Rosalie Declares War

Draco

Draco was not surprised when Umbridge immediately tried to undo it all. She stood up and announced, "Everyone, please remain calm. We will return you to your houses shortly if you have been moved. There will be no resortings and there most certainly will be no Heads-in-Training."

He didn't really blame her. It made sense, from a Slytherin perspective, to attempt to regain power and to refuse to share it with four teenagers. However, no one really respected her, and they were all too tired and shocked to think.

Umbridge continued. "You may all begin to eat while the adults sort this out." She clapped her hands twice, the way that Dumbledore usually did to have the food appear, but nothing happened. So she cast her glare down the table, to where Dumbledore sat in thought. He seemed in no hurry to move.

Professor Flitwick, the Head of Ravenclaw, was the only Head of House who did not look absolutely destroyed by what had just occurred. Professor Snape looked downright depressed, Professor McGonagall's eyes were still red, and Professor Sprout happened to be looking at him and looking like she might be sick.

The other Hufflepuffs had scooted away to leave Draco utterly alone at the end of the table. And that was when the situation began to sink in. He was supposed to gain their trust and also protect them from Umbridge and probably the Dark Lord and anything else… and his parents were on the other side.

A feeling like ice began to chill his hands.

Dumbledore decided it was time to stand up. "Fascinating," he said, as if Umbridge had said nothing at all. "Utterly fascinating. I had no idea at all that that would happen. But as I thought about each person's new placement, I have to say, that this makes sense. Many of you, for example, were only placed in Slytherin because of your loyalties to parents who would expect nothing else! I must say… historically, Slytherins have never been good followers. Ambitious people tend to want to be at the forefront of things. In charge of everything. And many of you were only kept from Slytherin because conditions in that house were not favourable to your origins. I am glad that the problem was remedied."

"Dumbledore," Umbridge began, but Professor Dumbledore held up a hand for a pause.

"We will now begin the feast. Please, dig in." He clapped his hands twice and food filled the empty dishes on the tables.

Dumbledore put a hand to McGonagall's shoulder and pointed to the side door. He gestured to Professors Flitwick, Snape, and Sprout as well. Though not invited, Umbridge followed swiftly. The other professors stayed put, keeping watch over the hall.

Draco turned and spotted Rosalie on the Ravenclaw table, making friends already. She was good at that. She'd done the same thing with them. He glanced at the first years, who were closest to him, and cleared his throat. "Hi," he said, quite lamely. "Where's the common room?"

Six eleven-year-olds exchanged looks. "By the kitchens," they said.

Draco paused. "Where are the kitchens?" he asked.

One of them cracked a smile. It was the first sign of a wall coming down. "We'll show you," he promised.

The side door opened and all six teachers reemerged. Judging by the malicious look on Umbridge's face, Draco could assume the conversation had not gone well for her. He kept his eyes on his plate and focused on eating.

None of the fifth-year boys in Hufflepuff knew how to treat him. By the time they'd returned from the feast, all of his things had been moved from Slytherin to Hufflepuff and he was put up in the place that Zacharias Smith had been in. Some of his Slytherin Memorabilia, like a pillow and a scarf he'd purchased, were out on display on his bed in the same positions he'd left them down in the Slytherin Dorms. Draco stared at them, but didn't move to hide them.

It was Ernie Macmillan who spoke first. "So, you can give House Points now?" he asked.

Draco shrugged. "Dunno. Haven't tried."

"Could you give, like, a million points to Hufflepuff?"

Draco thought about it. "I think the other four would just also add a million points."

"But you can take theirs away!"

"So can they."

Ernie went quiet for a moment, but Draco wasn't stupid enough to think that it would last. Sure enough, Ernie soon asked, "So, what does a Head-in-Training do?"

"No idea."

This seemed to shock them. Draco could see why – they must think that he had been pre-warned. But in reality, this hadn't come with an instruction book. Or even a warning. He found his pyjamas – his muggle ones with the soft material – and made to head towards the bathroom to change.

"Can you do that glowing thing Harry did?" Ernie asked.

"I can't do it but it happened for half a second, yeah."

"What is it?"

"No idea."

"Is that why you and Harry and Hermione have been hanging out?"

"Leave me alone." Draco paused and turned. He leaned against the door and looked at the floor. "Look," he said. "I… don't know. I wasn't expecting what happened tonight. Granger and Potter… we knew something weird was going on. We had… suspicions that some people were in the wrong house. But it all blew up tonight." He shook his head. "I'm going to get ready for bed. If I get more information… I don't know. Yeah, I don't know."

No further questions came, so he shut the door to change.

By sheer luck, Draco ran into Hermione the next morning on his way to breakfast. She… didn't look rested. She sized him up and he gave her a once over – missing kerchief and tie, hair more gnarled than usual, and… the hem of her robes was torn. "Rough first night?" Draco asked.

"Send me back to Gryffindor," Hermione muttered. "Half the Slytherins refuse to bunk down with the Muggleborns. We finally hauled their mattresses out of the dorms at half-past-one… Pansy wouldn't go to Ravenclaw and she set me on fire." She showed Draco the hem he'd noticed and he realised that part of it was torn and part of it was smouldered. She must have ripped the burning bit off.

"What'd you do to her?" Draco asked.

"Professor Flitwick took her," Hermione sighed. "But I can't take house points off… she doesn't care if Ravenclaw loses points and I can't punish Slytherin… they all hate me already."

Draco shrugged. "Can't say I'm surprised. It's probably for the best that the Muggleborns sleep outside for a while."

Hermione snarled and dug in her robes. "First of all, Malfoy, the Muggleborns aren't sleeping outside."

Draco blinked. "They aren't? I thought you said-"

"The purebloods are sleeping outside," Hermione finished. "And second…" She withdrew a roll of parchment and smacked him over the head with it. "You're a prick. The Muggleborns shouldn't sleep outside just because the purebloods are stingy!"

Draco wasn't harmed – it was just a roll of parchment – but he did sputter. "Well, the purebloods are having their space invaded. No offence, Hermione."

"We're all having our space invaded," Hermione replied flatly. "And Dumbledore has changed the Slytherin password twice because Snape won't! I spent two hours charming the Muggleborn's beds so that they wouldn't be dragged out or hexed or had their hair cut in their sleep…" She groaned. "Tell me you had a better first night!"

Draco shrugged. "Lots of roommates," he said. He, Crabbe, and Goyle had transferred in where only Smith had left. So there were six boys in the dorm now. "I slept."

Hermione scowled.

They made their way to the Great Hall slowly. Draco didn't expect to run into Rosalie or Harry the same way. Hufflepuff and Slytherin were closer in proximity to each other whereas the other two hours had their own tower.

In front of the Great Hall, Filch was hanging new Educational Decrees. Draco paused to read them as Filch teetered back and forth on the flimsy metal contraption. He read, "Staff are now permitted to punish students by any means they deem necessary."

"That's not good," he muttered.

Hermione was nodding along. "Wish we could get rid of it," she muttered.

"That's a lawsuit waiting to happen," a voice said from Hermione's other side. Draco glanced over – it was a black-haired witch with tan skin and professional robes, such as what was worn at the ministry. And she spoke with an Australian accent.

"Who are you?" Draco asked.

The witch gave him an unimpressed look and stepped forward. "Excuse me, are you Mr. Filch?" she asked.

Filch peered down. "Who's asking?" he called.

"Audrey Heyburn, Ministry of Magic," the witch called, and Hermione made a disbelieving sound. "Replying to Professor Umbridge's owl last night."

Blind panic seized Draco. If the ministry knew, then Hogwarts charm must not have worked. And his father would know soon, if not already. His life would be over. Surely, Umbridge would have them jailed.

Hermione met Draco's eyes in disbelief. She shared none of the panic Draco felt.

Up on his ladder, Filch was saying, "Nobody would have thought of throwing Fanged Frisbees down the corridors if I could've strung you by the ankles in my office, would they, Audrey? When Educational Decree Twenty-nine comes in, I'll be allowed to do them things."

For a moment, Draco didn't care. Snape would never allow such things to happen to his Slytherins.

Then, he realised he wasn't a Slytherin anymore, and felt fear chill his fingers.

"Fascinating. Right. Thank you, Mr. Filch. I'll show myself to Professor Umbridge's office."

Audrey wandered away and Hermione seized Draco's arm and hauled him after her. When they were a safe distance away, Hermione said, "Rosalie!"

Audrey turned, pursing her lips. "Hi," she said.

"You look like a completely different person!" Hermione whispered. "What are you doing, impersonating a ministry employee?"

"How did you do this look?" Draco asked. Now that he was examining her, he could see her cheekbones and nose and chin were the same. But her eyes were a different colour and the Australian accent was jarring.

"I'm good at glamour charms. For educational purposes," Rosalie explained. "Sometimes people won't talk to me, but they'll talk to-"

"Audrey Hepburn?"

"I changed her last name for this disguise."

"I noticed."

Draco looked in between the two. "Who's Audrey Hebburn?"

Rosalie exhaled. "Someone famous in cinema," she said, a little cooly.

"You're still mad at me?" Draco asked.

"Pretty mad, yeah," Rosalie said. "I was up all night learning about this farce of purebloodedness in Europe-"

"Farce?"

"And couldn't find any evidence to back it up," Rosalie finished. "And if I can't find anything after nine hours, it doesn't exist."

"Rosalie, they don't fit in here," Draco said. "Do you know how much they struggle when they arrive? Our world – the world you and I belong to – is so much bigger than theirs."

"Cock and bull, Draco," Rosalie replied. "Remind me again," she put a finger to his chest. "Who made it to space? Who can communicate with anyone in the world? Who has more clothing options? More work options? Seriously Draco, tell me. Who's got the bigger world, and who's stuck in their blonde head in the middle of the Scottish Highlands?"

"Well," Draco put his hands up for a moment. "What am I supposed to do? My whole family is like this!"

Rosalie stared at him like the answer was obvious. "You need to be the first to grow a brain, apparently. This is all very logical to me."

"You can't make me change!" Draco protested.

"And you can't make me stupid," Rosalie replied. "So maybe we ought to just be friends, then."

Something dragged along the corridor behind them. "Got sum mail 'ere!" the voice of the gameskeeper echoed. "It 'it's the barrier o' 'Ogwarts and falls off the owls!"

Hermione had kept quiet through Draco and Rosalie's spat but fidgeted now. "Erm," she said. "Do you reckon we should…"

"Yeah," Rosalie sighed. "Just… give us a moment."

Another hesitation, and Hermione hurried away. Draco stared at Rosalie's familiar yet unfamiliar face. "Are you really going to break up with me over this?" he asked once he was sure Granger had put enough distance between them.

"Yes," Rosalie replied. "It's… illogical. And I care about Harry and Hermione and… I like Muggles. They're clever. So if you support pureblood ideology, then I don't want to date you anymore." She rubbed her hands all over her face. The tan rubbed off and he glimpsed her normal skin tone underneath. "I can't do something that stupid; it's not in my blood!"

Draco had a moment of clarity where he could see her point. She was a Ravenclaw. He had no evidence. And he may have been a lot more patient on the idea than he had been last September, but he hadn't changed his mind yet. "I can't wrap my head around this all in a day," he said.

Rosalie nodded. "Fair," she said.

Draco huffed. "Listen, Rosalie, I hated Granger with a burning passion until October. I didn't even want to be in the same room as her. I only goaded her into starting that study group because my father threatened to take my broom if I came after her again this year, and I thought I could figure out how she did so well and get a leg up. Because she's a Muggleborn and yeah." He put his hands into the pocket of his robes and scuffed the sole of his shoe on the floor.

When he looked up, Rosalie was shaking her head at him somewhat fondly. His stomach twisted in his gut. "You're such a vain creature," she said. Not a compliment, but she seemed to like him anyway.

"I can't accept this all in a day," Draco said. "I need time. But… I like you. And so… I guess I can look into it and… if you will…

"I can be patient with you," Rosalie said, "So long as you're making a real effort, and you take criticism well."

This was as good as he was going to get, he could tell. "Fine," he agreed. "So… are we broken up still?"

The corner of her mouth went up a centimeter. "We can stay together for now," she said. "But I meant it, Draco." She looked down at her robes, then touched her pockets. "I think I left my wand in my school robes. I'm going to run up and cancel these charms. I'll catch up with you later."

Draco nodded. He knew he should go grab breakfast, but Madam Pince didn't allow food in the library and he was endeavoring to go do some research of his own.

Rosalie kissed his cheek after a pause and then continued on in the direction of the Ravenclaw Tower. Draco walked back towards the Great Hall. Hagrid and Hermione were gone, as was Filch. He looked up and saw the newly-hung Educational Decree. But… odd… it looked dark. He could read "Hogwarts Heads-in-Training are officially dismissed." For about five seconds, and then the glass grew darker. The paper turned black. And it could not be read anymore.

"I wish the clubs one would do that too," Draco remarked to himself.

One the left, another Educational Decree went dark. He squinted and could just make out "student organisations" before the paper of that one shrivelled up too. Draco looked up at all the others. "And… the corporeal punishment one… and the transfer students… and the one about teachers not being able to speak to students… that ought to do for now." Each of the proclamations shrivelled in their frames.

Draco, before he could be caught, high-tailed it to the library.

A week passed. People rarely spoke to him. He wrote his parents, acting as if nothing at all had happened. As far as they knew, everything was normal.

Rosalie spent almost all her time in the Hogwarts library and Hermione would have been there with her if not for all the fires she was putting out in Slytherin. When she did make it up, the Muggleborn first and second years kept with her for safety, perking up further when Harry showed up for an impromptu Sunday Morning study session. Draco was there, still reading about the Pureblood question and becoming more and more dismayed. He was mad as a hornet and sad as Moaning Myrtle and as annoyed as a Peeves victim by the whole thing. There was no evidence to be found outside of the accounts of other pureblood wizards.

Rosalie had managed to figure out some way to get a fraction of her laptop screen to come to life. "Behold! She lives! But barely." Green bars flashed across the screen. Only a quarter inch of the screensaver, tinted bright blue, was visible.

"Here's my working theory," Rosalie said to Hermione, looking on with interest. "Hogwarts has a communication issue. Something prevents any technology after 1801 working here. Why 1801, you ask? Well, I believe this has something to do with the English census beginning in that year. In that year, the Muggle government began to manage its citizens more effectively, and from that point on, Hogwarts stopped working with modern Muggle technology. The school doesn't like the interference. So I need to get it to not view this as interference."

They both went quiet and it was at that moment Harry appeared from the direction of the entrance, fuming to himself.

"Ron's driving me to the loony house," Harry said to the group without a hello, abandoning his bookbag by a shelf. "But like, he's dating Lavendar Brown now, and Hermione's not even in our house! So… what does he expect me to do?"

"I don't… care about your problems," Draco said after a moment of silence.

Rosalie snorted. "Compassion, much?"

"Draco's advice is what started this whole mess," Hermione said. She leaned over to Rosalie as if they were passing notes. "See, Harry was hung up over this girl named…"

"Why is Weasley driving you to the loony house?" Draco asked, to spare his ears the girl's conversation, "And… how much longer is he going to take?"

Harry sighed. "Ron's mad I'm dating Hermione. And he's mad Hermione's not in our house anymore – somehow that's my fault. And he's mad that I'm whatever we are now, because he just got made prefect and… I dunno… thinks I outrank him now."

"You do outrank him."

"Not the point. He's mad at me. Oh! And he's also mad because Umbridge has been just… ugh to our class."

"Did you get stuck writing lines again?" Draco asked.

Harry frowned. "Not yet. But ever since she couldn't get everything undone and couldn't talk to Fudge about the resorting or the heads thing… did I tell you about that?"

Draco's skin felt icy. "She did talk to him, or she couldn't?"

"I didn't tell you," Harry realised. "Umbridge tried to talk to Fudge. And couldn't get a word out. Her Educational Decrees keep turning black, even when she hands them out on paper, and no one has been able to say anything to anyone about our new assignments."

This was a relief. Draco was still high-strung about what his father would say when he heard. But for now… he seemed safe. No one could say anything to anyone who didn't know. It was a ferociously powerful charm.

"Course, it's only a matter of time before she nabs me for detention again," Harry muttered. "She's been a bear this week."

"I'm hungry," Hermione announced, having apparently finished her story to Rosalie on the other side of the table. "Breakfast, anyone?"

"Professor Umbridge put in a decree that we can't sit together," Harry said, glumly. "Or, at least, she told our Gryffindor class that she was."

"Maybe that one will black itself out as well?" Rosalie suggested.

"Yeah, maybe," Draco said.

Hermione squinted at him. Maybe it was the tone of voice he had. Or a look in his eye. But she frowned and asked, "Do you know anything about that, Draco?"

"Maybe."

"Mate, she thinks it's me!" Harry complained. "You really are good at flying under the radar. Prat."

Draco waited while they packed up their things, eyeing the Slytherins eavesdropping carefully. "None of you better say anything, or I'll sneak itching powder into your bedsheets. But I just suggest it out loud and it blacks them out."

"Fascinating," Rosalie mumbled. "The castle is listening to you."

"Well, I guess."

Draco hushed them up about the subject as they entered the hallways. He didn't trust their voices to not carry. He'd overheard so many of Potter and Granger's conversations over the years that way. He was still teaching Hermione about sound. He expected to be able to talk in the Great Hall, but as they approached, things were eerily quiet. He slowed his step and noticed that Rosalie was matching his stride with a similar frown, while Harry and Hermione plowed on ahead, engrossed in complaints about the house friction subsequent to the changes.

"Oi, mates!" Draco tried to call as softly as possible. "Hear that?"

They did not, apparently, hear that, and strode into the Great Hall without realising Draco had been trying to talk to them. It was full, but the majority of students seemed to be grouped in very, very large bunches, reading over each other's shoulders.

Professor Umbridge was steaming down the main aisle towards them. Draco could almost feel the ground rumbling as he hung back in the doorway, Rosalie beside him. The little Slytherins crowded behind them in a bunch, as if two older students could reasonably fight off a professor. Though, Harry's record was apparently four for four… had he actually fought Barty Crouch last year?

"Mr. Potter," Professor Umbridge snarled, face bright puce, hands shaking as she held aloft a glossy magazine. "What, exactly, is this?"

It was the Quibbler. Emblazoned on the front was a glossy full-page picture of Harry, scar half-hidden behind his hair line, hair sticking up every which way on his head (seriously, did he even know how to do his hair?), and staring at the camera quite determinedly.

With a glance around the room, Draco could see quite clearly that the percentage of the student body who received the Quibbler was more or less what he had expected – nine or ten students seemed to have their own copy. But at the Ravenclaw table, Luna Lovegood was selling copies along with scented bookmarks for a few sickles each and seemed to be doing quite well for herself. She had a line.

"Oh, wow," Harry said, stepping up and examining the cover. "Yes, of course Professor Umbridge. I can explain."

"Can you?" Smoke was essentially billowing out of her ears.

"Yes. You see, this is my face."

Professor Umbridge threw the copy of the Quibbler into Potter's said face. "I'm well aware! And what, per say, is it doing on the front page of the Quibbler?"

Rosalie began to mutter beside Draco. "She can't throw things at him! That's got to be illegal!" Draco made a face at her. Point she may have but did she expect Umbridge would back down?

"Well, I assume the editor decided to put it there," Harry continued. "Though I'm not familiar with the workings of papers, you see. The Daily Prophet never asked me my opinion of myself… aside from the tournament last year."

"And what is this rubbish you've said in the magazine itself?" Umbridge demanded, voice rising nearly to a yell.

"Oh," Harry said. "My interview."

"Your what?" Rosalie asked.

"An interview?" repeated Umbridge, her voice thinner and higher than ever. "What do you mean?"

"I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them," said Harry. "Here —" And he threw the copy of The Quibbler back toward her. She caught it and clenched it with shaking fists. Her pale, doughy face turned an ugly, patchy violet.

"When did you do this?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"Last Hogsmeade weekend," said Harry.

She looked up at him, incandescent with rage, the magazine shaking in her stubby fingers. "There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr. Potter," she whispered. "How you dare . . . how you could . . ." She took a deep breath. "I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions."

Harry sighed and shrugged and Draco could hear him saying, "I told you so," already in his head. Merlin, he was annoyingly predictable sometimes. Stupid Gryffindors, always rushing in and-

"But Professor," Rosalie said, four meters ahead of him. Somehow, she'd moved, and he'd not noticed. "Did you previously warn Mr. Potter to not engage in any interviews?"

Stupid Ravenclaws, always… oh bugger it all. He felt his feet moving forward. Not Hufflepuff energy at all, he reminded himself. He was just moving up to catch the drama… see if there was anything he could do to elevate himself. Not standing by in case his friends needed him.

"This is about lying, Ms. Wingate-Rowan, now please mind your own business."

Rosalie's nostrils flared. "My name is Spinks. Rosalie Spinks, Professor. Can you prove that Harry is lying? It seems illogical to heavy-hand someone whose opinions are different than yours… though I suppose it is the common trend of the world at the moment."

Draco watched, alarmed, as Rosalie's hands seemed to take on a dim, hazy blue light. This was bound to become a scene. Hermione had apparently deduced the same thing. She had a look of expectant anxiety on her face. Like after year-end exams, when she was waiting to see if she'd gotten 102% or 105% right.

Rosalie and Umbridge continued growing more irate with each other.

"I repeat, this is about-"

"This is so illogical!"

"It's very simple and-"

"Professor Umbridge, I am wrong sometimes. Once in a blue moon," Rosalie said. A blue glow began to form around her ears. "But you must realise that I am not wrong nearly as often as you'd be inclined to think I am. Perhaps it's time you realise I was assigned Head-in-Training of Ravenclaw House for a reason."

"Head-in-Training is not a real title, Ms. Spinks. Per educational decree thirty-two-"

"The one that won't hang and can't be printed?" Rosalie finally crossed her arms. "I suppose it is just writing lines…" she muttered. "But I don't see what right you have to police personal political views, Professor."

Try saying that five times fast, Draco thought. Her tongue had always been sharp – Draco knew because he'd been on the receiving end of it in multiple forms. But this almost seemed like five Rosalies were speaking all at the same time. Students quieted down on the next table over to stare.

"I'm the High Inquisitor at Hogwarts, Ms. Spinks," Umbridge said firmly. "It is my job to bring your education up to par."

"Do you really think you can teach me anything?" Rosalie asked. The curiosity was legitimate and innocent enough, but Draco could have smacked his forehead. Umbridge's nostrils flared.

"Detention, Ms. Spinks. I believe I can teach you some manners!"

"Plus," Rosalie said, ignoring her, "I've been examining test scores and teacher reviews on file with the ministry and, based on peer evaluations, it seems that the education has been degrading this year."

"That's… something we can agree on… why have you-"

"Because of you, Professor Umbridge."

Rosalie was lit up blue all over now. She looked like a lightbulb. People had abandoned the Quibbler and were examining her across the tables, pointing.

"Pardon?" Umbridge said, too busy examining the colour to pay attention to the dialogue.

"Your class seems to be the third or fourth most incompetent as of your quarterly reviews," Rosalie said. "Which I did look at… not for any important legal reason, but just to know what I was getting myself into. I think you'd be better off suited to History of Magic. Much more your style and…" Rosalie suddenly trailed off. "Wait a moment, you said Harry was to write lines, correct?"

A storm seemed to be brewing. A brainstorm, at the very least. Even Umbridge could sense it – she withdrew her wand from her pocket. Harry, upon seeing this, withdrew his, and Draco felt an immense pressure to put his wand in his hand as well to show solidarity. He fingered the handle in his sleeve holster.

Rosalie put a finger out, thinking and her face twisting in horror. "You told Harry the message about lying hadn't sunk in… he's got that funny scar on his hand… Professor Umbridge, have you been forcing students to carve the lines into their hand?"

Professor Umbridge, instead of answering, levelled her wand with Rosalie's nose. Harry raised his own and teachers at the Head Table leaped into action. Flitwick, McGonagall, and Sprout all jumped from their seats. McGonagall practically sprinted around the table. "Delores!" she called. "Mr. Potter!"

Draco finally took his wand out. Hermione did the same. Only Rosalie remained unarmed, though she stared down Umbridge's wand in shock and anger. "That… is illegal!" she said. "Illegal… and wrong… and illegal… stupid, really… you dare call yourself a professor?"

"Turn off this blue light, Ms. Spinks," Umbridge said, eyeing Harry's wand nastily. "Now."

Rosalie glanced at her arm for a moment, then at the people who had drawn wands in her support, then the students around the hall – including the professors running to her aide. "No," she said, calmly. "I knew I could get you thrown out, but this is beyond reasonable, Professor. I'm going to make you regret ever coming here."

"Last chance, Ms. Spinks."

"Blood quills have been illegal for two hundred years," Rosalie said. "You are in violation of the Children's Act of 1989, the Education Act of 2002, and the Safeguarding Vulnerable Groups Act of 2006. You are unfit to work with students." With every term she recited, the blue seemed to grow deeper around her. The spirit of Ravenclaw evidently adored these specific references.

"I'd like to see you try," Umbridge said. "Cornelius has given me-"

"Professor Umbridge, you don't understand," Rosalie said. "I declare war on you. You are unfit to work with students and I have determined to sue you in a court of law. This makes you ineligible to teach. Clear out your office, or I will pack it up and use it for evidence. Put another toe out of line, and I will make sure you never set another foot in these halls again."

For a moment, all was silent. Professor McGonagall reached them, panting. "Delores, what's going on-"

Then Professor Umbridge straightened her wand arm and blasted Rosalie right in the face.

The next chapter will be called Draco Declares War. I will post it early if I get five reviews. Otherwise, updates are on Tuesdays.

Review Prompt: In a word, how would you describe Rosalie?