever had been screaming before had stopped, so he looked up from his arms and glanced around the room. Malfoy and Nott were both itching furiously at their faces, which were now covered in angry red hives. They must have also gotten splashed by the potion when it had exploded.

The itching on his arms was getting more insistent, so Harry carefully pulled up the sleeve of his robe and saw that his arms were covered in the same angry red hives, and that the hives seemed to continue underneath the bandages on his hands. He quickly dropped the sleeve back into position and tucked his hands into his armpits to try and keep himself from scratching.

He was incredibly grateful that he'd managed to cover his face in time, because he could only imagine how much worse it would be to have the hives all over his face.

"What happened?" Snape demanded.

Harry looked up and saw that Snape was standing over by Malfoy and Nott. For a moment, Harry was confused as to why Snape had gone directly to them instead of to Harry, when Harry had been the one to cause the explosion.

A second later, Harry realized that Malfoy and Nott had been far more vocal in the aftermath of the explosion than Harry had been. They would've been the ones who attracted Snape's attention, so they were the ones that Snape had gone to first.

Harry appreciated what could only be a short reprieve from the interrogation that was surely coming.

"Potter's potion exploded all over us!" Malfoy whined.

Snape was turned away from Harry, so Harry discreetly began to pack away his brewing supplies. He was quite thankful that the potion didn't seem to have any effect on his supplies. It had just slid off everything into puddles on his desk.

Harry was careful not to touch any of the puddles directly as he picked through the mess. He was absently listening to Malfoy go on about the effects of the potion that he'd been splashed with– a diatribe that was intercut with complaints about Harry's stupidity. Harry knew that he'd normally be incensed by Malfoy's sheer determination to dodge any culpability in the situation, but again– he just didn't have the energy to manage it.

It was difficult for Harry to stay focused on cleaning up his workstation when his arms were itchy and his hands were both itchy and in pain, but he was managing. His hope was that if he cleared his station quickly enough, he'd be able to slip out of the classroom without Snape realizing he'd been caught by the explosion.

Because if Snape tried to treat the hives, he'd have to remove the bandages on Harry's hands, and while Harry thought that Snape would be perfectly happy to ignore the bandages, Harry found it harder to believe that Snape would just heal the hives and ignore the other injuries on his hands.

But if Harry could manage to slip out of the classroom without Snape noticing, then he wouldn't have to worry about Snape discovering anything at all.

"Alright. Mr Malfoy and Mr Nott, go to the front of the room so I can give you the antidote. I will send you to the Hospital Wing if needed. And," Snape said, projecting his voice to address the rest of the class, "if anyone else has been affected, you will join them."

AN: just so you all know, I post sneak peaks and updates about what I'm writing to my tumblr: waitingondaisies, so feel free to check me out there :D and please review! it keeps me motivated to write faster