FIC: "A Very Bad Thing Indeed" for Miss Morland

[bethbethbeth]

Recipient: Miss_Morland
Author: lash_larue
Title: "A Very Bad Thing Indeed"
Rating: R
Pairings: Aunt Marge/Umbridge Millicent Bulstrode/Moaning Myrtle
Word Count: 14,340
Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View): *[sex, masturbation, culling of deformed pup (ruthless, but not drawn out or sensationalized)]*.
Summary: Just because a woman does not meet contemporary standards of beauty does not mean that she doesn’t have needs and longings. Strong women find a way to satisfy them.
Author's Notes: According to the interview with JKR, "Harry and Me", Millicent Bulstrode is a half-blood. In this story she is a pure-blood. The village Marjorie lives near is real; I did not make that up.

My thanks to A for wading through this.

---

Dolores Umbridge tugged the tail of her tweed jacket square as she faced the door in front of her. She was finding the unaccustomed Muggle attire difficult to keep in proper order. The thing simply was not properly tailored for a real woman’s body, she thought in irritation.

Nonetheless, she would make do, and she would present herself as a school official should to Harry Potter’s Muggle relations. She would adhere to her own strict standards of suitable appearance even when wearing Muggle clothing. The jacket arranged, she steeled herself to gain entry to what she mistakenly considered to be Harry Potter’s home. Of course she had no way of knowing that Harry hardly considered it as such.

This was after all where he grew up, where he spent his summers. There simply had to be something here that would allow her to completely discredit that most inconvenient and untruthful boy. She checked the parchment that carried the names of this family on it for a final time, returned it to her bag, and then knocked firmly on the door.

Instantly there was a frenzied barking from within the house, and Dolores cringed. She did not get on well with dogs, considering them too loud, too slobbery, and altogether too smelly. Give her a cat any day, thank you.

"Good dog," came a loud voice, "good dog, now quiet! The barking ceased immediately, to Dolores’s immense surprise. How could a family with such a well-trained dog have raised such a rebellious nephew?

"I suppose the dog is rather more intelligent," she thought, and it was the smile that this petty joke brought to her face that greeted the occupant of the house when they opened the door.

"Yes?" greeted the rather large woman in front of her, and Dolores congratulated herself. The woman was wearing an outfit much like her own, but brown rather than grey. Clearly she had succeeded admirably in her Muggle camouflage efforts. "Come on then, speak up, haven’t got all day you know, and if you’re selling anything you’re wasting both my time and yours."

"Cheeky thing," Dolores thought, but then again there was no way this woman could know who she was, and in any case she was correct. It was no use wasting time.

"Mrs. Petunia Dursley?" Dolores inquired.

"Not likely, Petunia is off on a bit of a holiday with her husband and son. I’m her sister-in-law, Marjorie Dursley. I’m keeping an eye on the place in their absence, one can’t be too careful nowadays. Is there perhaps something I can assist you with on her behalf? We’re quite close you know."

Dolores didn’t know, she had no notion that Harry Potter’s aunt even had a sister-in-law, although there was certainly nothing to prevent it.

"I don’t believe so, no," Dolores said politely, already planning her escape, for the spectacularly ugly dog at the woman’s side was eyeing her speculatively, as if it knew that she wasn’t a canine enthusiast. "You see, I am Professor Umbridge, from her nephew Harry Potter’s school, and I was hoping to learn a bit more about him, so as to be better able to guide and instruct him." She cast her eyes about, leaned forward a bit, and whispered, "he’s a very troubled lad you know, very troubled indeed," she nodded conspiratorially.

"Ah, you’d be from St. Brutus’s then! Come in, come in, I can fill you in on the boy. We’re a close family; that is, apart from that boy Harry. Doesn’t fit in at all, ungrateful he is, and disrespectful. Ripper here doesn’t care for him at all. Always trust a dog’s instincts; they’ll never lead you wrong!" Marjorie said confidently as she stood aside and waved Dolores in.

"I beg your pardon? St. Brutus’s?" Clearly this woman was not in the know about Harry Potter, but nonetheless she found herself entering the house. Marjorie Dursley was an imposing presence, especially for a Muggle.

"I can see that you’re discrete," Marjorie told her, "I approve, only proper when you’re dealing with family secrets, but my brother Vernon told me all about St. Brutus’s. We’re very close, he tells me everything. My brother is too kind hearted for his own good, taking that wretched boy into his home, wouldn’t have done it myself. Of course one could hardly expect anything else, his parents being what they were. No-good layabout for a father and a flighty strumpet for a mother, not that I would speak ill of Petunia’s family, mind. Petunia is a good wife to my brother and a fine mother to my nephew Dudley. A proper young man is my Dudley, strapping lad, takes after his father. Still and all, the boy is family of a sort, and I’m duty bound to help him if I can. Tell me; is it true that you still use the cane at St. Brutus’s?"

By this time the door had closed behind them, and Dolores was beginning to work out that this woman had been told some sort of fairy tale about Potter and where he went to school, but… the cane?

"Use the cane? Well of course n-"

"Good, good, glad to hear it!" interrupted Marjorie. "Best thing for the job, gets their attention. After all, they wouldn’t be in a place like St. Brutus’s if they weren’t giving problems elsewhere. Don’t get me wrong, I admire your courage in dealing with a pack of unruly brats like that Potter boy. Couldn’t do it myself, haven’t the patience. Can’t see wasting my time. Still and all, perhaps you save one now and again, but it must be a bit disheartening dealing day to day with disrespectful, unappreciative children like he is."

"Well, now that you mention it –"

"Of course it is, of course it is. Come and have a seat, best to be comfortable when talking about unpleasant matters, I always say. Here now, you just settle in and I’ll get us a spot of tea. Nothing like a nice cup of tea to get the words flowing, I always say." She hustled from the room; Ripper sat and stared at Dolores’s shins.

Dolores took a few steadying breaths, during which she had time to marvel at the amount of tea that this Muggle woman must drink, to get the words flowing so. But one had to respect her opinions; in fact, Dolores had seldom met so like-minded a person, Muggle or no. She took the opportunity to look about the room, there were many photographs, most of them of a rather lumpish boy, who did indeed take after his father, assuming that the florid-faced man in the pictures was the Vernon Dursley who was very close to his sister and told her everything. Except that his nephew was a wizard, of course. "Likely that’s for the best." she thought.

The man did indeed favor Marjorie; they both had very penetrating eyes. Realists’ eyes, Dolores thought, though many would have just thought them beady. Much like her own eyes, eyes that saw through lies… she did not, however, see any pictures of Harry Potter, and while some might have seen in that a clue of sorts, Dolores thought it only natural. Why should they want to be reminded that they were related to that attention-seeking, lying, unnatural brat, who was only alive by a freak chance? Looking at the pictures of the boy, she admitted to herself that it might have been a good thing that Potter had defeated the Dementor attack; he did seem a fine enough lad. But sacrifices had to be made sometimes, and strapping lad or not he was only a Muggle.

"Here we are then," announced Marjorie as she appeared from the kitchen with a laden tray. "I’d already started preparing a bit of a nosh when you arrived, so I thought it just as well to share it with you. A little food makes it easier to deal with unpleasant subjects, I always say. This is a black tea I have from India, quite robust, if I say so myself. I don’t hold with those hoity-toity flavored things, nor those dreadful green teas they try and tell you are good for you. An insult to the British palate, that’s what I call them. How do you take your tea, professor?" she asked as she poured. "Personally, I take mine on its own. Make a good brew and you don’t have to turn it into a dessert to drink it, I always say. But to each his own, and so long as you don’t try and make me drink it, you may do with it as you will. There are milk and sugar right there, if you’ve the need of them."

Normally Dolores took quite a lot of sugar and a dash of milk as well, but for some reason she did not want to insult the British palate in front of this woman.

"On its own is fine, thank you Ms. Dursley."

"You might as well call me Marge; it’s easier on the tongue. Help yourself to sandwiches, there’s ham and turkey, and a bit of corned beef, none of those namby-pamby watercress things, might as well eat grass. I’d have done better had I known of your visit, still, we shan’t starve, and there’s a trifle for afters. Don’t be shy professor, a fine figure of a woman such as yourself needs her nourishment, if you’ll pardon my saying so. Petunia is a good wife and mother, but dreadfully thin. It’s that Evans blood, I’m sure of it, but though she’s rail-thin she has her head on right, not like that sister of hers. No doubt the world is better off without her and her no-good drunkard of a husband, but it’s a shame and more that she and my brother got landed with their get. They’ve enough to do raising my nephew Dudley, Dudders, I call him. He’s a fine boy, I’m sure you’d approve of him. Mind you, he’s not what you’d call a bookworm, he’s all boy that one, and stout as a draft horse. I can’t abide weasely men, myself." Marge paused to take a mighty bite of ham and turkey sandwich.

It took Dolores a moment to work out that she had actually said "weasely" rather than "Weasley", but it nonetheless endeared Marge to her a bit. The only Weasley man she could abide was young Percy; he might just go places, because he knew where his proper loyalties lay. Dolores had a sip of tea, and found that it was indeed robust. She did manage to restrain the urge to put milk in it; she wanted to show no weakness in front of Marjorie Dursley, because she was after all, an important ministry official, even if Marge did not know that.

"Lovely tea," she simpered, "did you know Mrs. Dursley’s sister well?"

"Can’t say that I did, she and Petunia were estranged even before she married my brother. Only met her a couple of times, but it was obvious that she would come to a bad end, she and that James Potter. Plain as the nose on your face, in fact. Of course Petunia told me all about her, how she fancied herself above everyone, how their parents doted on her, spoiled her and ignored the fine daughter they had in Petunia. We’re very close, Petunia tells me everything. Go on then, try a sandwich, the corned beef is nice and juicy, I never trim it close, spoils the flavor, I always say."

Dolores was coming to realize that Marge always said a great many things, and while she was unsure of how much Vernon and Petunia had really told her about Harry Potter, she knew that she would have no trouble getting her to talk about it. She took a cautious bite of sandwich, and found that the corned beef was indeed very juicy, and in fact quite a lot more enjoyable than the watercress sandwiches she usually served with tea. She did however get a bit of rye crust lodged in her throat, and after Marge had dislodged it with a few well aimed slaps on her back she gulped down the rest of the tea.

"I beg your pardon, Marge," she said, a little embarrassed.

"Think nothing of it; I suppose I do cut the bread a bit thick. Can’t stand those fragile little sandwiches that fall apart in your hands, it’s not a proper sandwich if you can’t get a good grip on it, I always say. I’ve just the thing to settle your chest after that coughing, though. Perhaps you’d get on better with the ham and turkey, the bread is a bit more tender there. Don’t bother about wasting anything; Ripper will do the washing up, so to speak."

Marjorie went to a sideboard, and Ripper gave Dolores a look that indicated quite clearly that she would do well to waste a fair bit of sandwich.

"Here we are then, one thing I’ll say for my brother, he stocks a generous bar," Marjorie announced as she set down a bottle and two large snifters. Dolores glanced at the clock; it was half-past ten. She thought it a bit early, but when in Rome…

"Nothing like a little brandy to settle things down, I always say," Marge informed Dolores as she poured two generous measures and handed a snifter to her. Dolores watched as Marge swirled the amber liquid around and inhaled the vapors before taking a large swallow, and she copied her actions as she was unfamiliar with this particular Muggle ritual. The brandy burned a warm trail to her stomach, and she found, somewhat to her surprise, that this Muggle tipple was very good indeed. Perhaps not quite the equal of Ogden’s best, but quite enjoyable nonetheless. She also found that she did get on better with the ham and turkey, and resolutely ignored Ripper’s disapproving glare as she finished the sandwich along with the brandy.

"An excellent sandwich, Marge, most excellent indeed, my thanks," Dolores said after she had patted her wide mouth with one of Petunia’s linen napkins.

"Not at all, not at all, there’s plenty more, don’t be shy, professor."

"Why thank you, and please do me the honor of calling me Dolores," she asked. "Now, about Harry Potter…"

"Ungrateful boy, as I said," Marge picked up, and she poured another slug of brandy for herself and Dolores. "My brother and his wife took him into their home and he repays them with cheek. He was always getting into trouble at the local school, climbing up the buildings, knocking over the bins, completely out of control. Disrespectful as well, why he once actually told me to shut up, if you can believe it!"

Dolores could indeed believe it, and now she recalled having seen Marjorie Dursley’s name before, in connection with a matter of underage magic that had regrettably been brushed aside because of some imagined threat from Sirius Black.

"It doesn’t surprise me in the least," Dolores assured her, "and I shall be sure and enter the incident in his record. One must document these things carefully, in case one’s methods of discipline are ever questioned after the fact."

"Well, you’ll have no trouble from the Dursleys on that score, I can promise you. In fact I told my brother to recommend extreme force in the boy’s case, and of course he agreed. We’re very close you know. Give the boy an extra stroke from his Aunt Marge, why don’t you?" Marjorie raised her glass in a toast, and Dolores was delighted to respond in kind. "To discipline, the cornerstone of civilization," Marge intoned, and she drained her glass. Dolores followed suit, and the warm feeling spread to her arms and legs.

"Well I must say that I find your attitude on this most refreshing, Marge. Most of the family members I speak with are more concerned with their sainted offspring’s self esteem than in their learning to be responsible citizens," Dolores told her.

"Self esteem! Poppycock!" spat Marge. "Self esteem isn’t a birthright; it’s something you earn. There’s nothing special about the mass of those unruly youngsters, and it does them no favors to let them think that there is, I say. Doesn’t prepare them properly for life. No one is going to pay good wages to some ignorant lout just because he has a high opinion of himself."

"I couldn’t agree more," Dolores said fervently.

"Why don’t you pour us another brandy then, Dolores, while I clear this away and bring in the trifle? Nothing like a spot of brandy with a nice trifle, I always say."

"Delighted," Dolores replied. She poured two Marjorie sized portions and settled back in her seat. "I certainly didn’t expect to meet someone with such enlightened attitudes here," Dolores thought, "and from a Muggle, at that. I wonder if perhaps she’s a squib from some pureblood line or other? I shall check into that." "Nice doggie," she said experimentally.

Ripper passed gas.

Dolores was fanning the air with her napkin when Marge returned with the trifle.

"Sorry about that, he does that now and again, almost like having a husband," she commented.

"Think nothing of it," Dolores managed to say without gagging, "and are you married, then?"

"Me? Certainly not, I’ve not much use for men, frankly. They’re always trying to open doors and jars for you. I can open my own doors and jars without help, thank you. I’ve a very firm grip, you see," and she demonstrated that by closing her admittedly powerful looking hand into a tight fist. "I’m all woman, mind, but I’m no shrinking violet."

"Indeed not," thought Dolores as she stared at Marjorie’s strong hand.

"And what about you, if may be so bold? Is there a Mr. Umbridge at home? Surely an accomplished woman with a fine figure like yours must have to beat them off with a stick." Marjorie asked, her face a touch flushed from the large swallow of brandy she had just taken.

"No, no husband, of course I’ve had offers, especially when I was younger," Dolores lied, "but I put my career first. I don’t beat them off often, anymore. I have to say it’s more of a relief than anything else."

"Aye," said Marge, a knowing look in her eyes that saw through lies, "men are afraid of strong women, in my experience. They’d rather some spineless tart with more tits than brains and a pair of well-rounded heels than a real woman with her own opinions."

They emptied their glasses in silence.

"Enough of that, none of them are worth our time, Dolores. Tell me, do you have a dog? I’m sure you’d get on with one, Ripper here has taken quite a shine to you."

Ripper licked his privates.

"No, no dogs, I’ve always been partial to cats," Dolores told her.

"I don’t hold much truck with cats. Sneaky things. Give me a good honest dog any day, but to each his own, I always say. Ripper! Down! Leave off that nonsense with the professor’s leg this instant! My apologies, he has a bit of an eye for the ladies, I’m afraid. Or perhaps he smells pussycat on you, what?" Marge said with a bark of laughter.

Dolores was rendered momentarily speechless, and the very novelty of that event caused her to regard this rather earthy Muggle woman with new eyes.

"Quite," she managed to say at last.

"Now then, to the question at hand," Marjorie said as she pulled herself upright in her chair. "As I see it, the boy’s problem lies in his breeding, in his blood, you might say. Not his fault, originally, although he might acknowledge his shortcomings and try and rise above them. Blood will tell, I always say. Take dogs, for instance. One can’t keep breeding the same line back onto itself, makes them weak. If you ask me that’s what’s at the root of Harry’s shortcomings. Weak breeding, and I suspect the poor boy has got it from both sides. But as I was saying, you can’t breed the line back, inbreeding makes for worthless pups, got to bring in new bloodlines." She paused and took a drink of brandy. "A bit more for you, Dolores?"

"Just a bit, thank you." Marge sloshed a generous dollop of Vernon’s best brandy into her glass.

"Now then, one must bring in new bloodlines, certainly, BUT… they must be quality bloodlines. Pure bloodlines, bloodlines that adhere strictly to the standards of the breed, don’t you agree?"

"I most certainly do," Dolores told her, and she felt a warmth in her middle that had nothing to at all to do with the admittedly excellent brandy.

"I knew you would," Marjorie said quietly, "I knew you were my sort of woman the moment I laid eyes on you…"

"Quite," Dolores murmured as she gazed into the sharp eyes. She came back to herself with an effort, this would never do, she had had far too much to drink, that was all. "I have no doubt whatsoever that you have the right of it Marge, but I wonder if I might see young Mister Potter’s room? Perhaps it would give me a better feeling for the boy."

"Of course, follow me. My brother is too generous to him by half, such a lovely room he gave the boy. Discommoded his own son to do so. Wouldn’t have done it myself, beggars can’t be choosers, I always say."

Marjorie led the way up the stairs, and Dolores could not tear her eyes from the sway of Marjorie’s substantial tweed-clad hips as her strong legs carried her up the stairs.

"My sort of woman," Dolores caught herself thinking, but she rigidly banished the thought. As impressive as Marjorie Dursley might be, and regardless of her proper grasp of society, she was a Muggle, and therefore beneath Dolores. Dolores also rigidly banished the brief image of Marjorie beneath her. "It’s the brandy, I am simply unaccustomed to Muggle spirits," she told herself.

"Here we are then," announced Dolores as she swung open a door. She eagerly entered the enemy stronghold, her keen eyes swept the room looking for clues and found – precisely nothing. There was no sign at all that anyone had ever set foot in the room except to sterilize it and precisely make up the bed that was against one wall. "Of course Petunia tidied it up a bit after the boy left for school, she has her standards, has Petunia," Marjorie said respectfully.

The small bookshelf was empty, as were all the drawers, however there was an extremely manky old pair of trainers in a corner of the wardrobe. Apparently Petunia’s standards were too high to allow her to touch them, and Dolores was forced to agree with her on that issue. Even had she known of the space beneath a floorboard under the bed, a search would have yielded only a sack of thoroughly ossified rock cakes that Hagrid had sent to Harry, and a forgotten knut in the far corner.

The room revealed nothing of Harry Potter other than his shoe size, and even that might no longer be accurate. While some might have seen in that a clue of sorts, Dolores thought it only natural, for were she in this Petunia’s place she would not want to be reminded of him when he was blessedly absent either.

Nonetheless, it was a bit of a disappointment, and apparently it showed on her face.

"I’m sorry there isn’t anything of use to you here, professor, your heart’s in the right place, but really, the boy is hopeless. Would you care to see Dudley’s room?"

Dolores didn’t think it would do much good, but one never knew…"Yes, thank you, Dolores, I might as well have a quick look ‘round if you think it would be all right." Marjorie escorted her across the hall, and Dolores gazed in wonder at all of the toys and Muggle gadgets in the room. She did not recognize half of them, but she was not about to ask Marjorie what they were, and she knew that even if there were a clue to be found that she wouldn’t recognize it even if it licked her ankle –

"Ripper! Bad dog! Sit! I’m sorry about that Dolores, but Ripper really does seem to have taken quite a liking to you. It’s a compliment really; I’ve never seen him warm up to anyone so quickly. Still, it was a bit rude of him," she admitted.

"I’m pleased that he seems to approve of me," Dolores managed to say, all the while wondering how quickly she could reach a safe spot to Apparate directly to her bathroom and have a shower.

Ripper was congratulating himself on having the forethought to taste before biting.

The two women returned to the sitting room, followed by a thoroughly unchastened bulldog.

"Thank you so much for your cooperation and information, Marjorie," Dolores said as she prepared to take her leave, "perhaps young Harry would have fared better had he been placed in your care."

"I don’t know about that, Dolores, as like as not I’d have put him in a sack, drowned him in the river, and then buried him in the woods. That’s how we used deal with defective pups. Not fun, not pleasant, but necessary to keep the bloodline strong and true."

"I could not agree more, Marge," Dolores said with quiet fervor, and two pairs of small sharp eyes that saw through lies locked for a heated instant.

"Can I tempt you, Dolores?" Marge said after a moment.

"I – I beg your pardon?" said a flustered Dolores, her heart unaccountably racing.

"One for the road? Tea or brandy as you like, I’m sure you need to go soon, a busy woman such as yourself," Marge explained.

"Oh, yes, I’m afraid I must pop off, but I have enjoyed our time together, you have been most helpful, Marjorie." Dolores had decided that she preferred ‘Marjorie’ to ‘Marge’, it rolled more smoothly off the tongue. "I really shouldn’t have anything else, a girl has to mind her figure, you know."

"As you wish, then…" Marjorie cleared her throat before continuing, "and I must say that I have rather enjoyed your visit as well, despite the unpleasant topic. It’s seldom that I have a meeting of the minds like this one. I wonder if you would think it presumptuous of me to invite you out to my place for tea. I’ve a lovely place in the country, you might enjoy the scenery, and there’s a new litter of pups due before long. It would also give me the chance to prepare a proper tea. No need to answer now, I know you’re busy, here, have my card, and if you see a clear spot in your schedule and you have the urge, just give me a ring and we’ll arrange a time."

Marjorie felt a flutter of nerves as she awaited a reply, and she knew full well why, but it did not show on her face.

"That sounds lovely," Dolores said as she took the card, "and thank you once again for your assistance, and for the lovely tea of course."

"My pleasure, I’ll just show you out then, shall I? Ripper, stay."

Marjorie escorted Dolores to the door, and true to herself, she allowed Dolores to open it.

‘I still think that boy is a lost cause," Marjorie said in parting, "but if there’s anyone at all can do it, I’m sure it’s you. Safe journey, Dolores," she closed the door and returned to the sitting room, where she put the remains of the sandwiches on a plate and gave them to Ripper. Then she poured herself a short one at sat quietly, lost in thought.

Dolores walked towards her selected Apparition point, taking a small detour in order to pass by a trash bin, fully intending to place the calling card headed "Dursley Kennels" into it. She hesitated when she got there however, for she had never met a woman, far less a Muggle, who had so impressed her with the sheer force of her personality and her imposing strength. Muggle or no, Marjorie Dursley was interesting, with her keen small eyes and her firm grip. Very interesting indeed. Dolores tucked the card away carefully and resumed her path.

***

"Why are you crying?" the dreamy voice asked.

"It’s no business of yours," Millicent Bulstrode responded belligerently.

"Well, it sort of is, because this is my toilet, you see," the voice answered. Millicent looked up, and started at the sight of the translucent face protruding through the stall door.

"Moaning Myrtle!" exclaimed Millicent.

"I’m not the one crying, so watch who you go calling ‘moaning’" Myrtle pointed out. "And why are you here? Nobody ever comes in here anymore."

"I can’t say I blame them, who wants a ghost popping in on them in the crapper, and what makes you think this is your toilet, anyway?"

"Well to start with I died right where you’re sitting," Myrtle told her. Millicent leapt to her feet and pressed her back against the stall wall.

"So it’s true, there really was a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets," Millicent whispered, "and did Harry Potter really kill it with the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"Yes, he was terribly brave. We were sort of friends, but he never comes to see me anymore, none of them do," Myrtle said sadly.

"People are like that," Millicent said bitterly, "they treat you nice when they want something from you, but you’re never good enough to be invited to something fun. They never just treat you like a girl. Sometimes I wish a basilisk would come slithering up and put me out of my misery. Is it any fun being a ghost?"

"Sometimes," Myrtle admitted, "but it’s no good not being able to touch people. Of course, no one cared to touch me when I was alive. I wore glasses and was a bit spotty. I couldn’t help being spotty. Now I’ll be spotty forever. At least you have pretty skin."

"You think so?" Millicent asked in surprise.

"Certainly, your skin is lovely and clear, and you have the nicest rosy blush to your cheeks," Myrtle assured her. The blush deepened.

"Thanks."

"You’re welcome. If you’re going to be using this bathroom you should know that the best stall is the one next to this one. The seat is newer and the plumbing doesn’t leak. Mr. Filch never comes in here to repair things, as no one much uses this one," Myrtle explained. "Are you going to tell me why you were crying?"

"I guess I just heard someone fake whisper "here comes the troll" one too many times. You won’t tell anybody you saw me crying, will you? That would just make things worse. I know I can’t stop you, I can’t hit a ghost, or hex one either. But would you please not tell?"

"Well, I suppose, if we were friends. I’d never hurt a friend. At least I don’t think I would, I’m not sure I’ve ever had a real one now that I think on it. Friends don’t just forget you exist, do they? Even if you are dead, I mean," Myrtle replied.

"Merlin’s shriveled dong," Millicent thought, "the only friend I can make is a ghost. Still, beggars and choosers, I suppose." "I don’t know that much about having friends," Millicent admitted, "not real ones, and it’s not like we can fix each other’s hair or anything."

"No, but we might be able to fix whoever called you a troll," Myrtle said with a positively evil grin. "I’m very good at haunting. That’s why I became a ghost, after all."

"Really?" Millicent asked.

"Oh, yes," Myrtle assured her, "shouldn’t you tell me your name if we’re to be friends? I’ve seen you around but we haven’t actually met."

"Oh. Right. I’m Millicent. Millicent Bulstrode."

"Pleased to meet you, Millicent, I’m Myrtle Postlethwaite. Or I was, I suppose I should say."

"Hell, Myrtle, you’re more real than a lot of people I know. At least you’ll talk to me."

Myrtle held out her hand, and Millicent reached for it without hesitation. They could not of course really touch, but Millicent felt a cold tingle and Myrtle fancied she could feel a bit of warmth.

Friendships have started from less.

"Now then Millicent," Myrtle began, her watery eyes dancing with glee, "who is to be our first victim?"

It caused quite a stir in the Slytherin common room when Pansy Parkinson ran screaming into it that evening, covered in shampoo lather and mother-naked.

"I knew they were fake!" yelled Blaise Zabini.

"Are you selling something, Pansy?" asked a smiling Millicent Bulstrode.

Pansy looked down at herself, then around at the crowded common room. She screamed even louder and fled back up the stairs. During the raucous laughter that chased Pansy up the stairs, Millicent felt a cold touch on her cheek.

"Thanks, friend," she whispered, and a ghostly tinkle of laughter faded into the distance.

The next couple of weeks saw several unfortunate occurrences involving people in the habit of insulting Millicent Bulstrode, but the high point for her was when a cauldron of shrinking solution splashed onto Draco Malfoy’s crotch. Acting on a tip from Myrtle, Millicent put her ear to the door of an unused classroom one evening shortly after that occurrence, and overhead at least part of a conversation between Professor Snape and Malfoy.

"No, Mr. Malfoy, a swelling solution will not counter the effects, and I caution you not to resort to an engorgement charm either. The effects of that would be extremely uncomfortable, perhaps even dangerous, and would not achieve the desired end. I’m afraid that you shall just have to wait for the effect of the potion to wear off. It is most unfortunate that it was Miss Granger’s potion that was involved, she is indeed an insufferable know-it-all, but she is an excellent potion brewer. Not that I would ever tell her that of course. I suppose you were trying to adulterate her potion somehow?"

"Filthy mudblood," Draco spat. "She’ll pay for this. Just how long is this going to last then?"

"My analysis of her potion indicates that it should begin to wear off around the time of your N.E.W.T.’s. She did an exceptional job on that potion, even for her," Snape admitted.

"Two YEARS?" Draco bellowed. "But I have a date with Pansy this weekend!"

"Then I suggest that you settle for trying to be respectful and romantic. At the least it will catch her off guard, and it will be a novel experience for both of you. You brought this on yourself, Draco. I’m disappointed in you. A Slytherin should be able to complete a simple act of sabotage without rendering himself – miniscule. Until such time as you return to normal you might find it advantageous to be seated for certain necessary functions. Enjoy your weekend, Mr. Malfoy."

Millicent barely had time to vanish around the corner before Snape emerged from the room, leaving behind him a most crestfallen Malfoy. She heard a familiar giggle, and whispered to her friend.

"Myrtle, you’re brilliant! I swear I’d hug you if I could!"

"Well, we could try," Myrtle replied as she materialized in front of her. "It wouldn’t be a proper hug of course, with me being non-corporeal, but it might be interesting."

Millicent recalled the cool sensation she had experienced when Myrtle and she had ‘shaken hands’, and the other times Myrtle had ‘touched’ her. She thought it really might be interesting.

"Give us a hug then, Myrtle," she said, and she opened her arms wide. Myrtle drifted into her arms, into her, and as Millicent closed her arms around herself she felt as though her bones had been turned to fire and ice. The feeling was so intense that she went rigid, and a gasp of astonishment passed her lips. A moment later Myrtle was standing in front of her with a very strange expression on her face.

"That really was interesting, I almost felt warm, and I – I think I could feel what you were feeling, Millicent," Myrtle told her.

Millicent blushed at that, for the feeling that had rushed through her body was not completely unfamiliar to her, but it was usually the result of a fair bit of imagination and concerted solitary concentration. Her nipples were still tingling, and she felt a distinct dampness between her legs.

"I’m sorry," Millicent muttered out of reflex.

"Oh, please, don’t be sorry," Myrtle pleaded with her, "if you’re truly sorry you might not let me do that again, and that was the only time since I died that I have truly felt something. I mean something real, something of the flesh. Please don’t be sorry…"

Millicent reflected for a moment.

"I don’t think I’m sorry at all, and this is really strange. But I’ve never felt anything like that in my life." She spoke up, "No, I’m not sorry, it just took me by surprise. We can’t do it again in a corridor though, or anyplace someone could see me. The feeling was very – intense." She blushed again.

"You’re so lovely when you blush, Millicent, you just glow," Myrtle sighed. Millicent experienced another surge of emotion; nobody had ever said anything like that to her before. She was by now thoroughly confused, was it possible that she was developing feelings for a ghost?

"We’ll talk about this later, Myrtle; I really need to finish up my homework. Thanks again for doing these things for me, people are so nervous now they don’t have much time to pick on me."

"I’ve enjoyed it; I know what it’s like to be picked on for something you can’t help. Besides, what else are friends for, other than to help one another?"

"I think you’re the only real friend I have, Myrtle. But I really need to get going now, I’ll see you tomorrow," Millicent waved and then hurried back to her room. Myrtle stared after her for a moment, and then vanished.

***

Dolores Umbridge sat at her desk tapping her stubby fingers on the blotter. She needed to consult with Cornelius, things at Hogwarts were completely out of hand, and drastic measures were called for. She decided to floo to the ministry and set up an appointment for as early Saturday as she could arrange. She knew he would gladly come in, he was absolutely paranoid about Dumbledore, and she also knew that he would agree to her suggestions without hesitation. The meeting wouldn’t take long.

She looked at the card lying on the desk in front of her. "Dursley Kennels" followed by an address and what she knew was a telephone number. Yes, she would just floo over and set up a meeting, and perhaps have a little chat with Percy Weasley while she was there. She tucked the card into a pocket, stood, and headed for her fireplace.

Dolores emerged from a Ministry floo and set off for Fudge’s office with an unaccustomed nervous flutter in her stomach. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that Percy Weasley was seated at his desk in front of the Minister’s door. He rose to greet her.

"Madam Umbridge, what an unexpected pleasure," he said with a little bow.

"Do call me professor, Mr. Weasley, Madam Umbridge sounds so formal," she condescended.

"Certainly professor, and thank you. How may I be of service this morning?"

"Most importantly I need to arrange an appointment with the Minister. A very confidential appointment, Mr. Weasley," she looked around dramatically, it’s to do with our special project at Hogwarts," she whispered.

Percy nodded and laid his finger alongside his nose. Percy purely loved being in on secrets, and this sounded like it would be a good one.

"I’m afraid the Minister is booked solid the rest of the week, professor, but I’m certain that he would clear a spot for such important business. Shall I consult with him on the matter and get back to you?"

"I’m afraid that might draw unwanted attention, I think it best if I meet him early Saturday, when not so many people are about. I know that’s outside of business hours, but he has been expecting something of the sort. After all, nothing is more important than properly educating our children, don’t you agree?"

"I most certainly do! I must admit that I am relieved that you are on the job, professor; I do still have brothers and a sister at Hogwarts. I’ve tried to warn then off of that Potter boy and his disruptive and disloyal nonsense, I can only hope that they take my advice to heart. I shall inform the minister of your needs, shall we say eight o’clock Saturday morning then?"

"Let’s make it seven, Cornelius – I mean, the Minister can have you contact me if the time is unsuitable," she countered.

"Consider it done, then," Percy told her as he made a note on his schedule.

"Thank you Mr. Weasley, and may I say that it is a pleasure to have such a bright and loyal young man as yourself embarking on a career of public service. I feel quite sure that you have a bright future here at the Ministry." Percy flushed with pleasure at the praise, Dolores Umbridge was a powerful Ministry official, and her approval could open many doors for him.

"Now then, I have a little project of my own that I wonder if you could help me with," she confided.

"Anything at all," Percy assured her.

"This is of course highly secret, but I know that I can trust you." Percy’s chest puffed out. "I am conducting some research on Harry Potter’s background, trying to see if I can find just where things went wrong. I’ve been in contact with some of his Muggle relations, strictly on the quiet don’t you know, and I’m pleased to say that I have located one of them that is refreshingly forward thinking. Politically reliable, even, I should say. I need to arrange a meeting, and I wonder if you can instruct me in the use of the Muggle telephone instrument?"

"Certainly professor, do you have the number you wish to call?" Percy asked.

"Here," she said as she handed over a scrap of parchment on which she had copied Marjorie’s phone number.

"Ahh, yes," Percy muttered as he examined the number, "I assume that you would prefer that this call not be recorded by Ministry security? Due to its confidential nature, I mean."

"Exactly so, Mr. Weasley, you are most perceptive," she complimented him. Percy preened a bit.

"In that case the simplest thing is to exit the Ministry by means of the public entrance. That will land you in a replica of a Muggle telephone booth. Simply walk one block north and you will come to an identical appearing edifice. Just lift the handset and punch in the number, and an operator will tell you how much money to deposit for the call. After that you will hear some ringing, and if your party is available they will speak to you through the handset, just talk in a normal tone, as if they were right beside you. Oh, I don’t suppose you have any Muggle money, do you?" He asked with a slight frown.

"I’m afraid not," she admitted.

"No matter, I have some; I occasionally stop at a Muggle bakery on the way home. Here, it’s quite simple, the coins are plainly marked, see? Fifty pence, 20 pence, come to that just take this pound coin, that will be more than enough, and will save bother," he handed her the coin.

"Thank you Mr. Weasley," she said as she examined the coin, "how much would this be in our money?" Percy thought for a moment.

"Just a bit less than half a galleon," he answered. Dolores reached into her purse and then handed Percy a galleon.

"You have been most helpful Mr. Weasley, do keep the change and indulge yourself at that bakery on your way home, and please let this be our little secret," she gave him her very best smile, and to his credit, Percy recognized it as a smile.

"It’s an honor to assist you professor, please call on me anytime at all," Percy assured her.

Dolores turned and head for the lift, the flutter in her stomach becoming more pronounced all the while. Percy’s instructions were quite easy to follow, and it was not long before she heard a ringing. She had counted five rings when the distinctive voice came to her ear.

"Dursley Kennels, state your business," Marjorie said efficiently upon answering Dolores’s call.

"Dolores Umbridge here, Marjorie, I met you at your brother’s home, do you recall?" Now it was Marjorie’s turn to have butterflies, she had thought often of Professor Umbridge, it was after all a rare occasion that she met a woman after her own heart such as Dolores.

"Of course I remember, Dolores, how nice to hear from you," Marjorie replied, trying to sound calm.

"I was wondering if it might be convenient for me to take advantage of your invitation to tea on this coming Saturday? I have an early appointment, but I should be free by late morning," Dolores inquired.

"I should be delighted! Come whenever you get free, if it’s too early for tea I can show you ‘round the place first, the weather is supposed to be particularly fine this Saturday, you couldn’t have chosen a better time. Do you need directions?"

"I have your card. Can my driver find ‘Dog Cottage, Lickfold, West Sussex’ do you think?" Dolores asked.

"Should do, my drive is a touch long, mind. Half a mile or so, but he can scarcely miss the ‘Dursley Kennels’ sign at the turn-in. Just have him head east from Lickfold on the A12, take you straight to it, it’s just on the left about two miles from the village line," Marjorie assured her.

"Fine then, I look forward to our visit, Marjorie," Dolores told her.

"As do I Dolores, Saturday then, goodbye."

"Goodbye," Dolores replied and she replaced the handset and walked back to the Ministry to floo back to her office.

***

"Myrtle, are you here?" Millicent called after being certain no one else was in Myrtle’s bathroom.

"Oh, hello, Millicent," Myrtle greeted her as she drifted through a stall door, "how nice to see you. Do you have someone else who needs a good haunting?" Myrtles watery eyes sparkled a bit at the thought.

"No, nobody’s been picking on me lately; you scared them good and proper. That new professor is something though; she’s really been giving it to Potter. I just came by to visit with you for a while between classes," Millicent explained. Myrtle smiled.

"Nobody else ever just visited me before, even when I was alive," Myrtle gushed. "How are your classes going?"

"Not too bad, I’m worried about the Arithmancy test next week though. I don’t suppose that was your best subject or anything, was it?"

"I’m afraid not. I was never much of a student to tell you the truth. I spent too much time in here crying to get much revision done," Myrtle replied.

"I’m really sorry, Myrtle. I wish I’d known you when you were alive. I bet we’d have been friends then too," Millicent consoled.

"Well, better ‘late’ than never, as the saying goes," Myrtle said with a giggle.

"You’re really funny Myrtle, how come you didn’t have friends when you were alive?"

"No one ever troubled to get to know me; they just saw the spots and the glasses. But I have you for a friend now; and it almost makes me feel alive again to know that you like me, Millicent."

"I really do like you, come and give me a hug why don’t you?"

Millicent held her arms wide, and although she knew what to expect by now when Myrtle drifted into her now, it still jolted her. She hugged herself tightly, and felt the familiar cold that burned like fire in every part of her.

Perhaps more in one part than any other, though, and she leaned against the wall as the freezing fire melted her. She felt her nipples puckering as usual, but this time she yielded to the feeling and caressed her breasts through her clothing.

A moan passed her lips, and was repeated within her, the pleasurable feeling echoed and re-echoed inside her. It was as if she were both touching and being touched. It was only a few moments before she began to shiver violently however, and Myrtle felt that and moved out of her.

"Myrtle, I – I …" Millicent fell silent, but for her labored breathing.

"I remember those feelings, almost," Myrtle whispered, "I could feel what you felt, Millicent. It felt wonderful! Did it feel good to you too?"

"Yes," Millicent told her. "Wow, not only is my only friend a ghost, but I seem to be some kind of a lesbian. Myrtle, I’ve never felt anything like that. It was like, like…"

"Like you were yourself and me at the same time?" Myrtle asked.

"Yes! That’s it, and it was marvelous. Until I got too cold that is. It figures, I finally find someone who really turns me on and I can only stand being really close to them for a couple moments. But they were wonderful moments," she hastened to add when she saw Myrtle’s face fall.

"I never had anyone either," Myrtle admitted. "Do you think you’ll ever want to do that again?"

"I want to do it again right now," Millicent promised, "but I’m still pretty cold. Maybe I’ll get used to it if we try it more often?" Myrtle brightened at the thought.

"You know, it might work better if we didn’t merge until, well, until you were close," Myrtle suggested.

"Close? How can we get closer than tha- oh…" Millicent blushed. "I think I might be too embarrassed to do that in front of you Myrtle."

"There’s no need to be embarrassed, Millicent, you’re really lovely when you have an orgasm. Remember, this is my bathroom," Myrtle said with a sly grin."

"You mean – oh Merlin, you’ve seen me?"

"Of course, I don’t have much else to do other than watch people, and there are a lot of bathrooms in the castle. You’re much prettier than Pansy Parkinson is when she masturbates. She doesn’t seem to enjoy it much at all, it’s like she’s just trying to get it over with or something." Millicent had to laugh at that.

"Well, maybe then, I guess there’s no use being shy about it if you’ve already seen me wanking. I’ve got to get to class now Myrtle, but I’ll be back, you can count on it." Millicent reached out and put her hand to Myrtle’s cheek, and Myrtle shivered at the almost touch.

"Will you be my girlfriend, Millicent?" she asked shyly. "I mean, just between us of course. I know we can’t really be a couple since I’m a bit dead."

"I think I’d like that, if you want me to be. Nobody has ever been interested in having me for a girlfriend before, and nobody has ever made me feel the way that you do. Say! Would it be better if I were dead too?"

"NO! screamed Myrtle. "You mustn’t think that! Even if you were to become a ghost, it would be nothing like what we have now; ghosts can’t feel each other at all."

"I didn’t mean now, Myrtle, but I’m going to die someday. I thought if I studied up on becoming a ghost I might be able to pull it off when the time comes," Millicent explained.

"Oh, I see. Still, you want to think about it carefully. It’s not all fun, but it might be better if there was somebody else to be dead with. I’d rather spend the time figuring out how to be close without freezing you."

"That makes sense. Wow, I have to run; Umbridge is a right bitch if you’re late!" Millicent dashed out of the loo, and Myrtle settled into her favorite u-bend to think things over.

***

"I shall be away this weekend on Ministry business," Dolores informed her class, and Hermione frowned. She had an inkling of what sort of business that might be, and she was dreading it. "Those of you scheduled for detention will serve it next weekend. Today’s classwork is on the board, as is your homework assignment. There will be no need to talk."

"Bitch…" thought many minds.

***

"Mr. Filch, I shall rely on you to keep an eye on things in my absence," Dolores told him. She had summoned Filch to build up his loyalty to her. Squib he might be, but he usually knew what was going on around Hogwarts. "This is a Hogsmeade weekend, and many of the students will be mercifully absent much of the time, but I’m quite sure that Mr. Potter and his cohorts are up to something."

"All of these little blighters are allus up to summat, professor. They just go to Hogsmeade to re-arm, but me and Mrs. Norris will keep our eyes peeled, you may rely on it."

"Indeed, Mr. Filch, you have proved most helpful. I shan’t forget it."

"Thank you, professor," Filch responded gratefully. He somehow gave the impression of pulling his forelock without actually doing so.

"That will be all, Mr. Filch. I believe that upon my return I shall have some things that will interest you. It is time that order was brought to this school."

"Right you are professor; I’ve been sayin’ that for years. Have a good trip," Filch rose and sketched a bow, and then departed.

Dolores carefully locked her office and proceeded to her rooms, nodding in satisfaction when she saw the pot of tea and plate of biscuits that was waiting for her.

"I wonder what sort of thing Marjorie will serve for tea? I expect that it will be more substantial than biscuits.

It took her a while to get to sleep; many things would be different if she got her way tomorrow, but she at last drifted off and had tweed dreams.

***

"You are to be on your best behaviour Saturday, Ripper," Marjorie instructed. "We seldom have guests you know, especially ones of this caliber. My kind of woman, Dolores; my kind indeed…"

***

"Hi Myrtle," Millicent said upon entering their stall.

"Hello, Millicent," the ghost replied with a smile and a cold almost caress of the cheek. "It’s rather late; you don’t want to be caught out after curfew you know."

"I guess not, but I wanted to come by and tell you goodnight," Millicent actually blushed.

"That’s so sweet of you, you’re a wonderful girlfriend. I’m quite sure you’ll find a living one soon enough." Myrtle looked a bit sad as she said that.

"Maybe, but I’m not looking for one. Even if I do find one someday you and I can still be friends, now give me a quick hug and I’ll get back to my dorm."

Myrtle obliged, and the now familiar fire-and-ice feeling washed over Millicent. The sigh that escaped her lips rebounded in her head.

"I think – I think I might be ready for what you suggested, Myrtle. You know, about me being – close – when we merge."

"I’ve been thinking a bit about that myself," Myrtle lied. She had been thinking of nothing else at all since the subject came up. "I have an idea that I think might work. That is, if you don’t mind missing the trip to Hogsmeade this weekend."

"I don’t mind at all, it’s not like I ever have any fun there. But why then?"

"Because all of the prefects will be out of the castle and the prefect’s bath has a marvelous tub with lots and lots of hot water and bubbles and the most wonderful scents. The prefects have a good time in that tub, and I think we would too. But you should hurry now, goodnight, Millicent."

With a last fleeting brush of fingertips to Millicent’s cheek, Myrtle vanished. Millicent hurried to her dormitory and her bed, where she found that even the thought of a marvelous tub with hot water, bubbles, scents, and the freezing fire of Myrtle’s touch obliged her to cast a few privacy spells.

She slept very well indeed.

***

Dolores was not at all surprised to see Percy Weasley at his desk despite it being early on a day off. The Minister was here, and so Percy would be too.

"Mr. Fudge said that you were to go right in professor, and may I say that you are looking lovely this morning. Very elegant indeed," Percy lied smoothly. Elegance was something Umbridge would never possess, but she was in fact quite neatly dressed in her Muggle suit.

"Thank you Mr. Weasley, a girl never gets enough compliments you know," she simpered. She stepped into Fudge’s office, leaving Percy to his interminable paperwork…

"You’re quite right, Dolores," Fudge agreed after hearing her report and proposals. "I shall have these Educational Decrees issued first thing Monday, and send you copies to post. You’re doing a marvelous job, Dolores, simply marvelous!"

"Thank you, Minister."

"Do me the honor of calling me Cornelius when we’re alone. No need for formalities between allies, is there?"

"Certainly not, Cornelius, and I do appreciate your support. Good day to you." She rose and took her leave, giving Percy a rather distracted "good day" on her way past his desk.

She took the lift to the public entrance, went to the designated spot, and hailed the Knight Bus. Ernie had no trouble finding the sign for Dursley Kennels.

"Wachoo gettin’ off out ‘ere in the middle of nowhere for?" asked Shunpike.

"I simply fancy a stroll in the country if it’s any concern of yours, and I point out that it is not. You should mind your own business, young man."

"Well it’s not like I care," Shunpike muttered as the door closed behind her. "Let’s be off then, Ern." The bus disappeared with a bang, and Dolores stood for a moment looking at the sign advertising Dursley Kennels, and then she strolled slowly up the drive. It really was a lovely day, and it wouldn’t do to arrive sweaty and out of breath. She found that she actually enjoyed the walk, somewhat to her surprise.

Marjorie’s cottage was as neat as she had expected, no weed would dare grow amongst the rigidly arranged flower beds, nor would a hedge ever have the temerity to straggle a stray branch out of its place. "A proper sort, even if she is a Muggle," thought Dolores as she pressed the bell.

"Hello, Dolores, so glad you could come," Marjorie greeted her, "do come in." Dolores cast a wary eye about for Ripper, but he was not in evidence. The search did not go unnoticed.

"Ripper is out in the kennels. Matilda is due to whelp any time, and he’s a bit overexcited. I thought that perhaps it would be best for him to enjoy this lovely weather so that we may converse more easily," Marjorie explained as she ushered Dolores into the sitting room. The room was as neat and proper as she had expected, although the furniture looked more like something you would find in a shooting lodge than a lady’s parlor. Dolores approved, the furniture looked as if one could actually sit in it comfortably.

"You have a lovely home, Marjorie, so very neat and well cared for."

"Thank you Dolores, good of you to notice. Orderly house, orderly mind, orderly life, that’s what I always say. Just you settle in and I’ll fetch us a pot of tea and a few nibbles. I’ve a proper tea planned for later, but I’m afraid it will be some time before everything is ready." Marjorie bustled towards the kitchen, but turned back to her guest. "Permit me to say that I’ve been very much looking forward to this, it’s so seldom that I meet a like-minded woman. They all seem more concerned with what film star is sleeping with what other film star than they are in living life. Can’t understand it myself… well, I won’t be a minute."

"Seldom indeed," thought Dolores, and the funny little flutter was back in her stomach. She even looked forward to Marjorie’s special black tea. "Strong women, strong tea, I’ll wager she always says that as well." She settled into the comfortable chair and examined the pictures of dogs on the walls, many of them with ribbons attached to the frames.

"Here we are then, as I recall you take it on its own, is that right?"

"Quite right, if you make a good brew you don’t have to turn it into a dessert to drink it, I always say," Dolores responded, and two pairs of keen eyes that saw through lies locked for a long moment.

"Indeed," Marjorie said softly.

"Your dogs seem to win a great many ribbons," Dolores commented as she sipped her tea.

"A fair few," Marjorie admitted, "I breed to strict standards. Never a bad dog leaves these kennels. They aren’t all champions of course, and not all my customers are interested in showing them in any case. But those that are have done well enough. The name Dursley stands for something on the circuit."

"You must love them very much to take such good care of them," Dolores ventured.

"Well I don’t know if I’d say love, precisely, other than Ripper of course. I respect them, and they respect me. It’s more a matter of doing one’s best, is the way I see it. I admire the breed for their strength, their courage, and I try and breed them so that they can reach their full potential. I imagine you look at your students in much the same fashion. I daresay many of them you can scarcely abide, but I expect you do your best for them all. Even that Potter boy. Did you want to speak more of him?"

"Indeed not, I would much rather simply spend a relaxing day with a friend, if I may be so bold," Dolores replied. The smile on Marjorie’s face did not quite make her pretty, but it did renew the flutter.

"You may indeed, Dolores. I have few friends, but I should be delighted to number you among them."

The somewhat pregnant silence was shattered by frantic barking from outside.

"That will be Matilda," Marjorie said as she placed her cup back on her saucer and rose from her chair. "I do apologize for the interruption, but I must attend her. You’re welcome to come along if you like, but don’t feel obliged to. A whelping is not everyone’s cup of tea."

"I’m sure it will be interesting, I always enjoy seeing an expert at work." Marjorie nodded at the compliment.

"This way then, if you please." Marjorie led the way through the kitchen and out the rear door. The barking was louder outside, and Dolores could see the neat kennels in the back garden. "Good dog, Ripper. Now, quiet." Ripper fell silent at once.

"You’d best stay outside the enclosure, Dolores, Matilda doesn’t know you. She’s normally quite gentle, but of course she’s stressed just now. I have high hopes for this litter, the sire is a fine Grand Champion, took best in show at Westminster two years past. Now then Matilda, let’s see how you’re getting on, shall we?"

Dolores watched in fascination as Marjorie’s firm grip assisted one pup after the next into the world. She placed the feebly struggling little lumps by their mother’s head as they arrived. Dolores thought they were quite the ugliest things she had ever seen, but Marjorie praised Matilda lavishly for each one, until…

"Oh bother, this one will never do. Not your fault Matilda, these things happen, and six fine pups is a good day’s work by any measure." Dolores could see no difference from the rest of them, and said so. "The right hind leg is deformed, it’s a bit hard to tell at this stage, but I’ve a keen eye. He would never walk properly, and that would lead to hip and back troubles, and it goes without saying that he could never be allowed to breed," Marjorie explained. "I’m afraid this one simply doesn’t pass muster. Best to put it down now, before it becomes truly aware. I hope you aren’t shocked by this Dolores, but it’s for the good of the breed, the good of the blood. I hope you understand."

"I understand perfectly," Dolores said hoarsely.

"I’ll be right back, Matilda girl, you’ve done marvelously well. Just you take care of those beauties and I’ll be right back to check on you." Matilda was fully engaged in licking her puppies, and paid no attention as Marjorie exited the pen with the one who didn’t measure up.

"There is no need for you to watch this, Dolores; I’ll only be a few minutes." Marjorie walked behind a tool shed to where a small incinerator for burning yard waste stood. Dolores had silently followed her, and her breath caught when Marjorie with her strong hands gave a powerful twist to the pup’s neck before placing it in the incinerator and lighting it.

A fire of another kind kindled within Dolores. Here was a woman who knew the importance of proper breeding, of the purity of the blood, and who would go to any lengths to protect it. In short, precisely her kind of woman.

***

"They’ve all gone, Myrtle," Millicent told her, "at least all the ones that are going have."

"That’s wonderful! I’m very excited about this Millicent, this will be my first time to – you know…"

"Me too, I just hope it works."

"We’ll make it work. I’ll meet you there; the password is ‘scrubbing bubbles.’ "

"Got it, see you soon Myrtle."

Myrtle vanished and Millicent hurried to the prefect’s bath, fortunately encountering no one on the way. She whispered the password, entered, and drew up short. She had heard Pansy talking about this bath, but had assumed that she was exaggerating. She had not been. Myrtle appeared, a wide smile on her face, her watery eyes dancing with joy.

"You’re here!" she exclaimed delightedly.

"Where else would I be? I hope you can explain all this stuff to me, I don’t have the first idea how to work all these spouts and things," Millicent admitted.

"It’s simpler than it looks, but first throw the privacy bolt, that way no one can get in even if they know the password."

Millicent complied, and Myrtle explained the various controls for the tub. They soon found a mixture of bubbles and scent that suited them both.

"I guess the hotter the better," Millicent said as she tested the water with her arm and adjusted the temperature. She stood and looked at Myrtle, and she felt a rising warmth. Myrtle, ghost though she was, liked her, even wanted her, and that thought helped to steady Millicent’s trembling hands as she began to unfasten her robes.

"I don’t have a very good body, Myrtle," Millicent said tentatively.

"I’m sure it’s perfectly lovely, it’s yours, it’s you," Myrtle encouraged. "Why don’t I go first?"

"Ghosts can take off their clothes?"

"We don’t really even have clothes, it’s just convention to maintain the appearance of them. Actually, we can look any way we choose to. Is there someone you would like me to look like for you?" Myrtle asked.

"Yes. You," Millicent answered, and Myrtle shimmered for an instant before appearing naked in front of her.

Myrtle was a very ordinary looking teenaged girl. She was a bit on the pudgy side, and her breasts were neither large nor small. She had a bit of a waistline and a little belly. No mannequin, Myrtle. She stood before Millicent just as she had been when she had died, Millicent had requested her, and Myrtle had delivered without embellishment.

Millicent dropped her robes and removed her underthings, and the large girl and the smaller ghost regarded each other openly. Millicent was on the high side of pudgy, her breasts were large and drooped a bit from their own weight, and her milk-white skin flushed pink as she stood facing Myrtle.

"You’re beautiful," they said together.

Millicent stepped into the tub and found that the enchanted water allowed her to float quite easily when she wished, and after submerging herself totally she lay back in the steaming water and looked into Myrtle’s eyes as she floated above her. Millicent’s hands slid easily over her body, the scented foam slicked her skin very nicely indeed.

"Beautiful," whispered Myrtle as Millicent caressed her breasts, and Millicent smiled.

"That’s my girl," Myrtle encouraged when Millicent began to twist and pull her nipples while squeezing her thighs together tightly.

"OH!" exclaimed Millicent when Myrtle covered Millicent’s hand with her own, the chill contrasting with the hot of the bath and causing that nipple to pucker and harden even more.

"Yesss," hissed Myrtle as Millicent’s legs drifted apart and her hands slid down her bubble-covered stomach and began to rub the throbbing place between her thighs.

"Ahhhh!" exclaimed Millicent as Myrtle’s face disappeared briefly between her legs, adding the freezing to the fire. Myrtle’s face reappeared, the watery eyes bright with passion, heavy-lidded as she licked her ghostly lips.

"Glorious, you’re just glorious, Millicent," Myrtle crooned, and Millicent responded by slipping two fingers inside of herself.

"You do it with me. Please, Myrtle," moaned Millicent as she took up a steady rhythm with her fingers, curling, thrusting them faster as her trembling sent little ripples through the bath water.

Myrtle merged her fingers with Millicent’s and the pace increased.

"Oh yes, yes, Myrtle! Just like that, please!" cried Millicent as a cool ghostly hand passed across her breasts that glowed red from the heat of the water and from her arousal.

"Come on baby, come on…" urged Myrtle as the large warm form beneath her began to shake.

"Now, Myrtle, now!" screamed Millicent, and Myrtle flooded into her, the ice colliding with the fire, the delicious waves of pleasure bouncing endlessly within Millicent and through Myrtle as they shared themselves completely.

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful…" whispered the voice in Millicent’s mind.

In that moment, and for the very first time in her life, Millicent Bulstrode did indeed feel beautiful.

***

"Oh, I’m sorry Dolores, I didn’t mean for you to see that. I know it seems brutal, but it’s necessary to protect the breed. My veterinarian assures me that this way is much easier on them than drowning, and it’s no fault of the pup’s that he was deformed. This is Matilda’s sixth litter, and that was the first bad pup she’s thrown. I’ll be in touch with the sire’s owner, you may be sure. I hope you don’t think ill of me for this, but…"

"Say no more, please, Marjorie," Dolores interrupted. "I understand perfectly, and I approve wholeheartedly of your adherence to standards. Sometimes one must take unpleasant measures for the greater good. In fact, I must say that I admire you for it. Not everyone has the courage."

"Thank you Dolores, I’m glad that you understand. Now then, I shall just check in on Matilda and the other pups, and then I think we can have a celebratory drink. The other pups are quite fine indeed!"

Marjorie took Dolores by the arm and led her back to the kennels where Matilda was putting the finishing touches on her surviving puppies. Dolores thought they were a bit cuter than she had at first glance.

"Good dog," she said to Ripper, who was sitting in an adjoining pen. Ripper licked his privates.

"Just like a man, always thinking of his willie," Marjorie commented, "still and all, Ripper is better company than most men. He’s not afraid of a strong woman, I’m sure you know what I mean, don’t you Dolores?"

"I do indeed, Marjorie, I do indeed."

Keen eyes met, and there were no lies to see through.

"Splendid work, Matilda," Marjorie told the new mother, "I’ll check on you in a bit, but just now I’ll let you enjoy this lovely day with your pups. Ripper, you keep an eye on things for me. Right then, let’s be off, Dolores."

This time Dolores took Marjorie’s arm and the two strong women walked companionably to the very orderly cottage.

"I won’t be a moment, do make yourself comfortable. There is a bathroom just down the hall on the left should you have need of it." Marjorie disappeared into the kitchen and Dolores decided that she did indeed need the facilities. The reflection she saw in the mirror as she washed her hands had unaccustomed color in its cheeks.

When she returned Marjorie had two snifters with generous portions of brandy in them waiting on the table, as well as a small plate of cheeses.

"We don’t want to spoil our appetites, but a nice bit of cheese goes down well with a fine brandy, I always say." Marjorie was sitting well to one side of the small couch, and Dolores accepted the implicit invitation to sit beside her.

"To high standards and strong women," Dolores intoned as she raised her glass to Marge.

"Strong women," echoed Marge, and they drank deeply of the spirit. "Don’t be shy Dolores, help yourself, there’s plenty more, and it will be yet a while before things are done."

After the second snifter the two of them were quite relaxed, and in the manner of all small
couches when inhabited by large people, the furniture had conspired to shift them close together. Marjorie poured again, and they sipped contentedly.

"I’m afraid I might have gone a bit overboard with tea, I don’t often have company, you see. I hope you like roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, it’s a specialty of mine," Marjorie told Dolores.

"It sounds marvelous, much better than watercress," Dolores told her.

"Indeed," agreed Marjorie with a smile. "May I speak plainly, Dolores?"

"I cannot imagine you speaking any other way, Marjorie," Dolores responded quietly.

"Just so, can’t abide dithering. The plain fact is that I feel a connection between us, Dolores, and I believe that you might feel the same. I do hope this isn’t shocking to you, but it’s best to speak your mind plainly, I always say, and well, strong women have needs and urges the same as anyone else."

"Rather stronger urges, I should say," Dolores replied, "and who better to turn to in this regard than another strong woman? I do feel a connection between us; it is so seldom that I meet someone with the courage of her convictions."

"Indeed," repeated Marjorie softly, and she kissed Dolores gently.

At least, it was gentle to begin with.

"The roast…" Dolores whispered when they broke for air.

"Haven’t put it in yet," Marjorie told her, "I did dare to hope…"

"I shall strive not to disappoint you."

"Come with me, Dolores," Marjorie said as she stood and extended her strong hand to assist her to her feet.

"I should like to freshen up a bit," Dolores said as they broke their second kiss.

"So should I, my room is at the end of the hall," Marjorie told her and she escorted Dolores to the guest bath and then went into her room, leaving the door open.

In the bathroom, Dolores regarded herself in the mirror once again, the color in her cheeks was even higher and there was a building ache between her legs.

But…

"She’s a Muggle," Dolores told herself, "still, she is a strong woman, and it’s not like we are going to breed. No, it’s more like she is performing a service for me, that’s the proper way to look at it. A service, that’s all…"

Dolores removed her clothes and donned the robe that was hanging on the door. It fit very well.

Marjorie was standing beside her bed when Dolores entered the bedroom that was as orderly as the rest of the place, but she found when their robes hit the floor that Marjorie Dursley was positively unruly when she had needs and urges.

The roast never made it to the oven.

Dolores woke to the unaccustomed feeling of a warm body beside her in the bed, and her thoughts turned to the tealess afternoon that had stretched into early evening, what with one thing and another.
She felt wonderful, even the various aches were quite pleasant.

"An altogether remarkable woman, Muggle or no," she thought, and she felt Marge stirring beside her.

"My word, look at the time," Marjorie said in some surprise, "I must go and check on Matilda. Ripper should have sounded off if something went amiss, but I have to admit that I might not have noticed it. Truly Dolores, I have seldom had so satisfying an encounter. I knew we would get on well."

"Thank you Marge, I have no complaints myself. I- well I scarcely know what to say, now that it comes to it."

"No need to talk," Marjorie replied, and Dolores smiled at the phrase, "words just get in the way. We are two women who take pleasure in each other, that is enough and more for me. Words lead to promises, and promises lead to disappointments. I’ll be back as soon as may be, make yourself at home."

Dolores dressed slowly, trying to sort through the swirling thoughts and feelings she was experiencing. She found that she was grateful for Marjorie’s insistence that no words were needed, for the words that wanted to come from her mouth were doubtless merely the after-effects of being so thoroughly satisfied. Marjorie had indeed done her a service. Several of them. Dolores helped herself to a glass of water and was sitting at the kitchen table when Marjorie returned.

"Mother and pups are doing quite well," she reported, "I’ve moved them inside for the night. Now then, do you have time to stay for dinner? I’ll need about two hours to do the roast, or I can whip up something quick if you’re pressed."

"I should really be getting back, I regret to say," Dolores admitted.

"No surprise, busy woman such as yourself. May I fix you a sandwich for your trip?"

"That would be lovely, Marge. My thanks."

Marjorie efficiently constructed a very substantial ham and turkey sandwich and packaged it up neatly.

"Here you are Dolores, that ought to keep body and soul together until you can get a proper meal. Do you need a lift to town, or will your driver come for you?"

"He will meet me at the main road; I’ll just stroll up the drive and enjoy this lovely countryside."

"As you will," Marjorie replied, and they walked to the front door together, where they stopped and regarded each other for a moment before clasping hands.

"I don’t mean to make more of this than what it is, Dolores, but I do hope that you’ll visit again, you’re always welcome and I’m usually here."

"Thank you Marge, I should very much like to come again. I- that is…"

"We’ve already said all that needs saying, and in far better ways than words. Safe travels, and come back soon."

They shared a brief hug, and Marjorie let Dolores out and headed back to the kennels.

Once she had settled into her chair on the Knight Bus, for once not insisting on being dropped off first, Dolores ordered tea and unwrapped the sandwich that Marjorie had fixed for her. Her eyes filled when she noticed that Marjorie had cut off the crusts. Clearly she recalled that Dolores had choked on a bread crust at the Dursley’s. A far better way than words, indeed.

***

Dolores was patrolling the corridors one night several days after she had had Filch post the latest of many Educational Decrees. As Hogwarts High Inquisitor, it was her duty to inquire, and she took it seriously.

And so when she heard certain sounds coming from a deserted classroom after curfew, she smiled in grim satisfaction as she removed the rather clumsy locking spell and eased the door open, hoping to catch the miscreants in the act.

What she saw was Millicent Bulstrode leaning against the wall in a corner of the room and masturbating, while the naked ghost of a girl hovered in front of her. Fascinated against her will, she watched, and at the critical moment the ghost melted into Millicent and the skin of the large Slytherin girl grew faintly incandescent as she came, biting off a cry.

In a moment the ghost was beside her again, and they exchanged what seemed to be tender goodbyes before Millicent ordered her clothing and turned to see Umbridge standing in the doorway.

"Professor Umbridge!" she exclaimed, and the lovely flush on her face was replaced by a sickly pallor. "I was just- I mean- I know it’s after curfew, but…"

"Say no more Miss Bulstrode, it was quite obvious what was going on," Dolores told her. "Have a seat, Miss Bulstrode, this time there is a need to talk."

Millicent sat, and she waited for the axe to fall.

"Do not imagine, Miss Bulstrode, that I am unaware of the taunting that you receive at the hands of the other students. I myself was teased similarly when I was in school. I understand what it is to be a strong young woman who does not fit current standards of beauty. I too had no real friends here; they were jealous of my strength, and unwilling to look past my exterior. But I overcame that, and so must you. I would be doing you no favors, Miss Bulstrode, to try and change the way your fellows treat you."

Millicent regarded her in surprise, she had fully expected to be punished severely, even expelled.

"I also understand that a strong young woman has needs that must be satisfied, and while I must admit that your way of dealing with them is something I have never heard of, that is your business, Miss Bulstrode." "And how I deal with them is mine," she thought as she recalled her increasingly regular weekend visits to Lickfold.

Millicent felt a flicker of hope that quickly died.

"However- you are out after curfew, and a classroom is scarcely the place to satisfy those needs, do you see this?" Dolores asked in that scary-sweet tone that presaged the thrust of the knife.

"Yes Professor, I’m sorry, I –"

"You must be more discreet, Miss Bulstrode," Dolores cut her off. "Now what shall I do about this?" Millicent waited in terror. After a moment, Umbridge reached into a pocket of her robes and pulled out a small silver pin which she fastened to Millicent’s robes.

"I was going to speak with you and some other of your fellow Slytherins tomorrow about this, but the time seems to be right for you. I have need of help to bring order to this school, Miss Bulstrode, and I am pleased to inform you that you are the first member of the Inquisitorial Squad." She pointed at the silver "I" that sparkled on Millicent’s robes. "We shall have our first meeting soon, and I shall explain your duties then. Your privileges I shall explain now. You are authorized to be out after curfew, so that takes care of that transgression this evening. You also have access to the prefect’s bath, and I hope that will assist you to be more discreet in future. Stay after class tomorrow and I shall teach you some more effective privacy and locking spells."

"Thank you professor," Millicent said, scarcely believing her luck, and feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude and loyalty to Umbridge.

"Strong women like us must support each other, Miss Bulstrode. No man is going to place us on a pedestal; we have to make our own way in this world. We have to be stronger and smarter. Power, real power, is the only thing to truly compensate for the advantages we lack, do you see?"

"Yes, Professor," Millicent agreed.

"Now as for your ghost friend…" Millicent felt a prickle of dread. "As I said, that is your business, so long as you are more discreet than you were this evening, but I must caution you about something. Unconventional encounters to satisfy our needs are acceptable, but we must maintain our standards. Obviously there is no risk of half-blood or worse offspring with your ghost friend, but do bear in mind that while it is one thing for a strong pure-blood witch to avail herself of the services of one of the lesser orders in order to satisfy her physical needs, it is quite another to fall in love with one. It would be a bad thing to fall in love with someone beneath your station. Do you see this?"

"Yes, professor," replied Millicent, although she thought that that ship had already sailed. Wisely, she kept that thought to herself.

"You may go now Miss Bulstrode, and if any of your fellow Slytherins are still in the common room, do show them your pin. Good night."

"Good night professor, and thank you," Millicent said as she fled the classroom.

"It would be a bad thing to fall in love with someone like that…" Dolores thought as she sat in the empty classroom and recalled the touch of strong hands, "a very bad thing indeed…"

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