The corridors were silent, empty of the students that usually graced it during the light of day. In fact, due to the hour, most of the castle was silent, the common rooms almost completely empty of students, almost all of which were tucked into their beds, falling asleep if they weren't already sleeping.
However, there was one girl who wasn't sleeping, or even in bed about to fall asleep. Instead, this girl had just arrived in her common room, due to the fact that she'd just had detention with one of her teachers. There was glassy sheen over her eyes, suggesting that she was trying not to cry.
That stupid bitch she thought as she made her way over to one of the chairs near the fireplace. Her left hand – her writing hand – throbbed in pain. She looked down at it, seeing the words I will not tell lies carved into the skin, inflamed and slightly bloody. She read the words over and over again, along with remembering what had caused the need for them to be there to begin with – expressing her opinion that Harry Potter was not lying about Voldemort's return, pointing out that he'd be the last person to proclaim it without it being true.
Professor Umbridge – also known as Umbitch to the majority of the students – had overhead, and had unfairly assigned her detention for saying that. She wasn't sure what to think about that, since she hadn't heard a word of what went on there, other than they had to write lines, but that very night, she learned what it was that Umbitch was doing, the result of which was on her hand.
A wave of anger ran through her. What it was that Umbitch was doing was nothing short of torture, and, without another thought, she pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. Within moments, she had finished quilling her letters. There was one to her father, one to the editor of the Daily Prophet, another to the new Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, and a final one to her head of house, which was her uncle. She chuckled to herself as she thought about what Umbitch's reaction would be when her head of house showed her the error of her ways. After all, she was Isobel Trisvinaté, of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Trisvinaté. And, while the other Most Ancient and Most Noble Houses with heirs – or heads, as Harry technically was – in the school didn't seem to be doing anything – then again, from what she saw, Harry didn't seem to show a sign of what knowing his heritage – she wasn't going to be like them.
However, remembering who backed Umbitch up, Isobel knew that she would need more than to just tell her head of house. Having learned of how things were often swept under the rug at the Ministry, and also knowing that Fudge would make sure that what she had to say would never see daylight – and he wasn't above going over his station to do so – Isobel knew that she would have to employ every inch of the Slytherin that the Sorting Hat had sensed in her in order to get what she needed to get done. And she could hardly wait to see the results of her work when they came to be. More than that, though, knowing what would happen once it became known what Umbitch had done to her, was the fact Umbitch would get her just desserts.
I cannot wait to see that bitch put in jail, where worthless beings like her belong she thought as she sealed her letter up, and called her personal elf to her. After all, she wanted the letters to get to where they needed to, not be found by Umbitch. Then, dreaming of what the consequences to Umbitch would be, she fell asleep, a happy smile on her face.