Dolores Umbridge sat at her desk, the silence of the Ministry's late hours her only company. The soft glow from her desk lamp illuminated the meticulously arranged quills and stacks of parchment. Her gaze drifted to the pink kitten plates adorning the walls, their animated purrs a comforting, if saccharine, presence.
Her thoughts drifted back to her childhood, a time overshadowed by her father's violent temper and the crushing absence of her mother. Her father had been a tyrant, his rage a constant storm she could never escape. Her mother had left before she turned eleven, abandoning her to face his wrath alone. Those years of abuse had hardened her, teaching her that vulnerability was a weakness she could ill afford.
She had other secrets, too—like her attraction to women. She had known from a young age that she was different, but the fear of how it might affect her career kept her closeted. The wizarding world was hardly progressive, and she couldn't risk the scandal. She buried that part of herself deep, beneath layers of control and authority.
Yet, amid the darkness, there were moments of light. Her cats at home provided solace, their purrs a gentle reminder that not all affection was dangerous. She also found joy in baking, her strawberry cake a particular delight. It was one of the few things she allowed herself to take pride in, a small victory in a life dominated by fear and power plays.
She also acknowledged her physicality, aware that her students often stared at her ample curves, specifically her big ass, when she taught. It was a strange kind of validation, knowing she could command attention without even trying.
Dolores was a complex woman, shaped by pain and driven by ambition, but not without her own peculiar strengths and comforts.