FIC: "Dolores on the Dotted Line" for chaos_rose
Recipient: chaos_rose
Author/Artist: donnaimmaculata
Title: Dolores on the Dotted Line
Rating: R
Pairings: Dolores Umbridge/Kingsley Shacklebolt, Dolores Umbridge/Rufus Scrimgeour, Dolores Umbridge/Alastor Moody
Word Count: 4350
Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View): *auto erotica, purple prose*.
Summary: Dolores is a little girl with a big dream. And a crush or two.
Author's/Artist's Notes: I apologise for the purple prose passages. They are not supposed to make sense.
“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line.”
Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
1.
It was a cold and stormy night, the skies spilled gigantic gushes of frosty raindrops over Pane Shadow’s bare shoulders and luscious locks that wound themselves in winding tendrils down her back and shoulders. From the darkness of the woods the thunderous banging of hundreds and hundreds of hooves drew closer, the halfbreed monstrosities chased an innocent maiden like Muggle-made contraptions with sharp-spiked arrows. Suddenly, the clouds parted and Pane lifted her eyes heavenwards, from whence the lunar orb peered from behind their thickness, illuminating her with the radiance of its rays. Then, she saw him: a male specimen of pure perfection, the hot coal of his eyes raking over her quaking form. She knew it: he would deliver her from her haunters, with his noble mien and broad shoulders, his bare ample chest glistening with the wetness of rainwater like perfectly sculpted black crystals swirling in a potent love potion. With the agility of a jungle cat, he dashed to her rescue, carrying her away in his strong arms, and, swooning against his throbbing chest, Pane lifted her lily-white complexion to his scorching mouth...
The night was cold and stormy, but Dolores was tucked in happily under her warm patchwork rug with a nice cup of hot cocoa. She twirled her quill between her fingers, relishing in the way the candlelight caught in her pretty rings, and caressed her face with the plume. Lovely. The story was coming along charmingly, and it made her tingly in all the right places. Her new quill has proved itself in practice, as well: with every word she had put on the page, she had felt the soft touch of the plume tickle her skin. Pulling her favourite pink cardigan tight around her shoulders, she sighed contently and leaned back, closing her eyes. Almost absentmindedly, she let her hand wander down until it reached the squashy warm mound over her lap. It vibrated very satisfactorily under her fingers, and she pressed down, ever so slightly, forcing it further between her spread legs. It was so nice! She had always prided herself on her neat transfiguration skills. A teapot was so much less messy than a real cat. Captured between her fleshy, feminine thighs, the small furry body created delicious vibrations that transmitted right into the very centre of her womanhood. Over the sound of incessant purring, Dolores could also discern the sounds of enthusiastic licking, wet and hungry, as the teapot was grooming her in this most intimate manner. This was lovely! It was almost nicer than watching the Potter boy draw his own blood with her quill. - The memory gave her an extra thrill, and Dolores moaned happily, pressing the teapot’s wet nose and rough tongue deeper into the dew-drenched portal to her love channel. "Where's my good little girl?" she cooed. "Where's my nice little furry pussy?"
Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, patted her neatly curled hair and straightened her velvet bow before pushing open the golden grill and stepping out of the lift. Her heart went pitter-patter under her pretty frilly blouse and cardigan. In only a few minutes, she would see him: the dark prince of her dreams, the heroic warrior against the forces of evil. He was young yet, and she had great hopes to help mould him into a sorcerer who would do the Auror office and the Ministry of Magic proud. After all, wasn’t it true that behind every great wizard there was a great witch? And who better to make a wizard great than she, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic himself? True, Cornelius Fudge had been a failure and had set her back in her efforts to form a truly powerful man, and the new Minister wasn’t quite prepared to listen to her counsel as much as Cornelius had used to. But that was immaterial now. She had a new prospect, and, perhaps, with luck and hard work, she might even succeed in making her young protégé the new Minister of Magic in time.
“Hem-hem.” Dolores peeked playfully around the corner of his cubicle in the Auror’s office. There he was! Kingsley Shacklebolt, in all his manly glory. Dolores felt a pink flush tint her plump cheeks. Any moment, he would look up and speak to her in that masterful, deep voice that never failed to send happy tingles down her spine. She pressed her clipboard against her chest and sighed happily.
He was just finishing writing a document and signed it in a bold hand. Then, he raised his head, and the gaze from his mysterious eyes sent Dolores’ heart a-flutter. “Good morning, Madam Umbridge,” he said in his rich, dark voice. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh, why so formal, my dear boy?” said Dolores with a silvery laugh in her voice. She saw a muscle under his eye twitch. Oh yes! Even though she was so much older than him, she didn’t leave him unaffected. All her little attentions to him were paying out: he was not immune to her feminine charms.
She slinked closer and leaned against his desk with her hip. “I think we have been working alongside each other long enough to... establish a more familiar footing, don’t you think... Kingsley?” How lovely his name felt in her mouth.
“Thank you, Madam Umbridge, I appreciate the honour,” said he. “But I don’t think it would be appropriate for us to get too familiar. You are so much more my senior - in terms of position, I mean.”
“Oh, you silly boy!” she trilled and slapped his arm teasingly. “But perhaps you’re right. We shouldn’t do anything that would expose us to gossip.” She cocked her head, smiling down at him.
“Um, precisely,” said he. Then, after a short silence, he added: “Was there anything you wanted?”
“What?” she snapped out of her reverie. “Oh, yes. Yes! The Minister and I were discussing a... matter of some urgency. And whilst we didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye on the matter in question, we have finally agreed that you are the right man for the assignment.”
“And what assignment would that be, Madam Umbridge?” he asked, again after a short pause that had allowed her to get lost in his eyes.
“Well,” she leaned in and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “this is something we had better discuss in my office. We wouldn’t want anyone to overhear our conversation, now, would we?”
“Did you come all the way here just to tell me to come to your office?” he asked, incredulously. “Surely, a memo would have done the trick.”
She put a finger to her lips. “Not in the matter of such importance!” she whispered. “A memo might easily be interrupted. Yes, even here, at the Ministry. These are dangerous times, untrustworthy elements are out and about, and we can’t be sure which one among the staff is a spy for the enemy. Until we have had the chance to prune them out, we must proceed with great care.”
He glanced down at the scroll of parchment in front of him, looked back up at her and gave a curt nod. “All right,” he said. “Just let me finish this, and I’ll be with you presently.”
“I’ll wait!” sang Dolores cheerfully. With a slightly trembling hand, she tried to hold her clipboard steady and ticked off two boxes, purring contently.
He didn’t make her wait long. She liked that in a man. In no time at all, he had stood up and was striding by her side. Dolores preened.
And as she had led him to her office, seated him down in a squashy armchair and served him a nice cup of tea, she explained to him how important it was to protect all wizardkind from discovery, even though it meant that he, the scion of a proud pure-blood family, would have to go and work among Muggles.
His face remained impassive. What a true professional he was!
“It is only a temporary measure!” she comforted him, patting his arm reassuringly. “The Minister thinks it’s for the best, and he asks you, Mr. Shacklebolt, to do him this great favour. We - that is to say, the Minister and I - have all faith and trust in your abilities to fool the Muggles. Personally,” she tightened her grip on his arm and felt his muscles tense under her fingers, “I believe that you would be much better employed in some other, more worthy capacity, but we live to serve our community, and a war with Muggles must be avoided at all costs. At present.”
“That won’t be a problem,” said he. “I am very grateful for the trust the Minister places in my abilities. I am rather surprised, however, that he put you in charge of this assignment... I shouldn’t think Muggle liaison falls into your... department.”
“We all have to make sacrifices,” Dolores pointed out again. How thoughtful he was! “And of course, the biggest sacrifice is asked of you. But we believe and trust that it won’t be for long. These... unrests our society is currently going through won’t be of long duration.”
“I wish that were true.” The words had blurted out of him, Dolores felt, rather as though against his will. She tilted her head in confusion.
“What on earth do you mean?” she asked. “You don’t really think that we witches and wizards will not be able to stand united and find common ground after a period of necessary negotiations?”
“Negotiations with whom?” asked he in a voice, it seemed to Dolores, that was losing its usual velvety purr. “With You-Know-Who?”
“My dear Mr. Shacklebolt!” said Dolores. “You don’t honestly believe the Potter boy’s fanciful tales of You-Know-Who manifesting himself at the Ministry of Magic! Clearly, these are delusions created by a sick mind.”
“You are forgetting, Madam Umbridge,” said he, “that it wasn’t Harry Potter’s testimony alone upon which these fanciful tales are based. A number of the Ministry’s Aurors witnessed You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters and fought them in the Department of Mysteries. I was one of them.”
Dolores leaned back in her chair, regarding him thoughtfully. The bald head, the fathomless eyes, the big, coarse hand. Perhaps he wasn’t all that attractive after all. No, definitely not. There was something deeply unsettling about that impassive face and smooth voice. How had she not seen it before? Yes, he would do just fine for the Muggles.
“That would be all,” she said haughtily. “You will receive the details of your assignment in due course.
“Very well,” he said curtly - and then he reached for her hand. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, tugged her hand upwards and pulled his arm away. “I think I should discuss the matter with the Minister in person. The sooner, the better.”
He stood up, towering over her manfully, and, despite herself, she shuddered with delight.
“Good day to you, Madam Umbridge,” he said with a slight bow, and she saw her favourite white-and-pink kitten give him a mischievous wink.
After Kingsley had left, she remained seated in her chair for a while, watching the little kittens on the walls frolic friskily. Without quite knowing how, she had pressed her hand against her bosom, and she could feel the reassuring warmth of the pretty locket that thrummed gently against her skin. What a stroke of luck it had been! It was as nice a family heirloom as a girl could wish for. It was a shame that that grubby little man knew where she had it from, but no matter. There were ways and means to make him forget. And she wouldn’t be surprised if a little research into his family tree would unearth ancestors that any proper wizard should be ashamed of.
Yes.
Her smile widened.
Dolores took up her quill, dipped it in the inkwell and pulled her clipboard towards herself:
“Kingsley Shacklebolt, Auror
To be punished”
2.
Clip-clap, clip-clap, clip-clap...
The clipping and clapping drew closer and closer, filling her head with the noise that arose in the pits of the deepest and most unfathomable of infernos and making her blood boil in her veins and ooze through the cavities of eldritch terror. The horses of horror were back, stamping and thudding around her in a savage dance macabre, drawing ever closer, ever closer, ever closer, until the stench of their steaming bodies pushed down on her like the fog that steamed from the lustful loins of dementorial passions.
A roar ripped through the noise thunderously like a banshee’s dolorous cry, stabbing her eardrums piercingly with the force of a hundred Swords of Gryffindor that had been wrought from gold molten in the goblins’ underground caves and splashing onto the lands in monstrous conflagration.
And there was he - a chryselephantinely shaped statue of noble virility and power, coiled into the powerful body of a wizard whose strong arm and wand offered all the protection that she needed.
Dolores awoke with a shriek and a gasp. Her bosom trembled under her nightie, and with shaky fingers she fumbled the two top buttons open to grasp the locket below. It was warm against her skin, and its reassuring throb spread from her fingers, along her arm, all the way to her heart. As the mist inside her head slowly lifted, she reached out for her wand and transfigured the frilly pillow, until it was soft and warm and purring. She reached out and stroked the fluffy head with her fingertips. Closing her eyes, she imagined she were stroking him, his hair, letting her hands wander down his body. He wasn’t as powerfully built as... other men she had loved; his power was greater than mere physical strength. Oh, how immature she had been! Like a silly school girl had she admired a man who was nothing but an animal, and who had left her to go and live among the Muggles.
This one was an animal, as well, a proud beast, the king of all beasts. Oh, how brave and noble he was, how he would save her and keep her safe. His arms would close around her and his large body would cover her, and she would give herself to him fully, like she never had given herself to any man before.
The throbbing against her chest grew stronger and stronger, and Dolores felt heat rising somewhere deep inside her very core. She squished the fleshy mounds of her bosom, pinching the rosy buds like he would pinch them. Oh, his tongue would flicker over her love cushions and his hands would roam her milky-white skin, until he was ready to breach the passage of love with his magic wand! Dolores squealed as the waves of desire flooded her whole being, making her his and his forever.
It wasn’t a mere fantasy, Dolores knew. He had rescued her once already: when she had reached the bottom of despair. As she was recovering from her horrid ordeal in the Forbidden Forest, he had sent a messenger to her, ordering her back to the Ministry. It was then, when she got hold of that horrible petty thief from whose grabby hands she liberated the old family heirloom. It would have been too horrid had the locket remained in the possession of that filthy criminal. She had made sure to make a note in his file.
Her duties as the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic encompassed much more than the prosecution of thievery. The Minister entrusted her with the most sensitive of tasks. They had a teensiest-tiniest falling out about the Potter boy, but she could work around that. She had told the Minister that he should bring the boy to her, she knew how to deal with him. She had had a lot of time to think about the most appropriate form of punishment. This time, she would not make him write lines, oh no!
Slightly out of breath, she had just reached the Minister’s office. She knocked and entered.
“Good morning, Minister.”
He stood by the window, looking out. The view over the city was real - unlike in the offices of minor ministry officials, who had to make do with conjured-up panoramas. It was one of Dolores’ dearest ambitions to have an office with a view one day, and she knew she was on the best way to getting one. She already knew how she would decorate it!
Rufus Scrimgeour turned away from the window, and she saw that he was holding that rag, The Quibbler, in his hand. As always, her heart skipped a beat at the magnificent sight of him.
His golden eyes appraised her for a breathless second or two, and she was glad she was wearing her prettiest cardigan and a rosy-pink hair band today.
“Good morning, Dolores,” he said. Leaning on his cane, he limped to his desk and sat down, motioning at her to do the same. Several memos flattered over his head, but he swapped them away with an impatient gesture.
“I need your advice, Dolores,” he said curtly. “What do you make of this?”
He tossed the Quibbler onto the desk, and she snatched it up and read: “Death Toll Rises In Scotland and Wales - When Will The Ministry Start To Protect Us?”
“Obviously, these are filthy lies, meant to discredit the Ministry and all that work here,” she said. Rufus snorted.
“Obviously, they are not!” he said. “As much as we might wish otherwise, these attacks are happening, and the wizarding society is in disarray. Something must be done.”
“You know, Minister,” said Dolores sweetly, toying with the locket hidden under the fabric of her cardigan and blouse, “I always find that the best way of dealing with... unpleasantness such as this is to keep our fellow witches and wizards calm. The welfare of our loved ones is our priority, and we, that is to say, you, as our father in spirit, are the one who can - who must - inspire hope.”
He stared at her long and hard from those golden eyes of his. All of a sudden, his posture relaxed. He heaved a sigh. “There is some truth in what you are saying,” he admitted. “I wasn’t entrusted with ministerial responsibilities only to let the wizarding community down by allowing panic to spread. We must clamp down hard and fast on those who endanger us all.”
“Very true, Minister,” Dolores agreed. “Now, I feel the best procedure would be...”
“The best procedure,” interrupted Scrimgeour. He rose to his feet and started pacing the room. “The best procedure remains finding, prosecuting and punishing-“ a delicious shudder run down Dolores’ spine - “all those who spread unrest. Anything else would be a sign of weakness, and weakness is unacceptable!”
“Very true, Minister. I always said that the Auror office has always been immensely efficient under your leadership, and I think everyone agrees that, ever since you have taken over as Minister of Magic, that level of efficiency had been achieved across all Ministry departments.”
“Has it, has it...” He had stopped in his pacing to look at her. “Very good. Efficiency is what we are after, and efficiency is what will advance our efforts to fight the enemy - the actual enemy, and the enemy in our heads."
“Indeed it has!” Dolores took up her clipboard and leafed through the pages until she found the relevant sheet. “In fact, I have taken the liberty to analyse some figures. As you can see in this diagram,” she pushed the clipboard towards him and tapped the figure with her quill, “the number of witches and wizards who trust in the Ministry’s ability to protect them has been on the increase ever since the new restrain & re-educate policies have been implemented.”
He merely glanced down. “That’s not enough. Sending people off to Azkaban doesn’t have enough impact anymore. And we can’t just have everyone Kissed.”
“Why not?” asked Dolores, but then she caught his look and masked her eager tone with a silvery laugh. “Well, perhaps in the first stage, we should enhance the Auror office by employing someone who could be a real inspiration for everybody.”
“Yes...” he said, watching her thoughtfully... “A figurehead is what we do need in these troublesome times. Did you have anyone particular in mind?”
Dolores hesitated. She didn’t like the word ‘figurehead’ in this context, but on the other hand - what better way to get the boy back under her control than have him employed at the Ministry? Then, she would be able to watch him and teach him to cast of his waywardness.
“When I was doing my duties as headmistress at Hogwarts,” she said slowly, “it also fell to my lot to advise the dear little ones on the choice of their future careers. And to my great surprise and... and joy,” she almost choked on the fib, “the Potter boy expressed an interest in becoming an Auror.”
“Has he?” Scrimgeour tapped his fingers against his thigh. “Interesting. I have for a long time wished to meet him, but the way Dumbledore protects him, one might think he’s got some unholy interest in the kid. He’s naturally too young to become an Auror-“
“Naturally,” Dolores agreed.
“- but he’s not too young to work alongside the Ministry. People believe him to be the Chosen One already, and it is his duty to infuse them with hope and optimism.”
“And after all, we all have to do our duty, Minister,” Dolores said sweetly, gathering up her clipboard.
3.
He could have been a hero. An undefeatable warlock, a conqueror of merpeople and vanquisher of Muggles at the very least. With his thick waves of rich, silver hair, his masculine features and his magical potency.
But he had chosen a path that had led to his downfall - Dolores stifled a giggle - quite literally!
She took the cerulean orb up and twirled it between her fingers. The formerly so incandescent iris looked dull. The late Mad-Eye’s magic eye lay dead against her palm. Dolores held it up at mouth level and blew a warm breath against the pupil, gleefully watching the eye’s attempt to shrink away.
“Not so easy to blink without an eyelid, is it?” she whispered softly. “I think from now on it will be ‘constant vigilance’ for you, any time of day or night, my dear Alastor.”
How much did the eye understand? she wondered. Magical objects often maintained a certain level of sentience long after the witch or wizard who created them had been dead and gone. Mad-Eye Moody wasn’t even quite cold yet. His spirit still ghosted through the world, slowly making his way to the Beyond. The old Auror wasn’t a wizard who would fade away quickly from the here and now, even though hadn’t turned into a ghost.
Dolores let go of the eye and watch it fall onto her desk with a clinking noise. It rolled to the right and bounced against the pile of pamphlets stacked neatly in the corner.
“How do you like that, Alastor?” she asked, turning the eye with one finger until it came to rest pupil-up. “You were a friend of the mudbloods, like your old crony Dumbledore. And see where it got you? Take a good look around.” She lifted the eye up again and, with the pupil facing away from her, moved it slowly across the room. “Yes, take a good look around, Alastor,” she murmured. “How do you like my new office? Isn’t it just lovely? I will find a nice place for you here, I promise you that.”
She sat back in her chair and placed the eye carefully on the desk, facing her.
“You know, I’ve always rather liked you,” she admitted. “You were in your prime when I joined the Ministry - a silly little thing I was then. And you, you were a real wizard, crackling with energy and power, with the longest, most impressive wand I had ever seen. It seemed to be shooting sparks even when it rested peacefully in your pocket. I so wanted you to notice me. I wanted to go merpeople hunting with you!” She giggled at her memories.
“And now?” She leaned back and hitched up her skirt over her knees. “Look where I am. And look where you are.” The skirt was bunched around her thighs now, and Dolores wriggled her bum to push the fabric out of the way. She unbuttoned her bloomers and shoved her hand inside. Mmmh, she was nice and moist already. With her free hand, she gripped her wand and poked the eye in the pupil. “Vigilance, Alastor,” she said softly, tickling her secret place until her fingers were sticky with the honey of her womanhood, and gazing deep into the blue eye of the fallen bloodtraitor. “Nasty, nasty...” she murmured, rubbing faster and faster. A delicious heat enveloped her from head to toe, and Dolores gave a tiny little shriek as her entire being shook under her peaking passion.
Breathing rather heavily, she withdrew her hand and tugged her bloomers and mussed skirt back into place. “I’ve just had a lovely idea!” she whispered. She flicked her wand at the eye that rose in the air and floated towards the door. With a muttered spell, she created an opening just wide enough to accommodate the eye, and it obediently slid into place. Underneath it, she knew, the new plaque gleamed invitingly.
Head of the Muggle-born Registration Commission
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Author/Artist: donnaimmaculata
Title: Dolores on the Dotted Line
Rating: R
Pairings: Dolores Umbridge/Kingsley Shacklebolt, Dolores Umbridge/Rufus Scrimgeour, Dolores Umbridge/Alastor Moody
Word Count: 4350
Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View): *auto erotica, purple prose*.
Summary: Dolores is a little girl with a big dream. And a crush or two.
Author's/Artist's Notes: I apologise for the purple prose passages. They are not supposed to make sense.
“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line.”
Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
1.
It was a cold and stormy night, the skies spilled gigantic gushes of frosty raindrops over Pane Shadow’s bare shoulders and luscious locks that wound themselves in winding tendrils down her back and shoulders. From the darkness of the woods the thunderous banging of hundreds and hundreds of hooves drew closer, the halfbreed monstrosities chased an innocent maiden like Muggle-made contraptions with sharp-spiked arrows. Suddenly, the clouds parted and Pane lifted her eyes heavenwards, from whence the lunar orb peered from behind their thickness, illuminating her with the radiance of its rays. Then, she saw him: a male specimen of pure perfection, the hot coal of his eyes raking over her quaking form. She knew it: he would deliver her from her haunters, with his noble mien and broad shoulders, his bare ample chest glistening with the wetness of rainwater like perfectly sculpted black crystals swirling in a potent love potion. With the agility of a jungle cat, he dashed to her rescue, carrying her away in his strong arms, and, swooning against his throbbing chest, Pane lifted her lily-white complexion to his scorching mouth...
The night was cold and stormy, but Dolores was tucked in happily under her warm patchwork rug with a nice cup of hot cocoa. She twirled her quill between her fingers, relishing in the way the candlelight caught in her pretty rings, and caressed her face with the plume. Lovely. The story was coming along charmingly, and it made her tingly in all the right places. Her new quill has proved itself in practice, as well: with every word she had put on the page, she had felt the soft touch of the plume tickle her skin. Pulling her favourite pink cardigan tight around her shoulders, she sighed contently and leaned back, closing her eyes. Almost absentmindedly, she let her hand wander down until it reached the squashy warm mound over her lap. It vibrated very satisfactorily under her fingers, and she pressed down, ever so slightly, forcing it further between her spread legs. It was so nice! She had always prided herself on her neat transfiguration skills. A teapot was so much less messy than a real cat. Captured between her fleshy, feminine thighs, the small furry body created delicious vibrations that transmitted right into the very centre of her womanhood. Over the sound of incessant purring, Dolores could also discern the sounds of enthusiastic licking, wet and hungry, as the teapot was grooming her in this most intimate manner. This was lovely! It was almost nicer than watching the Potter boy draw his own blood with her quill. - The memory gave her an extra thrill, and Dolores moaned happily, pressing the teapot’s wet nose and rough tongue deeper into the dew-drenched portal to her love channel. "Where's my good little girl?" she cooed. "Where's my nice little furry pussy?"
Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, patted her neatly curled hair and straightened her velvet bow before pushing open the golden grill and stepping out of the lift. Her heart went pitter-patter under her pretty frilly blouse and cardigan. In only a few minutes, she would see him: the dark prince of her dreams, the heroic warrior against the forces of evil. He was young yet, and she had great hopes to help mould him into a sorcerer who would do the Auror office and the Ministry of Magic proud. After all, wasn’t it true that behind every great wizard there was a great witch? And who better to make a wizard great than she, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic himself? True, Cornelius Fudge had been a failure and had set her back in her efforts to form a truly powerful man, and the new Minister wasn’t quite prepared to listen to her counsel as much as Cornelius had used to. But that was immaterial now. She had a new prospect, and, perhaps, with luck and hard work, she might even succeed in making her young protégé the new Minister of Magic in time.
“Hem-hem.” Dolores peeked playfully around the corner of his cubicle in the Auror’s office. There he was! Kingsley Shacklebolt, in all his manly glory. Dolores felt a pink flush tint her plump cheeks. Any moment, he would look up and speak to her in that masterful, deep voice that never failed to send happy tingles down her spine. She pressed her clipboard against her chest and sighed happily.
He was just finishing writing a document and signed it in a bold hand. Then, he raised his head, and the gaze from his mysterious eyes sent Dolores’ heart a-flutter. “Good morning, Madam Umbridge,” he said in his rich, dark voice. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh, why so formal, my dear boy?” said Dolores with a silvery laugh in her voice. She saw a muscle under his eye twitch. Oh yes! Even though she was so much older than him, she didn’t leave him unaffected. All her little attentions to him were paying out: he was not immune to her feminine charms.
She slinked closer and leaned against his desk with her hip. “I think we have been working alongside each other long enough to... establish a more familiar footing, don’t you think... Kingsley?” How lovely his name felt in her mouth.
“Thank you, Madam Umbridge, I appreciate the honour,” said he. “But I don’t think it would be appropriate for us to get too familiar. You are so much more my senior - in terms of position, I mean.”
“Oh, you silly boy!” she trilled and slapped his arm teasingly. “But perhaps you’re right. We shouldn’t do anything that would expose us to gossip.” She cocked her head, smiling down at him.
“Um, precisely,” said he. Then, after a short silence, he added: “Was there anything you wanted?”
“What?” she snapped out of her reverie. “Oh, yes. Yes! The Minister and I were discussing a... matter of some urgency. And whilst we didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye on the matter in question, we have finally agreed that you are the right man for the assignment.”
“And what assignment would that be, Madam Umbridge?” he asked, again after a short pause that had allowed her to get lost in his eyes.
“Well,” she leaned in and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “this is something we had better discuss in my office. We wouldn’t want anyone to overhear our conversation, now, would we?”
“Did you come all the way here just to tell me to come to your office?” he asked, incredulously. “Surely, a memo would have done the trick.”
She put a finger to her lips. “Not in the matter of such importance!” she whispered. “A memo might easily be interrupted. Yes, even here, at the Ministry. These are dangerous times, untrustworthy elements are out and about, and we can’t be sure which one among the staff is a spy for the enemy. Until we have had the chance to prune them out, we must proceed with great care.”
He glanced down at the scroll of parchment in front of him, looked back up at her and gave a curt nod. “All right,” he said. “Just let me finish this, and I’ll be with you presently.”
“I’ll wait!” sang Dolores cheerfully. With a slightly trembling hand, she tried to hold her clipboard steady and ticked off two boxes, purring contently.
He didn’t make her wait long. She liked that in a man. In no time at all, he had stood up and was striding by her side. Dolores preened.
And as she had led him to her office, seated him down in a squashy armchair and served him a nice cup of tea, she explained to him how important it was to protect all wizardkind from discovery, even though it meant that he, the scion of a proud pure-blood family, would have to go and work among Muggles.
His face remained impassive. What a true professional he was!
“It is only a temporary measure!” she comforted him, patting his arm reassuringly. “The Minister thinks it’s for the best, and he asks you, Mr. Shacklebolt, to do him this great favour. We - that is to say, the Minister and I - have all faith and trust in your abilities to fool the Muggles. Personally,” she tightened her grip on his arm and felt his muscles tense under her fingers, “I believe that you would be much better employed in some other, more worthy capacity, but we live to serve our community, and a war with Muggles must be avoided at all costs. At present.”
“That won’t be a problem,” said he. “I am very grateful for the trust the Minister places in my abilities. I am rather surprised, however, that he put you in charge of this assignment... I shouldn’t think Muggle liaison falls into your... department.”
“We all have to make sacrifices,” Dolores pointed out again. How thoughtful he was! “And of course, the biggest sacrifice is asked of you. But we believe and trust that it won’t be for long. These... unrests our society is currently going through won’t be of long duration.”
“I wish that were true.” The words had blurted out of him, Dolores felt, rather as though against his will. She tilted her head in confusion.
“What on earth do you mean?” she asked. “You don’t really think that we witches and wizards will not be able to stand united and find common ground after a period of necessary negotiations?”
“Negotiations with whom?” asked he in a voice, it seemed to Dolores, that was losing its usual velvety purr. “With You-Know-Who?”
“My dear Mr. Shacklebolt!” said Dolores. “You don’t honestly believe the Potter boy’s fanciful tales of You-Know-Who manifesting himself at the Ministry of Magic! Clearly, these are delusions created by a sick mind.”
“You are forgetting, Madam Umbridge,” said he, “that it wasn’t Harry Potter’s testimony alone upon which these fanciful tales are based. A number of the Ministry’s Aurors witnessed You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters and fought them in the Department of Mysteries. I was one of them.”
Dolores leaned back in her chair, regarding him thoughtfully. The bald head, the fathomless eyes, the big, coarse hand. Perhaps he wasn’t all that attractive after all. No, definitely not. There was something deeply unsettling about that impassive face and smooth voice. How had she not seen it before? Yes, he would do just fine for the Muggles.
“That would be all,” she said haughtily. “You will receive the details of your assignment in due course.
“Very well,” he said curtly - and then he reached for her hand. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, tugged her hand upwards and pulled his arm away. “I think I should discuss the matter with the Minister in person. The sooner, the better.”
He stood up, towering over her manfully, and, despite herself, she shuddered with delight.
“Good day to you, Madam Umbridge,” he said with a slight bow, and she saw her favourite white-and-pink kitten give him a mischievous wink.
After Kingsley had left, she remained seated in her chair for a while, watching the little kittens on the walls frolic friskily. Without quite knowing how, she had pressed her hand against her bosom, and she could feel the reassuring warmth of the pretty locket that thrummed gently against her skin. What a stroke of luck it had been! It was as nice a family heirloom as a girl could wish for. It was a shame that that grubby little man knew where she had it from, but no matter. There were ways and means to make him forget. And she wouldn’t be surprised if a little research into his family tree would unearth ancestors that any proper wizard should be ashamed of.
Yes.
Her smile widened.
Dolores took up her quill, dipped it in the inkwell and pulled her clipboard towards herself:
“Kingsley Shacklebolt, Auror
To be punished”
2.
Clip-clap, clip-clap, clip-clap...
The clipping and clapping drew closer and closer, filling her head with the noise that arose in the pits of the deepest and most unfathomable of infernos and making her blood boil in her veins and ooze through the cavities of eldritch terror. The horses of horror were back, stamping and thudding around her in a savage dance macabre, drawing ever closer, ever closer, ever closer, until the stench of their steaming bodies pushed down on her like the fog that steamed from the lustful loins of dementorial passions.
A roar ripped through the noise thunderously like a banshee’s dolorous cry, stabbing her eardrums piercingly with the force of a hundred Swords of Gryffindor that had been wrought from gold molten in the goblins’ underground caves and splashing onto the lands in monstrous conflagration.
And there was he - a chryselephantinely shaped statue of noble virility and power, coiled into the powerful body of a wizard whose strong arm and wand offered all the protection that she needed.
Dolores awoke with a shriek and a gasp. Her bosom trembled under her nightie, and with shaky fingers she fumbled the two top buttons open to grasp the locket below. It was warm against her skin, and its reassuring throb spread from her fingers, along her arm, all the way to her heart. As the mist inside her head slowly lifted, she reached out for her wand and transfigured the frilly pillow, until it was soft and warm and purring. She reached out and stroked the fluffy head with her fingertips. Closing her eyes, she imagined she were stroking him, his hair, letting her hands wander down his body. He wasn’t as powerfully built as... other men she had loved; his power was greater than mere physical strength. Oh, how immature she had been! Like a silly school girl had she admired a man who was nothing but an animal, and who had left her to go and live among the Muggles.
This one was an animal, as well, a proud beast, the king of all beasts. Oh, how brave and noble he was, how he would save her and keep her safe. His arms would close around her and his large body would cover her, and she would give herself to him fully, like she never had given herself to any man before.
The throbbing against her chest grew stronger and stronger, and Dolores felt heat rising somewhere deep inside her very core. She squished the fleshy mounds of her bosom, pinching the rosy buds like he would pinch them. Oh, his tongue would flicker over her love cushions and his hands would roam her milky-white skin, until he was ready to breach the passage of love with his magic wand! Dolores squealed as the waves of desire flooded her whole being, making her his and his forever.
It wasn’t a mere fantasy, Dolores knew. He had rescued her once already: when she had reached the bottom of despair. As she was recovering from her horrid ordeal in the Forbidden Forest, he had sent a messenger to her, ordering her back to the Ministry. It was then, when she got hold of that horrible petty thief from whose grabby hands she liberated the old family heirloom. It would have been too horrid had the locket remained in the possession of that filthy criminal. She had made sure to make a note in his file.
Her duties as the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic encompassed much more than the prosecution of thievery. The Minister entrusted her with the most sensitive of tasks. They had a teensiest-tiniest falling out about the Potter boy, but she could work around that. She had told the Minister that he should bring the boy to her, she knew how to deal with him. She had had a lot of time to think about the most appropriate form of punishment. This time, she would not make him write lines, oh no!
Slightly out of breath, she had just reached the Minister’s office. She knocked and entered.
“Good morning, Minister.”
He stood by the window, looking out. The view over the city was real - unlike in the offices of minor ministry officials, who had to make do with conjured-up panoramas. It was one of Dolores’ dearest ambitions to have an office with a view one day, and she knew she was on the best way to getting one. She already knew how she would decorate it!
Rufus Scrimgeour turned away from the window, and she saw that he was holding that rag, The Quibbler, in his hand. As always, her heart skipped a beat at the magnificent sight of him.
His golden eyes appraised her for a breathless second or two, and she was glad she was wearing her prettiest cardigan and a rosy-pink hair band today.
“Good morning, Dolores,” he said. Leaning on his cane, he limped to his desk and sat down, motioning at her to do the same. Several memos flattered over his head, but he swapped them away with an impatient gesture.
“I need your advice, Dolores,” he said curtly. “What do you make of this?”
He tossed the Quibbler onto the desk, and she snatched it up and read: “Death Toll Rises In Scotland and Wales - When Will The Ministry Start To Protect Us?”
“Obviously, these are filthy lies, meant to discredit the Ministry and all that work here,” she said. Rufus snorted.
“Obviously, they are not!” he said. “As much as we might wish otherwise, these attacks are happening, and the wizarding society is in disarray. Something must be done.”
“You know, Minister,” said Dolores sweetly, toying with the locket hidden under the fabric of her cardigan and blouse, “I always find that the best way of dealing with... unpleasantness such as this is to keep our fellow witches and wizards calm. The welfare of our loved ones is our priority, and we, that is to say, you, as our father in spirit, are the one who can - who must - inspire hope.”
He stared at her long and hard from those golden eyes of his. All of a sudden, his posture relaxed. He heaved a sigh. “There is some truth in what you are saying,” he admitted. “I wasn’t entrusted with ministerial responsibilities only to let the wizarding community down by allowing panic to spread. We must clamp down hard and fast on those who endanger us all.”
“Very true, Minister,” Dolores agreed. “Now, I feel the best procedure would be...”
“The best procedure,” interrupted Scrimgeour. He rose to his feet and started pacing the room. “The best procedure remains finding, prosecuting and punishing-“ a delicious shudder run down Dolores’ spine - “all those who spread unrest. Anything else would be a sign of weakness, and weakness is unacceptable!”
“Very true, Minister. I always said that the Auror office has always been immensely efficient under your leadership, and I think everyone agrees that, ever since you have taken over as Minister of Magic, that level of efficiency had been achieved across all Ministry departments.”
“Has it, has it...” He had stopped in his pacing to look at her. “Very good. Efficiency is what we are after, and efficiency is what will advance our efforts to fight the enemy - the actual enemy, and the enemy in our heads."
“Indeed it has!” Dolores took up her clipboard and leafed through the pages until she found the relevant sheet. “In fact, I have taken the liberty to analyse some figures. As you can see in this diagram,” she pushed the clipboard towards him and tapped the figure with her quill, “the number of witches and wizards who trust in the Ministry’s ability to protect them has been on the increase ever since the new restrain & re-educate policies have been implemented.”
He merely glanced down. “That’s not enough. Sending people off to Azkaban doesn’t have enough impact anymore. And we can’t just have everyone Kissed.”
“Why not?” asked Dolores, but then she caught his look and masked her eager tone with a silvery laugh. “Well, perhaps in the first stage, we should enhance the Auror office by employing someone who could be a real inspiration for everybody.”
“Yes...” he said, watching her thoughtfully... “A figurehead is what we do need in these troublesome times. Did you have anyone particular in mind?”
Dolores hesitated. She didn’t like the word ‘figurehead’ in this context, but on the other hand - what better way to get the boy back under her control than have him employed at the Ministry? Then, she would be able to watch him and teach him to cast of his waywardness.
“When I was doing my duties as headmistress at Hogwarts,” she said slowly, “it also fell to my lot to advise the dear little ones on the choice of their future careers. And to my great surprise and... and joy,” she almost choked on the fib, “the Potter boy expressed an interest in becoming an Auror.”
“Has he?” Scrimgeour tapped his fingers against his thigh. “Interesting. I have for a long time wished to meet him, but the way Dumbledore protects him, one might think he’s got some unholy interest in the kid. He’s naturally too young to become an Auror-“
“Naturally,” Dolores agreed.
“- but he’s not too young to work alongside the Ministry. People believe him to be the Chosen One already, and it is his duty to infuse them with hope and optimism.”
“And after all, we all have to do our duty, Minister,” Dolores said sweetly, gathering up her clipboard.
3.
He could have been a hero. An undefeatable warlock, a conqueror of merpeople and vanquisher of Muggles at the very least. With his thick waves of rich, silver hair, his masculine features and his magical potency.
But he had chosen a path that had led to his downfall - Dolores stifled a giggle - quite literally!
She took the cerulean orb up and twirled it between her fingers. The formerly so incandescent iris looked dull. The late Mad-Eye’s magic eye lay dead against her palm. Dolores held it up at mouth level and blew a warm breath against the pupil, gleefully watching the eye’s attempt to shrink away.
“Not so easy to blink without an eyelid, is it?” she whispered softly. “I think from now on it will be ‘constant vigilance’ for you, any time of day or night, my dear Alastor.”
How much did the eye understand? she wondered. Magical objects often maintained a certain level of sentience long after the witch or wizard who created them had been dead and gone. Mad-Eye Moody wasn’t even quite cold yet. His spirit still ghosted through the world, slowly making his way to the Beyond. The old Auror wasn’t a wizard who would fade away quickly from the here and now, even though hadn’t turned into a ghost.
Dolores let go of the eye and watch it fall onto her desk with a clinking noise. It rolled to the right and bounced against the pile of pamphlets stacked neatly in the corner.
“How do you like that, Alastor?” she asked, turning the eye with one finger until it came to rest pupil-up. “You were a friend of the mudbloods, like your old crony Dumbledore. And see where it got you? Take a good look around.” She lifted the eye up again and, with the pupil facing away from her, moved it slowly across the room. “Yes, take a good look around, Alastor,” she murmured. “How do you like my new office? Isn’t it just lovely? I will find a nice place for you here, I promise you that.”
She sat back in her chair and placed the eye carefully on the desk, facing her.
“You know, I’ve always rather liked you,” she admitted. “You were in your prime when I joined the Ministry - a silly little thing I was then. And you, you were a real wizard, crackling with energy and power, with the longest, most impressive wand I had ever seen. It seemed to be shooting sparks even when it rested peacefully in your pocket. I so wanted you to notice me. I wanted to go merpeople hunting with you!” She giggled at her memories.
“And now?” She leaned back and hitched up her skirt over her knees. “Look where I am. And look where you are.” The skirt was bunched around her thighs now, and Dolores wriggled her bum to push the fabric out of the way. She unbuttoned her bloomers and shoved her hand inside. Mmmh, she was nice and moist already. With her free hand, she gripped her wand and poked the eye in the pupil. “Vigilance, Alastor,” she said softly, tickling her secret place until her fingers were sticky with the honey of her womanhood, and gazing deep into the blue eye of the fallen bloodtraitor. “Nasty, nasty...” she murmured, rubbing faster and faster. A delicious heat enveloped her from head to toe, and Dolores gave a tiny little shriek as her entire being shook under her peaking passion.
Breathing rather heavily, she withdrew her hand and tugged her bloomers and mussed skirt back into place. “I’ve just had a lovely idea!” she whispered. She flicked her wand at the eye that rose in the air and floated towards the door. With a muttered spell, she created an opening just wide enough to accommodate the eye, and it obediently slid into place. Underneath it, she knew, the new plaque gleamed invitingly.
Head of the Muggle-born Registration Commission
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