Chapter 10
In a charming pink house nestled in the heart of Hogsmeade Village, just a stone's throw from the grand Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Delores Umbridge lived in her familiar, oppressive sphere of authority. Outwardly, it seemed an unlikely setting for the machinations of high diplomacy and magic. Yet, in a twist of fate, she had found herself entrusted with an unusual task: to educate Petunia Evans, a Muggle who had long lived under the shadow of her magical sister, Lily.
Minister Fudge had seen potential in Petunia—an opportunity to bridge the gap between the Muggle world and the elite circles of the wizarding community, also known as the Sacred 28 families. Little did Fudge know, however, that this venture would uncover unexpected complexities.
As Delores explained the intricacies of magical society and the importance of lineage, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of intrigue about the woman seated across from her. Petunia, with her meticulously coiffed hair and all-too-stiff demeanor, seemed more absorbed in the teachings than Delores had anticipated. However, as the days passed, Delores couldn’t help but notice something odd. Petunia’s fingers appeared longer and more slender than before, and her height was becoming an alarming spectacle—the sort that would often raise eyebrows in crowded rooms of high society.
"Petunia," Delores said one afternoon, trying to temper her shock with a veneer of politeness, "I would like to ask you something."
Petunia looked up from a scroll detailing the Sacred 28 with her narrowed eyes. "What is it, Dolores?"
Coughing, Delores continued, “I’ve noticed your fingers and your height—it’s quite alarming."
“Yes, and?” Petunia replied, her eyebrows raised with defiance.
“Have you ever gone to a Muggle hospital for a check-up on your growth?” Delores probed, concern etching her voice.
Petunia shook her head, her pride not allowing her to reveal her vulnerability. “No,I haven’t.”
Umbridge’s lips curled into a tight line. “In that case, we must bring a healer. Immediate examination is necessary.”
The very next day, under the guise of worry for Petunia’s well-being, Delores summoned a Muggle-born witch healer, one known for her discretion and expertise. The examination revealed something unexpected.“Well, this is interesting. You have acromegaly,” the healer announced, eyebrows raised.
“What’s that?” both women asked in unison, their expressions a mixture of worry and confusion.
“Miss Evans,” the healer continued, adjusting her glasses as she spoke, “acromegaly is a condition where bones grow excessively long. If left untreated, it could be life-threatening. Your parents should have sought medical attention for you.”
Petunia felt her heart race, bitterness flooding her thoughts. It wasn’t just about her health; it was the realization that her parents had favored her younger sister, Lily, leaving her neglected. Their absence now loomed large over her, a void too painful to articulate. Yet now, it was too late to question them; they were gone, and Petunia was left to grapple with her emotions alone.
“Is there a cure?” Petunia’s voice broke through the silence.
The healer nodded. “Fortunately, there is, but it will require extensive financial resources.”
Before Petunia could respond, Dolores interjected, her voice deceptively sweet. “You won’t need to worry about the cost; it will be covered. She’s valuable to us,” she added, turning her gaze to Petunia, a glint of selfish ambition evident in her eyes.
The healer, not accustomed to such arrangements, nodded hesitantly. “Very well. You’ll need to come to St. Mungo’s tomorrow for the operation.”
The next day, Dolores escorted Petunia to St. Mungo’s, her heart racing with a mixture of hope and trepidation. After changing into a hospital gown, Petunia found herself facing the healer once more.
“You will be taken to the Chamber of the Scarlet Flower,” the healer explained, her voice soothing yet firm. “The flowers possess magical properties that will extract the old bone matter from your body over the course of 12 hours. Following this extraction, we’ll insert a tube in your mouth to administer Skele-Gro, which will aid in the growth of new bones.”
“What if it alters my appearance?” Petunia asked, dread curling in her stomach.
“Be aware,” the healer cautioned, “that your face may change. It could become less appealing or more so.”
Petunia felt a shiver travel down her spine, but the determination to reclaim her life surmounted her fears. “All right, let’s do it.”
With that, the healer administered a draught that sent Petunia into unconsciousness.
Outside the operating room, Dolores watched carefully.“Have you informed her family?” the healer asked flatly.
“She has no family to inform,” Dolores replied, the harshness of her tone contrasting with the tenderness of the situation.
With a flick of her wand, she levitated Petunia’s unconscious body but immediately halted by Delores. “Once the operation is complete, she must be in excellent shape. If harmed or disfigured…” Dolores let the sentence hang ominously.
“I understand,” the healer reassured, flustered under the weight of Dolores's icy gaze.
Dolores’ eyes narrowed. “You misunderstand. She is a valuable asset for our little game, and I will not share her fate with you. So make sure you do your job properly.”
The healer nodded curtly, fear ignited within her With that, Petunia was taken to the Scarlet Flower Chamber. Surrounded by radiant blossoms that pulsed with ancient magic, she floated in water, apprehension gripping her as the flowers drew closer. Tendrils shot out, piercing her skin and beginning the extraction process.
Twelve hours passed, each one feeling like an eternity for Dolores as she stood outside, immersed in her own thoughts about the ramifications of Petunia's transformation.
Finally, a group of healers entered the chamber, their expressions grave and determined. They inserted a tube into Petunia’s mouth, administering Skele-Gro in careful doses, the healing process set in motion.
Three days remained to see what Petunia Evans would become—a once-ordinary Muggle, now an unwilling participant in a game far larger than either could comprehend. And in the shadows of the pink house, Dolores Umbridge plotted on, eager to see how her investment in Petunia would pay off in the magical society that had long ago dismissed her kind.