Dolores' death
Characters belong to Rowling and Terry Pratchett
Umbridge quickly looked around. Something was wrong here. The school, normally so filled by smelly little brats, was empty. No running steps, no smart answers, no cackling poltergeists. She was also unclear why she was there herself. Hadn't se been doing important business just a moment ago? She was sure she had, but for the moment it slipped her mind. She frowned. It had been something concerning Potter, she remembered. But...
"Hem, hem," a voice said, and Umbridge was suddenly aware of a young woman standing next to her. It wasn't like she suddenly appeared from thin air - it was rather that she suddenly emerged from the background, where she had stood for who knows how long. She was dressed in sensible black, slightly old-fashioned clothes and her black hair was formed in a bun, with a white strand worming out over her forehead. She carried a clipboard, which she consulted.
"Madam Dolores Umbridge, Teacher in Defence Against the Dark Arts, as well as High Inquisitor for Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry?" she asked with dry voice.
"That's me," Umbridge sneered. "And who're you, and what's going on here?" The girl gave her a cold look.
"My name is Susan," she said without offering the high inquisitor her hand. "I would like to ask a few questions if you don't mind."
"On whose authority?" Umbridge asked automatically. The girl ignored her.
"First, we have a number of reports of substandard education performance concerning practical as well as theoretical application of your subject..."
"What? Who has said that?" Umbridge yelled.
"Followed by," the girl went on, "complaints on inappropriate use of disciplinary actions."
"Lies!"
"Not to mention perfectly dreadful behaviour against the rest of the educational staff. This is working-place hazards, I will have you knowing. To be frank, madam, this school is lacking severely in educational standard, in staff participation and in student care. You can consider yourself being under probation." Umbridge had had enough.
"Just who are you?" she sneered. The girl met her stare without blinking.
"You may think of me," she said with a voice as friendly as icicles, "as the School Inspector. And it's time for the final revision."
And suddenly, Umbridge felt less certain of herself.