Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. All I gain is satisfaction and maybe a review or two, but considering how long it's taken me to update, I'd be genuinely surprised and very thankful…
I have kind of lost a little (or a lot) of inspiration regarding this, so I'm sorry if these final two chapters aren't very good, but I feel like I should give some kind of conclusion to all you kind people who have reviewed, favourited, alerted and just been so lovely. Thank you for reading, I appreciate every hit and really appreciate every review!
On that note, this hasn't been properly edited. I thought it better to post first and find errors later. So please note them in a review if you find any.
The dawn that heralded Fitzgerald Umbridge's arrival at St Trinian's was peaceful – Hermione would have phrased it 'suspiciously quiet', even if she hadn't known what was to go down later that day. There were no explosions breaking through the silence, no engines running, and no chink of glasses as Matron experimented with spirits. The entrance hall had been cleansed of shrunken heads and graffiti, and Beverley, the receptionist, was awake and completely unaffected by drugs of any type.
The school looked like any respected girls' institution should: pleasant, clean and posh.
In other words: it looked nothing like St Trinian's.
Around the back, however, there was a bit of bustle going on; a large, burly fellow with dark hair and frightening teeth surreptitiously handed Hermione a wooden crate that shook violently, as if something were trying to escape.
Something with teeth and claws.
And more than a little bit of wrath, too, by the sound of things.
"Be careful, witchling," Marcus ordered Hermione, burying his hands in his pockets. She grinned, and shifted the weight of the box to her hip.
"I'm always careful," she reminded him. "But this is personal, so I'll be sure to make it work. You don't have to worry about me."
He gave a look that she couldn't decipher and said, "I mightn't have to, but I always will."
He swooped in suddenly and, a palm cupping her cheek, kissed her hard. It wasn't long or romantic, but it was real and emotional and Hermione felt butterflies erupt in her stomach as his brawny body pressed her tightly up against the door. His thumb caressed her cheekbone, and then, with a pop, he was gone, leaving Hermione standing pleasantly stunned, knees weak, with a box of enraged Cornish Pixies in her arms.
It took her several moments before she managed to shake herself back into the present, her fingers lingering over her lips for part of that time, but when she did it was to check their schedule.
Eight-oh-two – a little less than an hour to have things set and ready. Hermione slipped silently inside.
The knock echoed obtrusively through the school at precisely five to nine. Beverley smoothed down her hair and clothes are moved to welcome the Board of Education and Fitzgerald Umbridge into the school. His face was as toadish as his sister's, but there was an undertone of sleaziness that emanated from his very pores. Garbed garishly in fashions favoured by the late Cornelius Fudge, namely a bowler hat of magenta hue, Umbridge had strolled up the path to the doors with a sneer that would have impressed Snape.
"'Morning," he said to the air over Beverley's left shoulder. "We're hyaah to begin the inspection, if you could tell Miss Fritton." He was one of those people whose aitches had a personality of their own – they probably lurked in places where they shouldn't have existed, too, Hermione had no doubt.
"Yessir, right away, sir," Beverly nodded and scurried across the foyer.
Umbridge buffed his nails on his pinstripe suit.
"Ah, Mr Umbridge," the Headmistress crooned, hiding her distaste under a pile of congeniality. Mr Darcy growled from under her arm. "Welcome to my humble school. I assume you'd like to get started straight away?"
"Indeed," Umbridge said. "But first, let us enter your hoffice."
Mr Nicholson glanced upwards and was startled to see the entire staircase crowded with girls. Their expressions could best be described as eager, with a hint of malice. He shuddered and broke eye contact. When he looked back up the stairwell was empty.
"I will divvy out areas of the school to the Board and we'll conduct our inspection concurrently." He smiled sharkily, as if he knew something that was going to get them in trouble as they all shuffled into the office. Hermione was unbothered, watching the footage coming through Mr Darcy's collar camera. Even if he did know of their rebellious activities, it wasn't going to help him much.
It didn't take long to organise the Board, and from the moment Umbridge entered Miss Fritton's office the game was on (and cheating was practically the rules).
The men were lined up, four in the front, three behind, and Umbridge marched along their line, giving what he probably thought was a witty and fear-inspiring speech. It consisted mostly of 'let's dig up some dirt', 'don't be afraid to get messy', and 'remember, you're livelihood depends on your work pleasing me' – although the last point was veiled and subtle, and would've been automatically translated by a normal person as 'keep up to par, boys, we are paying you for this!'
"Alright," Umbridge barked. "Inspection begins now."
Misters Grey, Brown and Black nodded and made their way to the stairs, clipboards and briefcases in hand, ready to get to work. Miss Fritton smiled. It looked very sharp and pointy, but Umbridge didn't notice. He was busy picking lint off his pinstriped shoulder as the other Board members filed out to begin the inspection of the lower floors.
Students took up their posts in silence, anticipation running high in the air.
"I think it only fair to warn you, Miss Fritton," Umbridge said softly when they were alone, "that this school won't be continuing in its role as educational institution for much longer. I can guarantee it, and I will be guaranteeing it."
Miss Fritton's lip curled in disgust, but she added in polite tones, "And I think it prudent to warn you, Fitzgerald Umbridge, that my girls won't accept that."
"Ah, but they aren't really in a position to argue, are they?" he commented nastily. "Now, I expect you've results and statistics somewhere in here for me to peruse?"
"Yes, I do," Miss Fritton said coldly, and the business of the school inspection began.
Mr Grey was nervous. He was uncomfortable around ladies even at the best of times, but the expressions on the faces of these girls were plain frightening. The two at the front were identical, and the twin grins they were shooting at him were quite possibly the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen.
"Good morning, sir," they greeted in sing song voices. He stepped cautiously into the room, like a deer poised for flight. Unnoticed above his head a bucket of green gloop wobbled precariously.
Mr Brown entered one of the common rooms to find Celia, her dreadlocks and hippy dress intact, walking towards him with a tray of tea.
"Hello, sir," she said with a polite half-curtsey. "I've been instructed to prepare you some tea. I hope you find today's inspection to be unnecessary – it really is a wonderful school. I've learnt a lot here, and I'd be ever so sad to leave."
Surprisingly, Brown took the tea without a hint of hesitation. Celia almost goggled at him. Surely he knew not to accept drinks at St Trinian's at face value! She schooled her expression quickly though and, with a slightly smug smile, exited the room and closed the door, locking it behind her, and pocketing the key. It was safer for Mr Brown in the long run to be confined in a particular space. The visions he'd be seeing in, oh, about five minutes would be spectacular.
Quickly, Celia scarpered.
Mr Black's shiny shoes tapped an arrogant staccato down the hallway, the black briefcase in his left hand swaying gently with his gait. He was a rather attractive man, but in the same way that Mrs Malfoy was attractive. He had a look that said 'I'm above you in so many ways, and it's only by my grace that you're allowed to be near me'.
Aspasia counted to four, before stepping forward into the light. She was wearing a sultry expression and little else. Her skirt could have been a belt and her shirt was in tatters, revealing her toned stomach. Her heels matched the sound of Mr Black's shoes, and as he rested his gaze on her she smirked, slowly and sensually, and stalked into a nearby room.
Mr Black had a bit of a reputation with the ladies and they were banking on his immorality to entice him into the room. Aspasia waited, listening to the telling silence - he hadn't made up his mind whether he'd follow her or not. She double checked the room itself while she counted to ten.
The distinct blue skin of the Cornish Pixies caught her eye, and she licked her lips in anticipation. They were frozen, with tiny little glares on each little face revealing their displeasure at the situation. Once they were freed this room would be a disaster zone. When she got to eight, the footsteps had started, bringing Mr Black closer to trouble.
Aspasia moved into position.
"Poorly kept, this school," Mr White muttered to himself as he took in the graffitied stairwells. "Disgusting. I don't even want to know what that's supposed to depict." He carefully avoided looking at the crude red marker drawing.
"It's a sex position," a grating voice informed him anyway from somewhere on the floor above. "But I don't suppose you've ever needed that sort of information."
A dark haired girl bedecked in jewellery and sparkly bits and bobs stood at the top of the staircase, leaning on the banister. He immediately identified her as a chav and his nose wrinkled automatically.
Taylor raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to comment on her appearance.
"My dear girl! That is absolutely none of y-" he began in outrage instead. Taylor ignored him and added conversationally: "'Course, you won't eva need it after this."
She brought her right arm into view and cocked a large paintball gun, then tapped it twice on the wooden banister. In seconds, Mr White was facing twelve determined girls holding impressive looking paintball weaponry.
"What in the name of God are you doing!" he screeched. "This is an outrage! I've never been so-"
Taylor had had enough. She fired the first shot, aiming straight below his crotch. It impacted heavily with the floor and he flinched, hands flying protectively down to his groin.
"HAVE AT HIM, GIRLS!" she yelled with sadistic glee.
Meanwhile, Mr Black hammered on the door, trying to force it open as he was bombarded by twenty-seven irate Cornish pixies. Occasionally he had to fight off the dratted things as they tore at his hair and face with sharp, claw-like nails and bit his ears with their viciously pointed teeth.
"Let me out!" he screamed, oblivious to the thuds sounding from the other side of door. Quite frankly, all he wanted was to be away from the damned pixies. He could've taken anything apart from them. "Open the door, girl! Open it right now! Please! Let. Me. Out!"
Aspasia counted, very slowly, from ten down to one, and when she reached her target flicked her wand against the lock.
Unsurprisingly, chaos ensued. Paintball guns, Cornish pixies, and the two men combined to become a horrific, chaotic mess, punctuated by screams of pain as Misters Black and White did their best to escape from the hallway, accompanied on occasion by bursts of manic laughter from the girls and an enormous, reverberating explosion from outside as the twins dealt with Nichols.
He'd never had a chance of knowing their plot, looking back on it. The flour had erupted with a whoosh, the ball of flame igniting the shed to the man's utmost horror and shock as he held the two extension cords he'd just plugged together.
To make it worse, Tania had said pitifully, "Sir, why did you destroy our sports room?" and started a fairly convincing waterworks while Nichols blathered out apologies and awkwardly tried to comfort her. Then the enormity of the situation had coagulated in his brain and he'd fled, the black briefcase snapping open and a pile of documents fluttered down around the students, turning orange in the glow of the fireball behind them.
"I suppose we should start putting that out," Tara mused apathetically to her sister.
"But it's so pretty."
"True," she admitted. "Well, maybe we can let it burn a little longer… Kelly'll come sort us out if we leave it too long."
"Brilliant," her sister replied, dropping down her sunglasses to watch the flames lick at the wood, the black smoke billowing up into the atmosphere.
Weasley Wizard Wheezes had a reputation for disruption and destruction with style, and their Whizbangs were at the top of the range. Hermione had called in a favour to have some of the more destructive fireworks delivered, and now they stood in regimental lines waiting for ignition, and for Nicholson to appear.
The good thing about Whizbangs was that they weren't harming – at least, not in a burning sense. The noise might cause you to be partially deaf for a day or two, but when it came to serious injury, the risk was small.
As such, the plan was to bombard Mr Nicholson, and then send the Twirling Tailer after him to chase him off school premises. But Kelly, having an eye for drama, had told girls in charge to wait until they'd amassed the entire Board in prime target position, whereupon the most impressive display could really hit the heights desired.
So it was that Mr Nicholson was thoroughly disturbed by the angelic faces that greeted him as he stepped in the classroom. The smiles weren't quite genuine; they looked as if they might be more appropriate on a shark, or a piranha, not thirteen year old school girls.
With some trepidation, the man began his inspection. His questions were consistently answered with 'yes, sir', 'no, sir,' 'three bags full, sir', and it did nothing to help calm his nerves.
Greyson looked like a hawk. At least, that was what Peaches thought as she stared at his profile from the shelter of the doorway. "Confundus," she whispered, pointing her wand at him.
Dazed, the man was an easy target for the three Posh Totties and their junior aides and he was quickly bundled into their pink and white change room. When he came to, he was faced with the surprisingly terrifying image of three very attractive eighteen year olds wearing garter belts, feathered dressing gowns, and holding an array of tools that looked disturbingly like weapons though, in fact, they were merely hair dressing paraphernalia. He looked down to see his wrists and legs strapped to the chair.
"What's going on?" he demanded quite fairly of them.
"We're not happy with the interference from the Board," Chelsea informed him, pointing her hairdryer at him. "St Trinians is a good school. We're happy here."
"It's a cavity," Greyson denied, "where festers a complete disregard for authority and discipline."
"We only give our respect to those who deserve it," Chloe noted unsmilingly as she approached with a hot curler. Greyson flinched.
"What are you going to do to me?" the man asked in trepidation as the three girls drew closer with their implements of choice.
"Just a little makeover," Peaches said silkily.
Hermione waited patiently to give the signal that would bring all the Board Member into the entrance hall, voluntarily or not. Kelly stood beside her, listening to reports coming in from her earpiece.
"Now!" she instructed sharply and Hermione send off the signal with a flick of her wand.
It took less than five to gather the opposition into the hallway, and some looked decidedly worse for wear. A clunking sound indicated Greyson's appearance, the poor man still tied to the chair, and a burst of laughter echoed around as the girls caught sight of him. He was dressed in drag. Very stylish drag it was, too, because he looked surprisingly feminine despite his manly physique. He also looked surprisingly traumatised, but Hermione's deepest thought on the matter was 'it really was far too much pink for one person – and were they feathers?' before Kelly made a chopping motion with her hand, directing the girls to set off the Whizbangs.
It was spectacular.
Hermione had never been more proud of a Weasley product as she watched the room light up with colours and sparks. A green dragon materialised out of the sparks, and amidst all the chaos of fleeing, screaming Board Members Hermione watched as they struggled to force the doors open. The causal perusal of the destructive disruption was interrupted, however, by a tremendous bang as Miss Fritton's door swung open.
Fitzgerald Umbridge advanced through them – his face twisted as though his head might explode – hatred in his eyes and a vicious expression on his face.
This has taken far, far, far too long. No promises on when the final chapter will be up, only that it will eventually be completed. One day. In the future. I hope (because I'm about to throttle this story).
Please Read and Review.