"All student organizations are henceforth disbanded. Any student in noncompliance will be expelled," Umbridge's squeaky voice rang through the halls via speakers. Everywhere I went I could hear her. Great. "This includes quidditch teams, unless they receive my approval"

"Well this is perfect!" I threw my arms in the air with rage. "She won't let us practice, surely. She'll let Slytherin go, but not Gryffindor! How are we to win if we can't practice?" I fumed, turning to Adrienne. "Can you believe this?"

I felt a twinge for letting my anger out on Adry, but this woman drove me nuts! I had trouble keeping my mouth shut in her class and it got me into loads of trouble with her.

"Miss Bennett," she huffed, at the brink of insanity, "detention"

She looked as if her hair was about to curl out of place, strings fraying from her pink robe, buttons popping loose, steam bursting from her head. Instead, she just took a deep breath and plastered a sick smile across her pale face. I slouched in my chair. I have half a mind to just leave! Something about her just ticked me off to no end. She was even worse than Malfoy!

Malfoy is to Harry and Umbridge is to me.

I crossed my arms and entered her office. I looked around at the disgusting pink wallpaper and painted plates neatly lining the walls. The cats were cute, but there had to be at least fifty plates with them.

"Your room…" I turned to take in the rest. Everything was neatly lined, as if she had OCD. It reeked of perfume and reminded me of some little old lady's home. It sort of was. Umbridge was getting there, at least.

"Yes?" she held her smile tight, sipping her overly sugary tea.

"It's…" I searched for a word to describe it, "fitting"

"Please, sit down," she stood, walking towards me. "I'm going to ask you one more time. What do you know?"

"I'm not sure I understand the question, Professor," I replied before sitting down. I could sense her frustration, but she kept it masked.

"You're going to be doing some lines for me today. You will write I must not keep secrets"

"How many times?" I said, taking the quill into my hand.

"As long as it takes to… sink in," she stopped walking as I wrote on the parchment. I thought for a moment of writing something else out of spite, but it was probably better just to conform to her mediocre punishment.

I felt a burning sensation in my left hand, making me fidget as I wrote. It became so intense that I had to stop writing after one phrase. I looked at my hand to see it was inflamed, with a pink tint over the bumps spelling out I must not keep secrets.

This is how Harry got that scar on his hand. I looked up at Umbridge, finally understanding.

"Is there something you'd like to say?" she asked, leaning towards me. I clenched my jaw before replying.

"No, Professor"

I filled the entire page with I must not keep secrets. Each time I repeated it, the phrase burned into my hand as if I was cutting over the already open wound. I carved into my skin again and again until I ran out of room on the page. I stood up and left her office without any complaints from her. I made it about ten feet before I broke down crying on a bench. Within moments Fred and George came running down the hall to comfort me. I drew my knees up and cradled my hand subconsciously.

"Your hand will be fine, Jenny," Fred wrapped his arm around me.

"Yeah, it's not as bad as it seems," George cooed.

"You can hardly see ours anymore-"

"-and the pain stops after a while"

I shook my head and choked back tears, "I wrote it at least twenty times"

I hated being a baby, but it really hurt. It was like a hot iron being pressed into an open wound. Worse than salt.

"As I told you once before, Mr. Potter, naughty children deserve to be punished," Umbridge's voice made me raise my head. She was standing at the end of the hall and had, apparently, just emerged from her office. She smiled and turned to return to her office. Mr. Potter?

I wiped my face with my sleeve before standing up. Fred and George spotted me, just in case I fell.

"I'm fine," I insisted, tugging my sleeve over my hand before turning to go back to the common room. Neither Fred nor George tried to talk to me. Neither did Harry.

I made it back to the common room before being bombarded by Hermione.

"Jenny! What happened?" she rushed to my side.

"Nothing, I'm fine," I lied and walked past her and towards the stairs. I reached out for the railing to help me up to my room. I was in need of assistance, although I had stopped crying and my eyes were clearing.

"Your hand," Hermione gingerly removed my hand from the railing and examined it. "We have to get you to the hospital wing"

There was no resisting Hermione. I let her lead me to Madame Pomfrey, who ushered me to a bed straight away.

"I've gotten at least five students this week for her detentions!" she cursed as she examined my hand. "This has got to be the worst. I'm afraid it may scar, Miss Bennett"

I didn't respond, but I did try to nod. She cleaned my hand and put something cool on it. Then she wrapped my hand and gave me a dreamless sleep potion.

I dreamed anyway.

Trees encompassed me, allowing little light to shine through the layers of leaves sheltering me. I treaded forward until I came to water. Suddenly thirsty, I approached the water and began lapping it with my tongue. I enjoyed the cool drink, but realized something was off. The water suddenly turned sour as I opened my eyes. A reflection of a wolf gazed back at me through the dark water. As dark as it was, the wolf appeared white as snow.

My eyes lazed open and within moments I realized I was in the hospital wing. I propped myself onto my elbows and let my eyes wander until they focused. My gaze was drawn to a change in atmosphere. There was something sitting on my bedside: a pair of brand new quidditch gloves.

I reached out and touched them, elated by their smooth feel under my fingertips. I took one into my hand and went to slip it on only to find the wrapping around my hand was too large. I ripped the clip from the gauze and unraveled my palm, running my finger over the raging red bumps across the back of my hand. I turned back to my glove, covering my wound with my new gift.

Who left these here? Surely they're for me, but why quidditch gloves?

I grinned and ripped back the crisp sheets. I slipped on my shoes and darted joyfully towards the quidditch pitch.