CHERRY ── George Weasley

( 066, writing lines )

( CHAPTER SIXTYSIX, "And I told you it was sketch!" )

THE FOLLOWING EVENING, CERISE entered Professor Umbridge's office and took a look around. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolour kitten wearing a different bow around its neck.

Cerise eyed her office with a great mount of distaste, before her eyes landed on Harry, Umbridge, and a little girl who was in Hufflepuff. Cerise paused, trying to remember her name.

"Good evening, Miss Diggory," Umbridge said as Cerise sat herself in between the first year and Harry.

Cerise didn't respond, until Harry subtly kicked her leg. "Ouch, Harold!" She exclaimed, hitting him across the head. "Evening, Professor Umbridge," she said harshly, her eyes narrowed.

A piece of blank parchment was lying on the table. "Now that you're all here —"

"Er," said Harry, without moving. "Professor Umbridge. Er — before we start, I — I wanted to ask you a. . . a favour."

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, yes?"

"Well, I'm. . . I'm in 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. . ."

Cerise looked at Harry as if he was stupid. ( He probably was. )

"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."

Harry looked as if he was ready to curse her, but, he took a breath and nodded his head.

"There," said Umbridge sweetly, "we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me."

The three of them reached for their quills.

"No, not with your quill," Umbridge added. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are."

She handed each of them a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point. "Mr. Potter and Miss Martin, I want you to write I must not tell lies —"

Cerise remembered the first year's name, Winona Martin. She was a Hufflepuff, and she was one of the most nervous first years Cerise had ever met.

"— and Miss Diggory, I want you to write. . . Hmm, let's see. . . Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident."

Cerise looked at Umbridge as if she had grown an extra head. She opened her mouth to make a snarky remark, but Harry, once again, kicked her leg, as he spoke up instead, "How many times?"

"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," said Umbridge sweetly.

"That's a bit sketch," Cerise replied, blinking at the professor. Harry gave Cerise a look that had 'seriously?' written all over it. She just shrugged back in response.

"Off you go."

Umbridge moved over to her desk, sat down and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking.

Cerise shared a glance with Harry as Winona looked at the end of her quill in confusion, "Uh, Professor?" Winona said quietly, "We haven't got any ink."

"Oh, you won't need ink," said Professor Umbridge with a wide smirk on her face.

"That's even more sketch." Cerise said, narrowing her eyes at Umbridge. Before Harry could give the girl a look, she turned to look at him. "And don't give me that look, it is sketch."

"Just write." Harry mumbled.

Cerise began to write, much to her dismay, Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident. She gasped in pain, the same time Winona and Harry did. The words that appeared on the parchment were written in shiny red ink. Cerise looked down at her hand, which was throbbing in pain, and her eyes widened. The words on the parchment had been cut into Cerise's skin, and as she stared at the new cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.

Cerise glanced worriedly at Winona, who was struggling to not let her tears fall. Harry, however, was staring right at Umbridge. She was watching them with a smile. "Yes?" She said.

"Nothing," Harry replied quietly.

Cerise looked down at the parchment, placed the quill on it once more, and wrote once again Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident. The pain was back, and the words were cut into her skin, and then they healed not even five seconds later.

And on it continued. Again and again the three of them wrote the words on the parchment and, again and again, the words were cut into the back of their hands, healed, and reappeared the next time they set their quill to parchment.

Cerise let out a small gasp once she realised what the ink really was. It was their blood.

Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window after a couple of hours. No one opened their mouth for the remainder of their detention.

"Come here, Miss Martin, and Mr. Potter," Umbridge finally said, after what seemed hours.

They both stood up as Cerise continued to write on the parchment. Her hand was in a lot of pain by now, but she didn't want to give Umbridge the satisfaction by showing her pain.

"Hands," Umbridge said.

"Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet," Umbridge said, smiling as she saw Winona's and Harry's hands were just red raw. "Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You two may go."

After another ten minutes, Umbridge turned to Cerise. "Hand," she demanded, making Cerise stand up and pass the woman her hand. Much like Harry and Winona, her skin was just red raw. "Clearly, the message hasn't sunk in yet. . . Much like the other two, I will see you tomorrow evening."

Cerise harshly pulled her hand out of Umbridge's grip and rushed out of her office. She jumped in fright as she saw Harry standing there.

"Are you okay?" He asked her quietly as they began to walk. "I can't believe she made you write that!"

Cerise shrugged. "It was probably out of spite," she muttered, "From when I told her I hope he kills her, and the Ministry rule it a tragic accident."

The two began walking down the hallway, with Cerise giving him a smug look. "And I told you it was sketch!"