𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦 | 𝐃.𝐌

𝟎𝟎𝟔 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬

《❁》

𝐙 𝐎 𝐘 𝐀  𝐉 𝐔 𝐋 𝐕 𝐑 𝐈 𝐗

I entered the Charms classroom with a mix of excitement and determination. Professor Flitwick stood at the front, his small stature belying his immense knowledge and expertise. The room was abuzz with the energy of fellow students, eager to delve into the world of magical spells and enchantments.

Taking my seat, I pulled out my wand and textbook, ready to embark on another lesson. Professor Flitwick greeted us with a cheerful smile, his enthusiasm contagious. He began explaining the intricacies of a new spell, a complex charm that required precise wand movements and incantations.

As the lesson progressed, I listened intently, absorbing every word and trying to memorize the delicate flicks of the wand. The spell was challenging, requiring a combination of focus, dexterity, and a deep understanding of magical theory. I practiced the movements diligently, determined to master the charm.

After what felt like an eternity of practice, I finally felt a surge of magic respond to my command. A shimmering effect radiated from the tip of my wand, a sign of progress. It was exhilarating to witness the power of magic at my fingertips, knowing that with practice, I could wield it with precision.

With a sense of accomplishment, I carefully packed away my belongings, ready to move on to the next part of my day. As I stepped out of the classroom, a sense of anticipation filled the air. Little did I know that an unexpected encounter awaited me just outside the door.

Suddenly, I collided with someone, stumbling back in surprise. As I regained my balance, I found myself face to face with Professor Umbridge. Her disapproving gaze swept over me, her lips pursed in a judgmental frown. I could feel her scrutinizing my attire, her eyes lingering on the length of my skirt.

"Zoya Julvrix," Professor Umbridge said sternly, her voice laced with an air of authority. "That skirt is far too short. It is not appropriate for Hogwarts' dress code."

My heart sank, a mix of frustration and confusion washing over me. I had followed the school's guidelines, or so I thought. I mustered the courage to speak up, my voice tinged with defiance.

"But Professor, I believe my skirt meets the dress code requirements," I protested, my tone respectful but firm.

Professor Umbridge's expression hardened, her disapproval deepening. "Regardless of your belief, Miss Julvrix, I am the one who determines what is appropriate. Wearing such a short skirt is a distraction and goes against our standards. You will receive detention for the remainder of the week."

I felt a surge of anger rise within me, the injustice of the situation weighing heavily on my shoulders. I wanted to argue, to defend myself, but I knew it would be futile. With a deep breath, I nodded, accepting the consequences.

"Very well, Professor Umbridge," I said, my voice steady but filled with determination. "I will serve my detention as assigned."

As I walked away, my mind was filled with a whirlwind of emotions. The injustice of the situation burned inside me, but I knew that I had to keep my composure.

I stormed out of the confrontation with Professor Umbridge, my anger seething within me. I needed a moment alone, away from the prying eyes and stifling atmosphere. With determined strides, I made my way to the nearest bathroom, which happened to be the Moaning Myrtle bathroom.

Pushing open the creaking door, entering the dimly lit space, the sound of dripping water echoing through the tiled walls. I leaned against the sink, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm my racing heart and simmering anger.