Hidden Tales From The Chamber Of Secrets - 35 - Corrosive Words
by Polydicta
The now obligatory selection of plot-bunnies, orphaned scenes, omakes and idiocy that sometimes bring my mind to a grinding halt. Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation and reader brain-damage. Brain bleach recommended.
Disclaimer:
All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.
There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.
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Hidden Tales From The Chamber Of Secrets - 35 - Corrosive Words
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"You won't need a quill, Mr Potter, you will be using a very special one of mine."
Harry picked up the black quill with its sinisterly shaped bronze nib. Not really a quill, then. A pen, of sorts. The ... thing felt greasy, rather like the diary back in second year - a sensation rather than a texture.
"No, you won't need any ink, either. The quill will provide what it needs."
"What will I be writing?"
"I must not tell lies seems appropriate in the circumstances."
"How many times?"
"Until it sinks in, I think ..."
Harry began writing, feeling a sharp, burning sensation on the back of his off-hand.
He looked sharply at the Toad Woman.
"Was there something, Mr Potter?"
The simpering tone and the gleeful expression on the creatures face told him all that he needed to know as he silently looked down and continued to write.
There was a faint sizzling noise as he wrote, feeling the words being carved in the back of his hand, though the sensation passed quickly - more like being stroked with a hot pin than a knife.
Oblivious, Harry didn't notice the slight haze of smoke rising from the parchment as he wrote, as his blood singed the surface. He did notice that his words were becoming less and less clear, the nib seeming to become blunt and corroded.
At seventeen lines, the enchanted bronze nib dissolved entirely which elicited a shriek of anger from Umbridge.
"What did you do your wretched child?"
She snatched the remains of the quill and was rewarded by a large splash of blood - Harry's blood. It hit her in the face.
Screaming in agony with smoke pouring from where the blood had hit her, she slapped the desk and, incidentally placed her hand flat on Harry's lines.
More smoke, more shrieking, an endless cacophony of screams as the witch writhed in agony on the floor of her classroom.
Her movements became weaker and her screams became whimpers and finally bubbling moans. Eventually, all movement ceased, by which time Harry was sat, almost catatonic against the locked door.
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Morning came and Professor McGonagall entered, having been told by Miss Granger that Harry hadn't returned after his detention with Professor Umbridge.
Her unlocking charm had been overpowered and, as the door swung outwards, she saw a blank-eyed Harry Potter sat, rocking slightly, staring at the half-melted and still form of the late Dolores Umbridge.
The acrid stench of melted flesh and burned feathers assaulted her nose and she had to hold down her gorge. A messenger patronus summoned both Madam Pomfrey and the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.
As they retrieved a traumatised student and the remains of the teacher, no one noticed the ash on the desk that had been, just the evening before, a parchment with seventeen iterations of I must not tell lies written on it.
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"Mr Potter will make a full recovery, eventually, but I am at a loss to know what happened to ..."
Pomfrey paused, deciding how to avoid the epithet she wanted to use.
She continued, " ... happened to ... the Defence Teacher. She would appear to have been exposed to a large amount of Basilisk Venom ..."
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