Chapter 6. Fear And Rage
Dolores slammed down her pink flamingo feather quill in frustration. One day, she thought grimly, the Ministry of Magic would be the death of her, them and their stupid, arrogant leader Cornelius Oswald Fudge! To add insult to injury, she was forced to serve him every day, pandering to his every selfish, paranoid, ill-judged whim! Each evening, as she left her office, she would console herself with fantasies of getting revenge on the Minister of Magic.
Hastily she suppressed her raging thoughts. She must be more self-disciplined, she berated herself silently. Fudge's fear of his position being usurped had led him to press his underlings to invent more and more ways to access other people's thoughts, and their money, but that was beside the point. If she was not careful, he might discover her plots, where her loyalty truly lay and a lot of other things which would lead her to a lifetime sentence in Azkaban, as surely as the rain would pour down on the world above the Ministry. It was not that she feared Azkaban. She had always enjoyed a good relationship with the Dementors, having been able to communicate with them since the age of two. They were gentle creatures, who were only doing what was necessary for their survival. No, what frightened her about going to Azkaban was the knowledge that she would be powerless to help her friends and teacher, who would be left without inside information, gold or any other means of overcoming what Fudge and, in some cases, nature, threw at them.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she thought about how she had taught Dumbledore's little puppet a lesson, whilst avenging those she cared about. Admittedly, it had been a bit cruel of her to set them on him, knowing how much they hated being used as weapons, but they had soon forgiven her, understanding in their own way that it had been for their benefit as well as many others'. If only Dumbledore had not turned up at his trial and overturned the sentence he should have received, they might be free now to do as they pleased, she reflected regretfully, turning her attention back to her paperwork.
Just then, the enchanted clock which stood in the corridor outside her office began to chime, playing the same silly little tune each time. Dolores counted the chimes, wanting to block her ears against the sound which made her head pound with tired irritation, but feeling too listless to bother. All she wanted now was to get out of the stuffy office and go home.
One. Her mind wandered to her family. Her parents were dead. Her father, a busy Auror, had been savaged by a werewolf while out investigating a report of Dark Magic in a Muggle-inhabited area. From what her mother had told her when she was old enough to understand, the werewolf had leapt at him from the shadows, knocking him to the ground. The impact of the fall had snapped his wand and left him with a laceration to the head. The beast had then proceeded to mutilate every part of his body it could reach, biting, scratching, kicking and pummelling him. Eventually, despite the blood streaming from his head, he had managed to get away from his attacker and run to a Muggle hospital, being unable to get to St Mungo's or contact any witch or wizard. By the time he had reached the hospital, though, it had already been too late and he had died of his wounds.
Her mother had been distraught over his death and had spent ever-increasing amounts of time by or in a local lake, which had been her and her husband's favourite meeting-place before their marriage. One evening, as she had been swimming in the lake, a group of merpeople, who had moved into it without her noticing, had swum stealthily towards her in the dark water and begun pulling her under. At first she had not realised what was happening, being too tired and miserable to notice their scaly hands snaking around her ankles and slowly dragging her further down into the depths below. Dolores had called out frantically to her, trying in vain to bring her out of her stupor so that she could save herself.
After several attempts, however, it had become apparent that she could not hear her daughter's terrified calls. Dolores had dithered desperately on the muddy ground, wishing she could swim, wishing she was braver and wishing with all her heart that she could somehow save her mother. As a figure in black robes had passed by, she had called to the stranger for help. Before she had managed to get the mysterious person's attention, her pleas had been cut off as a merman had seized her by her ankle and jerked it sharply, causing her to hit the ground, wrists first, with an unpleasant crunch. She had struggled to get to her feet, but the merman had been too strong. Rising halfway out of the water, he had lain on her back, one of his hands over her mouth. Dolores had shaken her head vigorously, trying to escape his grasp as much as the overpowering stench of dead fish. The merman had chuckled chillingly and rolled off her back, his hand still over her lips to stop her from crying out. She had continued fighting him as he had uttered a series of short shrieks in a kind of gloating song, then pulled her around to face the lake.
All too soon, her energy had run out. With a derisive screech, her captor had removed his hand from her mouth before forcing her head beneath the murky greenish-brown water as he himself had reentered it. Dolores had thrashed wildly, her lungs burning for want of air, yearning to get away from him and the deep, dark lake, but it was no use.
"Humans are so cute when they are little!" he had crooned, one hand stroking her hair as he held her with his other arm. "Only when they get older do they become a threat. Now watch and learn, little one." Dolores had stopped trying to escape, astounded and terrified by his strength. She had looked on helplessly as her mother had been dragged down, into the darkness beneath, her heart sinking with her as she was pinned to the merman's side, limp and useless, not doing anything to rescue her or save herself.
"This is what happens to those who endanger my people," he had said, his voice deadly calm. "I will spare you, because the slaughter of the young is a terrible crime, but if you do as she and her husband did, to our kind or any other, you will suffer the same." Then he had released her and she had floated to the surface, coughing, spluttering and gasping for breath. As a tall strapping man with a black moustache had lifted her from the lake and Disapparated with her, she had been too overcome with shock to register what was going on. Setting her down, he had murmured a spell so that he could see under the water before shaking his head with a sad sigh. Only days later, when she had been taken to a wizarding orphanage and her mysterious rescuer arrested for what the Ministry called "hostile and abnormal dispositions," had she fully realised what had happened. She was an orphan.
Two. She thought about Hogwarts. She did not have any regrets about her time there as High Inquisitor, Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher or Headmistress. Albus Dumbledore had been, and still was, a very real threat to her comrades, those whom society had shunned and kept downtrodden just because they had been placed in the house of Slytherin as children. It had only been right, she told herself as she gathered her belongings together, that she should extend the hand of friendship to her fellow Slytherins and help them. If only Potter had not tried to interfere, she mused bitterly. It had served him right to be banned from the Quidditch team. May the scar on his right hand be a constant reminder of his and his master's misdeeds!
Three. She smiled grimly at the memory of those long nights, reflecting yet again on the wonderful irony of the punishment she had inflicted on him. "I must not tell lies," she murmured and chuckled softly, thinking of all the lies she had to tell every day for the sake of her friends; pretending to hate them, pretending not to know where they were, sometimes even pretending to set Dementors on them. At least she had an honest reason to do what she did, she reminded herself. At least she was not hiding behind a powerful wizard, following his orders blindly and expecting him to care about her while doing nothing to earn such regard. Soon, she told herself, both Potter and Dumbledore would get their comeuppance.
Four. Dolores shivered as an icy gust of wind blew into the office. Magical Maintenance were going to cause another snowstorm, she thought irritably. Cornelius Fudge must have forgotten to pay them again. Oh, well, she told herself bracingly, if she hurried, she would be able to get home before the usual storm broke out over and among the Ministry staff.
Five. Her throat was burning from lack of hydration, but she knew that those who were seen not working, even for a moment, could lose their jobs. She would have to be careful if she was to continue providing her true friends with the information they needed. With a quickly muttered spell, she conjured a cup of tea and drank it, realising as she did what a foolish and selfish thing she had just done. Because of the laws regarding Slytherins, she, as a former Slytherin student, was only permitted to use one spell a day. This rule had been created by the now deceased Head of Magical Corporations to prevent the Slytherins from being able to rebel against the Ministry's regime and Cornelius Fudge had trained Aurors to keep tabs on the number of spells cast by each man, woman and child in or connected with Slytherin. Now, having used her single spell, she would be unable to help any of her comrades in need.
Six. She cursed the war. All the deadly weapons, threats, propaganda and the ever-increasing numbers of wizards and witches being called, sometimes forced, to fight, even those who were underage, was such a waste of resources that at times she wondered if it was worth fighting and what would become of the wizarding world if it continued. Every day, scores were being kept away from their families, injured and even killed. It had to stop.
Dolores Umbridge sighed deeply and picked up her pink fluffy handbag, into which she had managed to pack everything she would need. The war would never end, she thought sadly as she left the Ministry. Each side would continue to fight as long as they felt their cause to be justified. Therefore, it was her duty to go on doing her part, for justice, for her friends and for the future. With this thought, she was able to smile as she walked home, already preparing herself mentally for tomorrow.