Unforgivable Umbridge

Chapter 1

In the autumn of Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the golden leaves were falling like heavy, heartbroken tears from the ancient trees surrounding the castle. The air was crisp, carrying the intoxicating aroma of damp earth and the subtle sweetness of pumpkin pasties from the bustling Hogwarts kitchen.

However, amid the familiar comfort of returning to Hogwarts, a sinister change had permeated the school's walls. The Ministry of Magic, keen on controlling the narrative of Lord Voldemort's return, had sent one of its own to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Dolores Umbridge, with her saccharine smile and penchant for pink, appeared as a cartoonish figure; but beneath the surface lay a venomous viper, ready to strike at anyone who dared challenge her narrative.

Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was her prime target. He was a thorn in the Ministry's side, and therefore, a thorn in hers. Determined to quell his insistence on Voldemort's return, Umbridge used a unique, torturous form of punishment: a blood quill. Harry's nights were spent in her pastel-hued office, etching words of submission into his own hand. But Harry was resilient, his spirit unyielding despite the physical torment.

One evening, in early October, as the sunset painted the castle in hues of red and gold, Umbridge's patience finally snapped. The blood quill, she decided, was not enough. After dismissing her ever-circling cat plates, she turned to Harry with a sickeningly sweet smile. "It appears, Mr. Potter," she cooed, "that we need to... escalate your punishment."

Before Harry could react, Umbridge pointed her wand at him, her mirthful eyes now filled with a cruel gleam. "Crucio!" she uttered.

An unimaginable pain tore through Harry, like a thousand white-hot knives stabbing him all at once. His body writhed on the cold, tiled floor, but his gritted teeth held back any sound of surrender.

Umbridge, her face alight with a perverse sense of satisfaction, let the curse hold for what felt like an eternity before finally lifting it. Harry collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath as the white-hot pain receded into a dull, throbbing ache.

But Umbridge wasn't done. She cast the curse twice more, each time holding it until beads of sweat formed on her brow and her breathing became ragged from the exertion.

"Enough," she finally panted, lowering her wand. She wiped her brow with a delicate lace handkerchief, her smug smile returning. "I trust this has been an... enlightening lesson, Mr. Potter."

Harry, his body wracked with residual pain, pulled himself up to his feet. His legs were unsteady, and he had to brace himself against Umbridge's cluttered desk to keep from falling. He was unable to respond, his voice a mere croak, but his eyes remained determined, refusing to show the torment he'd endured.

"Off you go," Umbridge dismissed him, a wave of her hand gesturing towards the door. "I trust you'll find your way back to your dormitory and don't discuss your detention with anyone."

The journey back to Gryffindor Tower was slow, every step an agonizing ordeal for Harry. The castle that had always been a sanctuary, brimming with magic and whimsical wonder, now resonated with a heavy silence that pressed on him like a tangible weight. The warm glow from the enchanted ceiling seemed distant, the stars just pinpricks of cold light that offered no comfort.

His mind, usually captivated by the grandeur of the tapestries, the vibrant chronicles of the wizarding world woven with golden threads into the castle's very fabric, was preoccupied. His attention was drawn inward, focusing on the pain that radiated from every inch of his body. His limbs felt leaden, his bones ached as though they'd been shattered and hastily mended, and his nerves sparked with the phantom echoes of the Unforgivable Curse.