blood like gasoline | 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐭

𝟎𝟐𝟐 | A Different Light

Professor Umbridge suddenly stood up, and set her teacup down, before clearing her throat and leaving the office.

Ophelia kept her quill on the side, and cradled her slightly bloodied left hand, blowing on her wound to ease the pain slightly.

"Are you crying?" Harry suddenly asked, his head snapping towards her, looking at her with concern.

Ophelia swallowed thickly, slowly tilting her head up at him. She shook her head, trying to blink away her tears.

"What's she making you write?" he questioned, bending over her parchment, before raising his brows.

"I will never wear pink?" he echoed. "That's— that's stupid! Who the bloody hell would do that—"

Ophelia said nothing, refusing to look vulnerable in front of him.

Harry handed her a wrinkled tissue from his pocket. "Just used it to clean my glasses," he muttered. "But otherwise it's clean."

She was in too much pain to protest, or refuse his gesture. In too much pain to be arrogant.

 Slowly, she reached for the tissue, her perfectly manicured fingers pinching it from his grasp, and she pressed it onto her wound, intaking a sharp hiss as it stung. Her fingers throbbed with the lack of blood reaching them properly, and she bit her lip hard enough for it to bleed.

"Th-thanks," she whispered, stammering slightly as she struggled to speak. 

Harry looked shocked, eyes widening, unable to believe his eyes as she thanked him. 

"Did you just—"

Ophelia shook her head and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "I really can't deal with it. Yes, I am capable of saying thank you," she snapped. 

The boy cleared his throat awkwardly and nodded. "Right—sorry."

Ophelia shrugged, dabbing the blood softly. "How do you do it?" she breathed. "Go through the pain?"

"Dip your hand in Essence of Murtlap," Harry suggested. "And apply Dittany after."

She shook her head. "I mean— you've been in detention for—"

"A week," Harry finished. 

"Doesn't it hurt?" she asked softly, tilting her head slightly to inquire. 

"It does. But I'm not going to let her win."

Ophelia felt a sudden rush of energy. 

She picked up her quill, and began to write.

Moments later, Professor Umbridge walked in. 

"I see you have learned your lesson," Professor Umbridge commented, standing behind Ophelia, examining her parchment. "You may leave, Miss Malfoy. And remember, if I see you wearing anything pink during my next lesson, you shall have another detention."

Ophelia could only nod, holding her wounded hand close to her chest. It wouldn't stop bleeding. She had written the words almost fifty times.

Harry was dismissed not a minute later, and he followed Ophelia out.

Ophelia, the moment she left Professor Umbridge's office, found Colin waiting outside for her, holding a sugar quill for her.