HEATHENS - Harry Potter ✔

CHAPTER FOUR

Kiera sprinted up the marble stairs, a stitch digging into her right side, and she was once more reminded about how she really needed to get into better shape. But she didn't even have the chance to stop for a breath of air or; she was late.

Her detention started at seven and she had left the library at five to – there was no way she would get to Umbridge's office in time. Running down the corridor, Kiera cursed McGonagall and her Transfiguration essay, she cursed the O.W.L.s for creating so much homework, and the cursed herself for not having a watch.

Finally, after running from the library all the way to the second-floor corridor, feeling like she might pass out, Kiera skidded to a halt in front of the door that read:

Dolores Jane Umbridge
Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor
Hogwarts High Inquisitor

She swiped the stray hairs from her face, brushed down her robes, took a deep breath, and knocked. After a muffled "come in" sound from inside, she opened the door and entered the office.

The room looked horrid. The walls had been painted pink, and all surfaces had been draped in lacy covers and cloths. Far too many vases full of dried flowers had been placed around the room, each one residing on its own doily. And as if it wasn't all enough, one of the walls was completely covered by collection of oriental plates, each decorated with a large technicoloured kitten wearing a different bow around its neck.

"Ah, Miss Walker. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show," said Professor Umbridge in her sugary sweet voice. Kiera wasn't sure if it was the running, the overabundance of pink, or the voice, but she as beginning to feel nauseous. "Well, we'll just have to extend your detention, won't we?"

Kiera wasn't sure if she was expected to answer, so she simply nodded her head a little.

"You will be writing some lines for me, Miss Walker," Umbridge continued, gesturing to a small table in the centre of the room beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. It too was draped in lace. On the desk, laid a piece of blank parchment, apparently waiting for her.

Kiera sat down. The chair was almost unbelievably uncomfortable.

"I have consulted some of your professors and fellow classmates," she continued. "They tell me that outbursts of anger and aggression from you are not a rare occurrence. In fact, some have expressed feeling unsafe to have you as their prefect because they think you might misuse your power –"

"That's not true!" Kiera interrupted heatedly. "Malfoy –" She stopped mid-sentence; she was making it worse.

She picked up her bag, about to search it for a quill and ink in order to avoid looking up at Professor Umbridge, but she interrupted her. "Oh no, you're not going to be using your own quill," she said. "You're going to be using one of mine. Here you are."

She handed Kiera a long, black quill with an unusually sharp point. Kiera looked at it with raised eyebrows before taking it. Never before had a professor given her a quill to use in detention – not that she had been in detention very often.

"What about ink?" she asked, eyeing the quill sceptically.

"You won't be needing any," Umbridge told her. Kiera's suspicion grew slightly before she shrugged it off – maybe someone had finally invented self-inking quills. "Now, I want you to write I am a blood traitor."

Kiera's gaze flew from the quill to stare at Professor Umbridge. The shock overpowered her fear and she stared directly into Umbridge's small predatory eyes. She must have misheard. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, you heard me," Umbridge said. "Off you go."

Surely this wasn't allowed. Kiera stared at the professor until she arched an eyebrow and she slowly repositioned the quill in her hand. "Um ... how – how many times?" she asked.

"As many as I find necessary."

A moment passed before Kiera noticed that she would not be provided with any more specific instructions. And so, with one last look at Professor Umbridge, she placed its point on the parchment and began to write.

I am a blood traitor.

Kiera dropped the quill as a gasp escaped her lips. A sharp pain had burned on the back of her right hand. She looked at it, but there we nothing visible there. Maybe she had imagined it, or maybe it was another thing somehow connected to the nightmares, headaches, and Harry Potter.

Picking up the quill again, Kiera wrote the sentence a second time. This time she saw it: the words she had just written onto the paper had also appeared onto her skin, only to heal seconds later. Disgusted, she realised that it wasn't a self-inking pen with scarlet ink that was writing with, but her own blood.

She looked up at Umbridge, who had moved to sit back down at her own desk. "Yes?" asked the professor with a tone of feigned innocence. Kiera never wanted to hear the repulsively sugary voice again.

With a deep exhale, Kiera shook her head to say there was nothing.

Never in her life, had she felt as powerless as she did at that moment. Kiera looked at the parchment, picked up the quill and wrote 'I am a blood traitor', and for the third time, felt the searing pain on the back of her free hand.

And so it continued. It must have been hours that Kiera sat in Umbridge's office, writing the same sentence over and over again. And again, and again they were cut into the back of her hand. The sun had set long ago but she did not dare to look for a clock.

Finally, Professor Umbridge broke the silence. "Come here."

Kiera stood onto slightly wobbling legs and walked up to her desk. Umbridge took hold of her hand (much to Kiera's distaste) and ran her short and fat thumb over the wound, smearing the blood seeping from it. Kiera's hand twitched involuntarily as the touch stung the sensitive skin, but she didn't pull it away.

"That will be enough," Umbridge announced after studying the markings for at least a minute. Being a quick writer, the few hours Kiera had spent in detention had been enough to leave a scar on her hand. "You may go. – Hopefully, we will not need to continue this." Kiera didn't quite believe her words to be genuine. Still, she left without saying anything, closing the office door carefully behind her so that it only gave a muted click.

The corridor was empty apart from herself. She wasn't certain if it had always been void of any paintings or harnesses, or if Umbridge had just had them removed to suck any sign of comfort away. Her knees felt like they were melting, barely supporting her weight as Kiera walked as calmly as possible to the end of the corridor.

As soon as she turned the corner, she allowed herself to lean against a cold wall, closing her eyes as inhaled a shallow breath. A few tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, but Kiera ignored them, trying to regain enough strength to walk back to the Slytherin dormitory. However, with every second that passed, she only felt weaker and more tired. The fingers of her unharmed hand wrapped around the daisy which hung around her neck, Kiera ventured to open her eyes. She examined the scars on her right hand. There were a few drops of blood seeping from it, but even so, the wound had already begun to heal, making the text illegible, but she still saw it there, as if she had carved it onto the backs of her eyelids too: I am a blood traitor.