His Wife | Severus Snape x OC

sixty-five

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‹ MiraaChe ‹ has posted a new chapter!- ͙۪۪̥˚

┊❛ welcome to chapter sixty-five❜┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

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Harry entered the room and froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. The Dark Arts office had been transformed into a nightmare in pink. Every surface was draped in lacy cloth, and the walls were adorned with enchanted ornamental plates featuring playful, technicolor kittens.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter. You know why you are here?" Umbridge's voice was sickly sweet as she addressed him.

Harry tore his gaze away from the decor, "Pink. Er...yes. For talking back to a teacher," he admitted, though he struggled internally for a moment.

Umbridge raised an impressed eyebrow, but as she turned away, Harry couldn't resist muttering, "And telling the truth. I'm the one who sees him die. Why are you so afraid to face the truth?"

Her smile widened as she slowly turned back to him, her expression condescending. "Oh, dear, I'm the teacher. I'll decide what the truth is."

Harry scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Looks like they'll hire just anyone to teach these days."

Umbridge's eyes narrowed, though her voice remained sickly sweet. "I'm from the Ministry, Mr. Potter. That makes me more than qualified."

"Keep telling yourself that, Professor," Harry shot back, his tone sharp.

Umbridge's hand tightened on the edge of her desk, her knuckles whitening before she forced herself to relax. She gestured toward a desk against the wall, and Harry reluctantly made his way over to it. "Enough of this nonsense," she said, her voice cold. "You'll be doing lines for me today, Mr. Potter."

Harry began to reach into his bag, but Umbridge stopped him. "No, not with your quill. You're going to be using a rather special one of mine."

She produced a long, black quill with a razor-sharp point from behind her back and handed it to him. "Now, I want you to write, 'I must not tell lies.'"

"How many times?" Harry asked, a hint of unease creeping into his voice.

"Oh, let's say for as long as it takes for the message to sink in," Umbridge replied smoothly.

Harry noticed something odd. "You haven't given me any ink."

Umbridge's smile was chilling. "Oh, you won't need ink."

Uneasily, Harry began to write. After a few words, he stopped, gasping in pain as the words 'I must not' appeared not only on the parchment in gleaming red but also on the back of his hand, as if carved into his skin. The cuts magically healed over, leaving faint traces of the letters on his reddened flesh. He looked up at Umbridge, who merely raised an eyebrow.

"Yes?" she prompted.

Harry frowned before replying, "Nothing."

A disturbing glint of understanding flickered in Umbridge's eyes. "That's right. Because deep down, you know you deserve to be punished. Don't you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes at her, a strangely unsettling moment passing between them. She nodded for him to continue, and Harry resumed writing, wincing as the bloody letters continued to sear into his skin.