DOROTHEA {fred weasley}

forty two

Dolores Umbridge's office was as ridiculous as the witch herself. Dorothea held back a laugh upon entering at the countless cat plates on the painted pink walls, each jarringly meowing. Meeting Cornelius Fudge's eye in the large portrait the professor had of him in the center of her desk nearly broke the witch, and Dorothea found herself biting the inside of her cheek and drawing blood to prevent laughter. 

"I spoke to your mother, earlier, Dorothea," the professor said, her tone light and condescending. "You see, I didn't want to upset my friend, by giving her daughter a detention, or indeed by punishing her in a way that Clementine would see...unfit. Your mother, however, as we both know, is an excellent woman, she was very understanding to my situation, and even confessed that you can be troublesome at home. I explained the situation, the lies-"

"I didn't lie," the girl said defiantly.

"Mr Weasley came to me minutes letter, defending you, Miss Rosier, begging for him to have the detention inside, promising me that this time he would turn up!" Umbridge sighed. "You lied - and to protect a Weasley."

"I'm sure my mum was thrilled about that, then," Dorothea grimaced.

Dolores smiled wickedly, "lying is an epidemic in this school, Dorothea. We're relying on witches like yourself and wizards like Mr Nott to retain the good reputation of this school. No one expects a Rosier to protect a Weasley, to lie for a Weasley. And indeed, no Rosier should even be speaking to a Weasley."

"Should you be speaking about students like that, Dolores?" Dorothea challenged, copying her mother's mocking tone all too easily.

Umbridge's lip quivered slightly and she narrowed her eyes at the young witch, "I don't want to punish you, Dorothea. So I'm giving you a way out of this detention, if you accept a position on the Inquisitorial Squad, you can leave, and we'll forget that any of this ever happened."

"No," she replied brightly.

"Your mother highly encourages it, Dorothea, Mr Nott has joined, you know."

"I don't care about what my mother encourages."

Dolores Umbridge sighed and shook her head, turning her back on the girl and reaching for some parchment, "you'll be doing some lines for me then, Dorothea."

Again, the witch couldn't help but laugh at her professor's ridiculousness. She had opened and read fan mail for Professor Lockhart, hand cleaned three hundred of Snape's cauldrons, and even been forced into the forest by Hagrid, all in detentions. Lines were no problem.

"With my quill," the witch said with a smile, handing her a feather as Dorothea reached into her bag. "No ink required."

Dorothea rolled her eyes at the sheer ridiculousness of the woman, "fine, what will I be writing, Professor?"

"Rosiers don't lie," she smiled, "by request of your mother."

The blonde snorted and shook her head, muttering, "bit fucking ironic," as she began to write. The ink showed on the parchment in bright red, the girl narrowed her eyes, working out where it was coming from, ignoring a scratching feeling on her hand. Eventually, a sharp pain carved into the back of her hand, and she saw her own handwriting begin to form. 

She'd had this before, this was Clementine's quill. 

"I had no idea to what extent you were my mother's puppet, Dolores," Dorothea said, not letting the pain get to her.

"I work for the minster," she replied in a shrill voice. "Write."

"How many lines?"

"Two sides of parchment."