Daddy's Favorite

Whiteness. Everything is whiteness. I cannot tolerate whiteness. It is too bright, too harsh. Pinks and pastel blues are so much better, so much more decent. I close my eyes to shut out the blazing purity of the white.

That is a mistake. No sooner are my eyes closed than I see the fire, the fire in the clearing. I struggle against the ropes binding me to the tree, but they are much too tight.

Thwop. An arrow embeds itself in the tree next to my cheek. Thwop, thwop, thwop. Three more arrows outline my head. I am frozen with fear. In a flurry of hooves one of the centaurs gallops forward, bearing a spear with a gleaming head. Drawing back his arm he hurls it at my abdomen. I screw my eyes shut in the vision and prepare for the death blow, only to feel cold metal between my thighs as the spear neatly passes between my slightly spread legs. The cold is negated by a gush of warmth as my bladder lets go. All around I hear the roaring laughter of the centaurs as the gallop about the tree, shouting comments that would make a giant blush.

I open my eyes in the waking world only to be met with the whiteness again. Such is my torture. Eyes open all I can see is whiteness and ugliness. Eyes closed I see horror and pain.

"You have a visitor, Mrs. Umbridge." I look up at the speaker in surprise. It is a young nurse with a cheerful smile. How can she remain cheerful in this place? I do not understand. Then again I don't want to understand the workings of this place, this house of indecency and suffering and disease. St. Mungo's may be necessary, but it is a foul necessity on which I do not want my mind to dwell.

I turn to where she is pointing, fully expecting to see Cornelius Fudge. He has not communicated with me since before I left Hogwarts. Since before I was chased from Hogwarts by that unspeakable poltergeist. I understand that matters at the Ministry have been chaotic since the events of You-Know-Who's return, especially as the Minister is bereft of the aid and advice of his Senior Secretary. Still, he could spare a few minutes to comfort me in my hour of need, especially after the services I rendered him with regard to Dumbledore and Potter. I particularly want to see about getting moved to a private room befitting my station. Here I have to put up with nuisances like that Lockheart fellow who is constantly trying to give me his autograph.

But the tall figure coming warily down the aisle between the rows of beds cannot be Cornelius. As he gets nearer I see a blaze of red hair above the spray of carnations he is carrying. It is young Mr. Weasley, unless I am very badly mistaken. Evidently Cornelius is having his Junior Secretary take care of his social calls. Or is it he wants to have no contact with me? A stab of concern lances through my stomach. I have been a lifetime servant of the Ministry, and I am well acquainted with the lengths to which senior officials will go to find scapegoats.

Percy sees me and walks forward with an air of relief. "Hello Madam Umbridge. I trust you are feeling better!" His cheer is obviously forced, a very bad sign. He sets the flowers down on the table near my bed and pulls up a chair. I note that he looks very tired and anxious. But there is also something else. When he looks at me directly I see a coldness in his eye I have not seen there before. But he looks away quickly. Perhaps I imagined it.

"I am getting well rapidly, thank you," I reply. Unfortunately at that moment one of the healers two beds down taps the nub of his quill rhythmically against his clipboard. I start frantically, automatically scanning about for signs of danger.

"Madam Umbridge!" Percy puts his hands on my shoulders and gently pushes me back down into the bed, "it is all right. You are quite safe here!"

"Yes, yes," I say, feeling myself blush with intense embarassment, "thank you Mr. Weasley."

"The Minister sends his good wishes. He regrets he could not come himself but recent events have caused many problems at the Ministry." Percy is still not looking at me directly. I find that very odd, but I am grateful he has come to this topic so quickly. Here on the mental ward we receive little in the way of detailed news - they think it excites us too much.

"What is happening Mr. Weasley?" I lie back against my pillows and smile my sweetest smile. "I am sure troublemakers of all kinds have come out of the woodwork."

"Oh yes. There are several petitions of no confidence circulating. We are confident they will come to nothing." He does not sound confident. I feel alarm building once again.

"Centered on Dumbledore and Hogwarts, I suppose?"

"Actually no. But now that you mention it, I would like to talk to you about your time at Hogwarts. What precisely happened in the woods?"

"Have you found Dumbledore's weapon yet?" I ask excitedly.

"No. We are quite sure that was simply a ruse on Hermione Granger's part."

"But there MUST be a weapon, I..."

"Madam Umbridge," Percy says with unaccustomed gravity, "the centaurs please."

fire arrows spears ropes fire pain shame fire arrows

"They took my wand and tied me to a tree and had...sport with me. I believe that is all in the statement I made."

"Yes, it is in the statement. But you have not talked very much about how you got away from the centaurs."

I sigh. I was afraid we would come to this. "Dumbledore made some kind of deal with them."

"A deal? What kind of deal?" He leans forward.

"I really don't know. At one point I passed out. When I came to he was there, talking with them. They talked for a very long time. Then he came over to me and they untied me and he took me out."

"That was all? He said nothing to you?"

"Well, yes he did."

"What did he say?"

"I don't remember."

"Are you sure about that?" His voice has a tone of mockery that I find most offensive.

"I think I know what I can and cannot remember, Mr. Weasley!"

"I wonder about that, Madam Umbridge." He looks around the ward with a slow smile, the obvious implication being that anyone on a mental ward might well not have the most reliable or constant memory.

"I assure you that I am no Harry Potter, Mr. Weasley!" I hiss.

He coughs. "Madam Umbridge, much has changed in the last few days. I must warn you that casting aspersions on Harry Potter's sanity or truthfulness will win you no friends in the Wizarding World at the moment."

"So the unstable brat is a hero again?" I ask in disbelief.

"It would seem so," he informs me in a dry tone. "What's more the Ministry is being vilified in the press for not believing him a year ago."

"Believing him! We were supposed to induce a public panic on the word of a dangerous, attention-seeking child?" I remember Potter's defiance, his flouting of authority despite all my efforts to teach him better. Rage courses through my veins.

"I happen to agree with you, Madam Umbridge. But the fact remains that Mr. Potter has been proven correct. You-Know-Who has indeed returned."

"But surely that is all the more reason to emphasize responsibility and obedience to authority! Behavior like Potter's can't go unpunished. Telling lies..."

"But he did not tell lies, Madam Umbridge."

"It doesn't matter! He would, I have no doubt, if it suited his purpose! Responsibility and obedience, that is what we need! That is what I tried to introduce at Hogwarts!"

"Yes, and there are many questions about your tenure at Hogwarts arising as well." Percy looks at me for once, and his eyes are indeed cold.

"Questions? What kind of questions?"

"Well, first of all, your choice of members for your Inquisitorial Squad. Many of their parents have been arrested as deatheaters."

"By what evidence?" I feel real fear flooding my intestines. This can't be happening!

"Harry Potter's."

"There you see! Potter again!"

"Madam Umbridge, as I have said, open hostility towards Harry Potter is not a wise policy at the moment."

"But Cornelius was good friends with Lucius Malfoy!" I cry before I can stop myself.

"Acceptance of political and charitable contributions does not imply knowledge or approval of illegal activity." Percy looks fiercely prim, if such a thing is possible.

"What else?" I ask softly.

"There is the matter of a certain quill you used in detentions."

"Potter again? Did he object to his delicate skin being scarred?"

"No. Hermione Granger actually. She and Minerva McGonagall have asked the Ministry to open an investigation."

McGonagall, I might have known! Always undermining me, and forever supporting Potter and Dumbledore!

"So I have bad teaching methods, is that what they are saying?"

"No, they want you charged with assault."

I feel my throat constrict. "Assault? But that's ridiculous!"

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement evidently has other ideas. Amelia Bones has accepted the petition for preliminary examination."

"Amelia!" I almost spit the name. If it were not for Madam Bones' sentimental babbling I might have had Potter's goose thoroughly cooked last August.

"Madam Bones is most insistent that the letter of the law be followed in all cases involving members of the Ministry," Percy says with that fierce primness again. "She and the other members of the Department are taking the allegations concerning your detentions very seriously."

"But, how can that be assault?" It was only discipline, after all. An attempt to teach a nasty little boy not to tell lies.

"They bled." Percy says flatly. "Further Granger and McGonagall have brought up your near use of the Cruciatus Curse on Potter, and your admission to dispatching dementors to Potter's house last summer."

"But surely the Ministry will not agree to open an investigation. I am the Senior Secretary to the Minister of Magic, after all."

"Actually, that would be my position," Percy says softly.

I gasp as if I've been kicked.

"Lastly you had ordered the whipping of a pair of young troublemakers. That bids fair to create quite a public commotion once it gets out."

"Those two!" I snort. "They deserved it. You have no idea what they had done."

"Oh I think I have an idea," he says softly. His eyes are like ice.

And then I remember. The Weasley twins are, of course, his younger brothers.

"I admit I went much to far then. But as for almost using the Cruciatus, why whoever says that are a pack of liars."

"That would include another brother of mine and a sister," he replies with a voice like a hangman.

Damn him and his rabbit hutch of a family!

"So I'm to be put out in the cold?"

"Oh no, it gets very warm in Paraguay."

"Paraguay?" Did I just hear correctly?

"Yes. The Minister agrees that a public investigation would not be in the interest of good order and safety during this crisis. He is also aware of your previous contributions to the Ministry. Therefore he is willing to overlook your indiscretions at Hogwarts and offer you an important and honorable position as emissary to the Wizarding community of Paraguay."

"Paraguay?" I almost choke. "Isn't that where those muggle Nazis went to hide?"

"I believe that might be the case, yes."

"I refuse to be humiliated in this manner!" How dare Cornelius treat me this way! After all I have done for him and the Wizarding community of Britain!

Weasley draws a rolled up parchment from an interior pocket of his robes and lays it on the table next to the carnations. "I will leave this with you, Madam Umbridge. The Minister says he will take no action for a few days. Please feel free to contact us."

"You are playing a dangerous game Weasley!" I growl. "You are no better than those brothers of yours!"

He looks at me for a long moment and then smiles. But the smile is an expression of intense sorrow, not of joy. Then he nods, spins on his heel, and strides off quickly.

How dare he! That...

A nurse passes with a wheeled cart. One of the wheels is loose and makes a clopping noise as it rotates.

fire arrows pain pain fear fire pain death

I find myself halfway to my feet, two nurses on either side attempting to prevent me from bolting. "It's all right Madam Umbridge," one of them says with a weary, bored tone, "there are no centaurs here."

I should certainly hope not! Gathering what little of my dignity remains, I recline once again and allow the nurse to arrange the sheets and blankets.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Paraguay! Of all the insults!

I lied of course. I remember very well what happened in the forest. I cannot forget. No I will not forget.

At some point during the centaurs' sport I passed out. When I awoke I was still bound securely to the tree, with several of the disgusting mixed breeds surrounding me. Several of them carried spears that they poked in my direction, jeering. But most of them were gathered in the middle of the clearing where the lead stallion of the herd was deep in conversation with a tall, white haired figure. Dumbledore! So the centaurs figured into his plot somehow! Perhaps they were guarding his weapon for him!

The conversation continued for quite a long time. Centaurs would wander back and forth from the middle of the clearing to my tree, listening to the conversation for a while then taking a break to jab spears or shoot arrows in my direction. After what felt like several hours the lead stallion nods and Dumbledore strides over to where I am bound. The ring of centaurs parted for him respectfully.

"So Dumbledore," I said, steeling myself for death in the service of the Ministry, "you reveal your true intentions! Who else do you have as allies? Giants? Mermen?"

"And werewolves," he said softly, smiling.

"I should have known! You will destroy all that is decent and orderly and give us over to mixed breed filth!"

"What do you have against mixed breeds, as you call them, Madam Umbridge?" He tilted his head and looked at me with a puzzled expression.

"They are an affront to order! To decency! Safety requires order and obedience! Decency has to be protected. There is no place in respectable, orderly society for the likes of them!"

"You know, Madam Umbridge," he said with a soft sigh, "I know a family of muggles who think much the same way."

"Do not insult me by comparison with such as them!" I spit.

He just shook his head. "The herd has agreed that killing you would do more harm than good. They have agreed to allow me to deal with you."

"So, you are going to kill me, are you? I would expect as much! You have no place in decent society! Filthy rebel! Not you and not Granger and not Potter!"

"Ah, yes, Mr. Potter." He smiled, but his smile did not reach his eyes. "You seem to have had a particular feud with him these past few months, I must say."

"A feud? No. I just mistakenly believed I could teach him not to tell vicious lies. I thought if I showed him that filthy liars had no place in decent society, that they achieve only pain and punishment, I could reform him. But he is a hopeless, nasty, criminal child."

"I see," Dumbledore replied softly.

"You will find your punishment traitor! And Potter will find his!"

"Harry has much to bear. What you have done to him," he paused and closed his eyes, as if in pain, "will doubtless live in his nightmares for a very long time."

"No more than he deserves." I felt great satisfaction in the righteousness of my cause.

Dumbledore opened his eyes and looked at me silently. He suddenly seemed very, very old. I had hurt him, somehow. And I was glad.

"Why did you send the dementors after Harry this past summer?"

I try to shrug, but the ropes will not allow it. "Somebody had to do something about him. I thought that if he repelled them, we could charge him and break his wand - which we would have if not for that obnoxious squib."

"And if they gave him the kiss?" he asked softly.

So much the better. Now kill me old man, and get it over with."

"As I recently told an old student of mine, Dolores, death is far too good for you." He raised his wand.

"If you believe you can obliviate me and get away with it, you should know that the Ministry is adept at detecting and breaking memory charms!"

"I am aware of that," he answered. He pointed his wand at me and said "Memoria!"

Suddenly my awareness expanded. Every detail, every shadow, every glimmer in the clearing seemed to burn into my mind. Every sensation seemed to drill deep into my heart.

"Do not forget Dolores," Dumbledore said softly, "remember." And then his voice hardened and grew terrible. "REMEMBER DOLORES UMBRIDGE! REMEMBER THIS PLACE UNTIL THE END OF DAYS! FEEL YOUR FEAR UNTIL THE STARS BURN OUT!"

And I have remembered. And I have felt. Every time I hear a rhythmic sound, I am back in the clearing again. Every time I close my eyes, I see the fire again. I can't even tell the physicians what he did. Any attempt to speak of it transports me into the clearing, and as far as the physicians are concerned I am just having another "attack."

Clever, clever Dumbledore. Who knew you could be so creatively cruel.

I know what I will gave to do of course. I am going to have to go to him and grovel. I have had to do that before in my career. It will be humiliating, but I will do it. The problem is that he might not accept it. Why did I have to say those things about Potter?

I reach over and take the paper that Weasley left. It is the decree appointing me emissary to Paraguay. It just needs my signature as a sign of acceptance to be official. For a moment I feel a wild urge to sign. Maybe, just maybe, the ocean will protect me.

But then I pull myself together. Distance makes no difference. My torture comes from within. I remember, and I will continue to remember. I will remember until the stars burn out.

How long does it take for a star to burn out? That is something a muggle would know. I won't lower myself to scrounge for muggle knowledge.

But somehow I suspect it takes a very long time. I suspect it takes a very long time indeed.