| Inked | (George Weasley)

Chapter Fifty

"Your assignment for this evening is to write me a paper on the advantages and disadvantages of the Draft of the Living Dead. On my desk, tomorrow morning. No less than fifteen hundred words." 

Professor Snape was a professor who really enjoyed giving essays. He especially liked giving essays to Gryffindors, so if you were in a class with them... good luck.

There was a collective groan that come from Olive's class, mostly because they have barely covered the topic at all aside from a brief introduction. Also- they didn't have class tomorrow.

"Sir," Alicia Spinnet raised her hand politely, "We don't have Potions tomorrow-"

"Make that two thousand words." Snape interrupted, pacing the front of the classroom with his usual suspicious, accusing expression, "This is an advanced-level class, which you all were aware of when you signed up for it. You all should be capable of managing your workloads if you're in this class."

Olive wrote down the assignment on the corner of a spare piece of parchment, writing slowly and carefully to prevent her hand from twinging in pain. It's been three days since she had punched Jasper in the face, and no amount of ice made her hand feel better.

So how could she write a two thousand word essay by tomorrow morning if she could barely write five words down?

"Do I make myself clear?" Snape cleared his throat, "Alright. Class dismissed."

Everyone quickly gathered their things and booked it out of Snape's classroom. No one stayed after to ask him questions, or to just simply chat, unless they were asked to stay after class by Snape himself.

As Olive passed by the professor, he cleared his throat to speak, "I hope you know that no matter what state your hand is in, I still need that essay by tomorrow morning, Miss Lark." Snape looked down at Olive's bruised hand, "No excuses."

The Ravenclaw paled a few shades, nodding quickly to Professor Snape, "Y-Yes, sir."

"And Miss Lark?"

Olive stopped in her tracks, turning to face the professor. What else could Snape have to say to her? Was she in trouble?

"I sure hope that Mr. Quell's broken nose has nothing to do with your afflicted hand."

Oh no. Olive tried to keep her expression as even as possible, but she could tell Snape saw right through her. He was a smart man- and was probably on his way to bust Natalie's birthday party when it happened. Snape was someone who could not be tricked.

"No." Olive's voice was quiet, strained as if her whole body was tensed up and afraid, "It-it's not."

Snape eyed the young Ravenclaw, his beady eyes looking at her with suspicion.

"Very well. You can go." He nodded at her, "Quell's a thorn in my side anyways."

She didn't need to be told twice. Olive hurriedly left the room, her heart thumping loud and fast in her chest. Snape made her nervous. She didn't like the way he tirelessly picked on students he didn't like, and for the last five years she desperately tried to stay on his good side.

Olive didn't stop walking at a near jog until she exited the dungeons. She didn't know what to do about this essay. Sure, if she put an hour or two of research into it, she'd have a thesis to start with, but her main issue was the physical writing of the essay. Her hand was still black and blue, and when she wrapped her fingers around a quill her whole hand throbbed sharply with pain.

Writing two thousand words with a busted hand was not going to be feasible unless she went to the Hospital Wing, and Ollie was afraid that as soon as she set foot in there she'd get in trouble for punching Jasper.