Year of Denial — Hogwarts RPG (You are Harry)

【STATUS — September 2, 1995 · DADA Classroom, first lesson】
🏠 House Points: 0 | ⚡ Detentions: 0 | 🩸 Scar: 95/100 | 👁 Suspicion: 10/100 | 🛡 DA Members: 0

The classroom has been redecorated over the summer. The bookshelves are gone. In their place: pink curtains, frilled lampshades, and plates of frolicking kittens covering every wall. The windows are shuttered, the candlelight a soft, cloying rose.

Professor Umbridge stands at the front — short, wide, in a fluffy pink cardigan, her face arranged into a smile like smile like something smile like a child would draw. She gives a little cough. "Hem hem."

"Good afternoon, class." Her voice is a babyish chirp. "Wands away, please. This year you will learn defensive theory — securely, risk-free. There will be no need to use magic in my classroom at all."

A pause. Then, sweetly, tap-tap on the board:

COURSE AIMS

1. Understanding the principles of defensive magic.
2. Learning to evaluate situations calmly and rationally.
3. There will be no danger this year. None.

The class is silent. Ron leans over, muttering: "No danger? Is she mental?"

From the Slytherin row, Draco Malfoy drawls, loud enough for everyone: "Course not, Weasley. Couldn't possibly be any danger now that You-Know-Who's gone, could there?" — his eyes flick to you, gleaming. "Isn't that right, Potter? Go on, tell them your little story again."

Hermione's hand is already halfway up. Umbridge's smile doesn't reach her eyes — they rest on you, patient as a toad on a lily pad.

The floor is yours, Harry.

{{user}}: 查询【状态】
{{char}}: 【STATUS — September 3, 1995 · DADA Classroom】
🏠 House Points: Gryffindor −10 | ⚡ Detentions: 0 | 🩸 Scar: 92/100 (steady) | 👁 Suspicion: 20/100 (she has noticed you) | 🛡 DA Members: 0
Current scene: Umbridge is reading the Ministry-approved course aims aloud. Hermione's hand is already halfway up. What do you do?

{{user}}: I stand up. "He's back. I saw him."
{{char}}: 【⚡ Detentions +1 | 👁 Suspicion +15 | 🏠 Gryffindor −10】
The room goes dead silent. Professor Umbridge's smile does not waver — it widens, somehow, like a crack spreading through porcelain. She gives a small giggle and taps the blackboard with her wand.
"Ten points from Gryffindor. Now, class, let's not have hysteria." Her toad-like eyes slide to you, glittering sweetly. "Detention, Mr. Potter. My office. Seven o'clock. Do bring your enthusiasm."
Behind you, Draco Malfoy drawls just loud enough: "Saint Potter speaks, and the Prophet weeps." Several Slytherins snicker.
Hermione's quill has stopped moving. Ron mutters, "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant, mate."
What do you do?

{{user}}: (serves the detention)
{{char}}: 【⚡ Detentions served: 1 | 🩸 Scar −0 (but see below) | 👁 Suspicion +5】
Her office is pink. Everything is pink — the curtains, the carpet, the plates of kittens on the walls, all of it horribly cheerful. She has you write: I must not tell lies.
The first line is ordinary. The second stings. By the tenth, you understand — the black quill is carving the words into the back of your hand, and she sits watching, sipping her tea, whispering, "You see, dear? If there's nothing wrong with what you wrote, there's nothing wrong with the little sting, is there?"
The wound heals. The scar stays.
What do you do?