Story Title: Of Girls and Ghouls
School and Theme: Durmstrang - Explore those that commit crimes or go against the rules but are not inherently evil.
Main Prompt: [Character Type] A Turncoat
Additional Prompts: [Creature] Ghoul; [Song] Run Boy Run - Woodkid
Year: 4
Wordcount: 3173 (10% allowance)
AN: Alternate Universe/Pre-canon sequence of events
Turncoats are Mr. Garner and Dolores (attempted); Crimes/broken rules committed (by non-evil people) include: squatting without permission/influencing toddlers without knowledge of guardians, (implied) affair, and casting a spell on another without consent, being a knowing accomplice to a crime taking place.
Certain misspellings/grammatical errors are on purpose due to the age of children in question.
This story shifts POVs as denoted by bold/normal fonts and verb tense changes.
Of Girls and Ghouls
The Burrow's ghoul did not always call the attic home. The young woman responsible for his predicament was not a death eater and had not set out with the intent of ruining his life. Things could have been so different had one spell not been uttered: Obliviate!
The door to the attic slowly creaks open. Are they mad about the pipes? I didn't mean anything bad by it. Before anyone can come in, I crawl into my hidey-hole. At my size, hiding isn't really an option, but if I'm really still, I might be able to escape notice here in the shadows. My oversized arms wrap around my knees while I squeeze my eyes tightly. Please don't see me, please don't see me.
"5-4-2-3-1! Dolly, oh DOLLY! I'm gonna find you!" Dolores groaned quietly from her 'hiding place'. All she wanted to do was read the latest adventure of Felix the Fantastic Feline, but her little brother, Quintin, was obsessed with hide-and-seek. Carefully, she pulled out her favorite book. With any luck, Quintin wouldn't think to search the attic too soon.
Footsteps, softer than an adult's but loud with the innocence of youth, pitter-patter ever closer. Good. Not an adult to kick me out. A hand, impossibly small, lands on my foot. I don't mean to flinch, but it has been a long time since anything touched me willingly. A second hand is placed on my other foot. Suddenly, I am overwhelmed by touches-curious hands patting the orange discoloration of my head, tugging at my ears. Finally, I can take it no longer and look up in defense, sure that my ghastly, glowing green eyes and hideous teeth will cause them to run away. I misjudged the children, however. The two boys instead take my new position to mean I'm available to-to play. It is surprisingly not bad. The two boys are brave and seem to enjoy the grunting melody that is my speech. Eventually, they become still, tired out from their adventure to the attic. Listening carefully for any sign that the others are awake, I creep out of my abode to tuck them into bed.
In Dolores' opinion, Dolly was the most undignified nickname in the history of the world. Father agreed. Her muggle mother, however, felt that the name suited her darling firstborn. Naturally, this couldn't continue without complaint, and so, the nearly-nine-year-old penned a letter using a biro and notebook found in her mother's purse.
Deerist Mother,
You're insistince on calling me the juvinial name Dolly is horibly outdated. I must insist you stop it and stop Quintin from using it, or I may be forced to run away in protest or at leest I won't eat any more pees and carrots until this injustise is fixed.
Your Dotter,
Dolores Umbridge
Unfortunately, Father found the letter first and was most unamused by it. At her age, spelling mistakes were not to be tolerated, and her choice to use a pen and paper over the quill and parchment set she had received for her birthday was equally unacceptable.
Writing lines with Father's special quill quickly taught her the error of her ways, and Dolores' next purchase with her pocket money would be a children's dictionary.
When Mother tucked her in that night after rubbing dittany into her aching hand, the name Dolly slipped out. Somehow, Dolores' childish anger over the name earlier in the day had vanished. Dolly wasn't so bad...just as long as it was only used in private.
The two boys continue to visit. Their older siblings aren't interested in me, and the younger ones fear me. I become an impossible confidant-the first to hear of their exploits, the only one to know for years who is actually responsible for the pranks befalling the household. They tell me Christmas is a sad time for their mummy because her brothers had died.
The boys hate the quiet, saying it makes their mum's eyes twinkle sadly. In spite of lingering fears that I will be kicked out, I resolve to rattle the pipes if it ever gets too still. Anything to keep my little friends from frowning.
Nearly every visit ends in the same manner as the first. After their curiosities of my realm have sated, they beg me to speak. I know of no other being that would view the grunting language of my kind as peaceful, but the sound of my speech brings comfort to these children of mischief like little else.
I know that the words I speak mean little-it isn't as though they could ever understand me-so I speak of whatever comes to mind: my awe at their innocence and bravery, the almost-peace I have found in their attic, and eventually, I even begin to tell my story to the half-asleep children who have recently dubbed me Gab'n. For a previously nameless ghoul, it begins to ring true.
"Gab'n has not always lived in your attic," I divulge on this sleepy, winter night. It is easier for me to tell the tale in third-person; I am unsure if this is to remind myself of the present where I am a person to someone or to separate myself from the memories I now share with the darkness.
"Gab'n searched for many moons to find a home as nice as this. Sprinting through woods and alleys, hiding from the eyes of all, Gab'n stayed in the shadows and searched, looking for a home to call his own." I remember that seemingly-endless search well. Running, always running. Many places could have worked: big houses and small houses, empty and full...but none had seemed quite right. I still don't know why this ramshackle house called to me. I only know that on finding it, I had discovered my home.
Geoff Gardner was the son of one of Father's associates who was applying for a transfiguration apprenticeship. Until such a position could be obtained, his job was to prepare Dolores for Hogwarts. He was also meant to get her little brother to start showing his magic, but that was a much harder task.
"Three heirs of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families will be at Hogwarts at the same time as you. Their names are?"
"Crouch, Greengrass, and Prewett"
"What are the three founding principles of success?"
"A wizard without a wand is nothing. Mixed-breeds are only to be tolerated within positions of subjugation. Power is the key to success; in place of natural magical power, political power over others will suffice."
Father was generally happy with her lessons, even getting Dolores her own wand when Mr. Gardner suggested that she was ready. Learning to turn a matchstick into a needle mightn't have much practical application now, but being able to outdo her classmates from the start would help her form alliances later.
As enjoyable as her lessons with Mr. Gardner were, however, Dolores wasn't quite sure what to think of the man himself. In front of Father, he displayed the perfect balance of confidence in his skills combined with the obeisance that one should hold towards their employer. All of his lessons were, without a doubt, in accordance with the ideals that her father had demonstrated her entire life.
However, there was something about the way he interacted with Quintin and her mother that seemed...unusual to the young girl.
Rather than get angry or make her brother write lines when an attempt at getting his magic to come out didn't work, Mr. Gardner would comfort the small boy. In front of Father, Mr. Gardner was supremely confident that Quintin was just a late bloomer, but Dolores had overheard him talking with Mother about some school that Dolores had never heard of. Dolores noticed that Quintin's lessons started to have less to do with using his magic and more to do with numbers and how something called e-lect-city worked. Questions about her brother's lessons just caused Mr. Gardner to redirect her with a new spell.
Father was less than pleased with the lack of progress, and it was not unusual for Quintin to have several lines to write before bed. Unfortunately, dittany didn't seem to help him as much as it did Dolores. The only reason Quintin didn't have scars on his hand by now is that Mother would sometimes write some of the lines for him. Dolores only knew because she saw Mr. Gardner do a spell to make the marks disappear on Mother's hand.
"New song! New song!" the two young voices that had become my comfort demand of me. Somehow, the boys have become familiar enough with my speech to know that my tales each night all share common themes. I can tell that this request is not one to be easily denied. And so, I allow myself to delve deeper into memories that I've not lingered on in quite a while. Making sure to keep my voice calm as I can, I begin a tale of Gab'n's interactions with wizards outside these walls.
"Gab'n was swift, but avoiding the eyes of man is difficult. Once, Gab'n found a cave to protect him from a storm. Before he could leave, some men found him and thought Gab'n to be a young ogre or troll. They used their sticks to shoot at Gab'n with many bright lights." Wizarding attacks stung like a dozen bee stings, but it is easier to contemplate my run-ins with wizards than the few times a muggle came across me. I shiver as my body remembers attempts to cage the "new species" and weapons that did more harm than most spells. Little faces snuggle into my sides, shaking me from my memories.
"Gab'n always escaped the men; he escaped, and he ran until he found a beautiful house in the hills that felt like home."
Dolores' first year at Hogwarts was a success...and a failure. Only one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight heirs was even in her House-Bartemius Crouch Jr. Dolores hated to say it, but the Crouch family line was in for quite a downfall with Barty as the heir. In spite of his status as a pureblood, Barty was always one of the last students to master a spell. It gave Dolores an interesting means into his inner-circle, however. Tutoring the boy was tedious, but Dolores made sure that hers would be a name Barty remembered when he became a political powerhouse. An alliance between their two families was definitely an action worthy of an Umbridge.
Her first year felt like less than a success in the social arena. As a half-blood in Slytherin (even if her father was from a prominent pureblood line), many of her peers were hesitant to get too close, and classmates who lacked the reasoning to care about her blood were often of the sort that her father would disapprove of.
Dolores had spent more than one meal looking out at others…not envious of their seeming freedom to choose who they interacted with, but curious about what such a life could be like. The Prewett brothers, for example, seemed to attract all manner of loyal sycophants without lording their status over anyone. Their easy smiles, especially Fabian's, seemed to put the world at ease. It almost had her wishing she'd been sorted into Gryffindor.
Dolores hoped that her tutor would be able to help her come up with ideas to increase her social standing.
His advice…was not what she had expected.
"Life is full of choices, Dolores. You've experienced some of what the world has to offer while playing along with your father's rules. Your father's way is safe. It is reasonably secure, and none would criticize you, should you remain on the path he has made for you. It is also not the only way. You are observant; you must have seen that not everyone follows the niceties, even among the elite who arguably benefit from it the most. Yet they are content on their path. It is up to you to create your own path."
Dolores kept her features blank in the face of such a strange concept. Choose a different path? It seemed impossible. The entire summer seemed like a strange, impossible nightmare.
Father wasn't home as often, and Quintin's lessons often necessitated that the rest of the family go on 'field trips' into the Muggle world. Ostensibly, they were to show Quintin what he would be missing out on if he kept his magic hidden. If that was the goal, however, Mr. Gardner really was inept at choosing boring destinations. Even Dolores was hard-pressed to feel a proper amount of disdain.
These trips were an anomaly, and therefore reasonably easy to ignore even if Mr. Gardner occasionally had to pretend to be their dad to avoid attracting attention. Whispered discussions behind closed doors were more concerning. More than once, Dolores found Mother and Mr. Gardner discussing Quintin and Father's actions towards him. They always stopped once they noticed her presence, but Dolores was a Slytherin. She overheard enough to know that they didn't think writing lines was an appropriate punishment for Quintin, especially since dittany wasn't effective on him.
When Father was home, he acted strangely and often smelled of alcohol. More than once, she overheard him yelling at Mother, accusing her of putting him under the Imperius curse to hurt the family name. Dolores didn't understand why her father would say such things. As a muggle, Mother was unable to do any spells, and she had given Father two children. More often than not, Dolores would spend those nights hiding in her closet, waiting for the yelling to stop. Mother would tuck her into bed saying only that, she would understand when she was older.
The whispered conversations with Mr. Gardner were always loudest after those nights.
Everything came to a head one day when Dolores had had to stay at home due to dragon pox. Mother had remained with her while Quintin and Mr. Gardner visited a muggle school. Unfortunately, their return just happened to coincide with Father's. Mother had tried to intervene, and Dolores had seen most of it half-hidden by the banister. There was talk of leaving and running, talk of banishment, talk of honor and dishonor all rising together to meet the scared little girl in a confusing cacophony of sound. Her father raised his wand…
The next thing Dolores would admit to remembering was waking up in her bed. The official story was that her mother and brother had run away with the family tutor. Unofficially, the Umbridge family home gained three ghouls that summer-one in their basement and two in the attic.
At the start of the summer, Dolores could not fathom going against the path her father had created for her. By the end of it, Dolores knew that she would walk his path...until she had the means to rescue her family.
Something hard hits me on the head. The little ones snuggle close, and my arms tighten. Any minute now, I will carry the boys back to their room. The hard object hits me again. I try to push the boys behind me to protect them from the attack. The glare of the sun makes my skull throb. Wait, why are the boys here if it's daytime?
I then notice the woman wielding a frying pan.
The boys' mother has discovered our friendship, and she does not look pleased. A ringing in my ears prevents me from hearing her shrieks, but something about her face is almost familiar. I try to show myself as meaning no harm, but before I can do so, a final whack renders me unconscious.
Dolores was excited. It was only natural, of course. Tonight, she was going to dine with her long-time boyfriend Bartemius Crouch Jr.. If she read him rightly, this could be the night that he asked for her hand.
Their match only made sense. With her father's failing health, the young heiress had to marry someone to 'help her' manage the accounts. The heir of a Sacred Twenty-Eight family would be perfect for such a role. On her own, Dolores had limited power. As the wife of a Crouch, that would change.
Of course, that was her official reason for being excited. Dolores Umbridge was an exceptional actress. For eight years, she had played a role, just waiting for the time to strike.
It seems as though the battle will never end. Comrades fall everywhere. Before the darkness can overcome me, I see my brother collapse as well.
Supper at The Peacock's Nest was delicious, as always. Dolores made sure to place her hand in just the right lighting to show off her new ring. At least Barty had taken her not-so-subtle hints on what type of stone would be suitable. Honestly, the best part of the ring, would be that it gave her the ability to apparate in and out of Crouch Manor. She hated staying the night there, and having an easy way out could be helpful.
I'm in some sort of basement-turned-dungeon. The cries of my brother as he is held under the pain curse are a torture of their own. My wand is nowhere in sight, and I'm being held up mostly by the chains that bind me.
Crouch Manor was supposed to be empty, but some of Barty's friends were playing downstairs. Officially, Dolores never saw anything. Unofficially, she needed to plan.
My brother breathed his last over an hour before anyone else came. I am surprised to see the Crouch heir walk down the stairs and calmly tell the Death Eaters to leave before his fiancee investigates. He doesn't see the woman standing at the top of the stairs, but I do.
Barty never did have much stamina. Dolores had barely been there for two hours, and Bartemius Crouch Jr. was fast asleep on the bed. The alcohol probably helped. It did not take long to reach the basement, yet every step felt like a million years. Dolores had just freed the second chain when a house-elf came in and raised an alarm. Thanking Merlin for her engagement ring, Dolores disapparated just before Barty could burst in.
Running…running…can't go any further, but my rescuer won't let go of my hand.
Spells flashed by. They were being pursued. It was only a matter of time before they were captured. Dolores hadn't had time to clearly picture her destination; it was a miracle they hadn't splinched. The ruins of an old castle came into sight. There, she would be able to collect herself and come up with a plan.
A white light and a voice saying, "Go home; I'll find you and fix this!"
Dolores turns to the man next to her. There's no time to explain or ask permission.
Taking a deep breath, she casts her father's spell on Fabian Prewett, a man she had admired for years.
Barty finds her in tears and casts the one spell that will make it all go away.
"Obliviate!"