Hurried footsteps came from the Entrance Hall.
Low-heeled leather shoes struck the flagstones with quick, firm taps.
Dolores Umbridge appeared in the doorway of the Great Hall.
She looked worse than she had a few days earlier.
Verdigris-colored powder from a measuring instrument stained her pink sweater, and a tape measure she had forgotten to remove was still wound around her left wrist.
But her eyes were frighteningly bright.
She clutched a copy of the Daily Prophet she had just snatched from an owl's talons.
The newspaper was crumpled in her grip, the photograph of a smug Minister Fudge on its front page facing her palm.
Umbridge stood in the doorway, her chest heaving three times.
Her gaze swept from the student tables to the staff table, finally locking unerringly onto Douglas.
Douglas raised his glass of Pumpkin Juice to her.
He gave a slight nod.
His smile was so gentle it made one's teeth ache.
Umbridge bit hard into her lower lip.
She glanced down at the blue book in her arms-she had not put it down for a moment since that day.
"Standards for the Comprehensive Quality Management System of Magical Teaching Equipment and Facilities."
Now the book weighed several times more.
Because it was no longer merely a bargaining chip for power that she could choose to abandon.
It had become a road she had to follow to the end.
National examinations required facilities that met national standards.
Facilities meeting national standards required the Chief Acceptance Inspector's signature.
She was the Chief Acceptance Inspector.
She could not back down.
Backing down would be dereliction of duty.
She could not stop.
Stopping would mean obstructing national educational reform.
She could only keep carrying this fifteen-pound blue brick, measuring classroom after classroom, numbering piece after piece of equipment, and