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Muggles were stupid.
That was the plain truth of it. Even Wizards got sceptical when someone tried to make out their will to their familiar, never mind their pet. But the Muggles were quite willing to accept the changed will. She hadn't even needed to Imperio anyone.
What a relief.
Imperio always got so messy.
It was far easier the way she handled things under the radar of the Ministry of Magic. They hadn't found her yet, and she hadn't even had to leave the country. She was sure that brat Potter would stop at nothing to find her and drag her to Azkaban now that his manhunt for the last Death Eaters had come to a close. Auror Potter.
What a joke.
That boy had no impulse control. Terrible.
A shrill noise rang through the little house, and Dolores jumped up. She really hated the doorbell. How could Muggles invent such an awful noise and stand every day? What was wrong with knocking? A far more pleasant, less intrusive sound.
"Oh, my sweet, did that scare you?" The elderly Muggle woman patted Dolores' fur and got up from the settee to answer the door.
Dolores may not be living the life she envisioned, but it was highly comfortable and convenient. She'd known during the first war that there were things best played close to the chest, so she'd dabbled in some unregistered magic. A few potions. A few charms. And voilà!
Animagus.
Well, not exactly as simple as that, but that had been what kept her off the Ministry records, as well as a few well-placed bribes. Dolores licked her paw and stretched.
Margaret, the Muggle, was pleasant enough. For a Muggle. She treated her 'pet' like a Queen, and Dolores was lavished with the best foods, softest cushions and, above all, respect. She could do no wrong in Margaret's eyes, and so she'd chosen to stay a little while longer than planned. Well, a few years longer, truthfully.
And she paid her price in return.
The postman, who'd been eyeing Margaret's valuables a few years back? He'd found himself with an awful case of the unexplainable pox. Dragon pox. Immunisation potions always carried some of the virus. How could she have known that Muggles were infected far more severely than Wizards?
Or the awful son-in-law waiting for Margaret to vacate the house to shove her into some home. Muggles were barbaric, and not caring for their elders was truly cruel. So, Dolores had sharpened her claws and dealt with him the old-fashioned way. There really was no reason to bring Arthur Weasley into everything for some case of Magic being used on a Muggle. No, the poor fella just tripped over 'the stupid cat'.
Of course, a well-aimed Cruciatus was tempting, but Dolores had realised that Muggles were far more cruel, as she'd sat on the top of the staircase and watched the life seep out of his body, blood oozing into the carpet.
Margaret was beside herself with worry for her precious darling. It had all worked out in the end.
"So, we brought the paperwork. This will put your house in a trust and keep it safe when you pass away." An unfamiliar person in a frankly ill-fitting, hideous tweed suit said and sat down in the living room. Dolores immediately felt a strong dislike for the men entering the home she'd cultivated and jumped upon the table to see more closely what they were up to.
"Oh, that sounds lovely, dear. I really want my daughter to be unburdened from these sorts of worries. Would you like some tea?"
Dolores rolled her eyes and rolled over the paperwork. Something was not right.
"Tea would be lovely," the man said as he smoothed out the papers and took out a pen. "Like I said, you'd be signing the house into a trust, no fuss and no risk. It only requires two signatures, one from me and one from you."
"Lovely, that sounds so simple. I am glad," Margaret smiled as she placed the teacup in front of him. "I was a tad worried about all of that."
"Reasonably so."
Oh, Margaret.
Dolores hissed at the man. He was clearly taking advantage of the old woman, and she hated nothing more.
"Lovely cat you have."
"Oh, my Queenie has been with me for nearly fifteen years now. She's a good one."
Dolores scratched at the papers, sharpening her claws on the table.
"Well, you see, I have an allergy. So, why don't we move 'Queenie' to another room?"
Smart. As if he knew that she was no ordinary cat.
Dolores smirked to herself. Maybe it was time for another good old-fashioned case of an accident.
A little murder went a long way.