A/N: Hello! Thanks for taking time out of your day to read my story! If you have another moment, please leave a review or send me a PM—I appreciate any and all feedback!
A/N 2: On a more official note, this story was written for round 4 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. As keeper for the Caerphilly Catapults, I was tasked with writing about the Umbridge family, so I chose to write about how Delores' parents (Orford and Ellen) first met. For judging purposes, the final word count of this story is 963.
A/N 3: I apologize for the weird spacing! I'm posting this from the app to try to get around a website glitch, and it's not letting me format properly. I'll come back to fix it once the judging is complete. To the judges: I'm sorry! Let me know if you'd rather I send you the original document.
Introductions
Orford Umbridge was rather fond of his custodial job with the Ministry, if he was being honest. Sure, some of his coworkers refused to acknowledge him, and his superiors looked straight through him when he walked into a room. The wages weren't great either, but he enjoyed it. He was currently mopping the floors of the Atrium, working his way toward the visitor's entrance. The northeastern quadrant of the Ministry of Magic headquarters had fallen under his purview three weeks earlier, and if you asked him, it had never looked better. Orford took another moment to scrub at the nearest corner of the tile beneath him before working his way to the phone booth above.
The abandoned box was adequately shabby—as it should be to serve its purpose—but as Orford wiped at the windows, he noticed a rather large pile of garbage just a couple of metersaway. It was a bit outside of the physical footprint of his job, but he ventured out to get it nonetheless. One wave of his wand, and it would be as if the trash was never there.
It was as he had expected, and within moments he hadturned back toward the booth. Not a moment later, however, a grip on his robe stopped him. His breath caught against his molars as he found himself face-to-face with a pair of bulging eyes.
"How did you do that?" The lips beneath the eyes said.
"I'm sorry?" Orford asked. He couldn't tell you exactly what about the situation had stunned him: the eyes in front of him or the fact that he had just been caught using magic in Muggle London.
"How did you get rid of that rubbish?" The voice was a bit squeaky, and Orford forced himself to pull his gaze away in order to fully see the person before him. It was a womanprobably only a bit younger than him—she had a tight, square face and was short enough that Orford had to bend his neck quite severely if he wanted to see below her neck. Her dress was stained along the collar, and her arms were a bit too long for evolution to have allowed.
"I don't know what you mean," he said after completing his assessment. She raised both of her brows at him and cleared her throat pointedly.
"I know you can't be as dumb as you look," she drawled, "so don't act like it."
Orford nearly choked at her sass. "Excuse me?"
"Or maybe you are," she added as if it were an afterthought.
"Who exactly do you think you are? I don't know what you're getting at, but you can't just go around London insulting people."
"I'm Ellen Cracknell," the woman smiled, "And I'm not insulting people, just a person. People implies more than one; do you see?"
"Well, Ellen," Orford stressed, "I don't know who you belong to, but you'd do well to get back to them."
Ellen drew a step closer and raised herself on her toes in an attempt to exert dominance. Orford couldn't hold back a chuckle at the pocket-sized fire before him.
"I don't belong to anyone," she spat, and before Orford knew it, she had reached out and grabbed the wand still clutched in the palm of his hand. She wasn't able to pull it from his grasp, but Orford's chuckle was long gone. She had a tight enough hold on it for the man to fear for her fingers. "Who are you anyway?"
"Let go," Orford breathed, trying to sound both stern and calming.
"I asked who you were."
Her grip tightened, if possible.
"My name is Orford—Orford Umbridge. Now, please, let go."
To Orford's surprise—and relief—Ellen loosened her hold on the wand, and he stuffed it into his robe pocket before the situation could escalate any further.
Ellen stared at him for a moment before rolling her eyes.
"What is that anyway? Your magical fairy wand?" Orford could swear Ellen's nose actually angled toward the sky as she let out a sneer. "Is that it? Are you some sort of fairy godfather?"
Orford huffed at the sudden malice in her eyes and took a step back.
"It really is best if you go."
Ellen's eyes softened and she took a soft step toward the man.
"Listen, Orford," she sighed, "You just made a rubbish pile disappear before my eyes. You're carrying around a wooden stick that you refuse to give up, and you're by far the silliest looking man I've ever laid eyes upon, with your pointed hat and the drapery that you wear as clothing. Now, you can either tell me what exactly you did to make that rubbish disappear, or I can scream for help loudly enough that my father shoves that stick so far up your arse that you can taste it. I'd really hate to go with the second option. Wouldn't you?"
Orford felt bile rise in his throat as Ellen let out a tiny giggle when she finished her tirade. He sucked in a deep breath and forced it out through his nose. Finally, he squared his shoulders and looked into the bulging eyes before him.
"I ate it, Miss Cracknell. I have a rather large appetite for apple cores and cigarette butts. Now if you don't mind, I have a call to make." Orford spun on his big toe, back toward the phone booth and—more importantly—away from the disgusting creature next to him. He could have sworn he heard another giggle.
"I'll figure it out eventually!" she called from behind him.
Orford just slammed the door behind him and sunk down to sit on his heels until she left.
Why did Muggles have to be so stupid?