The Re-sorting Hat - Remastered edition!

I Must Not Tell Lies

It turned out for Harry's sake that things did indeed get worse. He had detention. With Umbridge. He dragged his feet to her office, he felt half dead on his feet despite it only being 7pm. He knocked on her door knuckles of his uninjured hand white with tension and entered.

"Ah Mr. Potter good of you to have... turned up" She smiled but it didn't meet her eyes as they were cold and calculating. "Sit down dear"

Harry reluctantly sat down on the frilly pink cushion on the hard backed chair and looked around him. There were what looked like tea plates with small mewling white kittens on them, the walls were pink as well, honestly this women really was crazy... He was vaguely reminded on his crazy cat neighbor Mrs. Figg, her house smelt a little bit like this - sickly sweet perfume and old dusty furniture. The only difference was the distinct lack of stale cat hair in the air, but the copious amounts of cats on the wall made him think she had a small army of them in her neon pink house.

"Admiring my décor Mr. Potter?" The annoying voice of The Umbridge brought Harry back to his reality, or more like hell... Detention. "You will be writing lines for me today, I want you to write I Must Not Tell Lies!" She then set down an engraved quill next to pink parchment.

Harry clenched his jaw and asked through gritted teeth "How many?"

"I think you will know Mr. Potter, when the message well...sinks in" She smiled once more and once more it failed to meet her cold, dagger filled eyes.

He got on with it, he wondered what she had meant by that but pushed it aside, he just had to survive this. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. I must not. Ow, that hurts. Harry looked down on his hand and it was a burning kind of rash color. What? The pain was making his hand jerk in pain and he was vaguely aware of Umbridge looking pleased with herself. This cannot be legal he thought to himself, he continued regardless.

Tell lies. I must not. Ow, this really hurts. He looked down once more and to his surprise and horror thin red lines of blood resembling letters were cutting into his hand, almost sinking into his flesh. Bastard Harry thought as he looked up at Umbridge and she returned his bewildered, betrayed look with another sickly smile. By the time he was told to stop the lines had been fully and ruthlessly carved into the flesh on his uninjured hand and it was making tears sting his eyes, he refused to let her see him like this so blinked them back hastily.