Labor service at Hogwarts could involve cleaning the school, helping professors tidy up, or even tidying up the Forbidden Forest.
Labor service at Hogwarts could involve cleaning the school, helping professors tidy up, or even tidying up the Forbidden Forest.
In short, if you think of all labor service as just cleaning work, it feels much less terrifying.
Just imagine—back then, being punished with a task in the Forbidden Forest, helping Hagrid search for a wounded unicorn, only to end up running into Voldemort. That kind of encounter could only be described as stepping in unicorn poop level luck.
Except unicorns don't poop. So really, it was rarer than stepping in dog poop.
Dolores Umbridge had decorated her office in an extremely cozy manner, completely at odds with her personality. But with all the plates on the walls adorned with painted kittens, anyone walking in might be swayed by the environment and start to believe that a woman who loves cats must surely be a kind-hearted woman.
However, in reality, those devoted to cats and dogs often diminish their own personalities—lowering themselves beneath their pets. But the moment someone treats those pets just as animals, their owners feel insulted. Who gave you the right to think you're two levels above my pet?
And so, from the surface image of a loving animal person, they transform into a villain. Not only do they want to defeat you—they want to crush you. You're not getting off until they've stepped three layers down on your dignity and, moving forward, continue to scorn anyone they see as even lower than themselves.
Dolores Umbridge was exactly that kind of pet devotee. In her mind, she was also Cornelius Fudge's kitten. This identity filled her with warmth. Anyone who disturbed that cozy atmosphere was an enemy—and what she had to do now was stomp those enemies down. Viciously. Crush their personality, their dignity, and their soul.
In this cozy office, Dolores Umbridge brewed herself a strong cup of coffee. Soon, she would become thrilled by the act of trampling others, and drinking a cup of coffee at that moment would only intensify the pleasure. It was a near-orgasmic sensation that washed over her body.
One spoonful of sugar. Two spoonfuls. Three. Three spoonfuls of sugar.
Already a rich coffee, it was now overwhelmed with so much sugar it could no longer dissolve. A sugar addiction can be no different from a bloodlust.
As the handsome version of Harry Potter entered the office, Dolores Umbridge forced herself to suppress the excitement in her heart and began administering his punishment.
"Good evening, Mr. Potter! Please, have a seat. I'd like you to do some lines. Use this special quill of mine and write: I must not cause trouble in class."
She placed a black quill and a piece of parchment in front of Harry Potter.
"How many times do I have to write it?"
Charming as ever, Harry wasn't bothered at all. Writing lines was far easier than doing homework.
"Hmm... just keep writing until you understand what the sentence means."
Dolores Umbridge smiled sweetly, as though she were being lenient. Writing one sentence over and over—how simple could it be?
"But… you didn't give me any ink."
Harry began to sense something wasn't right. Although this pink toad of a woman kept smiling warmly, she gave off a deeply uncomfortable feeling.
"Trust me. You won't need any ink."
Umbridge turned away from him, her back now facing Harry. She was ready to hear the cries of pain. This was the moment she enjoyed most. When students who had made mistakes arrived, thinking they would just be copying lines, only to experience pain etched into their very skin—that contrast left a deep impression. And it brought her immense satisfaction.
Just one stroke was enough. On Harry's other wrist, the words would begin to appear—because the ink used on the parchment came from the blood of the one writing. In other words, the quill carved the sentence into his skin.
But even after waiting a while, she still didn't hear Harry's cries.
Had he not written anything? That would be unbelievably bold.
Dolores Umbridge immediately turned around and looked at the parchment in front of Harry.
"I am Harry Potter! I am Tom Riddle! I am Voldemort? I am Harry Potter?"
"The merging of two souls—Harry Potter's soul is intact. Voldemort's soul fragment accounts for 1/7. Voldemort's main soul has vanished."
"Harry Potter's total soul is slightly greater than Voldemort's. The two have fused into a new soul."
"This foolish pink toad Dolores Umbridge actually dares to punish me!?"
"Seen enough... you idiot?"
Dolores Umbridge had never felt so close to death. The figure standing in front of her, with his back turned, was death incarnate.
She staggered back, pressing herself tightly against the wall.
She could run—but she didn't dare. She didn't know what would happen the moment she turned around. Would she be hit with Avada Kedavra?
The dashing Harry Potter ignored the foolish toad behind him and began drawing a magic circle on the parchment.
The pain continued to surge through him, yet the dashing Harry Potter endured it as if nothing were wrong.
On his back, a magic circle identical to the one on the parchment began to form. Using the feather quill meant for punishment, he inscribed a magic circle designed to enhance Voldemort's awareness onto his own back. From now on, he simply needed to make sure no one discovered it.
He checked the circle several times—it was perfect. The effect was exceptional.
At this moment, Voldemort had already taken over the dominant consciousness in Harry Potter's body, and his mental state was stable.
With a flick of the feather quill, it reversed itself and retraced the previously written words in reverse. As the tip passed over the surface, the text vanished from the parchment, and the wounds on his arm disappeared as well. The only thing left behind was the magic circle on his back.
Raising his hand, he set the entire sheet of parchment ablaze. At the same time, the circle on his back also ignited. Through this burning process, the magic circle became deeply branded into his flesh, ensuring the effect wouldn't fade as the wounds healed.
Once everything was in place, Harry Potter stood up with a cold smile and turned to face Dolores Umbridge.
"If I kill a professor at Hogwarts—even one as repulsive and idiotic as you—it will bring me unnecessary trouble. Or perhaps you can offer me some useful advice instead?"
Harry Potter's smile and voice were like a cold, slippery snake coiling around one's neck.
Dolores Umbridge had no choice but to agree to whatever he demanded. All she wanted was for the Dark Lord to spare her. Yes, she had chickened out.
"Since you're so eager to serve me, I shall bestow upon you my mark."
Harry Potter grabbed her left hand and touched it with his wand. It was as if a glowing substance had been injected into her veins. A spreading black tattoo appeared along her arm.
"This is the Dark Mark. The incantation is 'Morsmordre.' From now on, you're one of the Death Eaters. Remember that."
The dashing Harry Potter let out a harsh, sinister laugh. His resurrection had gone uninterrupted. This current body, the fusion of Voldemort and Harry Potter, with the combined blood of both, was a truly pure-blooded vessel.
To reclaim the power that once belonged to him, a little more preparation was needed. But Harry Potter wasn't in a hurry.
As Harry Potter's magic surged, the Dark Mark on Dolores Umbridge's arm grew hotter and hotter. Pressing down on her arm, she felt an overwhelming urge to cut it off. She no longer had any doubts about the mark's authenticity.
"Oh, and one more thing, Professor Dolores Umbridge—I need you to cover for my current identity. I hope that toad brain of yours can be of some use."
The dashing Harry Potter lightly tapped her forehead with his wand. Compared to the pain in her arm, this was nothing.
"Yes! I'll do it. Please believe in me, Master."
The Dark Mark's inherent subjugation effect caused Dolores Umbridge to call him "Master" without hesitation.
At the same time, elsewhere in Hogwarts, another former Death Eater—Professor Snape—also felt the burning sensation on his arm. It was the resonance between Death Eaters, and their connection to the Dark Lord. However, without any communication, he had no way of knowing who had activated the Dark Mark.
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