Death Eaters... Forever?
Detention
I walked to my detention confidently; it had been worth it.
Guess what the colour of her office was: pink. Pink bricks, pink carpet, pink ornaments. I was surprised she didn’t camouflage into the walls.
“Come in, Miss Wilson.” Harry was already there waiting, sitting at a little pink desk by the window. There was an identical one next to him, which I seated myself at reluctantly.
“You are going to be writing lines for me today. No, not with your quills – you are going to be using a special quill of mine,” Umbridge said as we reached for our own writing instruments. And then I caught sight of the quill she was giving us and my stomach turned. It was a black quill with an unusually sharp point – I immediately knew what it was.
“Potter, you will write, I must not tell lies. Wilson, you will write, I must respect my elders.” I almost laughed at that – it was vaguely ironic.
“How many lines shall I write?”
“Let’s say, for as long as it takes for the message to sink in.” Oh dear, that will take forever with the time it takes for me to heal.
Harry started, and I heard him gasp with pain as the enchanted quill wrote I must not tell lies on the back of his hand. It was identical to the line on the paper, and as I wrote I must respect my elders the searing pain began. However, I only clenched my teeth; this was barely a fraction of the pain Lord Voldemort had caused me.
Even as I began writing the second line, my skin was healing over, closing the gash on my hand until not even a scar remained.
By the time she let us go – luckily only looking at Harry’s hand for confirmation that the message had ‘sunk in’ – it was almost past curfew.
“Why didn’t it mark you?” Harry asked irritably, rubbing his own had painfully.
“It did, it’s just that I heal faster than most.” He shook his head, confused.
I didn’t say any more, too scared that I’d already given my secret away.
I couldn’t sleep that night, so instead I lay there looking at my Dark Mark in awe. I wondered again why it was silver, but I didn’t want to accept the only logical answer.
I managed to fall asleep in the early hours of the morning, so I wasn’t that tired the next day.
That night, after writing my Care of Magical Creatures essay and drawing a rough sketch of the position of the stars for Astronomy, I began talking to Hermione and Ron about Umbridge.
“We need to learn how to defend ourselves,” Hermione said, looking at me meaningfully.
“No, not me, I’m not teaching it!” More likely than not, I’ll forget they don’t know and show them my gift, I thought.
“But you’re the best!” She protested.
“No, and that’s final. What about Harry? He’s smart, he knows advanced Dark Arts, and he’s fought the Dark Lord,” I suggested, even liking the idea.
Guess what the colour of her office was: pink. Pink bricks, pink carpet, pink ornaments. I was surprised she didn’t camouflage into the walls.
“Come in, Miss Wilson.” Harry was already there waiting, sitting at a little pink desk by the window. There was an identical one next to him, which I seated myself at reluctantly.
“You are going to be writing lines for me today. No, not with your quills – you are going to be using a special quill of mine,” Umbridge said as we reached for our own writing instruments. And then I caught sight of the quill she was giving us and my stomach turned. It was a black quill with an unusually sharp point – I immediately knew what it was.
“Potter, you will write, I must not tell lies. Wilson, you will write, I must respect my elders.” I almost laughed at that – it was vaguely ironic.
“How many lines shall I write?”
“Let’s say, for as long as it takes for the message to sink in.” Oh dear, that will take forever with the time it takes for me to heal.
Harry started, and I heard him gasp with pain as the enchanted quill wrote I must not tell lies on the back of his hand. It was identical to the line on the paper, and as I wrote I must respect my elders the searing pain began. However, I only clenched my teeth; this was barely a fraction of the pain Lord Voldemort had caused me.
Even as I began writing the second line, my skin was healing over, closing the gash on my hand until not even a scar remained.
By the time she let us go – luckily only looking at Harry’s hand for confirmation that the message had ‘sunk in’ – it was almost past curfew.
“Why didn’t it mark you?” Harry asked irritably, rubbing his own had painfully.
“It did, it’s just that I heal faster than most.” He shook his head, confused.
I didn’t say any more, too scared that I’d already given my secret away.
I couldn’t sleep that night, so instead I lay there looking at my Dark Mark in awe. I wondered again why it was silver, but I didn’t want to accept the only logical answer.
I managed to fall asleep in the early hours of the morning, so I wasn’t that tired the next day.
That night, after writing my Care of Magical Creatures essay and drawing a rough sketch of the position of the stars for Astronomy, I began talking to Hermione and Ron about Umbridge.
“We need to learn how to defend ourselves,” Hermione said, looking at me meaningfully.
“No, not me, I’m not teaching it!” More likely than not, I’ll forget they don’t know and show them my gift, I thought.
“But you’re the best!” She protested.
“No, and that’s final. What about Harry? He’s smart, he knows advanced Dark Arts, and he’s fought the Dark Lord,” I suggested, even liking the idea.