Tracey's lover looked up startled. The man who'd spoken to them earlier was shouting to them from the distance. "Yeah! It's you I'm fucking talking to.... And your fucking dyke friend, as well. C'mere!"The two girls stood up, and looked at him and his colleagues who were standing idly around a coffee machine. "That's it, dearies. This way!" The girls hungrily demolished the last crumbs of the bread, which disintegrated into a choking mulch in their mouths, only digestible thanks to the liquid. " Maybe she keeps it in her rooms in the teacher's quarters," said Ron."I hope not," said Harry. "None of us can go in there. Besides, I don't think for a minute that Umbridge keeps her locket anywhere than other on her own person." I think you're right, Harry," said Hermione. "You can always see that she's wearing a gold chain, but whatever is on the chain is always under her jacket or a sweater. It could be just a necklace, but a safer bet is that it's the locket Horcrux."But how are we going. This chick was a textbook bombshell. Her name was Ms. Amara. She was young, with long blonde hair, pretty face, light olive skin, perky breasts, round ass, thin waist. Ms. Amara had an hourglass figure that could clearly be seen in every dress she wore. As a teacher she didn’t show off much skin but it was obvious she had a killer body. I glanced at the clock above the door. Only a minute had passed. My stomach growled. Luckily, Ms. Amara was still talking about derivatives or whatever the hell. “Hey! I was listening to that.”“Not if you’re going to investigate my personal life with it.”“Damn. You sure are sensitive to every little thing.”“People are very sensitive when it comes to their personal lives. And in many cases you’ll find that poetry can be an intimate exploration of a person’s life, say, a failed relationship, or a death in the family, or even a new romance.”“Who’s your favorite poet by the way? I never got around to asking you that.”“I’d say Sylvia Plath.”“I’ve heard of.