𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓟𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼: ǟ ʀɛǟʟɨȶʏ ֆɦɨʄȶɨռɢ ȶǟʟɛ ✤ ֆɛʋɛʀʊʂ ҳ օƈ

𝔏𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔬𝔭?

𝐼 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 . . . ah! 𝑛𝑜𝑡 . . . she balled her hand against her wrist. The nerve-endings fired spasms up her arms. 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 . . . she tore up her sleeve and saw worded scratches imprinting redness around her arm

"Hehe."

Felicity jerked her head up to find Umbridge grading papers, smirking to herself. She glared daggers at the woman, puffing a stray hair from her face in agitation.

Back down on her arm, she picked up the quill, her fist tightening.

. . . 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑠. Ah!

𝐼 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 . . . 𝑛𝑜𝑡 . . . blood peeked from the breaking seals of flesh . . . 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 . . . her arm shook in agony . . . 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑠.

𝐼 . . . Felicity stabbed the parchment "Ah!" she cried out, but plowed forward, 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡 . . . she gritted her teeth, 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 . . .

"Legilimens!"

The goat's head emerged before them, licking at her wounding arm . . .

. . . 𝑇𝑅𝑈𝑇𝐻𝑆!

With an agonizing scream, she shoved Umbridge out of her head, focusing on anything but pain. Felicity had to shift this reality now.

Luna tickled Felicity's arm with her gentle quill, she imagined, Luna imprinting the Deathly Hallows symbol with raspberry-scented ink . . . Felicity clamped an arm to subdue the wound . . . Snape applied a healing salve, tenderly wrapping her arm in bandages. His pacifying baritone voice whispered healing incantations.

The goat's beady eyes reflected speckled light, starscapes and heavenly rays. The creature faded into the endless restful night, and Felicity mimicked its steady breaths: In . . and out . . . in and out . . . while her wound throbbed, her mind cleansed, subduing the pain.

Both rocked back into reality with Umbridge's wand outstretched, quivering in her hand. The smug look melted into a slight opening of the mouth. The teacher's eyes darted downwards, along Felicity's arm. Blood dripped down it, staining the light-pink carpet beneath them.

Sweat plastered the stray curls down Felicity's chin and neck, and she squinted in returning spasms, but never looked away from Umbridge. Her teeth clenched, her breathing labored, but she shed no tears. Felicity held fast, stopping herself from spilling brine, she already spilt blood, this woman would have no more of her suffering, no more satisfaction from weeping, no more---

"You, you," Umbridge held her head up high, crossing her arms, "disobeyed me! Lies, not truths!"

Perhaps this is why you hate Muggles. If you were a Muggle authority abusing your power to encourage self-harm---you'd be the worst therapist. In prison. You'd encourage those who suffer real depression to hurt themselves more---manipulating them into deserving it.

Felicity held her gaze. Both breathed hard before each other, a challenge circulating in the air around them.

Umbridge stalked over, then flipped the parchment with a smack. She flicked her wand at the paper. "Write!"

Felicity picked up the quill, then began on her line.

𝐼 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑠.

Behind her sleeve, tremors erupted on her other arm, but Felicity pressed on. Umbridge must not be able to read the motions upon the parchment, for she smirked, then settled behind her desk again.