DISCLAIMER: No character/magicky thing belongs to me.
The aroma of Chamomile gave off a hazy sort of feeling in her personal chambers; there was a lull to the constant and soft mewing sound given off by the kittens suspended by the pastel plates on which they were depicted to the walls. The chair on which Dolores sat was pink, reflecting its color into the spoonfuls of granulated sugar, reflecting over sweetness onto her house. The house itself was sinister, menacing, but disguised with orange puffballs and frills. Not terribly unlike its lone inhabitant, the face of a frog and voice too high and dripping with honey.
The kittens' song was joined with a rhythmic clanging of the spoon against a porcelain teacup, embellished with rosy flowers and golden stems. Looking down her nose, Dolores surveyed the intricate grandeur of the place. The room bore, along with several chairs upholstered with thick pink velvet around mossy-textured cushions, many handsomely carved cabinets surrounding her desk. The pens on her desk were straightened and space evenly, parallel to the thin, unwrinkled parchment describing her upcoming assignments from the Ministry.
Dolores lifted herself without effort, her legs as straight and stiff as her spine, and moved toward the doorway into the next room. Making a slow motion beeline to her wardrobe, she was prepared to snap it open. She was feeling high and mighty now that she knew she'd be travelling to work at Hogwarts in a matter of days, given full powers of McGonagall. Just less than Dumbledore, and at any time, she'd become Headmistress. Headmistress Umbridge. Such a ring to it, no?
She needed her formal robes, for court that evening, for the case of a young Mr. Potter. To herself, she gave a soft "hem-hem" and opened the door, immediately falling onto her derriere, jumper mussed and askew. Her wand was nowhere within her range of vision, but something else was far more distracting.
Before her was a, well, boggart. It took no precise form, but instead it began as her belief of what Voldemort looked like, immediately shifting into an immense arachnid.
Dolores groped around under the side table for her wand, feebly tugging it out from underneath and brandishing it at the venomous monster before her, losing its legs and elongating into a snake. She had no opportunity to destroy the serpent. It had morphed into her mother, a pureblood who had been certifiably eligible for a one way ticket to the fourth floor, for the damage done to her by a Death Eater who accused her of being less than loyal for not flaunting such a status. Being a public figure, however, Dolores' mother had never been admitted, merely hidden. Her mother's body grew into a skeletal oval, stinger curved over its back. The scorpion didn't remain as such for long, losing its metallic black color to bright pastels and face paint, a clown garb on an Inferius. Inferi, terrifying things they were. Dolores recalled seeing them on one occasion, a time when so many ministry officials were killed in battle that she was forced to leave her office, firelit, to a frozen wasteland crawling with reanimated corpses.
Dolores' lip trembled as she tried regaining her focus and turning the shapeshifter into what it was, ridiculous.
"Riddikulus!"
Not a strong enough shout, her voice losing its sweet and airy overtone. Hoarsely, she shouted at it again, this time at various severed body parts. The beast was now changing so quickly that it was nothing discernible, just a blur. The final yell reduced it to a silent howler that stuck out its tongue and tore itself up.
Dolores gave a deadpan gaze to the pile, brushing them into a separate cabinet to deal with later. She had a trial to attend, after all.
