The Order Of The Phoenix - Hermione Granger x OC

Detention With Dolores Umbridge

The time for detention with Umbridge had come, and Oliver had been dreading it. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and hesitantly knocked on the door to Umbridge's office.

"Come in!" she said with an unsettling giggle.

Oliver opened the door and immediately found himself surrounded by an overwhelming amount of cat portraits. They adorned every inch of wall space, creating an eerie and unnatural atmosphere. There had to be about one hundred of them, each one staring back at him with beady eyes.

Umbridge seemingly delighted in Oliver's discomfort. "Good evening, Mr. Montclair," she said sweetly.

"Evening," Oliver mumbled, attempting to inject a semblance of respect into his response but ultimately failing.

A tense silence filled the room, broken only by the eerie presence of the cat portraits. Feeling the need to break the tension, Oliver cleared his throat. "You must really like cats, huh?" he asked, gesturing toward the overwhelming number of feline images that adorned the walls.

Umbridge's face twisted into a displeased expression, but she swiftly dismissed Oliver's comment. "Sit," she commanded, pointing to a wooden chair situated in the center of the room.

Oliver complied and reluctantly sat down in the wooden chair, preparing himself for the daunting task ahead.

"You're going to be doing some lines for me today, Mr. Montclair," she instructed, her voice dripping with a sickly sweetness.

"Okay," Oliver said, resigned to his fate as he reached for his quill.

But Umbridge's voice cut through the air, hijacking his feeble attempt at acceptance. "No, not with your quill. You're going to be using a rather special one of mine," she said, her eyes gleaming with a disturbing intensity as she handed him an ornate quill.

Oliver took the quill, his curiosity mixed with a sense of foreboding. There was something ominous about the beautiful yet foreign object now resting in his hand.

"Now, I want you to write, 'I must not tell lies,'" Umbridge commanded, her voice laced with a chilling authority.

Oliver sighed.

"How many times?"

Umbridge's grin widened into a sinister smile, her eyes glinting with sadistic satisfaction. "Well, let's see... until the message really sinks in," she replied, relishing in the power she held over him.

Umbridge walked back to her desk and sat down.

"Well, how am I supposed to do this without any ink?" Oliver asked, annoyance seeping into his voice.

"Oh, you won't need any ink," Umbridge replied, her tone dripping with malicious glee.

Oliver sighed, resigned to the fact that this torment would continue. He took a deep breath and began writing on the parchment.

To his surprise, the quill glided smoothly across the parchment without any need for ink. The words appeared with a ghostly trace, etching themselves with an eerie precision.

As Oliver traced the words "I must not tell lies," a slight stinging sensation crept up in his hand. A twinge of pain lingered, but he dismissed it as a mere distraction.

Undeterred by the discomfort, Oliver continued. But with each repetition of the sentence, the pain intensified, coursing through his hand like a vengeful fire.

A pained grunt escaped Oliver's lips as he surveyed his hand, expecting to find some relief. Instead, his eyes widened in horror. The words "I must not tell lies" were etched into his skin, as if burned into his flesh.