AN: While reading the fifth book, we registered the complete artistry that is Hermione Jean Granger's detestation for DJ Umbridge. We respect this detestation most heartily. Here is an ode to this hatred. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: yeahno.
Hermione Jean Granger's Dream
Hermione had not been sleeping fitfully. Her husband, prat that he was, stole all of the covers. Again. She heard the twinkling sound of the music box through the wall of their apartment. Clearly Rose was still awake as well.
Good lord, Ronald. Is it not enough to get your wife pregnant, again? Apparently not, considering that you now insist upon adding to her discomfort.
Sheesh.
She looked at the dresser across the room. There was her wand. She needed it. But she desperately did not want to get up.
Maybe she should push Ron off of the bed. He would deserve it.
I give up she sighed to herself. She would not get up. She would lie here until Ron woke up, and then yell at him and make him make her bacon. She wanted bacon very badly. Damn these cravings. And her vegetarianism had been going so well.
Her thoughts traveled, as they always seemed to do at 3 in the morning these days, when Ronald had all of the blankets, to work.
She had six reports to finish tomorrow.
Her crusade to help the House Elves was going well. Well enough for Kingsley to be dropping the word "promotion" in several of their recent conversations. She would like a pay-raise. It would make life so much easier, especially since her parents were getting on and needed financial support in their retirement.
What would she do if she were promoted. She would like to put the pure-bloods in their place. In the past few years, certainly, things had gotten a lot better, but there were still plenty of prejudices to deal with. Harry was doing a good job. He could use her help, especially since his work as an auror often interfered with his work to combat pure-blood-mania.
She shivered. Not because Ron had now taken the single sheet that had covered her, but because a memory had risen, unbidden, to her mind's eye.
A courtroom. Dementors. Dolores.
Ughh. Think about something else.
Harry stood behind her, disguised as that strange man that nobody liked, Runcorn.
Why wouldn't this go away?
Ugh.
Go away, memory. Ahh, here we are. There's Kingsley.
Kingsley had entered the room. He was followed by twelve aurors.
"Seize her!" he cried, pointing dramatically at the bench. For one wild moment, Hermione thought she was being arrested. But no, the aurors sent spells straight to Dolores. Her pudgy cankles waved feebly in the air before the force of the spells toppled her over the desk. She fell, quite gracelessly, letting out a shrill shriek. Hermione resisted the urge to snort in amusement, although this amusement turned to disgust when Dolores' pinstriped knickers were revealed to the entire room.
"You, Dolores Jane Umbridge," Kingsley's voice rang loudly through the chamber, "Are under arrest for extreme negligence, supreme bitchery, and, most importantly, the defilement of the honorable post of Hogwarts Teacher."
What on earth is my imagination doing, thought Hermione. Ahh, screw it. I'm enjoying this.
"Witness for the prosecution, Harry James Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, Merlin the Second, Order of Merlin (first class), the Messiah and the recipient of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award for 20 years."
Harry descended the steps beside the desk, no longer looking like Runcorn. He sat down in the chair that the muggle-born had been sitting in during the real trial, but which was now empty.
"Mr. Potter, I believe Ms. Umbridge was your teacher?" asked Kingsley, who was now sitting in the chair that Umbridge had been sitting in only moments before.
"Yes, minister," said Harry.
"If I am correct, she put you in detention?"
"Yes, minister."
"Could you explain the circumstances?"
"Yes, minister. She put me in detention for telling the truth, and being honest, and a good boy. She then did not punish me for breaking school rules, such as starting an illegal club, which I only started because she was the most incompetent teacher I had ever come across in my entire existence, including Hagrid when he lost his confidence in third year."
"Have you any further complaints?"
"She sent dementors after me."
"Right-o. Duly noted. Thank you very much Mr. Potter."
"And you, Minister. Good Day." Harry evaporated. He did not apparate, because he turned into a liquid first. Hermione was somehow not surprised by that.
"It is time to reach our verdict. All in favor of conviction?" Hermione, all the aurors, Kingsley, and several house elves (who were apparently in all the other seats on the bench) raised their hands.
"Conviction!" smiled Kingsley. "Sentence: eleventy-eleven years of community service, and at the end of each day, anyone who so wishes to vent their anger, frustration, loathing or hunger may do so by punching Dolores Jane Umbridge in the face and calling her bad names."
Hermione clapped.
"Ms. Granger," Kingsley turned to Hermione, "Do you have any suggestions for what form the uber-bitch's punishment should take?"
"I think, minister," said Hermione, "That she should have to teach werewolf cubs how to read."
"Capital!" said Kingsley, jovially.
Dolores shrieked "NOOOOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOOOOO!!!"
"Should have thought of that sooner, now shouldn't you, eh?" rang Moody's voice. "Away with you." He stumped across the room and dragged the screaming woman out.
Hermione smiled contentedly.
"Mommmmmmyyyyyy!" came a screech. Hermione opened her eyes. So she had fallen asleep. "I WANT MOMMMMYYYYY!" came Rose's voice from the next room.
"Hush, Rosie, Hush. Mum's sleeping. Let her rest. Daddy wasn't very good last night. He stole all the blankets again."
Indeed, now that she thought about it, Hermione was covered in blankets.
And she smelled bacon.
It was going to be a good day.