𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗼𝗰𝗸, harry potter

˗ˋ 43

CHAPTER FORTY THREE
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-: fifth year :-

── IN WHICH 5 O'CLOCK
ARRIVES

. . .

"Miss Rosier. You are late."

With Umbridge's sugary words, Harry looked up from the table draped in lace, over to the door as it pushed open and Aviana entered, tugging the ends of her grey jumper further down - it seemed she had deemed her adjustment of the uniform which was to have a rather fashionable pinafore made up out of an old school skirt inappropriate for her meeting with Umbridge (despite the woman not questioning how she appeared the day previous) - and was hoping the woman couldn't see the straps over her shoulders, but would instead focus on the emerald snake badge on her collar. 

"Apologies." Aviana glanced at Harry and took the second chair besides the table he was sat at as a gesture for her to sit down, doing just that as she looked back up at the woman. "I was just in the library.. researching what happens when you get hit by the Killing Curse. I would ask Cedric but alas, it seems like he didn't live to tell the tale, if you get my gist."

Umbridge swallowed, clearly not used to this level of pettiness and imperitence as she watched Aviana lean back in her chair, legs crossed and the golden expanse of skin left uncovered by her knee socks only growing as her skirt slipped further up. "It is that sort of attitude that has ended up with you in here, Miss Rosier. However I will forgive you, rather than issuing you any more punishment. I believe one week will be more than effective." The woman managed to get out.

"Well that is certainly very kind of you." Aviana glanced down at the desk as a blank piece of parchment appeared on the table in front of her. She had been avoiding at looking at Harry until now, but the confusion overpowered and she met his eyes, only receiving a shrug.

It seemed both of them were bewildered to how Umbridge thought that writing lines would be as effective as she made it out to be.

"Er." Harry spoke up. "Professor Umbridge? Er- before we start, I-I wanted to ask you a... a favour." Her bulging eyes narrowed, and in his peripheral vision, he could see Aviana watching him.

"Oh yes?" 

"Well I'm... I'm on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was - was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it - do it another night... instead..." Both teenagers knew long before he reached the end of his sentencethat it was no good. 

"Oh no." said Umbridge, smiling so widely that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. "Oh no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow,and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you."

"Unlucky, Potter. Can't say the same for me though. Montague has my place on the team reserved and with us replacing Flint with Blaise and then Derrick and Bole with Crabbe and Goyle we have the perfect team." Aviana sat back. "No worries about me missing anything there."

"Miss Rosier, that's enough." Umbridge turned to her next. "Unless you believe the punishment shall not be effective, you will be spending many more hours with me, learning how unjust it is to be so blatantly rude and spread the dark magic agenda." 

"I'm sorry - what?" Aviana didn't care about recieving more detentions, clearly. "'Spreading the dark agenda'? Really? So this is about my father now, is it? Because I can assure you that I wasn't spreading some bullshit agenda - I wholeheartedly agree that Cedric Diggory was killed by Voldemort and as much as you Ministry freaks - that are trying to teach us bullshit theory of all things - can try and deny it, we all know it was him."

"The fact you dare utter his name is proof enough." Umbridge pointed her nose upwards as she stepped closer to the table. "You now have a month's worth of detention, Miss Rosier."

Aviana seemed to be about to say something that might just make the situation worse and Harry panicked, nudging her with his foot. Their eyes met a second time and it seemed to get the message across; Aviana swallowed and eyes glazed over as she stared at the blank parchment.

"There." Umbridge said, tone sickly sweet. "We're getting better at controlling our tempers already, aren't we? Now, you both are going to be doing some lines for me - no, not with your own quills. You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are."

Umbridge walked over in short steps, placing a black quill with an oddly sharp tip in front of them. "I want you to write 'I must not tell lies'." She said softly to the both of them, and Aviana was surprised she somehow hadn't managed to alter her's with something to do with that dark agenda. 

"How many times?" Aviana sat up in her chair, reaching for the quill. "Seeing as I'll be coming back for the next twenty eight days, I'd rather just get it over as soon as possible." 

"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in." Umbridge replied. "Off you go." She returned to her desk, focus on a stack of parchment of what looked to be essays.

Aviana let out a sigh and turned to the parchment before freezing. 

Harry had noticed something - the same thing - as well. 

"You haven't given us any ink." Harry spoke up. 

"Oh, you won't need ink." Umbridge replied with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.

Aviana's brows furrowed, but shrugged it off as she brought the tip to the paper and wrote the first line up.

Harry's head shot upwards from where he was about to write when he heard a hiss from the other side of the table. Aviana was yanking up the sleeve of her jumper from where it covered her hand and staring at the skin. 

Confused, Harry wrote out the line and had the same reaction as a jolt of pain shot through him and instantly, his eyes went to his hand. The ink on the parchment gleamed red, the cut on his hand already sealing up. 

The bitch was carving the lines into them. 

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