Emily: Is it bad that I've already forgotten which chapter we are on? I had to go back and remind myself. Sorry this one's shorter than the others, guys. For the record, ZA and myself do not own Harry Potter or Black Butler.

Chapter 4: His Butler, "Taking Care of"

"Does anybody know what actually happened to Umbridge?" Hermione asked Ron and Harry while looking through an old Potions book. "I mean, we all know that she's gone, but is she in St. Mungo's, or-"

"Dead, Granger?" A horribly familiar voice drawled behind them. Harry looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing behind Hermione, with the biggest smirk on his face. "How could you, teachers' pet, think so horribly of the finest teacher this school has ever known?"

"The finest in doing nothing," Ron muttered underneath his breath, then said louder, "Leave her alone, Malfoy." Malfoy acted as though he had heard nothing.

"Well, Granger? Or should I say, Mud-"

"Don't even think about it," threatened Ron, drawing his wand.

"The last time you tried to curse me, Weasley, you were throwing up slugs for hours. Do I look like I am intimidated by a Weasley of all creatures?" Malfoy sneered. "Maybe I shouldn't waste my time around pathetic people like you." He strolled out of the library, laughing.

"That little ferret," fumed Ron.

The next morning came, and Ron, Hermione, and Harry were sitting in the Great Hall eating breakfast when the usual horde of owls came swooping in. Hedwig didn't have anything, as usual, for Harry, but she nibbled on his toast and gave him an affectionate nibble on his ear before taking off.

Hermione's Daily Prophet came in as well. She unfolded the newspaper and gasped.

"Oh my God, Ron, Harry- look!"

She thrust the front page in their faces. The title blazed MINISTRY WORKER MURDERED BY DAILY PROPHET REPORTER. On it was a rather gruesome picture.

Dolores Umbridge, in all her foulness, had been stabbed in both eyes and in the chest. This was not the work of a charm, but sheer physical force. Under Umbridge's gory corpse, another picture of a hand picking up a acid-green quill, its sharpened end coated in blood almost to the end of the feather. A silver butter knife was also similarly covered in blood.

"They think Rita Skeeter did it," said Hermione. "It's one of her Quick Quill quotes, and it looked like she was doing an interview. She's in Azkaban for now until they figure out if she really did it."

"Wow," breathed Ron. "She must have been really angry to go off on Umbridge like that. Mind you, I don't think it took much effort on Umbridge's part."

"Well, if she didn't do it, who did," asked Harry. "Because it sounds like you don't think she did it, Hermione."

"I don't. I think there's something more, and it has to do with that- that teacher!"

"That's a little far-fetched, Hermione," said Harry. "It's just a coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidences," snapped Hermione as she lept from the table to the library.

"Settle down," called Professor Michaelis. It was harder than normal to get them to be quiet. Everyone had seen the article about Umbridge's murder and wouldn't stop talking about it. They became so unfocused that a seventh year in McGonagall's Transfiguration class had accidentally switched his head onto the picture of Sir Cadogan, three or four floors away. How he had done that, no one knew. But he still managed to do it.

Another had banished Professor Flitwick all the way out the door and into the hallway, knocking him out cold. Yet another had turned Crabbe into an actual crab, although not a lot of people wanted to anything about that. So Crabbe was scuttling up and down the hallways for quite a long time before Snape put him back.

Professor Michaelis sighed and let them do what they wanted. Besides, he had his own problems to worry about, including how he was going to replace that silver butter knife…