Solace of Slytherin; a grandson of Voldemort Story

Skin Deep

Hazel hesitantly took her seat next to Nico, both of them stuck in the front row as they waited for the third person stuck with detention from Umbridge. She tried to pass the time by doodling some drawings of her horse Arion, her boyfriend Frank, and Frank with Arion on a scrap piece of paper she found waiting on the desk with her ink and quill.

She cursed as a wrong slant caused the ink to blot over one of the doodles. St. Catherine of Bologna, the quill has been a buzz to use the entire day and she still can't get the angle right for her strokes. There was a reason she preferred dry mediums like charcoal and colored pencils.

Finally, her boredom ended as the door opened, revealing a heavily disheveled and bruised Harry making his way to a seat next to Nico. She allowed herself to glance at his frustrated face, and her brother's analytical expression before putting her quill down and facing Umbridge.

She watched as the woman approached her with a predatory gleam in her eyes. In front of Harry, her thin lips stretched to form out words too soft for her to hear, but Hazel's spine  tingled more than it had any right to.

Harry reached for his pack for something, but Umbridge waved his hands away, her own reaching into her pink cardigan and pulling out a vibrant red quill. Handing it to him and motioning to the paper.

She did the same to Nico, though this time, Hazel was able to hear what she was saying. They were to write lines, 'I shall not assault figures of authority'. Hazel snorted to herself at that. If anything, figures of authority were always assaulting them!

She straightened her face when Umbridge made it to her. Keeping her composure neutral as she leaned towards her personal space in a way she knew displayed power over her.

It was always about power with people.

"Now, Miss Levasque. It's truly disappointing for me to say this on the first day of teaching, but you'll have to write the quite a lot of lines today!" Her false disappointment made Hazel want to share a few more choice words and actions that would have gotten her paddled last school semester almost 60 years ago.

But she closed her eyes and counted her breath.

"And what will I be writing, Professor?" She spat out as politely as she could.

As if the straight set teeth couldn't get any more demonic, her smile widened.
"I shall remain silent during class time, just keep at it until the message sinks in, dear."

Hazel's hand reached for the quill set to the side, but Umbridge's hand waved the action off.

A similar vibrant red quill slid across the desk, it's sharp nib nicking a bit of Hazel's hand before she grabbed it, glaring at the older woman who's smile didn't waver.

She writes the first letters, already feeling the back of her eyes burn in an effort to keep the letters as they should be. And a little while later, she realizes there was a more literal burn on the inside of her wrist.

She paused on her fifteenth line, turning her wrist around to see faint thin lines on her skin raising. Like an irritated rash or some nightmarish case of a parasitic worm.

There, starting from the inside of her wrist, thin lines were erupting, painfully inflamed. 'I shall remain silent during class time' in her own handwriting scrawled from far into her forearm just below her elbow. She turned her head, finding her brother's eyes dead locked with Umbridge's. His own arm a pale pink in his spidery writing that contrasted with the white-knuckled grip he had on the quill.

"You're making us write lines- in our own blood?" he stated more than he actually questioned. Despite the angry tone, there was a level of bitter acceptance. As if he was disappointed in himself for being surprised at the twist of their punishment.