Careers advice
"So, Harry, have you given a thought to your career? I know you expressed an interest in being an auror," said Madam McGonagall. The pink toad in the corner managed to express her disbelief in this idea with a sneer.
"To be honest, Ma'am, I don't think there's a lot of point considering a career," said Harry. "I'm unlikely to survive to have one."
"What nonsense is this?" sneered Umbridge.
"Harry! How can you think so?" McGonagall was horrified.
"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" said Harry. "Voldemort has been trying to kill me since I was a baby, and he's not about to stop trying. The only thing will be if I die of blood loss or sepricaemia before he does."
"Why should you die of blood loss or septicaemia?" asked McGonagall.
"What a little drama queen of a liar Potter is," said Umbridge.
"It's not being a drama queen, the scars have been infected," said Harry, "And the blood loss is considerable."
"What blood loss?" McGonagall demanded.
"Why from detentions, of course," said Harry.
"He's lying," said Umbridge.
"Why would you have blood loss from detentions?" demanded McGonagall, ignoring the pink bitch.
"Well when the pen carves up my hand," said Harry. "You know about it; you told me to keep my head down, but that doesn't make any difference."
"YOU SAID WHAT?" McGonagall grabbed Harry's hand and tore off the bandage. Then she turned on Umbridge, who was a sickly colour.
"He ... he has to learn ..." she said.
She got no further.
McGonagall thumped her so hard she flew off her stool and lay in an unconscious heap on the floor.
McGonagall summoned ropes to tie her and threw some floo powder into the fire.
"Amelia Bones' office, DMLE," she said.