𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝟐.𝟔 - 𝐢 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧

You had arrived at detention before Harry, leaving you alone with Professor Umbridge in her stuffy office. The rounded walls were plastered with baby pink wallpaper, matching her current get-up. Decorative plates were put on display on the back wall, depicting images of kittens and other baby animals. Every so often they would meow and purr. At first, it was cute but after standing there for a few minutes in otherwise silence, it became more and more obnoxious.

You stood awkwardly near the door, waiting for Umbridge to address you. She was seated behind her desk, rearranging her small collection of quills with one hand. With the other, she lifted a porcelain teacup to her lips. After setting it back down in it's saucer, she gestured to the small table separate from hers in the back of the room. "Sit down, dear," she instructed.

Nodding, you took a seat in the wooden chair. Swinging your bag off of your shoulder, you let it rest down at your feet. Once you were settled, you looked back up to Professor Umbridge for instruction. She folded her hands in front of her lap, face smug as if someone told her a dirty secret that she couldn't wait to spill. 

"You're going to be doing some lines for me today, Ms. Firethorn."

A sigh of relief left your lips. Draco had been right, this wasn't scary at all. Worst case scenario, you leave with a cramped hand and ink stains on your sleeves.

Not wasting any time, you bent over and began digging into your bag for your quill and ink. "No, no," Umbridge squeaked, stopping you in your tracks. "Not with your quill. You're going to be using a rather special one of mine."

You sat back up straight and watched as she plucked one of the quills from her desk, pinching it between two fingers as she stood up and waddled over to you, placing it down onto the long piece of parchment that had already been laid out in front of you. You took it in your hand and twisted it in your grip. It was a sleek black color with a  jagged, pointy tip.

"Now," she stepped back to circle around your seat slowly like a predator stalking its prey. "I want you to write..." Professor Umbridge paused and a wicked smile curled it's way onto her paper thin lips. "I must not speak out of turn."

You blinked and tightened your grip on the quill. "How many times?"

"Well let's say..." she purred. "For as long as it takes for the message to sink in."

The tips of your ears flushed red with anger and you bit the inside of your cheek to prevent lashing out. You pressed the quill to the parchment before pausing and looking back up at Umbridge. "Should I use my own ink, then?"

You watched as she sat back down in her plush office chair, leaning back and taking a long sip from her tea cup. She giggled, the sound barely audible over the kitten plates meowing. "Oh, you won't need any ink," she murmured smugly.

You opened your mouth to argue but quickly closed it. Inspecting the quill, you didn't think it looked particularly enchanted or anything. Deciding to test it, you readjusted your grip and scribbled the tip against the corner of the parchment. Sure enough, a thin crimson red line appeared, more ink blooming from the curved point when you pulled it away.

As you began to write your lines, you noticed a faint coppery smell emitting from the paper. Not thinking anything of it, you continued to work as Umbridge paced the room around you. Every so often she would retreat to her desk and take another sip of tea. Your wrist cramped up right away but it was nothing compared to the sudden itch in your non-dominant hand.

You tried to ignore it at first but the burning sensation became so intense that you found yourself taking frequent breaks to scratch at it from underneath the sleeve of your robe. As you finished your twentieth line, the burning evolved into a sharp pain and you lifted up your sleeve to assess the damages only to gasp and drop the quill.