AN: Prompts will be displayed at the bottom to avoid them potentially giving away things.
Off the Rails
AlwaysPadfoot
AGE SIX
The train wheels spun and clicked as William pushed it across the fading kitchen lino. He pressed his lips together and imitated the chugga-chugga-chug of a train engine before breaking it up with a long, loud whistle.
It was only him and Mummy at home, but she was in the garden talking to the old lady that lived next door. Daddy always came home late, long after his bedtime, and Dolores, his big sister, was at a music class Mummy had signed her up for. She always walked back alone and was angry that she'd been forced to go when she got home. William didn't have to go — he went to football instead.
He must have been playing for a long time because he jumped when the side door into the kitchen slammed open.
"I hate music," Dolores — also called Lorie — said. "I hate it and I hate Mum."
William loved Mummy very much so didn't say anything so as not to disagree with his sister.
"She's mean to us because she doesn't have magic like Daddy and me, and you soon, Will."
He frowned. "I haven't done any magic like you yet."
"You will," she insisted before pulling a sour face. "Imagine if you were a Squib."
He didn't know what that meant, but he suspected that it was a bad thing. Daddy and Lorie said magic was the best, and that people who didn't have magic, like Mummy, got jealous. William couldn't wait until his magic appeared.
He glanced down at the train in his hand.
"Do you want to play with me?" he asked hopefully — he was bored of playing alone.
Lorie sighed and then shook her head. "No, do you want to practice magic with me?"
"I want to stay and play with my trains."
His sister pulled a face and muttered something he couldn't hear before leaving the room. William thought nothing of it and went back to playing with his wooden train with cracked blue paint. He pushed it so the wheels clicked faster than before — the train was late.
AGE EIGHT
It was late — way past Will's bedtime, but his pre-prepared excuse was that it was the summer holidays. Besides, how could he and Lorie sleep with their parents arguing downstairs? He was sat on the very top stair in the stairwell and Lorie, who was starting her second year at Hogwarts the next day, was leaning against the bannister above him.
Dad had gotten back late, as always, and less than five minutes after, they were fighting. What was even worse was that they had mentioned Will's name several times.
"It is ridiculous! He can't do anything now; he will never go to Hogwarts, or be a proper part of the magical world. He —"
Mum interrupted Dad mid-rant. "For Christ's sake, Orford. He will be fine! He can go to a normal school, and lead a normal life."
"Magic is normal, Ellen," Dad snapped. "This is wrong; he's practically handicapped."
Will could feel his sister's eyes burning into the top of his head, but he couldn't bring himself to look up.
"He is not handicapped," Ellen shrieked. "He's an eight-year-old boy who just so happens to not be magical."
Will's ears were ringing loudly; he wasn't ever going to do magic, or go to Hogwarts like his sister. He bit his bottom lip and swallowed, trying not to cry. His parents' arguing faded to just the buzz of voices in the background. He wasn't normal; he was wrong.
The only thing that jerked him out of his thoughts was a noise from above him. Lorie cleared her throat with a high-pitched hem-hem, looking down her nose at him.
"Pathetic," she muttered.
Will looked at her in horror. "Me? No, I'm still the same."
"No," she said firmly. "You're a Squib; that's worse than being a Muggle like Mum."
"No, Lorie —" he began.
It was too late to try and talk to her; Dolores had already walked away and slammed her bedroom door. Will's shoulders slumped, his eyes were blurry from the tears, and he was shaky as he got to his feet.
Maybe, in the morning, it would just have been a nightmare.
AGE ELEVEN
His nightmare continued for years. One evening, just after Dolores came home from her fifth year, the two siblings were left alone for the weekend whilst their parents visited their great-aunt.
Will and Dolores now steered clear of one another — Dolores especially seemed to want nothing to do with him. At first, he had tried repeatedly to make amends, but William had fast discovered that it was completely and utterly pointless. So he had given up and the two barely exchanged looks, let alone words.
It was on the Saturday evening as he sat reading a comic that things changed for the worse between the two Umbridge siblings.
He'd decided the best place to be was the living room as Dolores had spent the majority of her time in her room. It couldn't have been much after seven pm when Will felt a cold sensation slide down the entire length of his spine. When he went to move, he found himself paralysed from the neck down — twisting his head, he caught a glimpse of his sister standing in the doorway. Her wand was raised in his direction.
"What are you doing?" Will hissed.
"Practicing," Dolores replied simply.
He felt extremely exposed and trapped in this situation. "Go away, Dolores."
"You can't tell me what to do; you're just a Muggle," she replied. "No, even worse; you're just a nasty little Squib."
"I'm your brother," he countered.
He felt hot suddenly, afraid for his safety, since it was clear that family bonds didn't matter any longer, and hadn't for a long time.
"Oh, be quiet," she retorted. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were a bastard child; a real brother, a real child of a wizard, would never be a Squib."
"Why would… Mum would never…"
Suddenly, Will's ability to talk stopped and his lips seems to pull together. It was hard to breath for a second before he managed to inhale sharply through his nose.
From then on, he couldn't do anything as his sister practiced spells she'd learnt in school on him. It seemed to go on forever — some spells caused him discomfort, some agonising pain — until his whole body just gave up.
It was odd because suddenly the sensation was pleasant — refreshing, even — as he sank deeper and deeper into the chair underneath him. His anxiety seemed to melt away and Will felt everything alleviate and evaporate as if it had never been there. It was quiet in his mind for what felt like a long, peaceful moment until a familiar voice infiltrated it.
"Now, William, you're going to listen very carefully."
He was drawn to it, following it through the haze in his head. Focusing on it was too easy, far too easy, but he didn't care. Nor did he care until three hours later when he'd cleaned the entire house. He came to his senses, sitting in his pyjamas, in the middle of the room, not sure what had actually happened.
All he knew was everything hurt; his hands were shaking, and when he found the energy to lift his head, Dolores was standing in the doorway, inspecting him through beady eyes.
"What… what did you do?" Will asked.
"I was merely trying to help you be useful, but you can't even do what I say for more than three hours," she responded. "I forgot how weak you are."
"I'm not weak," Will replied.
He tried to sound confident and yet his voice wobbled involuntarily. She laughed at him with a cruel glint in her eyes and a wide, ugly smile on her face.
"Oh, but you are," Dolores said. "You're weak because you have no magic; you're weak because Dad and I will always be stronger than you and Mum."
Will opened his mouth to respond, but she spoke over him. "I'm sick of the sight of you; you can stay here the rest of the weekend. At least, that way, I can pretend you're not an embarrassment."
She slammed the door behind her and Will was left alone.
AGE TWELVE
On nights like this, William felt like the only person in the world. Even with his sister home for Christmas, treating him like her own personal experiment, he still felt as though no one wanted to be around him.
He was fed up. Dad was ready to jump down his throat at every mistake, either at school or home, and Mum seemed to be growing more distant and glassy-eyed by the day. Will spent most of his spare time anywhere else but home and when he was there, he tried his best to stay in his room. Unfortunately, just when he thought he wasn't going to be disturbed, Dolores would find him and make his life even more miserable for a while, like she had tonight.
He cautiously turned over in bed, trying desperately to avoid opening the cut on his arm that Dolores had caused. Even without that, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to sleep. Christmas had been absolutely awful, and all he could think about was how he'd be treated tomorrow. How could tomorrow be worse?
He drifted in and out of a light sleep until he snapped awake at the sound of his door handle twisting slowly. Swallowing heavily, he sat up, eyes flickering to the clock. It was the middle of the night — how could she possibly want to torture him now? The door creaked open, barely more than a foot, and Will held his breath until he made out the face of his mother. Once she'd made eye-contact, she slipped into the room. She was fully dressed, which he found particularly odd, and he frowned.
"What's going on, Mum?"
"We're leaving. Now," she replied, taking his bag down from on top of his wardrobe. "Pack only essentials, honey."
William was stunned into silence, but he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and took the bag from his mum's outstretched hand. Throwing in only essentials, he packed so fast he broke a sweat. Mum was nervous; he could tell by the way her eyes were flickering between the door and him, by the way her hands were shaking. It instantly made him move faster — this was the first time Mum had shown any interest in leaving this hell hole.
It felt exhilarating, and anxiety-inducing, and everything in between. Grabbing a jacket, he swung the bag over his shoulder and turned to his Mum.
"Okay. Let's go," Will breathed. "I don't want to stay a second longer than necessary in this house."
"I know. I'm sorry, honey."
Tears glinted in her eyes and he swallowed back a sob by pressing his lips together. He nodded firmly and the two moved through the house, careful not to make any noise at all. If they woke them up, if his sister or Dad caught them trying to run away… He didn't want to think about it.
They were not magic; they were at a massive disadvantage.
He had to be strong for Mum.
AGE NINETEEN
To William,
I'm so proud of you for making it through your sixth form courses. I know these last few years have been hard for you, but you have been exceptionally strong, and beat every demon.
I hope you are having a great time in Cornwall with Mark and Benjamin, and I will see you in a week's time.
All my love,
Mum
He was not in Cornwall.
William was sat in the bus stop opposite his childhood home — the one that had put him through hell and back multiple times.
His father still came back every night, his sister most nights, and they were there now. He'd been watching.
He folded his mum's letter away into his pocket carefully. Even though he had planned everything up to now, he hadn't really narrowed down what he was going to say or do once he walked towards that house.
Plagued with mental health problems, William had barely made it through his adolescence, and he'd grown to loathe his former family members. However, those feelings had somewhat quietened, and he'd fought hard to keep sane, to stay strong and help his Mum pull through after his father had abused her. He was angry — he wanted them to know just how badly they'd messed him up. Will had never been normal, neither to them nor to anyone else.
It was early in the evening, but dusk had rolled in fast. Crossing the road, his feet were on autopilot as he pushed open the gate and made his way up the gravel path. The atmosphere went cold as he passed through the wards around the house — it still made him shiver. He didn't stop; he continued until he had his hand raised ready to knock. It seemed like an eternity passed before he brought his knuckles sharply against the white-painted door.
Focused on the sound of his father's approaching footsteps, he felt his anger bubble up under his skin at the thought of facing him.
He should not have come back to this house.
Suddenly, the door was opening and his father was stood in front of him. Dad's eyes barely widened in recognition before Will raised his fist and it smashed into his face.
"I don't need magic to punch you in the face," Will spat.
His dad stumbled backwards, managing somehow to stay on his feet. That was, until he reached for his wand and Will punched him again.
This time, he hit the wooden floor hard, and he did not get up.
Will was breathing heavily as he stood over his unconscious father, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned a shocking white. It had actually felt greatly satisfying to do that.
He was about to turn around when he heard the familiar sound of his sister clearing her throat behind him. With gritted teeth, he twisted to her and spottedher wand grasped in her pudgy hand.
Raising an eyebrow, he spoke calmly: "Why don't you lose the magic stick and face me like a normal human being?"
She laughed shrilly. "Oh, William, you are even more idiotic than you were seven years ago. I will always be better than you; you are nothing but a defective human."
"You know what I think?" he asked. "I think you are scared of what you'd be if you didn't have that wand. You'd really be a pathetic level of scum."
The next thing he knew was that he'd been knocked five feet backward into the opposite wall. His head spun, but he sat up, ready to fight.
"Oh, no, you don't," she spat. "You're going to stay down, William."
Whatever spell she cast pushed him back down towards the ground and rendered him unable to move.
"You're a cheat and a sadist," he spat. "You bitch."
William was angry, that he knew, but there had been some part of him that thought perhaps this might have been avoidable.
Dolores sighed as though he'd said something mildly trivial. "I wonder whether all those times I used Imperious on you permanently damaged your brain. You are not acting appropriately at all."
He spat a swear word at her. She did not control him; she was no family to him. He was going to say what he wanted to because he was strong. This was his way of finally clearing the air, of banishing the panic attacks and nightmares.
"You ruined my life. You tortured me because you believed I was inferior," William said slowly. "I am not inferior. You are not in any way better than me just because you had magic. That is a messed up way of thinking. It is wrong."
"Poor Will; you're so confused," Dolores said mockingly. "But you are a problem, and problems must be eradicated for order to return to its rightful place."
The spell from her wand hit him so forcefully that his body jolted violently. If death felt like anything, it felt like this.
THE WEYMOUTH HERALD
A SMALL SEGMENT ON PAGE SEVEN
MAN FOUND DEAD ON BEACH
A nineteen-year-old man was found dead this morning at the base of the cliffs on Weymouth Beach. Found by early morning dog walkers, police and paramedics attended the scene but were unable to do anything.
The man was identified as William Umbridge — a promising art student from Oxfordshire. It is believed that Mr Umbridge committed suicide after years of treatment for depression and anxiety, and his death is not being treated as suspicious.
Competition: QLFC Round Four
Prompt: Wrote about a forgotten family. Keeper - Umbridges.
Word Count: 2854