Lockhart/Umbridge

Dolores Umbridge pulled on one of her pink shoes; it had been cast aside in the fiery blur that was last night and she was pleasantly surprised to find that the heel had not been broken. She straightened the bow around her neck and prepared to stand up. The body in the bed stirred and sat up; Gilderoy Lockhart ran one hand through his wavy blonde hair and yawned.

"You're leaving?" he asked.

"My day continues on," Dolores said with a small laugh.

Gilderoy slid closer and gently touched her arm.

"And the matter we discussed?" he whispered, his lips close to her ear.

Dolores sighed and stood up, Gilderoy's hand falling abruptly off her.

"I wouldn't expect the matter to go any further," she said nonchalantly, "I honestly don't think that you're Wizengamot material."

Gilderoy frowned.

"But I thought-" he began.

Dolores spun around.

"You thought," she said slowly, "that because I'm a woman and not exactly pretty that I would be terribly flattered and grateful for your advances, which would then lead me to bend to your every will."

Gilderoy was speechless.

"But I am so much more than just a woman," Dolores continued, "and so much more than merely 'not exactly pretty'."

She picked up her handbag and went to the door.

"This round didn't really go in your favour, did it?" the witch said, as she left, "I suggest, Mr Lockhart, that you get some better cards."