3 Chapter 3

"The hell do you think you're doing! Let me go!"

"Tell me where and why you're injured, and I'll let you go."

Harry Potter didn't know exactly how this situation even came about. He'd been heading back to the Gryffindor common room after his horrid detention with the Toad Umbridge, passing the library when she ran into a girl who was exiting. He had swiftly apologized, too focused on the pain in his cut into hand and just wanting to go to bed. He never noticed that same girl following him into another hall until he was suddenly pulled into an empty classroom.

And that's where they were now. The new exchange student, Mosu--something that was sorted into Slytherin house, hovered above the Boy-Who-Lived. She had his wrists pinned to the floor by the sides of his head, and she straddled his chest.

Harry was switching between hoping someone had heard him yelling and come save from this girl who'd clearly lost her mind and praying that no one came to witness the position they were in. He was already in hot water these days, so he doubted he'd be able to explain himself out of the situation very easily.

When she'd initially pulled him into the classroom, she'd just shut the door and demanded him to tell her where he was hurt. How had she known he was injured? His school robes covered his hands.

But Harry wasn't stupid, no matter how many times Snape and others said he was. He didn't know this girl, plus she was a Slytherin, which just added to his distrust. So he refused to answer; it was his damned right to do so! She asked again, and again he refused, attempting to leave the room. But that only ended with him on the floor and with the girl on top of him.

He struggled, he really did. But she was surprisingly strong. He huffed in annoyance, and slight fear, if he was truthful. "Why do you even want to know or care?"

The girl rolled her brown eyes. "I don't want anything. I already know you're injured. I've known for days now, and it's fucking annoying. Now, just show me where it is."

"And if I don't?"

"Look, I'm just trying to help. Clearly, you're too stupid to go to Madam Pomphrey; a dumb pride thing, I'm assuming?" She raised an eyebrow. "Leaving an injury untreated can lead to infection. I'm pretty sure it's already infected, right?"

Harry turned his head to the side, looking at the wall from underneath the desk space. He didn't need to go to Madam Pomphrey; he could handle it himself. If he went to Pomphrey and she found out about the blood quills, she'd go to McGonagall, who'd go confront Umbridge. And then Umbridge would know she'd gotten to him enough for him to go make a complaint about it, in turn making her worse towards him.

The girl's grip tightened slightly around his wrists, bringing his attention back to her. Bright jade eyes stared up into intense brown ones.

"Please," she said. "I just want to help. Honest."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. Then nodded slowly. "A-Alright." Anything to get this girl off of him. She stared down at him for a moment, her long hair framing her face before she finally leaned back and got to her feet. She offered him a hand. Harry took it and let out a surprised yelp as he was pulled to his feet.

The Slytherin crossed her arms over her chest, looking...guilty? Good. She should.

"I'm sorry for ambushing you like that."

"Um, it's fine...I guess." Harry glanced at the door, the door that the girl had, unfortunately, stood herself in front of.

"Your injury?"

Harry sighed, and he raised his hand. He had taken to wearing a fingerless glove to hid the scar. He cursed quietly as he took it off, its fabric pulling at his skin from being put on over now dried blood. He held his hand toward her and watched her cautiously as she took her hand gently into hers. Her palms were slightly rough, kind of like his own.

"Um...What's your name again?" He asked. Her eyes met his again from where she was, looking closely at his hand. He felt his cheeks redden. "I-It was said at the Sorting, but I don't remember well. It's...Japanese, isn't it?"

"It's Mosukuwa Sukaretto. Last name, then first name. But you can call me Suka if you'd like." She smiled before looking down at his hand again.

Harry's blush deepened and grimaced. "Mosukuwa, then." He didn't like the familiarity of just using her first name, not to mention using a nickname.

He heard her chuckle. He didn't see what was so funny.

"'I must not tell lies.' Where did you get this?" Mosukuwa asked, turning his hand left and right to look at different angles. His hand had finally stopped bleeding, at least.

Harry hesitated, again glancing at the door. Perhaps he could make a run for it? He flinched back a bit when she pinned him with a look that he couldn't really read, but it definitely made him rethink his actions.

"Umbridge's detentions," he admitted, wincing slightly when Mosukuwa brushed her thumb over the words. She stopped immediately when she noticed, mumbling a 'sorry.' "She's had me doing lines for the past couple of weeks."

Mosukuwa raised her eyebrow at that. "...lines?"

"With blood quills. They're-"

"Use your blood as ink," she finished for him, cutting him off. She gave a sheepish smile. "Kind of self-explanatory by the name itself."

"...yeah."

"These wounds look deep. An infection has started to set in, but it's not as far along as I thought it would be."

"You seem to know a lot about this stuff," Harry commented, curious.

"My father is a doctor. You haven't told anyone about this?"

"Just my friends...I asked them not to tell anyone, though. You're not going to take me to Madam Pomphrey, are you?"

Mosukuwa looked at him again. She was taller than him, Harry noticed. Maybe 5'7 in height compared to his 5'5. He was the shortest guy in his year, probably even the shortest in the 3rd years, and it kind of bothered him that even this girl was taller than him. Then again, she was older—a 7th year.

Mosukuwa, much to his relief, shook her head at his question. "No. I'm gonna assume there is a reason you aren't reporting this. A good reason, I hope."

Before Harry could respond, and without another word from the girl, she spat on his hand. He yelled in surprise and disgust and tried to yank his hand away. But Mosukuwa just tightened her grip on his hand, keeping him in place.

"What-" He shuddered as she started rubbing her saliva all over his wound before stopping and dropping his hand after a few seconds. As soon as she let go, Harry began to wipe his hand on his school robes. "Why the hell would you do something so gross?" He complained.

Well, it was confirmed now. This girl was insane. He wasn't surprised. Stuff always happened to him no matter what he did. Was it too late to transfer to Durmstrang to finish his schooling? That seemed like the better option than Hogwarts, and its populous right now.

Or maybe he could just drop back into the muggle world, he mused. If he didn't love his magic so much and the very few select people here, Harry would have bailed long ago.

Mosukuwa was silent and pointed at his hand that he was still rubbing against his robes. Harry paused, noticing that his hand didn't hurt anymore, even with him rubbing it against the fabric. He looked down and brought his hand up, his eyes widening at the now healed wound. The words were still there, but they looked as if they were months old, showing up faintly on his skin.

"How?" Harry asked in awe.

"I would really like it if you went to your head of house about this, or the headmaster. Blood quills are illegal, and if she's doing it to you, I wouldn't doubt she's doing it to other students as well. But it's up to you."

Harry looked up at the older girl and narrowed his eyes. "You care a lot for someone who's just met me. Besides, I'm a Gryffindor; you're in Slytherin. I would have expected you to just let me suffer or something."

Mosukuwa laughed. It was a pleasant sound, like chiming bells. "I think it's in human nature to care about one another. Or at least not liking seeing someone hurt. And the whole house rivalries stuff is extremely dumb, and I think I'm a bit too grown to be actively participating in the stereotypes and rumors of a school. And I think you are too."

"Come on, it's getting close to curfew. I don't want you getting another detention right after I healed you."

Mosukuwa walked to the door and opened it, looking up and down the corridor. She glanced over her shoulder back at him and smiled teasingly. "Better hurry. I'm pretty sure Snape patrols the halls most nights."

Harry quickly followed her out into the hallway. Snape was the last person he'd like to run into right now. Or anytime for that matter.

"Stay safe, okay? And don't walk around with your hand bleeding and untreated like that again. Seriously, you could lose your hand."

Then she was gone, disappearing around the corner, her retreating footsteps falling silent the further she got until he couldn't hear them anymore. Harry looked down at his hand again, thinking perhaps he'd just imagined that whole thing. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been hallucinating shit. But the still healed hand only confirmed that, yes, it did actually happen.

Harry started back towards the common room again, and he was surprised to see it mostly empty when he arrived. He cast a Tempus. It was only 30 minutes until curfew. Hermione and Ron couldn't have gone to bed already, right? They usually would wait up for him to make sure he got back okay.

But deep down, he was kind of relieved. He wouldn't have to deal with any questions tonight, especially about his suddenly healed wound. Harry sat down on the empty couch, not wanting to go up to the dorm just yet. The common room was pretty much empty, aside from a few older years working on assignments at some of the tables. He wouldn't want to be down here if it was fuller. People weren't exactly fond of him this year, and he didn't want to be bothered with their pettiness and stares.

He ran his fingers back and forth over the words on his hand, thinking back on the 7th year Slytherin. She was right, now that he thought about it clearly about Slytherin vs. Gryffindor. The rivalry was dumb, rooted in petty history. Slytherin was highly judged because of its past students, wrongly so. Harry had blindly fallen into the narrative and assumption that all Slytherins were terrible, just young Death Eaters in the making. That might be true for some, but he doubted all of them were. You could say that about any student in any house.

The wrong first impressions he'd experienced before he fully knew of the Hogwarts houses only fueled his views. First, Hagrid told him of Voldemort, then meeting Draco Malfoy in that robe shop hours later. And then he met Ron, who had pretty much the same stance as him, even encouraging it. Instigating. And then he'd encountered Snape in that first Potions class. It only increased his dislike.

But that didn't excuse how he saw and treated Slytherin as a whole, he realized.

He had almost been sorted into Slytherin himself. If it hadn't been for the rumors and the people in it making him more determined not to go there, he would have been. He huffed a laugh at the idea of him with a green and silver tie instead of his red and gold one. He wondered how things would be different if he had just let the Sorting Hat place him where he wanted.

Harry hated it when people made assumptions about him. And that was hard to avoid with him being famous (infamous now?) Boy-Who-Lived. It always happened at the Dursleys too, but at least they somewhat knew him. They knew him better than the people of the Wizarding World, at least, as much as he hated to admit that. He'd actually lived with the Dursleys.

And they spread rumors of him to the neighbors, his school, anyone that may have encountered him long term. He was a troubled child, a delinquent, no good.

The Wizarding World wanted to flip on him every other second. One day he's the Gryffindor Golden Boy, their Savior. Don't even get Harry started on how he didn't believe that a 1-year-old toddler could stop a Dark Lord like these people thought. The next day, he was an attention-seeking prat; he was crazy, a mad man.

Harry hated this. And yet...he did the same thing, didn't he? Sure he wasn't flip-floppy about it, but still hypocritical nonetheless. And he hated that he had to have someone bluntly point that out to him for him to realize.

His mind drifted back to Mosukuwa Sukaretto, and the corner of his mouth twitched up into a small smile. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two from her. And maybe through her, he could prepare a few bridges he hopefully hadn't entirely destroyed.

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What kind of psychotic bitch uses blood quills on children?! Suka was beyond disgusted. She was able to heal Potter's hand, but she was shocked to see a scar left behind. Usually, if it wasn't a too severe injury, it would heal up with no problem and with no evidence of it even being there. But it appeared that blood quill scars leave their marks. She doubted even magic could get rid of them if her saliva couldn't.

Ghoul saliva had healing properties, but only to a certain extent. It was mostly used to heal minor injuries, like cuts or small gashes. She prayed to whoever might hear her that revealing that ability wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass.

Suka really hoped the boy would heed her advice and tell an adult. But Potter was the stubborn type, she could tell. It most likely had to do with the pride thing she'd mentioned earlier. He didn't want to show any weakness to anyone. She could understand somewhat. If it got back to Umbridge, it could make things worse for him.

She hadn't expected for Potter to run into her as she left the library. She was glad that she went by herself as she was finally able to take the opportunity to get Potter alone. Perhaps pinning the boy to the floor like she did had been a bit extreme. She could get into trouble if he reported her. But she did what she thought she had to do at the time. And it did get her the results she wanted.

Now, hopefully, Potter would keep himself out of detentions. Detentions with Umbridge, at least. She scoffed as she entered the Slytherin common room. She didn't keep her hopes up.