Umbridge brings an eager intern to be "her eyes, ears, and most trusted confidante in regards to the safety of our future generations." Booted from the Auror program, Mathilda Morent is determined to make the strongest impression possible to get back to her old life, even if it means supporting corporal punishment.
A Mundane Intro.
In 1993, she thought her career over. It wasn't her fault, and most people knew this, it was just that she was new blood and that someone had to accept the consequences of being such. She understood this, yes? "Accountability Ms. Morent, the accountability to ensure the populace." Stripped of her position, she had been cast to the wolves of the Wizengamot as "punishment," then given the honorable duty of Court Scribe for her efforts in securing the perimeters after Sirius Black's escape. The escape that her team had allowed. If not for her character references, particularly from the Chief Warlock, and her outstanding merits, she very well may have been sitting in Black's empty cell.
At first it wasn't terrible. Set hours eight to six, same vacation benefits, less of a chance of death or severe maiming. She would sit in the court and record all happenings, send messages and other such general duties, even act as security had the accused misbehaved. She loved those days. It was easy to ignore the sneers of her contemporaries, knowing she had sacrificed her job for her team. It wasn't until she got her first pay stub that she questioned her contentment. She had worked for years, with top marks in school and magical merits that literally covered her former, beautiful office walls. Only to be paid 100 Galleons a week, starting.
She sometimes thought she would have preferred Azkaban. Mathilda hated the Archives most of all. Scribes were expected to comb through the most mundane cases, sometimes by hand, to gather the most minute information. Hours of searching to appease the warlocks. She had attempted to organize the chaos by year, relevance, and persons associated, only to be berated by the Head of Scribes to leave it be, that the Wizengamot is older than the Ministry itself. Their filing system is as fine as it's ever been.
She wanted to set it on fire. She didn't want to care about such an inane job or to work for such a useless git, but Merlin help her, was she an overachiever. There were days when she didn't have to go to court, and she was forced to read prior, settled cases to proof other scribes' (including her manager's) work. Incompetent individuals with no thoughts beyond making connections and lunch, "Have you eaten? I'm thinking we have the elves bring up some Chinese or Hungarian." After these sessions and with tired eyes, it would seem that she only saw black and white. The world was devoid of color and mirth and littered with flashing spots that she should really talk to someone at St. Mungo's about.
For one year she had endured her duties without psychological or medical help. Mr. Crane had been fired for harboring Dark Artifacts. She was finally given a promotion and his (very small, cramped) office for her "good sport." Whiskey helped to drown her sorrows, especially in the wake of her new found responsibility of sorting through new recruits with stupid questions. Her pensieve was another reprieve, often used after the whiskey. It helped to remind her that, just maybe, this situation wasn't entirely her fault. She saw what she saw and reported it accordingly to her superiors without hysterics or dramatics. There was a dog, swimming in the sea, and they could believe it if they just chose to see it. She complied with the Minister's wishes and kept her nose clean, mouth shut, and head down. Nothing to be ashamed of here, just working it all out.
Then out of the blue, Black had managed to be caught on Hogwarts' grounds, only to escape again hours later. For a while she was in a whirlwind of court proceedings and mountains of paperwork, in the center of it all but at least she wasn't the focus of attention. She worked most nights and began barking orders at the other scribes to keep everything in hand. Nothing was to go to the Sorting Room or Archives until he was caught or the Hogwarts inquiry was over. New "evidence" and testimonies came everyday from a multitude of sources and if one scrap of parchment went missing, well, she would make sure that whoever was so absent minded would remain so. There weren't many questions after that.
Most of the witnesses were her old professors, while the hundred others were from Hogsmeade and the outlying villages. None of their accounts matched up. Some of the Wizengamot had dropped by her office to peruse the paperwork for themselves, eager to be rid of the investigation.
After one particularly lengthy day (the court called into question the magical creature procedures and presence of a hipogriff at the school for the umpteenth time) Mathilda had been sitting at her desk, sipping "tea" and sending mailers out, when she was interrupted by her new assistant Merida.
"It's the Chief to see you." Not unusual, he often asked favors to send letters and reminders to other members of the court. Dumbledore was smiling, a rather stark contrast to her former Potions Master hovering just outside of her door, clearly fuming with arms crossed and brows furrowed. Mathilda had almost sympathized with him. He was forced to confront the Wizengamot for his failures to keep Black in the castle. Snape had been in Court for the past two weeks, questioned by almost every member for his inadequacies. She had watched his usual scowl turn into something darker, frightening even.
At least he hadn't been there for as long as her trial, now that was true madness. Two months of inquiries and searches into her home, digging into her families' lives. She would almost feel sorry for him, had he not given the Prefect position to Petra Colbat during fifth year. Or an 'acceptable' on her Draught of the Living Death in sixth year. Or if he wasn't such a git in the first place.
"Ms. Morent, it is good to see you outside the Scribe's box, might I trouble you perhaps, for a copy of today's transcripts? More specifically, Severus Snape's inquiry?" He looked over his shoulder and nodded. "I could refer back to his testimony should the need arise and would like to dismiss his presence altogether. I believe that the good professor's time should no longer be wasted with such repetitive questioning, wouldn't you say Severus?"
"Excuse me," he said curtly, with as much ice as the Arctic. He sharply turned down the hallway, Merida following and closing the door behind his billowing cloak.
"It's been a trying day." Dumbledore said, still smiling and pleasant as always before taking a seat at his leisure. His spectacles glimmered under her candlelight.
"I see that," she shuffled through the long, heavy scroll and transcribioed his inquiry onto another, "that's all of it, need anyone else's? I've got libraries of this stuff."
"No, that will do. Thank you." He tucked it into his robes, smoothed them over and paused, seeming to consider his question before gazing into her eyes with such compassion she wanted to break down and sob into her paperwork. "I hope the change hasn't been too trying?" She chuckled and looked down, studying her spotted owl quill.
"I understand that the work can be quite menial, beneath you even in some manner, but I feel that it's not without it's rewards." Besides the copious amounts of pumpkin pasties in my desk? There were no other rewards likely. She sat up straight and eyed the Kitty Clock behind his head, too afraid to spill her secret contempt to the man that saved her ass. Stressful emotions were spilling to the surface and she forced her voice to recite her mantra.
"Everything is as it should be, and I'm very grateful that the Ministry and yourself have appointed me this wonderful opportunity to continue my career in Magical Law Enforcement," She choked, "No matter the position." She dared to look him in the eye, and the kindness she saw there stung. He was the first person to ask how she was and truly meant to listen. She told him the truth.
"It's awful Chief, just bloody awful." He sighed. " Wait, I don't mean to say that I'm ungrateful or anything, I mean to say that, I'm... not unhappy. I promise, I would much rather be here than Azkaban or banned from this altogether...sometimes." She got frazzled, continuing her rambling and trying to save face. "I mean, I'm making decent galleons, I don't have to wake up wondering if this was the day that some Dark wizard kills me, and I-" He raised his hand to stop her before she could cry harder.
"It's quite alright Mathilda, it is a rather dull job. I am sorry I couldn't fit you into something more suited to your expertise." He grabbed her hand lightly, and made sure she looked at him. "However, I've talked to Cornelius just today, we've both agreed that you are wasted on such trivial work."
No...
"He'll be taking your position into consideration." He produced a letter addressed to the Minister, still open for her to read. She forced herself to breath, able only to say,
"Th-thank you." My Merlin, I'm a mess. And so damn ungrateful.
"I spoke of your exceptional bravery, the history you've overcome, the quality of your work, that the Wizengamot couldn't possibly continue to hold the blame for Black's escape on you, etcetera, etcetera."
The letterhead was perfect, in emerald ink and so official. It smelled like lemons and new parchment.
"Especially after these new circumstances, if your former potions master could be excused, so can someone who gave up so much of her life to take the fall for another's mistake." Her hands shook, she could practically see her office again. Bright, full of organized, useful books. The chance to go on patrols and feel free again.
She couldn't breathe. It was a simple cut and dry letter but a recommendation from Dumbledore, to the very top of the chain no less, was application gold. She held it firmly to her chest.
"I do hope to see you again soon, preferably in your former office, this one..."He scanned her office, "seems to make you look peaky." She choked, two tears leaking from her sad, brown eyes.
"I also can not entirely promise you full reinstatement, at least not right away, but I've always found it good to hope for the best." She hadn't noticed he was already at the door, her eyes paralyzed on the piece of parchment. "Do remember, happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if only one remembers to turn on the light" She couldn't tell how he did it, but there seemed to be more light radiating from her lanterns at his exit.
What the actual fuck?
She shot up from her chair, wiped her tears with a plaid handkerchief, and tore through the scrolls stacked against her back wall, revealing the portrait of a large, white kitten with a pink bow. She only knew that the kitten, along with the muggle looking Kitty Clock, had been there since before Mr. Crane, and any such attempt to pry it off the wall would result in feverish scratches. She had found a purpose for it after finding it's password scrawled under her desk.
"Mew?" It licked it's paws.
"Blue Danube," it gave another mew and opened. The small crawl space where she kept her Firewhiskey also held her investigation from Azkaban and an application for reassignment. She had drunkenly filled it out after Mr. Crane had been fired, hoping that one day, 'today' she thought giddily, she'd never step foot into the other half of Level 2.
She sent it off, pouring her whiskey in her tea cup as she watched it fly away. Unaware that the kitten had disappeared from it's frame.