Harry Potter 05 - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

three essays, practise Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a counter-charm for Flitwick, finish the Bowtruckle drawing and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?’
    Ron moaned and for some reason glanced up at the ceiling.
    ‘ And it looks like it’s going to rain.’
    ‘What’s that got to do with our homework?’ said Hermione, her eyebrows raised.
    ‘Nothing,’ said Ron at once, his ears reddening.
    At five to five Harry bade the other two goodbye and set off for Umbridge’s office on the third floor. When he knocked on the door she called, ‘Come in,’ in a sugary voice. He entered cautiously, looking around.
    He had known this office under three of its previous occupants. In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of himself. When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. In the impostor Moody’s days it had been packed with various instruments and artefacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment.
    Now, however, it looked totally unrecognisable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicoloured kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again.
    ‘Good evening, Mr Potter.’
    Harry started and looked around. He had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.
    ‘Evening, Professor Umbridge,’ Harry said stiffly.
    ‘Well, sit down,’ she said, pointing towards a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him.
    ‘Er,’ said Harry, without moving. ‘Professor Umbridge. Er – before we start, I – I wanted to ask you a … a favour.’
    Her bulging eyes narrowed.
    ‘Oh, yes?’
    ‘Well, I’m … I’m in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o’clock on Friday and I was – was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it – do it another night … instead …’
    He knew long before he reached the end of his sentence that it was no good.
    ‘Oh, no,’ said Umbridge, smiling so widely that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. ‘Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one’s convenience. No, you will come here at five o’clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you.’
    Harry felt the blood surge to his head and heard a thumping noise in his ears. So he told ‘evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories’, did he?
    She was watching him with her head slightly to one side, still smiling widely, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether he would start shouting again. With a massive effort, Harry looked away from her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair and sat down.
    ‘There,’ said Umbridge sweetly, ‘we’re getting better at controlling our temper already, aren’t we? Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr Potter. No, not with your quill,’ she added, as Harry bent down to open his bag. ‘You’re going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are.’
    She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point.
    ‘I want you to write, I must not tell lies ,’ she told him softly.
    ‘How many times?’ Harry asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness.
    ‘Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in ,’ said Umbridge sweetly. ‘Off you go.’
    She moved over to her desk, sat down and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Harry raised the sharp black quill, then realised what was missing.
    ‘You haven’t given me any ink,’ he said.
    ‘Oh, you won’t need ink,’ said