Author's Note: This was written for the Mirror of Erised Challenge at the Harry Potter FanFiction Challenges forum. When I first got given the character, I found it very difficult. But as Dolores' story progressed, I found myself throughly enjoying it and now, I hope, I have an end product that doesn't seem too awful.
Being back brought many memories with it. Every corner that she turned she remembered something; dropping her books as people pushed past, tripping on robes that were too long for her, pretending not to hear as others sniggered. Dolores Jane Umbridge shook her head, wiping those meaningless thoughts from her mind. Being back at Hogwarts didn't mean anything. It was simply another job and she was simply there to preform it. Straightening the collar of her pink cardigan and patting her hair to ensure that each curl was still in place, Dolores continued to walk down the corridor.
Her heels clicked on the stone floors and she enjoyed the rhythmical sound that they made. What she did not enjoy was the reason for her being out in the corridor. Something was going on within the castle, something that was most definitely prohibited. Dolores herself had picked up on the scent and it reeked of high treason. Someone (and she had a pretty shrewd idea who) was organizing meetings of some kind, meetings of a group that had not been approved. Each night she would see students walking through the halls, heading back to their common rooms. This was perfectly normal and legal, but, Dolores thought, was it possible that they looked too normal? Like their smiles and mindless chatter were forced, like they were trying too hard to hide something. It was the Potter boy, it had to be. Him and his menace of a mentor, Albus Dumbledore. Dolores knew they were trouble. Cornelius had suspected as much and, though she had initially doubted, there could be no other interpretation now; they were planning to overthrow the Ministry. It was not to be borne. And so Dolores had made it her duty to catch them at it, to find the place where they were so maliciously plotting against all that was good and orderly. Each night she would leave her office and watch the little groups of teenagers, hoping that one day they might give themselves away. As yet, her quest had been fruitless.
She stopped in her path to vanish a little dust from a window sill. If there was one thing she couldn't stand it was mess. Mess was so unpredictable and unsafe. Order and cleanliness was so reliable and steady. That was why Dolores liked it so much; it gave her a sense of calm and a feeling of hope for the world. Giving a small smile of satisfaction at her handy work, she returned to pacing.
So far tonight had been like many other nights. The few students she had seen had all come from different directions and had so far been perfectly within their rights. Give or take a few scruffy uniforms, there was nothing that Dolores could give detentions for. While most teachers would take this a blessing, the High Inquisitor found that it unnerved her. Because she knew that something was up. The fact that she hadn't found out about it yet proved what a dangerous group she was dealing with.
Just as she was about to give up, Dolores heard a noise, like stone scraping against stone. Tottering on her heels, she rounded a corner and stopped, frozen. What looked like a wrought iron door was melting into the brickwork, a metal skeleton being consumed by sandstone. Dolores' eyes closed and she took in a sharp breath.
A little girl ran down the corridor. Her robes, black lined with green, were far too long and her stumpy little legs kept getting tangled. Her hair, mousey brown and straggly, hung just above her shoulders in an unattractive bob. Big, glassy eyes welled up with tears, two muddy brown pools against a pale background. Reaching a stubby hand up, she tried to wipe them. They had been teasing her again, the other children. She didn't know why they did it. All she knew was everything that she did was an invitation to be scorned and laughed at. Today was no different, once again finding herself running from her classmates. She tripped, sprawling across the cold floor. Oh, how she wished that the ground would open up and take her away. Beside her, she heard a noise that made her jump with fright. It was a loud grinding, accented with a slight tingle. Lifting her round face, she saw a door, a door that had not been there a few moments ago. The little girl got to her feet and, hearing raised voices from somewhere down the hall, she pushed against the twisting, intricate pattern and stepped through.
The sight that greeted her took her breath away. There were piles of just about everything; books, old furniture, statues, paintings, strange and wonderful objects with a purpose that wasn't immediately clear. They formed great mountains and the girl felt as though she had stepped into a deep valley. Though not particularly brave, she was curious and soon found herself walking around, closely examining each object. With a small gasp, she quickly hid herself behind a crumbling stone gargoyle. Was that another person she had just seen walking past? Her murky eyes peered out from the shadows and she saw a mirror.
The mirror was full length, taller than the girl. Its glass was foggy, as though someone had breathed on it only moments before. Its frame was somewhere between gold and bronze, the two colours mixing in spots were it had begun to rust. Around the outside were many curious words that didn't seem to make any sense at all. The girl stepped out and cautiously started towards it. Running a chubby finger over the engravings, she positioned herself in front of the mirror and just managed to bring herself to look.
What she saw was not the ugly, small, dumpy, little girl that she normally saw in such circumstances. In the place of that sad little creature, stood a woman. She was slender and tall, her body curving into an hourglass shape with an almost non-existent waist. Her arms were long and lithe, branching off into delicate hands with thin, piano-player's fingers. Her face was heart shaped, definite cheek bones supporting warm, deep, dark eyes above ruby red lips. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, a curly cascade of shiny chestnut. Her clothing was simple; a floor length gown with a round neck, coloured in a subtle shade of pink. This woman radiated confidence and elegance. You only had to look at her to tell that she was adored. Around her, many people stood smiling, clearly besotted by this beauty who was so much more than they were.
The room behind the woman was almost an exact replica of the one that the little girl stood in. Only, this room was structured and orderly; all the statues were bright and new, each painting was categorized in a straight, neat row, the books stood on their shelves like soldiers in a colour-coded regiment. The tidiness shone out, a testament to this woman's ability, as if to say, "look what I can achieve."
The little girl looked around her. What was this magic? What kind of trick was presenting this wonderful thing? It was when she was turned her head for a second time that she noticed; the woman in the mirror was moving at the same time as she was. The girl raised a chubby arm, the woman lifted a willowy one. The girl blinked a dirty eye, the woman's dark eyelashes closed together. The girl gave an awkward attempt at a smile, the woman beamed and glowed like a pageant queen. Both stood for a while, their heads bent slightly as if trying to work out what to do. It took some thought, but soon the little girl was looking up at the woman with adoration. This mirror was showing the future, it had to be! It was proof that one day she would be beautiful and powerful. Everyone would love her, "because," the little girl thought with conviction, "no one can hate you if you are beautiful." Imagine the looks on the other children's faces if they could see what she saw. With a smile on her plump face, the girl raced from the room, thinking about where she could buy a pink dress and vowing to straighten out her dorm room.
Dolores opened her eyes and began to breathe again. A sharp pain was jolting her stomach and she felt unpleasantly light headed. The burning sensation of crying, that had come to her so often as a child, started to take hold. She took a side step, positioning herself in front of a nearby window. The reflection that greeted her was a constant reminder of a sad reality; the mirror had lied. The figure that looked up with cold, teary eyes was small and dumpy, with a shape that could only be described as a blob. Her arms were disproportionately short in comparison to the rest of her, her fingers also lacking length and grace. Her hair was curly, but it sat in a frumpy, be it organized, pile on the top of her chubby head, too old and too young at the same time. The pink dress didn't look half as elegant as it had looked all those years ago; Coming just below the knees and teamed with a fluffy cardigan, her style was less ravishingly gorgeous and more lonely spinster aunt.
Straightening up her round shoulders, Dolores stood on an angle, pursing her lips sweetly, trying the pose that she had imagined as a small girl, when she still had the belief that the mirror's vision was more than just pretty pictures and sweet nothings. With a painful sigh and a feeling of wounded pride, she let her body fall back to its normal posture. For many years she put everything into what she had seen. At the time, fortune telling seemed the only explanation. But now she knew that couldn't be the case. For, if indeed the mirror spoke of what was to come, where was the staggering brunette? Where was this promised woman? And why was she still 'Plain Jane', dreaming of unmitigated order and subtle shades of pink.