AN: I have just graduated high school, so here is my personal revenge to all the mean, intolerant, incapable and stupid teachers I suffered from. :)

Challenge: This is written for the "Secret/Hidden Talent competition" by Lady Phoenix Fire Rose on HPFC

Warnings: Obviously character death, but in a very humerous way.

Beta: None.

Disclaimer: Everything that sounds familiar belongs to Joanne Rowling or the Warner Brothers. I do not make any money with this.

AU?: Well, in canon, Umbrigde went to Azkaban for crimes against muggle borns. For the purpose of this, however, she shall live free. :)

Richard Adams turned the page over in the thin file he held in his hands. He was about to focus on the next page of reports when the door opened and a small, hooded figure in a dark blue cloak, dirty at the hem, stepped into his tiny office.
"Good Morning." he greeted friendly. "How can I help you?" The figure just nodded a response and pushed a small piece of parchment over the desk before settling down in one of the visitor chairs.

Adams picked the parchment up and took one look at it. It contained two words, written in a fast, tilted handwriting: the name Thorfinn Rowle.

He nodded thoughtfully and pulled a long parchment out from under some heavy books on a side table. After quickly scanning the list for Rowles name, he put it away and turned back to his visitor.

"I understand. His location is unknown and he is yet to be sent to Azkaban. Do you wish for his imprisonment or his …permanent departure?" His visitor pulled his slim index finger along his neck with a quick gesture – death. Adams nodded again.

"I will immediately assign one of our assassins to the task. Your fee is 400 galleons – half is to be paid now, the other half after the mission's success can be proven." A heavy bag thumbed on the desk, alongside it felt another note: "Thank you"

When Adams looked up, the door had already closed behind the visitor. He just shook his head.

"They are getting stranger every day." he thought to himself.

Working for the "OX", the "Office of Execution" since almost 15 month, Richard Adams did have some experience with his customer's ways of demanding people to be assassinated. The OX was similar to the Auror Office, but had some crucial differences: While the aurors were coordinated from a thirty-something people staff on the second level of the ministry, Adams was (alongside a lovely middle-aged muggle lady named Sarah Hyde who worked as his secretary, believing she was employed to a private investigator) the only staff member of the OX and his bureau was located on the fourth floor in a flat on Piccadilly Circus.

While the Aurors hunted down current black wizards on ministry instructions and imprisoned them into the restructured Azkaban (mostly highly attracting the media); the OX was responsible (preferably for the death) of all former black wizard and criminals from the Second Wizarding War, acting upon private customers orders and with as little involvement of The Daily Prophet as possible.

However, both institutions were approved by the Minister of Magic and thus acting legally all the time. Both the ministry's Auror and the assassins from the OX had to undergo a hard training process before allowed in the field; in addition, the OX-assassins lived under false identity all the time.

Richard Adams interrupted his own thoughts and went back to work. He had to pick out one of his assassins and assign him with the killing of Rowle. Since none of the assassins knew the names of any of their "colleagues", annual company outings or "Employee of the Month" awards were impossible. However, Adams kept his private file of "Assassin of the Month" and made little notes into the files of the agents to help him evaluate who was good for which job.

After looking through a bunch of files to find somebody who was not currently on a mission, ended his last mission more than a month ago, was the right age and build to kill a man and overall seemed fitting to succeed in the job, Adams found the file of Agent 51 and curiously opened it. He had no seen this in a long time – since his last job the agent had been on vacation.

The first page was a cover page, giving general information about the assassin, his aliases, brief summaries of his missions, a picture… This page was followed by more detailed information: school grades, assassin school records, previous mission's reports… Adams stared at the cover page of 51' file.

A mouse-brown-haired man with long bangs, brown eyes and a wide smile grinned up to him. In the top line, his name was printed:
DENNIS CREEVEY

Adams smiled to himself. Agent 51 was one of their best youngsters. Only 28 years of age, but showing talent and promising a successful and long career. Currently, he lived in London East End, one of the poorest areas of the city, holding up the alias of Yirden Veneces, an Israeli immigrant working in St. Mungos hospital as a healer's assistant.

Creevey was a perfect fit for the assassination business. He was adventurous and brave, could make friends easily and had suffered enough to be angry at the criminals from the Second War. Also, being muggle born made it easy for him to disguise his identity behind a muggle.

The head of the OX browsed through the file a bit, stopping when a note fell out from behind the report of Creevey's last mission. Surprised, Adams realized it was written in his own handwriting.

- mission was not fulfilled quite as confidential as necessary (too much media speculation), but certainly deserves "most creative"

The last two words led him to make a decision. "51 is definitely the one getting this job." Adams called his secretary and asked her to politely contact Yirden to come to the office a.s.a.p. After that was done, he leaned back in his chair and took on reading Creevey's last report 51.003.2009/6.-DJU.

It was just too amusing not to be brought back to his memory.

(four months earlier)

It was not his first dream about sticky suckers merging around his slim body and a strong, endless tentacle lifting him back out of the freezing, dark water back into the small boat he just seconds ago dropped out off because he had wanted to see if those big yellowish points in the water really were eyes. The repetition of this dream was not surprising, though – who would cease to remember when the first thing that happened to you on Hogwarts grounds is both completely unheard of and life-threatening at the same time?

But tonight, the dream was different. Dennis did not remember ever seeing this bright blue light in the water with him and the squid. And it did not move, either, not even when his dream-self was seated back in the boat safely. The light stayed in the far right corner of his vision. When he finally realized what it was, he awoke very sudden.

Dennis crawled out of the squeaking bed, leaving his girlfriend complaining about the cold air when he lifted the cover, and stumbled over to the small table on the other side of the room.

The parchment entitled "To Do List" glowed in a faint blue light. Even with things like "Do the laundry!" or "Eat the fish 'n' chips leftovers!" written on it, it was not a real to do list. Mainly because he hated planning things out ahead, but also because this was his main tool of communication with the OX, his prime employer.

Quickly, Dennis tapped the paper with the wand five times and then wrote his real name and agent number on it. It shivered and felt back into his hands, a new text written on it.

"Assassin 51,

you have a new mission.

Your victim to eliminate is Dolores Jane Umbridge.

Please fulfil immediately or inform us if you have personal issues against the mission. Your fee will be 300 Galleons; extra expenses may be covered if you report them to the office.

Sincerely,

R. Adams – OX Assassin Supervisor"

Dennis felt a smile creep onto his face. This was just perfect. It was only his third mission, but he had no doubt he was perfectly prepared already. After all, it was a great honour being the one who would take revenge on the High Inquisitor in the name of both Dumbledore's Army and Harry.

With a fork load of scrambled eggs in his mouth, Dennis realized he still needed to fit his mission into his everyday life with his girlfriend, who was completely oblivious of his "job". Jessica worked at a second hand purchase-and-sale shop in Diagon Alley, a job that consumed her day from 8 in the morning to 6 in the evening plus an occasional hour of cleaning, inventory or ware house re-organization.

Since the first lesson at the assassin school had been about careful and detailed preparation to ensure the missions success, Dennis planned two or three days to gain information about his victim and to plan out her assassination. But since that was very time-consuming and involved at least one 24-hour observation, his other job as a healer came in handy.

"Mhm… Jessica, honey… I will be working late this week. I got that 12-hour night shift again..." His girlfriend frowned heroically and pouted.

"That is unfair! How can you get that again? Do they at least pay you more?" Dennis just nodded – that part, after all, was not that big of a lie: at the end of the week, he would be 300 galleons richer. Just not from hospital duty.

To avoid further arguments or raise suspicion, he quickly pressed a kiss onto Jessica's mouth and then reminded her of the time.
"You are going to be late. Don't worry about the dishes, I got it. See you tomorrow at breakfast." He closed their apartment door behind her and turned around. Sometimes, living a secret was not that easy. But when he remembered that his next mission would pay back for his brother's death and a ruined second year at Hogwarts, his spirits went up again.

When Dennis asked for a vacation, neither the group of healers he assisted, nor the staff manager objected: He often worked extra hours, was never late, but extraordinarily studious and exact. Taking a week off seemed appropriate to his supervisors, who had no idea that he would spend this time taking a life instead of rescuing it.

As he was about to leave St. Mungos through the employee's entrance, Dennis thought about his next steps. In order to observant her, he first needed to know where Umbridge lived. Maybe to find his answers, a quick trip to the bathroom was necessary.

The young man entering the Ministry through one of the fireplaces wore a nicely tailored, expensive looking black suit with a red and gold tie. His feet in polished shoes quickly strode across the Atrium towards the elevators. He looked around the small golden room with piercing blue eyes, greeted everyone in it with a warm smile and then pressed the button labelled "Level 2" with his slender, manicured index finger.

As the elevator moved upwards, stopping at every floor, the man politely led out wizards who stood behind him, wishing them a nice day and made room for new arrivals.

"Level 2 – Department of Magical Law Enforcement"

The man got off the elevator and disappeared down the hallway, looking for the Administrative Registration Department. Following the signs on the walls, he passed the Improper Use of Magic Office, turned right and found himself in the hallway of the Registration Department. On either side of it, four counters were located, the gable end provided room for two tiny offices.

The wizard looked around, seeing that most other visitors queued in front of one counter, stepping up to the Ministry employee when it was their turn and explaining their problem or question. The employee helped; some were given answers, some were sent away with forms to fill out, other got little violet notes stating the name of a Department that would take care of them. Very few were, for the purpose of what the man thought to be more private or time-consuming conversations, asked inside one of the little offices. He looked around for a while, picking out a young and pretty witch and queuing in front of her counter.

"Hi." he said when finally standing face to face with her, putting on his biggest smile.

"Hello, how can I help you?" He took a quick look on her purple name tag; it read "Nancy Stafford".

"Well, Nancy… My name is Oliver Lloyd and I have a little bit of a problem. See, my mother used to be a very noble witch, experimenting and doing all kinds of stuff with new magic. She was hit by a spell and is now forgetting things here and there. Names are the worst. Now, next week, she is supposed to have tea with this school friend of hers, it is their "35-years-out-of-Hogwarts-anniversary". Turns out, she forgot the street this lady lives in!"

Nancy gave him a very strange look from top to bottom.

"And how am I supposed to help here, Mr. Lloyd?"

"Please, call me Oliver. Well, I had hoped you could… you know… look up the address for me?"

"I am sorry, Mr. Lloyd…"
"Oliver, I have to insist!"

"…Oliver. I am sorry; we are not allowed to give out any personal information to non-relatives."

The wizard sighed loudly, nodded as if understanding and then shoved his hands into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a business card and a quill. He leaned forward, using the counter as a writing surface and then presented the card, adorned with his personal address and a heart, to Nancy.
"No one will ever know. I will take you out for dinner if you just give me the street. Please, my mother is looking forward for this since weeks."

"Doesn`t she keep an address book?"
"She did… and forgot where she put it. Her house is crowded with all kinds of stuff. I swear some of those things are moving. And an "Accio" brings out about a dozen address books, all half empty, barely readable and her friend is in there about five times… with seven different streets."

Now the witch on the counter slowly seemed to indulge.

"Listen, if there is no other way around this, I can sign you a permission to take… let's say 600 galleons out of my vault at Gringotts." he reached back into his pocket, as if to get his check book. Nancy stopped him, gesturing wildly.

"I am not bribable. Okay, listen… Oliver. You seem like a very honest guy who has a real problem. Not to mention you are beyond charming." Oliver cracked a big smile to her again.

"So, who did you say was that lady your mother wants to meet?"
"Dolores Jane Umbridge."

"Uh okay. Do you know a birthday or something? Because otherwise this information is not very specific."

"I don't know when she was born, but she graduated Hogwarts in 1975 and has worked in the Ministry."

"That will help a lot, thank you. Would you please wait here a second, I will go look her up in the files." With that, Nancy disappeared behind her counter and into a larger room from floor to ceiling stacked with files. She went up and down some rows, then used a spell, caught the file and returned to the front.

Oliver watched with great interest as she opened the file and copied the address onto a small piece of parchment, handing it over to him.
"Thank you so much. You basically saved my life. When can I get you dinner?" Nancy shook her head.

"I have a fiancée… Sorry."
"But how can I pay you back for this?" Oliver asked, puzzled.

"Just forget this ever happened and do not talk to anyone about it." Oliver nodded fanatically, thanked her again and left the counter.

As he walked out of the room, he spoke a quick memory charm over his shoulder, directed at Nancy, which would make her forget the past 15 minutes.

"I will never talk about this, but neither will you." he whispered.

As he got onto the elevator, he couldn't help but smile. All would go well now. The doors had closed already and all passengers grabbed one of the golden handles hanging from the ceiling, when suddenly hurried footsteps could be heard. Oliver's heart dropped a little. What was happening now?

He was relieved to find that it was just someone wanting to catch the lift. As it turned out, it was the Wizarding War's hero in person. Oliver found himself staring at Harry Potter in awe. He had grown since Oliver had last seen him and now sported a suit instead of Gryffindor robes, but there was still the same aura of rebellion, heroism, bravery and leadership surrounding him.

Oliver knew it was a foolish thing to do, but he couldn't help himself. From behind, a tucked at the young man's sleeve; Harry turned around and looked quizzically at the other man.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. I am sorry to bother you. Oliver Lloyd – I am a huge fan of you." Politely, Harry shook the offered hand.

"Thank you very much. Have we met before – you look familiar?"

"No, I guess I just have one of those faces. Anyway, I really admire what you have done."

Harry nodded, turned around and murmured "Who doesn't, Mr. Lloyd. Who doesn't?" which made Oliver blush heavily.

By the time he had reached the Atrium and headed towards the fire places, he slowly let his hair grow long and darken and turned his eyes brown again.

A minute later, Dennis Creevey stepped into the fire place as himself, his hand closed around the piece of parchment with the address of his target. He smiled to himself proudly – Human Transfiguration had always been his favourite subject.

The building's front wall was made up out of four thousand, eight hundred and ninety-six bricks. And Dennis was bored enough to have counted them all. Maybe, if Umbridge didn't come out soon, he would start to name them, too. He had spent the past four hours observing Umbridge's home, counting for the last 100 minutes.

His victim had a flat on the third floor of the four-floored building. Dennis hadn't needed to know that – the bright pink curtains made it quite obvious who lived there.

Finally, after almost another hour, Umbridge, pink as always, walked out her house and down the street, armed with an umbrella in a rather eye-irritating shade of her favourite colour and a big, empty shopping basket. She was heading for the local market place.

Dennis checked his watch – it was 2:30 pm. If he was lucky, he would have 30, maybe 45 minutes. Quickly disguising himself under a Disillusionment Charm, he scurried over the street and entered the house.

He darted up the stairs to the third floor, not meeting a soul on his way. There were two flats on Umbridge's floor, the one on the left side belonging to a muggle friend according to the "The London Times" and "Daily Express" lying next to "The Daily Prophet" on the floor mat. The right hand flat belonged to Umbridge – not only was the door coloured in a light pinkish white, the door mat also stated: "If you are not a child, a half-breed, a part-human, a seer or showing loyalty to muggles, Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore and the Weasleys – please be WELCOME."

The young assassin smirked – he showed loyalty to many muggles, as well as to Harry.
"Guess what, toad: I am not welcome and I will go in anyway."

Umbridge was witch enough to seal her door with an enchantment rather than a key, but it took Dennis no longer than two minutes to enter. He was greeted with pink. Everywhere.

Not only had Umbridge taken all her favourite décor plates and lined them up on pink ribbons all over the wales; all the furniture, the wallpaper, the curtains, the carpet... simply everything was pink. Additionally, every available surface was taken up by vases of dried flowers, lacy covers and crochet tablecloth.

Dennis repressed the urge to gag. Yes, he found kittens cute, too. One or two of them. Not fifty, staring down at him from every wall and all wearing a little pink bow. Seriously, if he wouldn't kill her, she would soon enough die on her own – of pink blindness. Maybe he should reserve a bed in the Moorfields Eye Hospital on the City Road.

Remembering his short time frame, Dennis hurried to locate the desk, in which he was sure to find a calendar of some kind. He needed to know if Umbrigde had any plans for the next days because he had to come back to the flat and prepare the trap. And pretty sure, it lay there, in the middle of the table, opened for today's date.

This is too easy.

He poked the calendar with his wand and spoke the incantation "Specialis Revelio" in order to find out if the agenda was enchanted to shield from intruders. To his great surprise the calendar reacted with dissolving into a smoking green liquid spreading from the point he had put his wand all over the book.

A minute later, the poison had left nothing behind but a pile of greenish glinting ash. If he had taken the book into his hands, they undoubtedly would look similar now. Dennis nodded in appreciation of this fine piece of magic. It had stolen him another five minutes and he still needed to find the real calendar.

Looking left and right, he spotted one of the cat plates hanging on the wall alone – unlike all the others who were lined in columns and attached on pink ribbons. Carefully, Dennis stepped over to the plate. The picture showed a cat with a ball of blue yarn; it wasn't moving.

Tentatively, he put his wand to the picture and immediately the cat began to roll out the yarn. The thread formed a little blue mouth. The lips parted and spoke in a low voice.

"Password please!"

Dennis reacted without really thinking.

"Ministry."

"Wrong." the thread answered and the assassin could have punched himself for not being more careful: Of course Umbridge wasn't fond of the current ministry.

"Authority." he tried again.

"Wrong." Slowly, the thread began to sound impatient. Dennis knew that even the portraits in Hogwarts only allowed students to guess the password wrong for three times; after that, the entrance would be sealed from them.

"Power." Holding his breath in anticipation, Dennis watched as the plate opened to show a little globular safe. It held quite a lot of money, a few newspaper clippings, a dagger with a purple handle, a picture of Fudge and a small calendar. Dennis smiled triumphantly.

According to the (harmless) agenda, Umbridge had an appointment with Dr. Dr. Mirza Baker at 2:30 in the afternoon the day after tomorrow, far out of the city in the suburb of Ickenham. To be entirely sure, Dennis pulled a vial with Veritaserum out of his pocket and trickled a little amount onto the paper. Nothing changed – the appointment was true.

Before walking out of the apartment, he spoke a charm to turn time back for the flat. Everything went back on its place, things he accidently moved while walking were put back, the fake calendar reformed itself and the cat plates forgot he had ever been here. Finally, after re-sealing the door again, Dennis set off to return to his watching spot.

When he wandered back to his own apartment 19 hours and 15 minutes later – having fulfilled the required 24-hour-observation of the target – Dennis was surprised to find Jessica at home.

"Honey, it is 11 o'clock. Why are you not at work?"

"I took the day off." Dennis put his bag on a chair and walked to where his girlfriend sat at the table.

"Is everything alright?" He bent down to kiss her, but she pushed him away.

"Nothing is alright! My little cousin was bitten by a Manticore yesterday. She was sent to St. Mungos and I used the time her parents spent with her to stroll around a bit. Actually, I had wanted to surprise you. But, it turns out: apparently, you are on vacation! Now would you care to explain why you were not working the 12-hour shift like you told me and where you have been on vacation to?"

Damn it.

"Listen, Jessica… I can't really explain this to you. It is kind of… a secret."
"Oh, so you are keeping secrets from me now, huh? Secrets that involve spending the whole night somewhere other than home. You know what? I think it is best if I just leave now." She angrily grabbed her wand from the table, summoned a small suitcase that was apparently already packed and stormed out the door.

Damn it. Big time.

Dennis was by contract only allowed to tell one person about his job. The OX had him sign it and speak an Unbreakable Vow on it. If he would spill the secret to more than one person, his name would be next on somebody's mission. But telling Jessica would mean he would play out that ace way to early. What if things between them didn't work out, they would break up and he found another girlfriend – he would have to keep it secret from her forever!

Right now, Dennis could not allow this issue to interfere with his mission. He needed to finish planning the trap that would kill Umbridge.

Slowly, he retreated from the flat. One wrong move, a footstep off the line by an inch and his (quite genius) trap would hit him. Dennis finally reached the doorway, overlooking everything. He couldn't make the charms react to the colour pink or to a certain person – he could just set it up to go off on the next person opening that door.

As he looked around, he noticed one little detail missing: his chance of personal revenge. Grinning sinister, Dennis brought forward one of his favourite toys the OX had invented: Self destroying writing sand. He could use it to write a message and as soon as the message was read the heaps of sand would dissolve into nothing but dust and simply fall between the cracks.

He spoke a spell and a heap of the sand waft through the air, falling in the middle of the living room floor, forming four words. Now it was done.

Pleased with how her day had gone, Dolores Jane Umbridge magically opened the door to her apartment at 4:28. After she had closed the door and placed her purse on a countertop, a small chirp rang through the apartment. She looked up in surprise, but it was too late already.

One of the pink ribbons on the wall grew longer, curled through the air and grabbed her wand from her before Umbridge could react. She jumped forward a little in an attempt to get in back, but failed. As the ribbon wrapped around her wand and pinned it on the ceiling, several others dedicated their attention to Umbridge herself.

The ribbons from the wall behind her, left and right of the front door, coiled as well and grabbed hold of her ankles. Surprised, Umbridge looked down to see her plump legs decorated with the pink fabric, secured with tight knots. She just shook her head. This must be a very strange, yet rather vivid nightmare.

Umbridge tried to process what was happening and thought about whether to call for help or not, as another ribbon wound around her mouth and gaged her. Soon after, the little witch was lifted off her feet. The ribbons from the walls were reeled around her ankles, her wrists and her mouth. Her wand was on the ceiling, securely hold there by another piece of pink fabric.

Slowly, the décor plates began to jump of the walls, leaving their retaining threads behind. Every time they touched the ground or something else, they multiplied themselves. Umbridge watched with shock as this very well done Gemino Curse made her collection increase in proportion to her own fear.

When the plates almost covered the floor and found more and more points of contact, the ribbons wheeled Umbridge around sickening and she faced the floor.

"Revenge is sweet. DA" was written there in piles of sand. The witch gasped in complete shock, but had no chance to re-read, since not only did the sand dissolve, but the china plates now covered the entire floor.

Umbridge tried to scream, but her cry of fear came out as nothing more than a muffled babble. The layer of plates grew higher and as soon as the first one touched Dolores, she knew she was lost: It burned a circular hole into her pink dress, but the contact with the fabric was enough to make it multiply again.

As she was buried under her own décor, with burns over her entire body and the revenge of her enemy in mind, Dolores Jane Umbridge did not die a happy death: Suffocated and squeezed by thousands of china plates, burned alive from a Flagrante Curse and in her ears the ringing sound of the painted cats meowing.

Dennis would have rang the bell, but a wizard's home usually doesn't happen to have things like that. So he settled on knocking. The young assassin had just come back from his successful job, where he couldn't resist taking a picture of Umbridge hanging in midair, bound by pink ribbons and encompassed by cat décor plates. He had sent that picture to Harry Potter with an anonymous owl and hoped the hero would find some delight from this.

Now he stood outside the door of Jessica's sister, where he knew she had ran off to. Dennis had decided to tell her the truth.

Just in that moment, his girlfriend opened the door.
"What is your problem?" she asked.

"Listen, Jessica, I will tell you my secret. All of it. First of all – my name is not Yirden!"