A/N: I've already started this story awhile ago (under a different penname), but when I first wrote it, my writing wasn't the most thought out at the time. So, I decided to give the story another go, and actually put some time into it.
Also, for the purpose of this story, we'll ignore the fact that Umbridge is a lot older than Harry's parents and pretend that Umbridge is the same age as Lily and the Marauders.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Obviously.
Chapter 1:
Soft footsteps echoed down the hall, meandering their way through the corridor. The Weasley twins—obviously up to their usual rowdy antics—quickly jumped behind the one-eyed witch, hoping to avoid another irritating encounter with the newly established Inquisitorial Squad.
"Ouch," exclaimed Fred, as in his panic, George stomped on his unfortunate twin's big toe. "What was that for?"
"Shut up!" whispered George, "Do you want her to catch us? Hide it!"
"Hem, hem."
They gulped in unison. Heads springing up like identical jack-in-the-boxes (minus the creepy clown make-up), they both wore practiced expressions of innocence, not willing to give their newly instated Headmistress reason to expel them before they had the opportunity to avenge Dumbledore's sacking. However, their fears of turned out to be unfounded as they saw the wide grin of the person standing over their hiding place.
"What are you two up to?" asked a certain dark-haired, green-eyed boy.
"How nice to see you, Harry," answered Fred, pointedly ignoring the question.
"Just the fellow we were looking for," added George.
Harry easily recognized the mischievous glint present in the twin's eyes, and wasn't at all fooled by their naïve façade. He had more than enough experience—five years—with Fred and George to know they were planning something big. Normally, the twins never even attempted to hide a prank, unless it was severely immoral or illegal. (Secretly, Harry hoped it was both; he desperately needed something to brighten up his year.)
"Uh-huh," Harry said, with his best imitation of Hermione's know-it-all-smirk plastered on his face. "Then what's that behind your back."
"Oh, are you talking about this little thing?" Fred responded, giving up all previous pretenses. He pulled out a vial (similar to the ones the students used to bottle up their potions at the end of class for Professor Snape to grade) filled with a scarlet liquid that seemed to be glowing. With a closer look, Harry realized it wasn't glowing, merely there were particles of golden sand floating in the potion that reflected the light shining through the window. "This, young Harry, just might be our best—"
"—idea yet. Behold, the Time-Traveling potion," finished George melodramatically.
Now, it was Harry's turn to gulp.
"Please, please tell me you didn't invent—" he couldn't finish; he was simply too overwhelmed.
"We didn't necessarily invent it," started Fred.
"We just asked the Room of Requirement for something to transport us 18 years back to the past." George ended.
Harry thought that after his first four and a half years at Hogwarts, he was entirely immune to shock. In that instant he was proven completely and utterly wrong.
"But why?"
"We're sick of that old bag," said George, referring, of course to the newly instated, toad-like High Inquisitor.
"I know, we all are. But why?"
"I'll try to put this in terms that the average baboon can comprehend, but the above-average Slytherin can't. It's about time we do something to get rid of that hag. Permanently," Fred finished, pleased by his hideously atrocious pun.
"What exactly does this plan entail?" Normally, Harry would try to persuade the twins to avoid expulsion (or tampering in unknown ways with time that could prove disastrous or fatal), but lately, Harry found that Umbridge was an extraordinary exception to every rule.
"Us, going back to her time at Hogwarts, and, well…and, basically, um…" George was apparently trying to find the right words, but Fred was quicker.
"We're going to deteriorate our dear Ministry official's psychological health, hopefully to a point of severe schizophrenia. Or any other mental disease, for that matter. "
"Exactly the words I was looking for. Thanks Fred, and if you don't mind me saying, you are a rather dashing linguist."
"Oh, George, you flatter me," said Fred, pseudo-blushing.
"Think nothing of it! You are after all, extremely handsome. Such a shame that the entire human race can't have our precious DNA."
"Sorry to break up this little love fest," interrupted Harry, "but how exactly is this going to effect our current situation without, you know, killing billions by severing the time line?"
"That, my dear Harry, is the ingenious part, if I do say so myself. By mentally scarring the little vermin—"
"I'm not sure little is an appropriate word," put in George.
"You're right," said Fred, continuing. "By mentally scarring the severely obese vermin we incapacitate her chances of becoming a high-ranking Ministry official."
"No official position…" started George.
"NO UMBRIDGE!" they shouted together, their faces lit up with smug grins.
After some intense mental deliberation, in which Harry deduced that the threats of destroying the entire world by meddling with time would have absolutely no effect on the twins whatsoever, he decided not to bother trying.
"Well, I've got Transfiguration in about three minutes," said Harry, checking his watch and walking away. "But just so it's on the record, I want you to know that I think you two are severely unhinged. Even more insane, I'd say, than myself. And I occasionally get visits from Lord Voldemort in my head."