Tonks looked from Mr. Lee to Mad-Eye and back again, leaning in, in anticipation of what she thought she already knew, what they all already knew: it was Umbridge — all that was needed was to fill in the blanks (Umbridge in the [fill in the blank room] with the [fill in the blank weapon]…). As an Auror, Tonks was always eager for information she could store then synthesize, and all the more so when her initial convictions happened to be validated by the information coming in. She enjoyed meticulously and impartially gathering investigative materials, then putting the pieces of the puzzle together. She further enjoyed what came afterward — action on the basis of the best possible intelligence, and hopefully the sabotage of what, even in her hardened state of mind she still referred to, rather melodramatically, as 'evil doers.' Dolores Umbridge being the evil-doer incarnate.
She and Moody had already spent countless hours discussing the seemingly innocent presence of Tonks's nemesis in pink, in Wizarding New York, speculating why and how she came to be there. Umbridge had emerged from the war, somehow, as a hero — as a restorer of order. No one seemed to remember her tyrannical stint at Hogwarts, or else her authoritarianism at the school was written off as a necessary 'lesser of evils' response in a far from perfect world. At worst, it was said, Umbridge was overzealous, but she had meant well. She had never openly or, to anyone's knowledge, covertly worked in allegiance with Voldemort. Nor was it ever proven that she had sympathy for the Death Eater cadre.
In any case, after Hogwarts, Umbridge was savvy to have vanished for a while from the scene. People forgot her at her worst. They remembered her only in comparison with the horrors that ensued; horrors that were, admittedly, enough to dwarf anything Umbridge had ever (publicly) done.
So when Umbridge re-emerged just in time to help reconstitute a demoralized Ministry after the war, with her call to calm, discipline, and order; when she furthermore delivered all three along with daily supplies, to every Ministry department and public hearing, of tea and crumpets arranged with the delicacy of a zen garden, on top of a doily-adorned fuschia roller cart, pushed by none other than the toady lady herself; then Umbridge was hailed on all sides as a moderate peacemaker and a style icon, the best person there was to lead Magical Britain to reconciliation and healing with aplomb, cleverness, and grace.
Umbridge began to appear in all the highest women's fashion magazines, donning her signature pink skirt as well as custom-made silk cerulean and baby pink cardigans and even hot pink thigh-high boots. Those boots would have driven the formerly fashion-crazed Tonks mad with jealousy and boot-lust.
However. Sometimes the magazines captured Umbridge in rather racy, highly stylized scenes that the public, now inexplicably to Tonks's mind, lapped up. In one shot, Umbridge was shown spanking chained Death Eaters. In a second she had her head thrown back in seemingly orgasmic ecstasy as a cloaked figure resembling Lucius Malfoy unleashed the Cruciatus curse on her; in another she was fixing her lipstick in a high fashion compact, the brand label embossed on the retro cover, just before kissing a dementor in the driver's seat next to her, all in a Barbie-pink convertible that was otherwise shrouded in romantic yet sinister darkness.
Tonks almost vomited when she first saw the photos, which Moody had slapped on the counter of the diner one day, an unappetizing part of their daily briefing at breakfast ('I don't remember ordering your pancakes with a side of puke, Mad Eye.'). Tonks didn't hate them because she was prudish or because she had any inherent antipathy to fashion. She loathed how the worst in marketing and politics colluded, in the name of the art of haute couture; themes of torture, symbols of hatred, and things of deep significance for justice and grassroots rallying had been trivialized into a tame, neutral commodity.
Perhaps even worse, since it further involved the public at large, after Umbridge's fashion forays, department stores sold out of imitations of her pillbox pink hat within hours, while every girl or woman aged 15 to 85 clamored for the scarce, flirty tubes of candy colored lipsticks she released under her makeup line 'The Umbridge Collection: Yum-Um Pink!' At times like these especially, Tonks yearned for her morphing abilities: someone — someone low and mean — was painting in the poorest shades the best color on heaven and earth — pink.
Umbridge was popular. Social media, in your face, on morning talk shows, Oprah interview, hashtag everything trending, instagram and beyond- level popular. She had effectively mobilized the public's desire for consumer comforts and frivolity in the wake of the war and in the midst of mourning, distracting them from all substantive issues. Umbridge's astronomical popularity was one reason everyone was shocked when a relative unknown named Adam Woods was launched almost overnight to the Minister of Magic post. The public was puzzled at that. They were even more angered and disappointed than they were shocked. Umbridge was the face of post-war Britain, and her adoring fans, young and old, did not want to let her get away with anything short of serving them in the highest possible position.
Still, Umbridge had gained their trust, and she assured everyone they were in good hands with the newcomer, Woods. This endeared her to everyone further, for her perfect manners and modesty led her to give every confidence and well wish to Britain and to Woods's command of the governing wizarding body there. There was nothing much to do, then, but to accept the unexpected turn of events. Nothing to do except to continue to await Umbridge's every interview and makeup debut, waiting in line and on their phones in 'I Heart Pink' pillbox hats. While this thrilling craze for all things Umbridge continued, the magical communities in Britain were, with little dissent and even smaller amounts of interest, willing to hand over to Woods whatever role he might claim at the ministry. Woods was boring and no one paid him much heed. His background was fuzzy except for a once well-publicized but now largely forgotten turn as the director of some Muggle university in Tennessee, of all places. Compared to the many splendored outfits and products that was the one woman crowd pleaser, Dolores Umbridge, Adam Woods was a nobody who, though he was the Minister of Magic in name, might just as well have been another faceless bureaucrat for whom the public paid no mind.
In any case, soon after Woods's appointment, and soon after Tonks herself arrived back home, utterly depleted and miserable after the war, Umbridge followed, gaining more modest but nonetheless renowned employment at the NYC Wizarding Academy. And even though in cynical seen-it-all New York, Umbridge never quite made the splash she did overseas, seeming to elect to fly under the radar, the makeup stores' best-seller in New York City was, like in London, the Umbridge Yum-Um line. Color #308 was especially popular: Torture-Me-Pink.
Neither Moody nor Tonks trusted Umbridge for a moment, and they had long been in the business of gathering intelligence on her and on the mysterious Adam Woods, about whom they discovered next to nothing. And especially when Umbridge began showing a special interest in the children orphaned during the war, taking it upon herself to grant special 'scholarships' and foster transitions between Wizarding Prep and the Wizarding Academy, for children who otherwise might be disadvantaged, due to deep seated prejudice, in gaining entry into the institution, Tonks and Moody redoubled their investigative efforts. And now came this most recent occasion for acute investigation: Angela's disturbing drawing.
Angela was, of course, already a prime candidate for the receipt of an Umbridge-Initiative Scholarship for Lycanthropy Victims, as they were called (funded, apparently, by donors privately sourced by Umbridge — Tonks and Moody were still working to figure out exactly who was donating, and how). But moreover Angela was, Tonks suspected, a veritable genius, especially in the arts, and Mark wanted nothing but the absolute best for his daughter. He was therefore less inclined to be suspicious of Umbridge than were Tonks and Moody. Mark Lee was skeptical, but also wanted to be able to put trust in the bit— er, witch, who made impassioned public speeches in support of werewolf rights and educational advancement on the basis of talent, rather than on 'creaturely status.' The normally cynical Mark was all the more inclined to give his approval to Umbridge, since he did not suffer the same affliction as his daughter, and for that suffered a worse fate — guilt.
'Tonks! Lass! Pay attention,' Moody barked, bringing Tonks out of her 'out with Umbridge' reveries. 'Right. Well. Out with her, er, it, you two.' Mark cleared his throat. 'Tonks…I addressed my concerns to Angela's teacher, a Mrs. Melinda Lewis, and she expressed — unconvincingly to my mind — shock and dismay at the content of the drawing. She told me that the school would never support such subject matter or ideology, and that Angela must have been imitating something she'd seen on television or online. She further insinuated that my wife and I might ourselves be spouting bigoted hatred at home. She said she could not think of another source for Angela's ideas because nothing of the sort was espoused at the school…Of course this isn't true.' 'It almost gives ya the feeling,' Moody interjected, stabbing at a particularly hapless looking pancake, 'that she wants ya to protest. Say 'oh no Mrs. Melinda, oh no. We're ourselves dark creatures and we'd never betray our kind.'
Tonks grew pale. She knew intimately from working with her children at the Center that most parents hid their children's status completely. While NYC Wizarding society was more progressive, there were pockets of pureblood activism and violence, most of it underground, but sometimes barely beneath the surface. They were desperate for their children's life chances to be as good as anyone's; for that they hoped that their children would apply and receive the special scholarships Umbridge was advertising. But to do that they needed to fully register their children, revealing their 'creaturely status' incontrovertibly to public record. Once that happened there was no going back. Any subsequent political takeover by a regressive party or other power would endanger their children and themselves. The risks were high on either side — you don't register, you don't apply, your children might never lead a normal let alone a flourishing successful life; you do register, your children and you might be rounded up for arrest, deportation, or…worse…should the wrong people come to power. After the Wizarding War in Britain, people in Wizarding NYC were very cautious. More cautious in London that things might not be over, that it wasn't quite yet the 'right time' to be anything but a pureblood…it was still very dangerous and there weren't anywhere near enough legal protections. Moody was right. Melinda might very well be pressuring Mark to reveal his and his daughter's status.
'I know. I know,' Mark was saying. 'That's not all, though, Tonks.' 'Oh?' 'No. When I pointed out to Melinda that the drawing was graded already so she must have seen it — and approved — she almost tripped herself up, but then said it must have been the art teacher who gave the grade without examining the contents more carefully. When I went to talk to the art teacher, Andrew Hall, he was vague and said the same things as Melinda. Except he told me she must have graded it carelessly and that I should go talk to her first.'
'In short, lassie, the runaround,' Moody growled, taking an emphatic swig from his flask. 'Yeah. Of course…But…you said it's even worse than we'd expect. What's the worse part? That they seem to be pressuring and threatening the Lees? That we don't have proof it's Umbridge's machinations behind it?' 'Well, strictly speaking, Tonks, we do not know at all that it's Umbridge,' Mark said quietly. 'But it has to be, Mark, it's got to be.' 'Now hold up lassie. There's no logic in 'it has to be.' You know better than that.' 'Yeah. Of course. I know that.' Tonks paused. 'But, come on!' 'No, girl. NO. No come on. We can't rule things out. We can't rule out that it's someone's self-hating relatives repeating stuff to their kids and the kids getting it into Angela's head. Unlikely, to be sure. Highly unlikely,' he nodded shortly to Mark. 'But we cannot act on feeling or gut alone. We only know what we know for now, and we need to keep ourselves on guard!' Moody banged the bar for emphasis, drawing the curious and somewhat hostile attention of the diner's mostly elderly morning crowd. Moody lowered his voice again, continuing in a harsh whisper and a far-off glare, 'And in the meanwhile. We gather more information. We don't stop. Tonks and I will go through the background we've gathered on Umbridge and her ilk, especially her connections to the school. It's quite a file we've been working on since we moved here. See if there's anything that suggests a pattern of strategic intervention in the curriculum of the school. That'd be new, but maybe there's some kind of precedent for it we're not seeing as such yet. I don't know. I'll work my connections at the Underground too, see if there's anything anyone else has tapped into that could be of use…'
Uncharacteristically, Moody trailed off, his magical eye having rolled back in its socket towards the door which, Tonks felt by the burst of icy air, had just been pushed open. Without turning around, with both his eyes fixed on Tonks, Moody lifted his flask again to his lips. 'It's about time, Lupin,' Moody called out. 'Stop blushing like a schoolgirl, for Merlin's sake. Come in and sit down.' He tilted his head back and drank to the dregs the last of his mysterious drink.
