Fudge, UmbridgePrompt by: upstart_crowRating:
Wow, well, I asked for a challenge. I got one. *grins* Warning: This fic has not
This simple noise had, from the very first time he’d heard it, had set his green bowler cap spinning like a pinwheel. There she had been, ten years younger (and, admittedly, ten years slimmer), standing with utmost confidence in the doorway to his office.
He had not been Minister for Magic back then, but rather the deputy Director of Inter-Magical Relations (a ridiculous position with no real purpose or substance, but it was another rung up the ladder on his way to the Minister’s chair). Dolores – how sweet a name! – had been his undersecretary. When she had first appeared in his life, he thought for sure he had been graced with an angel. She had understood his every intention, helping him along in his ambition to sit at number 82442. Getting there should have taken at least a decade from the point where he was, and yet in three short years he found himself sitting in the plush dragon-hide Minister’s chair. He knew he could not have done it without her.
She had always been willing to orchestrate the things in which he’d rather not get involved personally. She was good like that, sweeping around like a saccharine harbinger of gluttonous development, always with a “Hem, hem,” on her lips.
“Hem, hem,” she said again, eyes fluttering shut.
Cornelius Fudge was drawn out of his reverie and stared down at the woman before him. She was prostrate on the soft bed before him, covered in barely anything, sheets pulled up over her chest. There was a rather hideous hoof-shaped bruise on her mottled pink skin. He reached out one pudgy finger, hesitant (one of the few times in his life), and touched the contusion gently.
She moved beneath his touch, moaning quietly. “No,” she muttered. “No, no, get back you half-breeds…”
Panicked, Fudge withdrew his hand quickly, eyes wide as she continued to groan and protest. What had happened to the strong woman he’d known? The one who had taken over Hogwarts, driven Dumbledore from his post, and intimidated half of England into accepting every word the Ministry had put forth even after he'd left his position as Minister?
A mewing protest from his right drew his attention. Someone had brought the kittens in bell jars to her hospital room, and they were still gamboling about in a disgusting diversion. Shaken from his thoughts, he stood and gripped Dolores’ hand.
“Hem, hem,” she muttered, stirring. His heart fluttered (or was that the fish and chips he’d had for lunch?) and he promptly forgot about his doubts. He’d make things right.
Maybe he’d start with the centaurs.