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"she wants chaos, she wants arguments, she wants to talk back to everyone she possibly can. she wants umbridge to pay."
☆☆☆
George hadn't lied. Dolores Umbridge had an awful taste in decor, with garish pink walls and lacy frames of kittens on her wall. "Hello, Miss Moon," she warbles out with a pinched smile on her face. "Come closer, dear." The girl treads closer, steps hesitant. She stops a few feet away from the desk Umbridge is sitting at and slides her fingers down the strap of her bag nervously. She focuses on on the clock ticking behind the woman's head. The clock ticks to seven o'clock, and seven cat meows ring out accordingly.
"I'm here for my detention," she says lamely. Umbridge blinks. They both know.
"Right. Have a seat," Umbridge gestures at a small chair and desk in the corner. Eunbyeol complies, and with a heave, the professor pushes herself out of her chair. She trots around her own desk, looking a bit like a pug on two legs, and sets a sheet of parchment and a quill on Eunbyeol's table. "I was thinking a few lines would be quite sufficient for today's detention." She smiles cruelly. "Why don't you write, 'I will not talk back to others.'"
The swollen, bright red lines on George's hand flashes in her mind. With a sinking fear, Eunbyeol thinks that she should've listened and not gotten a detention. She glances down at her hand, where she knows the scar will appear. "Do I get ink?"
"No," Umbridge smirks and runs a pudgy finger along the feather. "The quill provides its own."
She nods slowly. "And how many times would you like me to write this down?"
Umbridge hums in thought. "As long as it takes for it to sink in." She smiles brightly. There's a sadistic glint in her eye. "Why don't you start now, dear?"
So she does. I will not talk back to others.I will not talk back to l others. I will not talk back to others. The words appear in a dark shade of red and the underside of her wrist tingles. With a cautious flip of her hand, she peeks at the sentence forming on her hand, glistening lines surrounded by pink swollen skin. Gritting her teeth, she does her best to ignore the sensations and focuses on her handwriting to keep the font as identical as possible.
The pain is bearable at first. If she pays little attention to it, it almost feels like itching. I will not talk back to others. I will not talk back to others. It gets worse. The itching turns into soreness and she glances up at Umbridge and notes that she is preoccupied before glancing at her hand. She will not have the woman take delight in viewing her suffering. If Eunbyeol has learned anything from her childhood, it is how to hide signs of pain and weakness. She schools her features into a bland, if not bored, expression as she scans the ragged red letters engraved into her wrist. It's an ugly wound, one she knows will only get uglier with time. At least her handwriting is neat, she thinks wryly, and begins writing before Umbridge catches her inspecting the cuts. I will not talk back to others. Blood is seeing from her wrist and onto the parchment. I will not talk back to others. The cuffs of her shirt are dark red, almost black. I will not talk back to others. With disturbingly mundane concern, Eunbyeol realizes she will have to bleach and starch her sleeves. I will not talk back to others. She almost believes the sentence at this point. I will not talk back to others. Hours must have passed by now. I will not talk back to—
