HP Magic Biography

At five minutes to five, Harry said goodbye to Fan Lin and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor.

In fact, as soon as he left, Harry had the illusion that maybe this confinement trip would be very bad, but since Umbridge had something to implore, it would be better to arrive early.

While thinking, Harry started running. He came out a bit late, but with two minutes left, Harry still stood outside Umbridge's door.

Harry hesitated.

He had barely knocked when Umbridge called in a cloyingly sweet voice, Come in.

Harry walked in cautiously, looking around.

He knew the three original owners of this office.

Gilderoy Lockhart was bragging about himself all the time when he was here. If you visit while Lupine is here, you'll see fascinating dark creatures in cages and pools. The time of the fake Moody is full of different instruments and artifacts used to detect fakes and restricted areas.

Now, it's all different here.

The surface is covered with cloth, several vases are filled with dried flowers, each in its own place, and one wall is hung with decorative plates, each depicting a large colorful kitten with a different bow tie around its neck.

This little guy was originally very cute, but after Umbridge's pink tone, Harry couldn't help but chill until Professor Umbridge spoke again.

Good evening, Mr. Potter. Harry began to look around. He didn't notice Umbridge at first, because she was wearing a horrible patterned robe, which was mixed with the color of the tablecloth behind her.

Good evening, Professor Umbridge, said Harry stiffly.

Okay, sit down, she said, pointing to a small table and a straight-backed chair beside it. There was a black parchment on the table ready for him.

Well, Harry said without moving, Professor Umbridge, well, before we start, I want to ask you if you can grant me a request?

Umbridge's protruding eyes narrowed, as if he had discovered something interesting. Oh, what?

Well, I'm a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I hope to participate in the Keeper Trials at five o'clock on Friday. I wonder if I can skip the detention that night and put it on another night instead.

Before finishing speaking, looking at Umbridge's expression,

Harry knew it was not good.

Oh no, said Umbridge, laughing so hard that she looked as if she'd just swallowed a particularly juicy piece of fruit, oh no, no, no, it's your punishment for spreading evil, Dirty, distracting story, Mr Potter, of course punishment doesn't make it easy for people who deserve it, and more than that, you have to come tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, Friday, and you have to be in detention as required. I think, you miss you Wanting is a good thing, and it reinforces the lessons.

Harry felt the blood rush to the top of his head, and there was a thud in his ear.

Wicked, sordid, distracting stories, is that what he is saying?

Umbridge looked at him with his head slightly sideways, still smiling with his mouth open, though she knew what Harry was thinking, but was still waiting to see if he would yell at her again, with dire consequences.

Harry looked away, threw his schoolbag on the chair, and sat down.

Here, said Umbridge sweetly, we'd get on better if we could keep our tempers under control, wouldn't we? Now, please, show me the spell, Mr Potter, no, not with your pen, she added as Harry bent to open the bag, You're going to use my more special one. Here you are...

Umbridge said, handing him a slender, black quill with an unusual point.

I want you to write, I can't lie, she instructed softly.

How many times? Harry asked, pretending to be very polite.

Oh, write until you remember, said Umbridge sweetly, and then go.

She went to her desk and sat down, facing a pile of parchment, as if writing a dissertation. Harry held up the black quill and noticed that something seemed to be missing.

You didn't give me ink, said Harry.

Oh, of course, you don't need ink, said Professor Umbridge, with the hint of a smile in her voice.

Harry pressed the quill to the paper and began to write: Don't tell lies. He felt a pain.

Letters in red ink appeared on the parchment. At the same time, these letters appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, piercing his skin like a scalpel... He even saw obvious cut marks, and the skin healed again, the redness was lighter than before, and it was very smooth.

Harry looked at Umbridge, and she looked at him at the same time. A smile spread across her wide, obnoxious mouth.

What's up?

Oh, nothing. Harry said quietly. He looked at the parchment again, put the quill on it again, wrote I shouldn't lie, and for a split second felt a searing pain in the back of his hand.

Writing it again, the words seemed to enter his skin; again, they seemed to come out gradually.

As Harry continued to write the words over and over on the parchment, he soon felt his pen was out of ink and only his own blood remained. Continue to write, these words seem to keep entering the skin, coming out, and they keep appearing on the next line.

Night fell on Umbridge's window. Harry didn't ask when he could stop, he didn't even look at his watch. He seemed to know she was waiting for him to show tiredness, but Harry didn't show it at all. It looked like he didn't mind letting him stay here all night, just kept opening the parchment and writing with a quill.

Come here, Umbridge said after several hours.

Harry stood up. His hand was still tingling. When he lowered his head, he found that the wound had healed, but the edge of the skin was full of red blood.

hand. she says.

Harry held out his hand.

Harry tried his best not to tremble when she touched Harry's wound with her stubby, disgusting finger with a ring on it.

Tsk! Tsk! I really didn't expect to have so much influence on you. She said with a smile. Well, you go on tomorrow night! You can go now.

Harry walked out of the office without a word. The school was very quiet, and it must have been past midnight by now. He walked slowly out of the corridor, and when he turned the corner to make sure Umbridge couldn't hear him, Harry started to run. He no longer had time to practice the Vanishing Charm, or write a diary about his daily dreams, or finish his plant spectrum, let alone his thesis.

He skipped breakfast the next morning to write some artificial dreams as homework for their first class, Divination, and was surprised to find Ron beside him, disheveled too.

Why didn't you do it last night? Harry asked, as Ron was busy in the spacious common room. Ron fell asleep as soon as Harry returned yesterday.

Ron was muttering, Something else, and was scribbling something on the parchment.

That's all I have to do, said Ron, snapping the diary shut. I said I dreamed I was buying a new pair of shoes so she wouldn't be able to see anything in them, wouldn't I?

They quickly ran to the north building to gather. How was the detention at Umbridge yesterday? What did she want you to do?

Harry hesitated for a few seconds, then said

Write!

That doesn't seem so bad, then, huh? said Ron.

No more, said Harry.

Hey—I almost forgot—did she give you Friday off?

No. Harry said seriously...