The air in the corridors of Hogwarts was thick with tension, the kind of tension that only came when Umbridge was around. Brooklyn could feel it, even before she heard the unmistakable clicking of her high heels. The entire school had been on edge ever since the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had arrived. Umbridge, with her sickeningly sweet smile, had made it her personal mission to maintain her iron grip on the students.
That morning had been no different. She had come down like a hawk upon any mischief, and everyone knew the Weasley twins were the culprits behind the endless stream of pranks that had been plaguing Hogwarts since the beginning of the term.
As Brooklyn rounded the corner near the Great Hall, she nearly ran into Umbridge, who was flanked by two of her favorite toadies, a pair of overly eager fifth-year students. The moment Umbridge laid eyes on Brooklyn, her smile grew even more sickeningly sweet, though Brooklyn could see the suspicion and thinly veiled disgust in her eyes.
"Ah, Miss Mclair," she cooed. "I've been meaning to speak with you."
Brooklyn stiffened, wondering what this was about. "Professor," she greeted cautiously.
Umbridge's smile didn't falter. "It's come to my attention," she began, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "that the pranks around this school... well, they've escalated recently, haven't they?" She let the words hang in the air, watching Brooklyn's face for any sign of guilt.
Brooklyn knew exactly where this was going, but she stayed silent, hoping to avoid further confrontation.
"Now, I'm sure you've heard the rumors about your... very creative friends," Umbridge continued. "The Weasley twins, of course. But I can't help but notice your frequent association with them." She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. "It seems quite suspicious, don't you think? A prefect, no less, involved in all of this… nonsense."
Brooklyn's jaw clenched, but she held her ground. "I'm not involved in their pranks," she said firmly. "I've been trying to focus on my duties as Head Girl."
Umbridge's smile didn't fade, but there was a coldness to it now. "And yet," she said slowly, "you seem to always be in the thick of things when these disruptions occur. Isn't that curious?"
Brooklyn didn't say anything, though her heart pounded in her chest. Umbridge was twisting things in a way that only she could.
"You've been given a position of responsibility, Miss Mclair," Umbridge continued, her voice taking on a sharp edge. "But your association with troublemakers like the Weasley twins does not set a good example. You are, after all, Head Girl. You should be better than this."
Before Brooklyn could respond, Umbridge's eyes flicked to the side, as if she had been waiting for some other piece of information. Her expression hardened. "In fact, I've had reports that you've been seen in places where these pranks originated, and I think you know more than you're letting on."
Brooklyn felt the blood rush to her face, a mixture of anger and frustration building inside her. "I haven't done anything wrong," she snapped.
Umbridge's smile returned, though it was now an expression of pure malice. "Well, that may be so, Miss Mclair," she said sweetly. "But I'm afraid I can't allow this sort of behavior to go unpunished. For your failure to prevent these incidents, I'm assigning you detention. Every day after classes for the next week, you'll report to me in my office. And I expect your full cooperation."
Brooklyn's heart dropped. "That's unfair!" she protested, but Umbridge's eyes were already cold with authority.
"Unfair or not, Miss Mclair, it is the way things will be. Perhaps it'll teach you a lesson about keeping better company." With a wave of her hand, Umbridge dismissed Brooklyn, turning her back and walking away with her usual clack-clack of heels echoing in the hallway.
Brooklyn stood there for a moment, fuming with frustration. She had done nothing wrong, yet she was being punished. The twins were the ones behind all the pranks, and everyone knew it. But Umbridge had decided that Brooklyn, as Head Girl, was an easy target.
Fuming, she made her way to the Gryffindor common room, trying to collect her thoughts. She had to figure out a way to stop Umbridge's reign of terror before things got worse.
The dungeon was cold and damp, with the faint smell of mildew hanging in the air. Brooklyn sat at the small desk, her posture rigid as she stared at the parchment before her. Her hand was already cramping, her fingers cold against the quill. The faint noise of scratching against the paper was the only sound in the room, the silence heavy and suffocating.
The pink walls of Umbridge's office were as insufferable as ever, decorated in an array of soft colors and flower patterns, which only made the atmosphere feel more oppressive. Brooklyn tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the task at hand.
"You will remain here until your lines are complete, Miss Mclair," came the sweet, sickly-sweet voice of Dolores Umbridge from the front of the room, her eyes glinting with malicious delight.
Brooklyn didn't respond. She knew it was pointless. Her gaze flicked to the parchment, where the words were already written in a neat, curling script: I will not follow boys around.
She knew it was ridiculous. The whole thing was absurd. The pranks were the twins' doing, not hers, but of course, Umbridge had to punish someone, and she had chosen her. And now, this. This was the price Brooklyn had to pay for her association with the Weasley twins.
She dipped the quill into the ink and began writing.
I will not follow boys around.
The moment her quill touched the parchment, a sharp sting shot through her hand, making her wince. It was as though the ink itself was burning her skin. She looked down and saw the faint, glowing marks left by the quill on her palm, the letters starting to etch themselves into her skin.
Brooklyn gasped in pain, trying to pull her hand back, but the quill remained in her grasp, the enchantment forcing her to continue writing. The words weren't just appearing on the parchment anymore—they were carving themselves into her hand as well.
I will not follow boys around.
The sting intensified with every line. The sensation was like fire, the words branded into her flesh as if to punish her for something she hadn't even done. She felt tears of frustration welling up in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She refused to let Umbridge see her break.
She continued, her hand shaking as the quill scratched over the paper.
I will not follow boys around.
Her hand was aching now, the sharp pain of the words carving into her skin. She glanced down at the palm of her hand and saw the words glowing red beneath her skin. It felt like her whole body was on fire, and the room seemed to close in around her. She clenched her jaw, determined to get through this.
I will not follow boys around.
Her breath came in shallow gasps as the pen's curse continued, the writing still carving itself into her skin. She couldn't stop it, couldn't control it. It felt as though she was being punished for a crime she hadn't committed.
The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, and Brooklyn continued writing, barely registering the ink on the parchment as the quill etched the same line again and again into her hand. The blood beneath her skin pulsed with each stroke, the magic of the enchanted quill refusing to let her stop.
She could feel the tears threatening to spill over now, the sharp, unrelenting pain too much to bear. But she gritted her teeth, refusing to let Umbridge see her weakness.
She finished the last line, her hand shaking violently, and set the quill down. It had taken far too long. She could still feel the fiery burn beneath her skin. She looked down at her palm, the words now glowing faintly under her skin. Blood was now flowing down her hand and forming a puddle on the desk.
I will not follow boys around.
The pain was unbearable, but Brooklyn stood up, clutching her hand to her chest. She could feel the wetness of her tears but forced herself to wipe them away. Umbridge didn't deserve to see her cry.
"Am I finished, Professor?" she asked quietly, her voice strained but determined.
Umbridge smiled cruelly. "You may leave, Miss Mclair. But do remember—if you continue to misbehave, I will make sure the consequences are much worse next time."
Brooklyn said nothing as she turned and left the room, the sting of the words on her hand a constant reminder of the injustice she had endured. She wanted to scream, to yell at Umbridge, but she kept walking. She had to get out of there before she broke.
She made her way to the hospital wing, the pain from the enchantment becoming unbearable with each step. The soft thud of her feet against the stone floors was the only sound that kept her grounded as she moved through the corridors.
The hospital wing smelled like disinfectant and herbs, but it wasn't enough to mask the overwhelming sense of pain that filled Brooklyn's body. She stumbled into the room, her eyes burning with unshed tears.
Madam Pomfrey looked up in alarm, immediately rushing over when she saw the state Brooklyn was in.
"Miss Mclair! What on earth happened to you?" Pomfrey exclaimed, her voice full of concern as she led Brooklyn to a bed.
"I—I don't know," Brooklyn whispered, her voice shaking as she collapsed onto the bed. "Just—just a punishment."
Madam Pomfrey's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but she didn't press further. Instead, she quickly began to heal the bruises on Brooklyn's hand and face, her soft muttering of spells filling the silence.
It was then that Umbridge appeared in the doorway. Brooklyn stiffened when she saw her, her heart dropping into her stomach.
"Miss Mclair," Umbridge said sweetly, her gaze running over Brooklyn with thinly veiled contempt. "It seems you've gotten yourself into quite a mess. I trust you've learned your lesson?"
Brooklyn stared at her, her face flushed with anger, but she didn't speak.
Umbridge leaned in closer, her tone colder than before. "I hope this teaches you that you should know your place. If you're going to act out in such a way, perhaps you should just keep your legs open like a good girl and stop fighting back."
The words hit Brooklyn like a slap in the face, her breath catching in her throat. She felt nauseous, but she held her head high, refusing to show weakness in front of Umbridge.
Madam Pomfrey's face went pale, and she stepped forward, her eyes flashing with fury. "Professor Umbridge, I suggest you leave. Now."
But Umbridge just smirked before turning on her heel and walking out, her voice trailing behind her. "Do try to teach her better, Madam Pomfrey. She might be a lost cause."
Brooklyn didn't respond. Instead, she turned her face into the pillow, swallowing back the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. She would get through this. She would survive.
The moment Brooklyn stepped into the common room, Fred and George stopped mid-conversation. Their eyes locked onto her bruised face, her hand wrapped in a bandage, and the faint but unmistakable look of pain in her eyes. The usual playful banter that had been filling the room came to an abrupt halt.
"Bloody hell, Brooklyn," Fred muttered, his voice suddenly tight with concern. He rushed over to her, but stopped short, not quite knowing how to react. "What happened to you?"
Brooklyn winced slightly as she pulled her hand away from her chest, trying to hide the marks that had been left by Umbridge's punishment. Her face was pale, her usual fiery demeanor subdued as she tried to compose herself.
"It's nothing," she said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Just a little punishment from the head bitch herself"
George's eyes narrowed. "Punishment? That's more than a little," he said sharply, his gaze flicking between her hand and her bruised cheek. He could tell she was trying to downplay it, but the anger simmering beneath the surface was evident.
Fred's voice lowered, his tone softer but still laced with frustration. "Who did this to you? If it was Umbridge—"
"It doesn't matter," Brooklyn interrupted quickly, shaking her head. "It's nothing I can't handle. Just… just a lesson."
"Lesson?" George echoed, stepping closer to her, his face tight with a mixture of confusion and anger. "Brooklyn, you're covered in bruises. That's not just a lesson. That's abuse."
Brooklyn glanced away, biting her lip as she fought back the tears that had started to well up. She didn't want to break down in front of them, didn't want to show the full extent of what she'd endured. She couldn't. Not now. Not in front of Fred and George, who were looking at her as if they'd just seen something no one should ever have to see.
"She's just trying to break me," Brooklyn finally said, her voice shaking with barely controlled emotion. "I'll be fine."
Fred clenched his fists, his jaw set in a hard line. "No, you won't be fine," he said, his voice suddenly colder than she had ever heard it. "Not with her doing this to you. And we won't let her get away with it, either."
George nodded in agreement, his face filled with fierce determination. "We'll make sure she pays for this," he added, his usual mischievous grin nowhere to be seen.
Brooklyn's heart tightened, a strange warmth blooming in her chest at their words, but she shook her head. "No. I don't want you getting into trouble because of me. You two have enough on your plate with the joke shop and your pranks already."
Fred and George exchanged a look, one that was full of unspoken understanding. "Brooklyn, you're family," Fred said simply, as if the matter were already settled. "We don't care about the trouble. We care about you."
Brooklyn swallowed hard, her chest aching at their words. "You don't have to—"
"We want to," George interrupted. "We've always wanted to look out for you. You're one of us, no matter what happens. And anyone who hurts you is going to have to deal with us."
For the first time that day, Brooklyn allowed herself a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, you two," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "But please, don't do anything rash. We don't need more trouble right now."
Fred raised an eyebrow, a familiar mischievous gleam returning to his eyes. "Rash? Us?" he said with mock innocence. "We're always in control."
"Just don't get caught," Brooklyn said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips despite herself.
George placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Brooklyn. We've got it covered. If anyone messes with you again, they'll regret it. That's a Weasley promise."
Brooklyn nodded, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude for them. She'd never felt more supported in her life than she did in this moment. With Fred and George by her side, maybe she could get through this after all.
A few days later, the atmosphere in the stands was electric as Gryffindor faced off against Ravenclaw in their first Quidditch match of the season. The air was crisp, the golden sunlight casting a warm glow over the pitch, and the crowd was buzzing with excitement. Brooklyn felt her heart race as the teams took their places, the cheers echoing around her as the announcer's voice boomed over the pitch. She couldn't help but feel a wave of nerves; it was her first game as captain and her first time leading the team since her hand injury.
Her team was hyped but had their own concerns. Harry seemed distracted, his attention flickering toward Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, each time she made a move. Brooklyn noticed the tension in his posture as he tried to shake off his distraction. He was still Harry Potter, the best Seeker Gryffindor had ever seen, but today his focus wavered. Ron, in his first game as Keeper, had a nervous energy that was palpable. His hands shook around his broom, and he kept glancing around as if he was waiting for something to go wrong.
Brooklyn pushed the thoughts of her aching hand to the back of her mind as the game began. The Quaffle was thrown into the air, and the teams shot off in a flurry of action. Brooklyn darted around the pitch, feeling the rush of adrenaline, but every move made her hand scream in pain. The bandage around it, tight from the healing but still raw, made every catch of the Quaffle and every pass feel like fire.
The game started off roughly for Gryffindor. Ravenclaw scored the first few points with ease, and Brooklyn could see the frustration building among her team. Ron was struggling to block shots, his nerves making him slow on the broom. Brooklyn knew they couldn't let this continue if they were going to have any chance at winning.
It wasn't just Ron who was struggling. Harry's mind seemed preoccupied, his eyes wandering toward Cho every time she moved. Brooklyn saw it clearly—Harry wasn't focused, and the rest of the team was starting to falter because of it.
Brooklyn's jaw tightened as she caught the Quaffle again, the weight of her captaincy pressing down on her. She knew she had to fix this or the game was as good as lost. She couldn't let her team fail.
With a sharp whistle, Brooklyn called a timeout and flew toward the edge of the pitch where the team had gathered. They looked at her expectantly, waiting for direction.
"Alright, listen up," Brooklyn said, her voice steady and firm. "We are Gryffindor! This is our pitch, and Ravenclaw has no business beating us today. Look around—do you want to lose to them? I don't. And I know you don't either. We've trained for this, and we can do this."
Her words had an immediate effect. Ron stopped fidgeting, standing taller on his broom. Harry, though still distracted, shook himself from his thoughts and met her eyes. His gaze was serious now, focused.
"We're going to turn this around. I believe in you all," Brooklyn continued, her voice rising with determination. "We're a team. Now let's get back out there and show them what we're made of. We're Gryffindor— we don't give up."
The team gave a collective cheer, the energy shifting. Brooklyn could feel the change in the air, a new momentum building.
When the game resumed, it was like a switch had been flipped. Brooklyn led her team with renewed vigor. She darted through the air with precision, dodging bludgers and Ravenclaw players alike. She scored three consecutive goals with powerful throws that sent the Quaffle flying straight through the hoop. Each time, she ignored the searing pain in her hand, knowing that they needed her. They needed her to lead.
Meanwhile, Harry seemed to snap into focus. He'd been looking for the Snitch since the start of the match, but now, he was relentless. Brooklyn watched as Harry made a sharp turn, following Cho as she sped toward the Snitch. Cho was good, but Harry was better.
Brooklyn didn't have time to watch them for long, though, as the game was still in full swing. The Quaffle came to her again, and she flew with it toward the opposing goalposts. She tossed it toward Fred, who passed it to Angelina.
The game was back on track, and Gryffindor was closing the gap. The crowd roared with excitement as the team played like a well-oiled machine. Brooklyn scored one more goal just as Harry made his move. With an expert flick of his broomstick, he dove for the Snitch. Cho followed, but Harry was faster. With a triumphant snap, Harry grabbed the Snitch out of the air, and the stadium exploded into applause.
Gryffindor had won.
Brooklyn's heart pounded as the game ended. The team was ecstatic, jumping up and down, cheering as they flew back toward the ground. She couldn't help but smile at the victory, but as she landed, a sharp pain flared in her hand. She looked down to see the blood starting to trickle through her bandage, the cuts from earlier opening up again from the pressure of playing.
She tried to push the pain aside, but the blood kept flowing, a dark reminder of how much she had pushed herself. As the team celebrated their victory, Brooklyn silently flew off the pitch, trying to make her way to the locker room without anyone noticing her injury.
As the Gryffindor team made their way back to the locker room after their victory, the buzzing excitement of their win still filled the air. Brooklyn could barely hold back a tired smile as she made her way to the back of the group, trying to ignore the sting in her hand. She was grateful that no one had seemed to notice her condition yet, but George did.
"Brooklyn, you're bleeding," George's voice cut through the buzz of conversation as he noticed the blood trailing down her fingers, seeping through the makeshift bandage he had quickly tied earlier.
She attempted to wave him off, brushing it aside. "It's fine, George. Really, I'm just a bit tired is all. I'll be fine."
But George wasn't about to let her off that easily. He moved closer, his brow furrowing in concern. "Don't brush it off like that. You're not fooling anyone."
With a gentle but firm hand, he pulled her to a stop. His eyes met hers, no longer filled with the playful teasing she was used to, but instead with a deep, genuine concern. There was no mocking in his tone now, only an unwavering need to help.
Brooklyn sighed, knowing he wouldn't let this go. She felt a strange sense of comfort in his concern, despite the discomfort of her hand. "Fine," she muttered. "I just don't want to make a big deal out of it."
George didn't respond, but the way he gently lifted her hand to examine it spoke volumes. He carefully unwrapped the fabric of his ripped jersey that had been wrapped around her hand. As the material loosened, he was able to see just how badly it had been bleeding—her hand was bruised, cut, and raw from the strain.
But then, something caught his eye. Beneath the blood and the torn skin, faint ink was visible, the unmistakable outline of words carved into her flesh. His eyes narrowed, and his stomach sank as he read what it said: "I will not follow boys around."
The words were all too familiar. The haunting echo of Umbridge's detention punishment came flooding back to him.
He swallowed hard, his mind racing. He knew. He knew immediately who was responsible for the cruel punishment Brooklyn had been made to endure—the same two people who had been pushing her into the deep end with all their pranks. George and Fred.
"I— I didn't realize," George muttered, his voice heavy with regret. He looked at Brooklyn, his face full of guilt. "I didn't mean for this to happen. Fred and I... We never thought—" He trailed off, unsure of how to apologize for something he never imagined would hurt her like this.
Brooklyn stayed quiet for a moment, letting the silence between them settle. It wasn't her fault, but the realization in George's eyes made her heart ache. He was devastated, and it wasn't like he could've known what would happen.
"I... it's not your fault," Brooklyn said, her voice quiet but steady, as if trying to comfort him more than herself. "You didn't make me go to detention. But it's... it's a lot, you know? The pain, the embarrassment, the words." She shook her head, her voice breaking just slightly. "It's just one thing after another."
George immediately felt like a weight had settled in his chest. His guilt intensified as Brooklyn glanced at her hand again, almost as if she had to remind herself that the words were there, that the punishment was real.
"I'm so sorry, Brooklyn," he said earnestly, his voice thick with emotion. He reached out for her hand, not daring to touch it too much. He seemed scared that his touch would only make things worse. "We never meant for it to get this far, I swear. If I could take it all back, I would."
Brooklyn gave him a small, tired smile, knowing the apology was heartfelt, but the damage had already been done. "It's not your fault," she repeated softly, though the words didn't seem to offer much comfort to either of them.
George didn't know what else to say. His eyes flickered over the words again, and his stomach churned. There was a part of him that wished he could just make everything go away, but it didn't work like that. No matter how much he wanted to fix it, he couldn't undo what had already been done.
"Don't worry about me," Brooklyn added, giving him a half-hearted smile. "I'm still captain, still your teammate. I'll survive."
George wasn't convinced, but he nodded anyway. As the pain from her hand seemed to subside slightly, he gently took hold of it again, adjusting the bandage with as much care as possible.
"We're gonna fix this," George said softly, his voice a promise. "I'm going to make sure that doesn't happen again."
Brooklyn nodded, though she knew nothing could erase the sting of Umbridge's cruel punishment. And as George finished wrapping her hand, he looked at her with a new sense of determination. It was like he wasn't just looking at his teammate anymore, but someone who deserved better than the injustice she had been dealt.
"We'll make sure she regrets doing this to you," he muttered under his breath, a faint glint of anger in his eyes. She smiled weakly and let him finish wrapping her hand tightly.