Harry knocked on the wooden door. "Come in," Umbridge's sickly kind voice spoke. Harry opened the door and walked in. She had completely transformed the office into a 5-year-old's bedroom. It was hideous. The walls were pink and there was a lot of cats on plates. "Good evening, Mr Potter," her voice spoke once again. "Sit," she ordered.
"You're going to be doing some lines for me today, Mr Potter. No, not with your quill. Going to be using a rather special one of mine," she says handing him a red quill. "Now... I want you to write, "I must not tell lies." Harry sighed quietly.
"How many times?" The boy asked. Umbridge walked behind him and looked out the window, smiling.
"Well, let's say for as long as it takes for the message to sink in," Harry goes to write but realises something.
"You haven't given me any ink," he states.
"Oh, you won't need any ink." Harry wrote what Umbridge said but all of a sudden began to feel stinging in his hand. As though someone was cutting his hand with a sharp object.
"Yes?"
"Nothing," said Harry after hesitation.
"That's right. Because you know, deep down... you deserve to be punished... Don't you, Mr. Potter?"