"ɪ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴅʀᴀᴄᴏ ᴍᴀʟꜰᴏʏ."
"ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ."
[UNDER EDITING]
What happens when you, the wittiest girl in the Slytherin house, landed yourself in so much trouble that you find yourself with both a new schedule and a new roommate- whom also happens to be yo...
⚠️TW: Mentions of cutting, blood, and self-inflicted harm. Do not read this chapter any further if any of these contents are a trigger to you. You have been warned, read at your own risk. ⚠️
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"There's going to be another war... isn't there?"
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Umbridge gestured with her hand for me to enter. I took slow, cautious steps into the office, overwhelmed by the amount of pink inside it. Plates of kittens decked the pink walls, the curtains that hung from the window were pink, the seats, the carpet, everything, it was all pink.
Umbridge sat behind her desk and dove a spoon into an open pot of sugar. She dunked three spoonfuls into the teacup in front of her. I stood at the doorway, watching as she pursed her lips.
"Sit." She said, before taking a sip.
I hesitated briefly, but decided it was best to get this over and done with. So, I sat at the end of the table, as far away from Umbridge as possible.
"You're going to be doing some lines for me today, Miss L/N." Umbridge said, sliding a blank sheet of parchment in front of me. That's not too bad, I thought. My hand slipped towards the inside pocket of my robe, but Umbridge stopped me.
"No, not with your quill." Umbridge's eyes flashed. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine."
"Are you really that OCD?" I frowned.
Umbridge tilted her head and smiled maliciously. I shook my head and scoffed, "Okay, now what?" I asked, glancing down at the quill she'd placed in front of me.
"Now, I want you to write; "I must not defend lies." Umbridge said in a shrill, bittersweet voice. I glanced up at her with an astronomical amount of boredom on my face.
"I'm not writing that."
"Why not?"
"Because you're a Ministry-hag." I said, squinting my eyes.
The corner of Umbridge's lip twitched. "Alright then." She said, sucking in a deep breath. "You can write fifty lines. Perhaps that way, the message will sink in deeper."
My hand curled into a fist under the table. "You haven't given me any ink." I pointed out in spite.
"Oh, you won't need any ink." Umbridge reassured.
I tilted my head, confused. Her face was completely blank, mechanical almost. "Well? Test it." Umbridge smiled blankly at me.
I cautiously took the quill between my fingers and scratched a; "I must not defend lies," into the parchment. Actual ink appeared on the sheet, so I was somewhat surprised. However, when I got about fifteen lines in, there was an incredibly agitating, scratching sensation on the back of my hand.
