Dolores Umbridge was content. Her Muggleborn Registration Commission brainchild had been successful in retrieving more and more stolen wands each day. She had never been quite so influential at the Ministry of Magic, and she liked where she stood in her role of judging those quivering Mudbloods beneath her, unable to feel the warmth of her Patronus. There had only been a few setbacks, such as that nasty Potter kid and his accomplices had taken her locket from around her very neck, but they were cancelled out by the rousing success of her other programs.
Dolores sat in her favorite chair in her charmingly petite sitting room, her bow jauntily perched on the top of her head. She sipped a cup of tea while listening to the Ministry-approved news. She smirked as she heard a story that had been watered down to the point of offering only ignorance. The kittens on the decorative plates that were hung with care around the room padded noiselessly.
She immensely enjoyed having the ability and position to know explicitly what the announcer on the radio was not allowed to release to his anxious audience. She enjoyed that she could help choose what was censored or perhaps completely replaced. As she listened to the stories that were devoid of any mention of Dark activities and used the euphemisms of "disappearances" and "mysterious absences" to explain away murders, the tea was not the only thing giving Dolores warmth.
When the announcer recited facts, which sounded as if they were read directly off one of her pamphlets about the inherent inferiority of those descended from Muggles, she sat up even straighter like she had been jerked upward by her puppet strings. It was a truly terrific Christmas gift to hear the impact she was having on the wizarding community, to hear her work being preached as it should.
Perhaps, Dolores mused to herself as she took another sip from her teacup, this warmth that was residing in the bottom of her stomach was that spirit of Christmas of which she had always heard. It was something more than just mere pride, which could not quite define the sensation, but this mythical spirit of Christmas might just offer the explanation. After all, she had always heard it was better to give than to receive.