The fic you are about to read is a contest prize for TweenisodeOrange, which is so hideously late that it makes Duke Nukem Forever look prompt (okay, maybe not that bad); for this, I am utterly sorry.

It is also inspired by DisobedianceWriter's excellent fic, 'A Bad Week at the Wizengamot', which I heartily recommend you all read.

Without further ado, lets do this thing.


A Bad Week For Dolores Umbridge

By E350

Monday

Undersecretary Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, Professor of Defence the Dark Arts, High Inquisitor and Headmistress of Hogwarts and All-Round Unlikeable Individual, was in a good mood.

She had just been declared Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, by order of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Eight, and was preparing for her first full week in the driver's seat. Of course, there had been problems – the Headmaster's office wouldn't open, the teachers were uncooperative and some lark had sticking charmed a pin to every seat in her office – but these would be easily overcome.

She was just planning a series of delightful new punishments to inflict on one Harry J. Potter when there was a knock on the door.

A man in a purple suit and a long brown coat burst into the room, waved a piece of paper in her face and began to talk.

"Hello!" he said brightly, "I'm from the International Cooperative Bureau of Magical Education! I'm here about the exchange program!"

"…exchange what?" replied Umbridge, confused.

"The exchange program!" elaborated the man, grinning, "Professor Dumbledore signed it last week! You're getting kids in from the US for a week."

Umbridge pursed her lips.

"Albus Dumbledore's decisions no longer have any sway over Hogwarts," she snapped.

"Oh, right, the sacking thing," nodded the man, "Sorry, contract's already signed – you'll just have to grin and bear it I suppose. Anyway, here's the list."

He handed the increasingly bewildered Undersecretary a list.

"Hmm…Turner, Wakeman, Membrane, Manson, Foley, Fenton, Neutron, Estevez, Squarepants, Star, Cheeks…"

She stopped, her eyes meeting the pictures.

"…what the devil has happened to that boy's hair?" she demanded, "And what are those…things?"

"Oh, yes, them," nodded the man, "Well, Danny's half-ghost and the others aren't exactly human."

"HALF-BREEDS!" exclaimed Umbridge, making a very good impression of a gorilla.

"Well, technically, the last three are anthropomorphic creatures of human intelligence," corrected the man.

"HALF-BREEDS!" exclaimed Umbridge, making a very good impression of a gorilla.

"No, they're…well, never mind," shrugged the man, "They're being sorted as we speak – probably should have told you earlier, come to think of it – you'll see them in class, and…well, good luck."

He rushed out the door as quickly as he had come.

Umbridge stared.

"What?"


Umbridge first encountered the exchange students in her first-year class with the Gryffindors and Slytherins.

The lesson had gone smoothly at first – she had put on her most irritating condensing voice, ordered her students to revise Page 313 for the umpteenth time that year and settled down at her desk to read her favourite magazine; Why Mudbloods And Half-Breeds Are So Terrible Weekly.

All of a sudden, she heard a wet splatting noise.

"Hem-hem!" she hemmed, looking up.

No-one replied. The Turner boy was holding a tube and smirking slightly, while the Neutron boy was giving him a withering glare. It was probably nothing too disconcerting – what on earth could a tube do?

Dolores Umbridge was about to be introduced to a great non-magical invention – spitballs.

About thirty seconds passed before she heard the wet splatter again. She looked up, and again saw nothing. If she had looked harder, she'd see that Jimmy now had his own tube.

She went back to reading, only to hear more wet splattering noises. She tried to ignore them this time, but they got more regular and louder as they went on. It sounded like rain pattering on the window.

Hang on – maybe it was rain pattering on the window. This was Scotland, after all.

She looked over to the window. A glorious sun shone in a cloudless sky. Birds twittered in the distance. It was a beautiful day.

Splat.

"What in Merlin's name is that noise?" thundered Umbridge, leaping to her feet.

Timmy froze, the tube just in front of his mouth.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" she snarled, marching down the aisle, "What on earth on you doing?"

"I'm blowing spitballs in Neutron's face," replied Timmy, matter-of-factly.

"And what, pray tell, are those?" demanded Umbridge.

"These."

And with that, Timmy blew a spitball in Umbridge's eye.

Umbridge roared in anger as she wiped her eye, as if a horrendously poisonous insert had just stung her pupil. She could hear the Gryffindor side of the room (and some Slytherins) burst into cheers and laughter.

"What the heck was that?" demanded Jimmy.

"Totally hilarious," Timmy replied.

Umbridge turned to him, her ugly face red as a ripe tomato.

"Detention!" she thundered, "Detention every night for a week! Now get out!"

"Worth it," grinned Timmy, striding from the room to further cheers. Jimmy was facepalming, but could not suppress a small grin.

"Shut up!" boomed Umbridge, "Shut up and get back to work!"


That evening, Umbridge was in her office, sipping from pumpkin juice distilled from the tears of a hundred first years. It was a bit watery and rather salty, to be frank. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

"Enter," she called.

Patrick Star walked into the room, carrying what looked like a map in his hands. He looked up and glanced around.

"Can I help you, Mr. Star?" demanded Umbridge.

"I got in trouble, and they told me to see the hairy ugly guy," replied Patrick.

"Filch," snapped Umbridge, "You're not even on the right floor!"

"But everyone told me to come here," mused Patrick.

Umbridge slammed her head on her desk.

"Can I get directions?" he asked.

"Right out of the office, then down the stairs," groaned Umbridge, "Now leave me be, half-breed."

"Okay, see you," nodded Patrick, leaving the office.

Umbridge watched in horror as, instead of descending the stairs and crossing the classroom, he turned right and attempted (and succeeded) in walking through the guardrails of the stairs.


Hands up if you don't like Umbridge. :D