Of Shadow And Sky

Detention and Cows

A/N: There may be a sequel or two to this. Not sure yet.

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She frowned as she met Harry in front of the doors to the pink demon's office. A sense of unease had become an unbearable weight in her stomach. Draco had tried to reassure her, but the sense of dread had not left.

"Ready, Harry?"

"You need to watch out for Malfoy," he said suddenly. "His father was a Death Eater, and he is an arrogant prat."

She blinked in confusion as Harry knocked on the door. They were admitted into the room, and Alex almost threw up. The whole room was a ghastly shade of pink, doilies were on every surface, and adorably sinister cat plates were hung on the wall. Two student desks were set up in front of Umbridge's desk with parchment set on them. So it would be lines, then, she mused.

"Good evening Mr. Potter, Miss. Alexandra."

"Good evening," Alex responded stiffly.

"Have a seat," she smiled coldly. "You'll be doing lines tonight."

"Um, Professor," Harry started. "You haven't given us ink or quills."

"Oh, you'll be using rather special ones of mine."

Umbridge pulled out two long, thin black quills with exceptionally sharp tips. Harry looked at it oddly, but Alex refused to even touch it, her expression hard. She knew what it was, somehow, and she knew that Umbridge was misusing it.

"Is there a problem, Miss. Alexandra?"

"Yes. What kind of quills are these?"

Umbridge stared at her for a long moment. "Are you refusing to do your detention, Alexandra?"

Something inside her snapped, and her voice turned cold and stiff. "No, professor."

She couldn't refuse to do the detention and face possible expulsion - which she wouldn't put past the monster.

"Mr. Potter, you will write 'I Must Not Tell Lies'. You, Alexandra, will write 'I Will Respect Authority'."

"How many times," Harry asked dully.

"Oh...as many times as it takes for the message to sink in."

Alex held back a dark laugh at that. If the quill was what she thought it was, then that was exactly what it would do. Still, she was worried. She'd endured torture at the hands of the Titan, Hyperion, and there was every chance that the sensation of having words cut into her hand would trigger a flashback.

Acutely aware of Umbridge's gaze on her, she put quill to parchment and began to write the words "I will respect authority". Beside her, Harry gasped in surprised pain as the words began to etch themselves into his hand, and she maintained an unreadable expression. She could feel it. Bile rose in her throat, the phantom pain of the whips and brands stinging her back.

"Is there something wrong, dears?"

"No," Harry said coldly.

Umbridge turned to her, but she just stared her down, refusing to show weakness. At least, that was her intention. The more she wrote, the more her ears began to ring, and her vision began to tunnel.

She had no idea how long she'd been chained to the wall. How many times had they taken knives to her? How many times had they healed her? Blood was dried to her clothes. It was a dress, once sky blue corset ball gown with silver embroidery, torn and dirty. Her hair hung down her back, and her face was bruised and riddled with cuts and dirt.