And what happened next truly did not exceed Amanda's expectations.
Umbridge flashed her sickeningly sweet smile and gestured toward the quill holder on her desk.
"Please, each of you take a quill, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley."
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, confused, and each took a quill from the holder.
Why was Umbridge making them take quills during detention? Was she going to make them copy lines?
Tilting her chin to indicate the table opposite her desk, Umbridge spoke in a high-pitched voice, "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, please sit."
"Your detention will be very simple and quite easy," she said, staring straight at Harry and Ron. From the feed transmitted by the micro-camera, Amanda could clearly see the malice filling her eyes. "You only need to write."
What a pity. The light in Amanda's eyes flickered. Your plan is going to fail again this time, Professor Umbridge.
"Write? Write what?"
Harry paused, staring back at Umbridge without showing any weakness.
"Just write 'I must not tell lies'." Umbridge smiled, leaning back into her chair, her short, thick hands clasped together.
"How many times?" Ron asked, standing next to Harry, though he wasn't looking at Umbridge.
His tolerance was weaker than Harry's; he was afraid that if he looked at Umbridge... he would throw up.
"Write until you have remembered this sentence." Umbridge extended a hand, signaling Harry and Ron to sit and begin.
The two boys shrugged, sat down on the chairs without much concern, and leaned over, preparing to write with the quills.
"Er, excuse me, where is the ink?" As the nib touched the parchment, Harry looked up at Umbridge in confusion.
He had just remembered that Umbridge didn't seem to have given them any ink.
"You won't need that. Write, Mr. Potter."
Umbridge looked up from the files on her desk and said to Harry with a sweet smile.
A wave of nausea rose in his throat; Harry quickly lowered his head to avoid throwing up on the spot because of her.
Seeing Harry and Ron lower their heads, Amanda finally spoke to explain. She had been worried that if she spoke earlier, the two boys might not control their expressions well enough, revealing the truth to Umbridge.
"Harry, Ron, the quills in your hands are a special type of quill imbued with Dark Arts."
Dark Arts?
Harry and Ron's hands, which had been preparing to write, paused simultaneously. Umbridge actually dared to bring Dark Arts objects into Hogwarts?
"While a person is writing, it transfers the same script onto the back of the writer's hand, causing a cut, and then uses that blood to write."
"Disgusting." Listening to Amanda's explanation, Cho Chang rubbed her arms, her face full of disgust for this kind of quill and for Umbridge.
Hermione also furrowed her brows, her tone fierce as she looked at the bowed head of Umbridge, "Using Dark Arts objects to punish students is a serious violation of Hogwarts school rules, and even violates the laws of the Ministry of Magic."
Marietta Eckmore and Penelope also had similarly grim expressions; anyone would be upset to see someone trying to use Dark Arts objects to harm their friends.
The two people involved, Harry and Ron, didn't have much of a reaction, perhaps because boys are generally thick-skinned, or perhaps because of their extreme trust in Amanda—trusting that she would definitely have a way to handle this.
Sure enough, not even five seconds had passed before Amanda's cool, calm voice rang out again.
She gave the other four girls a reassuring look, then looked at Harry and Ron on the video feed.
"However, you two don't need to worry about that. You are both wearing the protective badges I gave you, so the damage this Dark Arts quill causes to you will be reflected back onto Umbridge. In other words, when you write in a moment, you will be using her blood, and she will be the one getting cut."
They write, Umbridge gets hurt?!
Harry and Ron couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement upon hearing Amanda's words, even swallowing hard.
Just imagine—writing a few words could make Umbridge get hurt. What a worthwhile thing that was!
Hearing the slight but accelerated breathing coming from the projection, Amanda, who had fully mastered human psychology, knew exactly what Harry and Ron were thinking.
Tapping her right hand lightly against the back of her left, a hint of playfulness suddenly entered Amanda's otherwise indifferent voice.
"So Harry, Ron, start writing. Write as fast as you can, and write as much as you can."
It would be best if it were so fast that Umbridge would be in too much pain to open her mouth and stop them.
Taking a deep breath, Harry and Ron gripped their quills and began writing on the parchment.
I must not tell lies, I must not tell lies, I must not tell lies...
This sentence appeared on the parchment at lightning speed. Harry and Ron felt as though they were writing with the fastest hand speed of their lives.
The words they wrote on the parchment were so scribbled they were nearly flying off the page. However, Hermione, who usually insisted they write neatly, said nothing about it at this moment. She was even clapping her hands like the three upperclassmen, cheering softly and urging Harry and Ron to keep going and write faster.
Meanwhile, sitting behind her desk, Umbridge felt a piercing pain on the back of her left hand, as if... as if something was constantly, over and over again, slicing open her skin.
Looking down at the back of her hand, Umbridge saw, for the first time, two sentences written in completely different handwriting but equally wild and untamed: "I must not tell lies" was carved into the back of her hand, and beads of blood were continuously welling up from the cuts.
How could this be? A hazy thought emerged in Umbridge's pain-occupied brain. Didn't she give the quills to Potter and Weasley?
It should have been their hands that got hurt, right? How did it turn into her?
It must be, it must be that those two annoying boys did something.
Her brain was re-occupied by pain. Umbridge looked at the two boys sitting across from her desk with a pained expression, opening her mouth to say something.
"Harry, Ron, Umbridge has noticed and wants to speak."
Amanda's calm, indifferent voice rang in their ears, but Harry and Ron were no longer calm.
What? Umbridge wants to speak? She must want to stop them. That won't do! How many times had they even written it?
They hadn't had enough fun—no, they hadn't deeply engraved this sentence into their minds yet. They had to write more, and faster.
Thinking of this, the quills in Harry and Ron's hands couldn't help but speed up a bit more, and without realizing it, they actually broke their own speed limits.
"Ah!"
At the same time, the pain on the back of Umbridge's hand intensified instantly. It was more ferocious than before, a more rapid pain repeating over and over on the back of her hand.
The questions and scolding on her lips turned into screams. Hearing this, Harry and Ron couldn't help but curl the corners of their mouths, and the speed of their writing increased just a little bit more.
Neither of the two boys stopped for even a second. They wrote sentences frantically on the parchment, even instinctively counting the number of times, preparing to compare who wrote more once they finished detention and went outside.
Now, the only person injured in this office was Umbridge. She couldn't even open her mouth to call a stop; having the back of her hand repeatedly sliced open was simply too painful.
Especially since every time she wanted to speak, Amanda would warn Harry and Ron a step ahead, and the two of them would instinctively speed up their writing, making Umbridge too painful to speak.
In her pain-addled brain, Umbridge wondered why every time she recovered just a little and wanted to open her mouth to tell Potter and Weasley to stop, they would rapidly "intensify their efforts."
Little did she know that in the Ravenclaw Tower Dormitory, there was a little Witch proficient in micro-expressions, carefully observing every tiny micro-expression on her face.
Every time she showed a slight expression of relief and started to manipulate her mouth muscles, she would immediately notify Harry and Ron.
Watching Umbridge in unbearable pain, unable to open her mouth to stop Harry and Ron, Penelope had a rare, hearty laugh.
She really wasn't taking pleasure in others' pain; rather, she was happy about Umbridge reaping what she sowed.
"Hahahaha... Umbridge has truly brought this upon herself. Let her hurt; the more it hurts, the better."
"Heh, wanting to use Dark Arts objects to harm Hogwarts students. Serves her right."
Marietta Eckmore crossed her arms, laughing while snorting coldly, expressing her satisfaction with Umbridge's current state.
"I just don't know how long the marks made by this quill will last. If they could last forever..."
Cho Chang muttered, looking down thoughtfully. Sitting nearby, also watching Umbridge bring suffering upon herself with a curled lip, Amanda explained with a smile in her voice.
"The marks made by this kind of Dark Arts quill cannot be erased. However, there will be differences in depth. The more times it cuts—that is, the more times you use this quill to write—the deeper the marks will be, and conversely, the shallower."
Hearing Amanda's explanation, Harry and Ron on the other side of the projection instantly became more motivated in their writing. What did a sore wrist matter? What did it matter that they were starting to sweat?
They wanted to write more, write even more, to let the marks of this sentence remain forever, deeply, on the back of Umbridge's hand.
"Pfft..." Seeming to think of something, Hermione covered her mouth and chuckled softly. Under the inquiring gazes of the other four girls, she continued to giggle and shrugged.
"Don't you think it's funny? Umbridge, who has been lying all along and supporting Fudge, has 'I must not tell lies' permanently and deeply carved into the back of her hand."
Thinking in that direction, it really was quite funny. The other four girls exchanged glances and all revealed somewhat mischievous smiles.
Watching Umbridge struggle in pain, unable to hold back yet unable to open her mouth, was simply too interesting—so interesting that the five girls, including Amanda, actually forgot about the time.
When the bell suddenly rang on Harry and Ron's side, they only then noticed that the detention time had ended.
The two boys on that side couldn't help but feel a wave of annoyance upon hearing the bell. This was the first time they had ever wished detention could be longer, could last a bit more, so they could mess with Umbridge a while longer.
However, when detention was over, it was over. Harry and Ron were not unreasonable people. With happy expressions, they put down the quills, and the two boys picked up the parchment filled with their writing to examine it with satisfaction.
Harry had written five full pages of parchment during detention, while Ron had written four. On the surface, it looked like Harry had done more, and Ron generously gave his brother a thumbs up.
Standing up, the two of them noticed that while they had been writing frantically, Umbridge had turned pale as a sheet from the pain, and her whole body was soaked in sweat.
Now, she was slumped over the desk, drenched in sweat, her breathing weak and listless. She looked like a pink, dehydrated toad. Looking at Umbridge on the projection, this metaphor automatically popped into Amanda's mind.
"Ahem," Harry coughed lightly, covering his mouth with his hand, while asking Amanda on the other side of the projection in a small voice, "Is she okay? She shouldn't die, right?"
He and Ron had no psychological issues with letting Umbridge reap what she sowed and getting a little hurt, but to directly let Umbridge die...
Harry felt she didn't deserve that. At the very least, in his heart, he didn't want to take a person's life so easily.
After all, Umbridge wasn't a Death Eater, let alone Voldemort. Even when facing Death Eaters... Harry felt that if it wasn't absolutely necessary, he would choose to capture the opponent as safely as possible, rather than kill them.
"Don't worry, it's just cuts on the back of the hand. She won't die."
Amanda looked at Umbridge on the projection, and her brain took less than ten seconds to assess her current condition.
"She has likely been pampered for a long time and hasn't felt any pain in ages, so now that she's been in such intense pain for so long, she's a bit exhausted."
Looking at Umbridge on the projection, Amanda couldn't help but sigh. What kind of pampered deputy head of the ministry of magic was this?
She was exhausted from just a few cuts, and before that, she had been in so much pain she couldn't even speak.
But honestly, seeing Umbridge like this actually helped her understand why the Ministry of Magic was so desperate to deny that Voldemort had returned.
With Umbridge being like this, unable to even handle cuts, expecting her to fight against Voldemort... she would probably die of fright on the spot. So, of course, they had to deny Voldemort's return. They had to deny it firmly and insist to the death that Voldemort hadn't returned.
Otherwise, these pampered high-ranking officials of the Ministry of Magic wouldn't be able to bear stepping out of their offices to fight against Voldemort.
Exhausted because of the pain? Hermione listened to Amanda's words, her gaze falling on the two deep red lines on the back of Umbridge's hand. With some basic medical knowledge, she could easily tell that these were just two not-too-serious cuts.
She had ignored this point earlier because she was happy about Umbridge getting what she deserved, but she was in that much pain from just these cuts?
This Umbridge was a bit too ridiculous, wasn't she? Even if the cuts had the bonus of Dark Arts, that was a bit too excessive; it wasn't like the Cruciatus Curse.
"Harry, Ron, just put the quills down there and leave. Your detention is over anyway."
Hermione looked at Umbridge, who was slumped on the desk and hadn't recovered, with disgust, then shifted her gaze to Amanda, who was not far away and also looking at Umbridge with a somewhat disgusted expression.
Hmm, as expected, it had to be her Amanda who was brave enough and strong enough.
No, wait. Hermione shook her head vigorously. How could she compare Umbridge with Amanda?!
She was really confused; Umbridge wasn't even worthy of being compared to her Amanda!
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