Dolores Umbridge sat behind her desk with a scowl on her face. A pile of files almost reaching the ceiling loomed ahead of her. Dust coated everything she wore, including the ridiculous bow that she had perched in her hair. When the sounds of Hermione's shoes clicking into the room reached her ears, she tried unsuccessfully to remove the expression. The woman might hate the younger, but she wasn't foolish enough to be openly hostile to her either. That was how wretches like her ended up in Level Eleven with a false report filed claiming they'd been critical of the regime.