Goyle gave a stupid grin. Malfoy hastened to answer the question.
“That was me,” he said. “I was slashed by a Hippogriff.”
“A Hippogriff?” said Professor Umbridge, now scribbling frantically.
“Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do,” said Harry angrily.
Both Ron and Hermione groaned. Professor Umbridge turned her head slowly in Harry’s direction.
“Another night’s detention, I think,” she said softly. “Well, thank you very much, Professor Grubbly-Plank, I think that’s all I need here. You will be receiving the results of your inspection within ten days.”
“Jolly good,” said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and Professor Umbridge set off back across the lawn to the castle.
* * *
It was nearly midnight when Harry left Umbridge’s office that night, his hand now bleeding so severely that it was staining the scarf he had wrapped around it. He expected the common room to be empty when he returned, but Ron and Hermione had sat up waiting for him. He was pleased to see them, especially as Hermione was disposed to be sympathetic rather than critical.
“Here,” she said anxiously, pushing a small bowl of yellow liquid towards him, “soak your hand in that, it’s a solution of strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles, it should help.”
Harry placed his bleeding, aching hand into the bowl and experienced a wonderful feeling of relief. Crookshanks curled around his legs, purring loudly, then leapt into his lap and settled down.
“Thanks,” he said gratefully, scratching behind Crookshanks’s ears with his left hand.
“I still reckon you should complain about this,” said Ron in a low voice.
“No,” said Harry flatly.
“McGonagall would go nuts if she knew—”
“Yeah, she probably would,” said Harry dully. “And how long do you reckon it’d take Umbridge to pass another decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?”