To Rita's great relief, Sibyll had finally run out of sherry and was in no condition to go into Hogsmeade and get more.
"Rita," came a wavery voice from under the sheets, "I'm ruined."
Not the most original of melodramatic declarations, but Sibyll had never been the most original of people. "Like hell you are. Come out from under the goddamn sheets."
A wide and reddened eye looked out. "You aren't even supposed to be here."
"And who's going to tell Dumbledore, you? His inner eye?"
The sheets were thrown back at once. "You've never respected my career."
Rita snorted and kicked off her red high heels. "You're right, I never have. Personally, I think you can tell the future the way that Fudge can run a competent government." Sibyll blinked at her. "But I respect that you have the balls not to let anyone talk you out of it."
"Rita..."
They could figure out how to take down the Umbridge bitch in the morning. Rita rested a hand on Sibyll's wild hair. "Go to sleep."