Work Text:
—
A page-per-day diary from Smythson of Bond Street. The cover is pale-pink nappa leather. The initials D.J.U. are embossed in silver on the back. The writing inside is in lilac ink.
[The diary is a gift from Cornelius Fudge. Or so she tells everyone. It was actually bought for her by her mother - a Muggle - for Christmas. At least she knows her daughter's taste.]
Monday 21 July, 1980
8.15
Meeting - M. Quicke, Department of Magical Transportation
Department of Works and Days; Meeting Room J
Re: The Dark Lord
—
Dolores Umbridge awoke, as she always did, at exactly six o'clock.
The bedroom of her neat little house - a perfect countryside square, every little detail of it in keeping with the village's rustic aesthetic - was filled with a demure summer light, which bounced across the various glittering trinkets on her dressing table. The alarm clock which heralded the morning was made of rose-pink lucite and had a frolicking kitten on its face, which blinked up at her with two-dimensional blue eyes. Very pretty.
She rose from the bed - with its extra firm mattress and cream satin dust ruffle - and prepared to start her day. She was feeling an even greater sense of smug satisfaction than usual. This morning, she felt completely and utterly proper.
Today was a very big day.
Dolores took an inordinate amount of pride in her appearance. It was important, she thought, to look one's best. She couldn't abide the modern fashion which the young people fawned over, whether it was pureblood girls draping their skirts over bustles until they looked like whores when they walked or Mudblood girls wearing bell-bottom jeans and lycra halter-tops which showed their chests off like they belonged in a window in Amsterdam. It was all so tawdry. She had mentioned to Cornelius once that the Ministry should provide some official guidance on how proper witches and wizards ought to comport themselves, as a way to stop the louche rot starting to settle in its halls. He had said nothing, instead examining his digestive biscuit like it was a priceless manuscript. But he was a bit weak-willed.
Maybe, she thought, as she felt the elastic of her shower cap - printed with purple unicorns - snap against her forehead, the Dark Lord would be more inclined to listen to her views on sumptuary laws. He seemed a sensible enough man.
She kept the water lukewarm - better for the skin and without the sordid implications of running the shower too hot or too cold - and lathered up her expensive lily-of-the-valley shower gel on a pink loofah. For the first time in a long time, she had other things on her mind besides an idle musing on what Cornelius might look like first thing in the morning, his basset-hound eyes bleared with sleep, rumpling the other side of her immaculate bedsheets. There would be no more need to speculate after today; he was bound to come around once she was a Death Eater, with a prominent place in the Dark Lord's new regime. Or maybe she’d find herself a better man among her fellow recruits. The younger Lestrange was quite good-looking. If the wanted posters were anything to go by.
Dolores allowed herself a brief giggle.
She dressed in brand new robes - pale-pink tweed with pearl buttons, from Il Veleno in Diagon Alley - and arranged a mother-of-pearl cat-shaped hair slide in her curls. Maybe it should have been a snake, but she didn’t want to look like a craven flatterer. The effect was rather good, she thought, admiring herself in the mirror once she'd applied her make-up. All that was needed was a splash of Chanel no. 5, an unfortunate Muggle habit she just couldn't quit. She’d tell the Dark Lord that it was a specialist blend she had an apothecary put together especially for her, should he ever ask. Or maybe he would share her sympathy for Coco Chanel's entirely sensible views.
At her table - a lace runner sitting primly upon it - she took her usual breakfast: one egg, boiled for four minutes precisely; soldiers; and a cup of rose oolong with a splash of milk and two sugars.
She left for work, as she always did, at precisely seven forty-five.
—
A transcript from a meeting held by the Order of the Phoenix in Penstemon House, nr. Marazion, Cornwall, at eight o'clock in the evening on Monday 21 July 1980.
Presiding: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore [AD]
Secretary: Remus John Lupin [RL]
Present: Sirius Black [SB]; Benjy Fenwick [BF]; Frank Longbottom [FL]; Marlene McKinnon [MM]; Dorcas Meadowes [DM]; Alastor Moody [AM]; Peter Pettigrew [PP]; Fabian Prewett [FP]; Gideon Prewett [GP]; James Potter [JP]; Lily Potter [LP]
GP: I think we have a strong lead on where they’re currently recruiting. I saw Mick Quicke going in for a meeting with Dolores Umbridge from the Wizengamot Administration Services today.
FP: He works in the Department of Magical Transportation, doesn’t he?
GP: Right, so there’s no need for him to be anywhere near her unless they were doing a bit more than talking about broomsticks.
JP: The cheeky sod!
LP: Shut up.
AM: That all makes sense. We know they want to get rid of Crouch and start operating openly in the DMLE. Getting their fingers into the Wizengamot would help with that.
MM: What we’ve worked out is that Mick Quicke is the first contact. He’s a really sociable guy, always up for a chat, and so he just starts these conversations where he feels out people’s political views. If he gets the read that they’re interested, he meets them and starts the process.
DM: And then what?
MM: We don’t know. The chain of command is really well concealed, I'll give them that.
AD: My source tells me that Lord Voldemort organises his Ministry infiltrators under a single spymaster - the information we have so far suggests he's a senior Unspeakable - whose identity remains a secret until the candidate has passed through a multi-stage vetting process. I want all of you who are based in the Ministry to keep an eye on Dolores Umbridge. See with whom she is meeting, see the hours she keeps, and let us see if we can unravel this chain of Death Eaters.
SB: Who is this Umbridge woman anyway?
MM: Well, let me tell you, she’s a total bitch. But, actually, I reckon they won't go for her. I dunno, she's just... a bit too prissy to be Death Eater material. If you ask me, at least.
—
As she sat down at her desk at nine thirty, a weak coffee in a willow-patterned cup at her right elbow, Dolores felt a sense of great and entirely strait-laced satisfaction.
Her meeting had gone very well. She had told Mick Quicke all about her detestation of the sorry, disorderly state in which the Ministry found itself, and how she was quite desperate to see a full overhaul of its practices to cut out some of the pitiful deadwood - Misuse of Muggle Artefacts, for example; two bumbling numbskulls in a broom cupboard who spent their days poking toasters with the end of their wands - which was using up the tax galleons of hard-working people of good blood and good standing, and - naturally - how she wasn't only looking forward to the Dark Lord making much-needed changes in the bureaucratic sphere, she was looking forward to him rounding up all the Squibs and werewolves and half-giants and other abominations against nature and keeping them safely out of sight. In camps, perhaps.
Mick Quicke had choked on his biscuit at that, which she was sure indicated that he was impressed.
As he'd left the meeting room, unfortunately unable to join her for a coffee because he had another meeting for which he was late and so would need to sprint away from her as fast as he possibly could, he had told her that he would be passing her request to join the Dark Lord's ranks up another rung of the ladder and she should expect to hear from his colleagues soon.
Dolores was proud of her self-control - she loathed the greedy immoderation of so many people, especially children - but even she felt a bit antsy at having to wait a little longer before she could really get started. There was just so much filth floating around the Ministry’s halls and she longed to get rid of it.
She heard a clatter from the front desk. The girl on the Wizengamot reception had knocked over an ink-bottle and a tide of ghastly electric-blue was dripping onto the tiles. She was an awful Mudblood with a horrible, cheaply-dyed perm and a tedious habit of chewing gum constantly. Dolores was growing so tired of looking at her that she’d started slipping a laxative potion into her milk so she’d have to go home sick.
Of course, the first day she’d done that had been the same day the silly girl decided she was vegan.
—
A letter, written on Remus’ parchment with James’ quill and sent with Sirius’ owl.
To the Dark Lord,
Dumbledore is watching Dolores Umbridge.
With my very best wishes,
Peter Pettigrew
Its reply.
I am tired of telling you to stop signing letters with your real name.
If this is not resolved, I will cut both of your hands off and replace them with ones which can actually write.
—
Dolores spent the rest of the morning moving happily through her in-tray, signing documents with a very sharp quill made from a bird-of-paradise feather and answering complaints to the Wizengamot in a tone of bland and professional malice. Periodically, she allowed herself the pleasure of a giddy little fantasy about the look on Alastor Moody's face when the Dark Lord took over and promptly blasted the rest of his nose off.
She hated Moody. Crouch at least had the straight-backed ruthlessness of all the best civil servants. He liked his tea a perfect teak shade and abstained from sweets, his son had achieved twelve OWLs and had completed an internship in the Department of International Magical Cooperation which had allowed him to travel to Albania, and he could deliver a meticulous Killing Curse when the circumstances required it. She was sure that he would be promoted quickly to magnificent things when the Dark Lord got a look at him.
Moody, in contrast, would be dead. And she would be delighted.
He was an insufferable man. She felt herself come over all faint every time she looked at his vulgar leathery overcoat and his straggly ginger hair, a dishevelment she was appalled the Auror Office permitted. (She would have preferred neat heavy-wool uniforms, with arm bands which bore the Ministry's crest.) He was completely averse to following orders - he fired when there had been no command to do so, obsessed with seeing danger around every corner, but would insist, every so often, on being a bleeding heart tediously committed to mercy. The Aurors had been given powers to kill. He largely refused. Even when the criminal in question was a rum-addled half-breed named Mundungus Fletcher who had made off with her handbag as she decorously sipped a gin fizz in the Hog's Head. Moody had been lurking in the corner, working his way through a bottle of King's Ginger, and had flatly refused to chase after Fletcher and rend his soul from his body when she demanded it.
She couldn’t stand disobedience. Luckily, she had the impression that the Dark Lord was the same.
—
A series of flying memoranda, printed on lilac paper.
[The memos are a recent invention of the Ministry of Magic, following a period of embarrassed self-reflection after two of the internal owls - one black, one tan, which was the real kicker - defecated on the head of the Irish Minister and nearly caused a diplomatic incident.]
From: Michael Quicke, Broom Regulatory Control Office
To: Bohemond Kneebone, Portkey Office
Took a meeting this a.m. with a distinguished colleague in Wizengamot Administration Services. Very productive chat. As it turned out, she’s also very interested in having a flutter on the old flying horses. Apparently her recent favourites have been General Sympathies and Supports The Coup. Any idea what the odds are on Further Recruitment and Spymaster General in upcoming races? - Mick
From: Bohemond Kneebone, Portkey Office
To: Michael Quicke, Broom Regulatory Control Office
Great to hear. No idea on the odds on Further Recruitment - Spymaster General’s out for a while, he had a nasty run in with Snake Eyes after that cock-up race in Armagh - but will see if my dad knows anything. Did she seem like she might like to join the betting pool? Would you recommend her? - B.K.
From: Michael Quicke, Broom Regulatory Control Office
To: Bohemond Kneebone, Portkey Office
Let’s discuss that in person… - Mick
—
Dolores sat down at four for her usual cup of tea, a sable biscuit perched elegantly on the side, and watched as the Wizengamot filed into Courtroom F. They were investigating a pair of grimy little toads called Catsmeat Williams and Frank Jemble, who were up for an astonishingly poorly-conceived bank robbery, in which both had walked into Gringotts and then Jemble had charged into a storeroom and filled his moneybags after Williams dropped his trousers and waggled his bits at the clerk.
The goblins - awful creatures, whose monopoly over the economy was something she detested - were spitting blood, but she knew that the two criminals would get off with a slap on the wrist. Dumbledore was in charge of the trial. And Dumbledore didn't have the slightest interest in things being proper. He never seemed to want anything to be neat and right and tightly controlled by lots of useful laws. He preferred tedious moral grandstanding which just made everything complicated and unfair and messy.
Dolores hated mess.
—
Form 101: Request for an Internal Staff Profile from the Employee’s Current Department.
Request: Dolores Jane Umbridge, Wizengamot Administration Services
By: Gaius Germanicus Kneebone, Head of the Department of Magical Transportation
Reason: Potential Cross-Department Transfer
Authorised: Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement
[CONFIDENTIAL DOCUMENT. DO NOT COPY]
A heavy manila file.
Lucius - make a copy of this and then summarise it. Send your report to the Dark Lord by 8.00 tomorrow and tell him to contact me via the usual method when he's read it. - Gaius.
—
Dolores stepped through the Floo into her living room, as she always did, at precisely five past six, and went into the kitchen to prepare herself a lovely dish of sole meunière.
She felt elated.
—
The Dark Lord’s morning briefing note, prepared by Lucius Septimus Malfoy.
Dolores Jane Umbridge is thirty-nine years old. She lives in Ampney Crucis in Gloucestershire. She was in Hufflepuff and left school with five NEWTs, all Acceptable. She is a member of the Wizengamot Administration Services. She wants to join us because she thinks that half-breeds and all other sorts of filth should be wiped out.
[The note appears out of thin air and lands on the breakfast table at Malfoy Manor as Lucius and his father sit down for their morning kedgeree. There is a handwritten addendum scrawled at the top.]
Abraxas - Your son is an imbecile. Find me someone who can prepare this note properly. Better yet, just tell Kneebone to send me her folder and I’ll summarise it myself.
—
Dolores left for work, as she always did, at precisely seven forty-five.
—
A series of flying memoranda.
From: Gaius Kneebone, Department of Magical Transportation
To: Corban Yaxley, Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Yaxley - Responsibility for proceeding with the enclosed report and its recommendations lies with your department, I believe. I have an Albanian colleague who would appreciate a speedy turnaround on this. He’d particularly appreciate your read on whether she’s recruitment material. - G.G.K.
From: Dolores Umbridge, Wizengamot Administration Services
To: Cornelius Fudge, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes
I would be delighted if you would join me for lunch today. The canteen is serving your absolute favourite: shepherd’s pie and then jam roly-poly. - Dolores
From: Corban Yaxley, Department of Magical Law Enforcement
To: Dolores Umbridge, Wizengamot Administration Services
Miss Umbridge - Would you be able to swing by my office at 8.45 this morning for a quick chat about your recent request for transfer to the Department of Magical Transportation? - C.B.Y.
From: Cornelius Fudge, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes
To: Dolores Umbridge, Wizengamot Administration Services
I’m afraid I’m about to rush home. Terrible headache. Quite a bore.
—
Once again, Dolores began her day with a cup of weak coffee and a sense of great satisfaction.
Her meeting had gone very well. She had told Corban Yaxley all about her fondness for dementors and how she was determined to have centaurs confined to tightly controlled areas, and how she had always harboured a belief that Mudbloods stole magic from ordinary witches and wizards by means of drinking children's blood, and how she had heard that the Minister hadn't been legally elected because Dumbledore had fixed the vote.
'Right. I see,' said Yaxley, scratching his temple, which she could only conclude meant that he agreed.
—
A letter.
My lord,
Met with Potential Recruit no. 64 this afternoon. I have to say I’m concerned. She seems completely unhinged, even by our standards. Very obedient though, would clearly believe anything she was told...
I’ve asked L.M. to book me in for eight tonight, but God only knows if he remembered. Call me if you need me.
C.
—
Dolores left for work, as she always did, at precisely seven forty-five.
—
A series of flying memoranda.
From: Corban Yaxley, Department of Magical Law Enforcement
To: Barnaby Lee, Department of International Magical Cooperation
Please find enclosed a report on a colleague interested in joining the Albanian Division. - C.B.Y.
From: Barnaby Lee, Department of International Magical Cooperation
To: Corban Yaxley, Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Surely you don't support this application based on this report? It’s awful. This woman sounds like a maniac. - B.L.
From: Corban Yaxley, Department of Magical Law Enforcement
To: Barnaby Lee, Department of International Magical Cooperation
I know she does. I’ve taken it up to the top, but the gaffer said he still wants her looked at. - C.B.Y.
From: Barnaby Lee, Department of International Magical Cooperation
To: Corban Yaxley, Department of Magical Law Enforcement
He’s been spending too much time with Roddy’s missus. His sense of what is and isn’t sadistic is off... - B.L.
From: Corban Yaxley, Department of Magical Law Enforcement
To: Barnaby Lee, Department of International Magical Cooperation
You're telling me. I've seen what he did to Gus' leg... - C.B.Y.
From: Barnaby Lee, Department of International Magical Cooperation
To: Dolores Umbridge, Wizengamot Administration Services
Miss Umbridge - I would be grateful if you could come to my office at 2.45 this afternoon. - Barnaby Lee
—
Dolores sat down at four for her usual cup of tea and felt incredibly pleased with herself. She had spent a very pleasant hour telling Barnaby Lee in great detail about how, if she had her way, she would outlaw mixed marriages between wizards and Muggles. Instead, perhaps the Ministry could find suitable partners for people of magical heritage, and offer them lots of lovely incentives - such as time in Azkaban if they didn't - to produce children. Love was besides the point.
Lee had seemed considerably more receptive to this idea than Cornelius had. Unfortunately he seemed to already be married.
—
A letter.
Dear Lucius,
I would appreciate it if you could schedule a meeting in our mutual friend’s diary for seven o’clock this evening. Please have a chilled bottle of sancerre ready, and please find someone other than yourself to take the minutes.
Regards,
Barney
A transcript from a meeting held between the Dark Lord and Barnaby Lee in Malfoy Manor, nr. Wootton Bassett, Wiltshire, at nine o'clock in the evening on Wednesday 23 July 1980.
Presiding: The Dark Lord [TDL]
Secretary: Rodolphus Lestrange [RL]
Present: Eadmer Avery [EA]; Antonin Dolohov [AD]; Barnaby Lee [BL]; Abraxas Malfoy [AM]
TDL: I am not sure, Barney, where you got the impression that I am uninterested in recruits with a passion for sadism?
BL: I’m not under that impression, my lord. What I’m saying is that she doesn’t seem to have any interest in sadism that's actually useful. Her only concern is endless petty griping about Ministry bureaucracy, all of which she seems to be under the impression you will improve but, essentially, retain. I'm almost certain that the minute she discovered you want to get rid of the Ministry entirely she'd start causing trouble.
AM: Not, it should be said, that she seems to have the talent to actually do much of that.
BL: No, and that's another thing - she seems to have the magical ability of a wasp. You couldn't put her to use as an assassin or a spy. The only thing she's good at is following orders.
TDL: I’m not sure where you got the impression that I am uninterested in the servile either, Barney.
AD: She hates Dumbledore though, you have to give her that.
BL: But lots of people hate Dumbledore! That can't be the only criteria we're selecting for. Otherwise we'll just end up with fifty Goyles blundering around aimlessly.
TDL: Be that as it may, I cannot see the harm in having Rookwood take a final look.
BL: I just think -
TDL: I did not ask for your opinion.
BL: Yes, my lord.
EA: Yes, my lord.
AD: Yes, my lord.
RL: Yes, my lord.
AM: Yes, my lord.
—
Dolores left for work, as she always did, at precisely seven forty-five.
—
A flying memorandum.
From: Barnaby Lee, Department of International Magical Cooperation
To: Augustus Rookwood, Department of Mysteries.
[REDACTED]
—
Dolores was drafting a memo to Cornelius asking him to join her for a drink at the Iridescent Turnip Cocktail Bar - since she was certain she would shortly have some wonderful professional news to celebrate - when there was a knock at the door. A short, slight man, with long, fine hair and a pock-marked face, stood on the threshold to her office. He wore the austere black robes of an Unspeakable.
'Good afternoon,' she said, punctiliously.
'The Dark Lord sends his regards,' he replied, with a courteous nod of his head.
Dolores felt a gleeful smile break out across her face. 'Oh. How marvellous.'
The man stepped into the office, moving with a certain feline grace despite his other deficiencies in appearance, and cast his eyes across the various trinkets which adorned the walls.
'I like the cats,' he said.
'Thank you.'
'I have one myself.'
'I'm afraid I'm not fond of the real thing. All that fur everywhere...'
'Yes, very disruptive. I seem to have spent all my years at Hogwarts brushing other people's cat hair from my robes.'
Dolores shuddered. 'Oh yes, it's horrendous. That school shouldn't allow pets. It only encourages poor behaviour.'
The man looked at her quizzically. 'Do you have any other suggestions on how Hogwarts should be run?'
'Thousands. The curriculum needs to be completely overhauled. The children are taught far too much magic and encouraged to experiment quite shamelessly. It's completely inappropriate. They ought to get rid of the prefect system because it only breeds unfairness. They ought to get rid of the house system for the same reason, and just make them all socialise in a Ministry-approved way. The library needs purging of all the awful books it contains. In fact, I really don't think wider reading should be permitted at all, unless it's under the guidance of a teacher. In fact, I must be honest, I believe the school should be closed.'
'You think Hogwarts should be closed?'
Dolores fluttered her eyelashes at him in a simpering manner. 'Oh absolutely. In fact, I would encourage it to be the new government's earliest priority.'
—
Letters.
Can we meet at the George & Dragon this evening? There’s a quiz on at the Royal Oak and I’d rather not get stuck in it… Usual time. Leg still hurts like a bastard, by the way. - AJR
Fine, but I can't stay too long. I’m meeting Bella at nine and I need to make sure Roddy’s out of the way… The leg is your own fault, but I might be prevailed upon to heal it if you ask nicely. - LV
You really ought to just kill him and be done with it. - AJR
Unfortunately he's rather good at keeping minutes. - LV
Yes... unlike Lucius he can spell his own name. - AJR
Running late. One of the Inferi got loose and took a chunk out of Roddy’s arm. - LV
Well that’s one way to solve your issue… - AJR
Very droll. Get me a Guinness, will you? - LV
On it. - AJR
What of this Umbridge business by the way? - LV
I'll tell you in person... Trust me, you will absolutely want to reject. - AJR
—
Dolores left for work, as she always did, at precisely seven forty-five, an extremely formulaic rejection letter from the Death Eaters clutched in one ring-covered hand and a note from Cornelius explaining that he couldn't come for a drink because he was suddenly engaged to be married in the other.
She was livid.
—