This chapter has a song! If you've never heard The Runaways' Bad Reputation you should. It's tons of fun, and I think it fits this chapter, which I hope you'll all enjoy.

Also, if anyone wants to know my posting schedule I give updates on my tumblr which is mistresslynndramione. And happy to chat about the fic, or life in general. I'm chatty.

Chapter 30

Feb 1998

Hermione, Ron and Harry stood before a pink floral wall completely covered with hanging decorative plates. The entire room, top to bottom, was covered with porcelain decorative plates. And this wasn't the only room in the house adorned so. Each plate had a kitten or two playing with a ball of yarn, with each other, napping, or twitching their tails back and forth happily. Hundreds of kittens. Thousands of kittens.

They knew Umbridge was a terrible woman, but this was positively sick.

Hermione glanced behind her with a maniacal grin on her face. Umbridge lay on the floor, bound and unconscious. The news of the Order's funding source being gutted created a helpless feeling of despair within her. It was their second major loss after Dolohov. The rest of the Order members were despondent, waiting for the effects of the financial loss to trickle down and start impacting their lives.

But pursuing the locket was a much-needed brightening to the mood of the Golden Trio. It was a shame they couldn't share it with everyone.

Hermione turned back to study the vile display in front of her. She had one hand on her hip, holding her wand. Her other hand absently swung Slytherin's locket around in a circle.

"You know," Harry said, scratching his chin with his wand, "When I said earlier that we should smash all her kitten themed flatware, I thought there would only be a few plates and teacups like in her office at Hogwarts." He surveyed the sheer quantity of decorative plates mounted on the walls before them. "This may take a while."

"I don't have anywhere to be," Hermione replied. "And if I did, I'd clear my schedule."

Ron had a look of pure disgust on his face. "Harry, you've seen You-Know-Who on the back of Quirrell's head, spoken with a piece of You-Know-Who's soul, been bled so that he could be reborn, and even felt him inside of you. And now we're standing here facing this abomination of a room." Ron paused for a moment before turning to him in question. "Which is worse?"

"Are you serious?" Harry asked incredulously. "This house is the evilest thing I've seen in my entire life."

Utterly repulsed, Ron scanned the decorative plate covered walls with parted lips. "I kind of want to look around." He sounded disturbed at his own suggestion.

"I have absolutely no desire to see how toad woman lives." Hermione countered, shoving the locket in her trouser pocket. They would have fun trashing her house, but she didn't want to go rummaging through Umbridge's things.

Gross.

"You're not curious?" Ron goaded her. "Don't you want to see what kind of books she reads?"

Ron certainly knew how to press her buttons. She pursed her lips and turned to see a smug grin on his face, knowing he had already convinced her. "Perhaps I'm a bit curious."

Harry wandered into her kitchen and she heard him opening and closing cupboards. Ron followed him in.

"All kittens," Harry called back to them. "Every single plate, every single bowl, every single cup."

"I think I'm going to vomit," she declared, entering the kitchen to see Harry turning over a bowl in disbelief.

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Ron teased her, randomly opening a drawer. "You're tougher than that. No vomiting on Horcrux hunts."

He held up a cutting board with a picture of playing kittens in the center and raised his eyebrows.

"I will vomit where and when I choose, Ronald."

"Well, at least vomit on the Horcrux," Harry advised sagely, nodding to where the chain was dangling out of her jeans pocket. "Serves You-Know-Who right."

"I'm sure Hermione's vomit would be terrifying," Ron commented, opening the fridge and poking his head inside. "Being Muggle-born and all."

"Hermione's vomit or Fiendfyre?" Harry mused while making a revolted face at a clock with kittens in place of numbers. "One of the pressing questions of our day."

"Enough about my vomit. Do you think she has actual cats here?" Hermione wondered, looking around for a stray feline. "Or just kitten themed flatware?"

"And clocks," Harry added.

"And kitchen appliances," said Ron.

If there was a cat, it may be worth 'rescuing' from Umbridge. Crookshanks could use a friend. She scanned the floor for any sign of a litter box, food or water bowls. There wasn't anything. Maybe in the bathroom?

Harry shut the last cupboard and turned back to them. "I wonder if she has any robes that aren't pastel pink. Let's go check." He strode down the hallway and pushed a door open. "Wall-to-wall pink carpet in the bathroom!" he called back.

"Ew," Ron and Hermione replied at the same time.

"And one of those fluffy pink toilet-seat covers!"

"Hideous," Hermione snorted in derision, following Harry down the hallway with Ron.

"Revolting," he agreed.

They wandered after Harry into her bedroom, passing pictures of moving, playing kittens hung up on the wall. He was already rummaging through her closet. There was another closed door at the far end of the hall, but Hermione followed Harry and Ron into Umbridge's bedroom.

"Oh, okay. She does have some color variety in her wardrobe."

"Really?" Ron stepped forward, peering over Harry's shoulder in surprise.

"No, of course not," Harry laughed. "It's aaaaaaaaaall shades of pink."

Umbridge had several bookshelves in her room. Hermione actually was morbidly curious as to what the horrible woman read for fun. She meandered over to the shelves while Harry and Ron marveled at the fact that every single item of her clothing from the robes to the hats to the shoes, gloves and scarves was pink. She sniggered as Ron tried on a hat with a huge flower and made an exaggerated pose in the closet mirror.

Hermione perused the titles. Nothing surprising there. Umbridge was more of a caricature than a person. The subjects ranged from anti-Muggle-born propaganda, Slytherin ancestry, treatises on the benefits of corporal punishment, to loads and loads and loads of books on cats. Everything having to do with cats. How to care for them. How to breed them. How to draw them. The history of cats and magic. Cats in Egypt. Cats in famous paintings.

But there weren't any cats in her house.

Were there?

Hermione hadn't seen any felines, or any sign that a cat actually lived here. No litter box, no pet hair, no water or food bowl and no bed. Not in the bathroom, not in the kitchen, not in the sitting room… it didn't make any sense. Maybe she kept it in that room at the far end of the hall?

Umbridge was an odd one. An evil, odd one.

Hermione scanned the shelves again and pulled out an interesting book on magical taxidermy. Why would Umbridge have a…

Oh dear lord.

"I think I really am going to vomit," Hermione said out loud, gazing down at the cover. "Big huge Muggle-born chunks. All over her fluffy pink toilet-seat cover."

"What did you find?" Harry and Ron eagerly abandoned her closet to see the tome Hermione was paging through.

"Magical taxidermy?" Ron read, peering over her shoulder. "What's that?"

Hermione dropped the book to the floor and left Umbridge's bedroom, heading to the door at the end of the hallway. The only room they hadn't been in yet. She wasn't sure what she expected to see, but it was too late. She had to know how this vile woman spent her days when she wasn't torturing students at Hogwarts or locking Muggle-borns away in Azkaban.

She paused, hand on the doorknob and glanced back at Ron and Harry in trepidation, standing behind her, waiting. Ron was still confused. Harry appeared somewhat green.

"Ready?" she asked them. Harry shook his head violently.

Ron furrowed his brow. "I still don't underst–"

Hermione pushed open the door and her jaw dropped as bile rushed to her throat. It was so much worse than what she envisioned. The room was positively filled with shelves upon shelves and even more shelves of stuffed cats forced into various poses, just like the images on the flatware.

No.

Not cats.

Her eyes widened in horror.

Kittens.

Ron and Harry each grabbed one of her hands in terror.

Several dozen tiny, cute, furry heads swiveled their terrible dead-eyed gazes to the trio, and all began to make little mewling noises at once. Umbridge had killed dozens and dozens and dozens of kittens, stuffed them, posed them, and charmed them to meow.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

Hermione, Ron and Harry all released a terrified scream at the horrific, dead, mewling kittens and immediately she slammed the door shut, plastering her back against it. Wide-eyed, she stared up at Ron and Harry, sucking in a lungfuls of air. It was silent now. No mewling. Silent except for their panicked, heavy breathing.

She would never be able to look at a kitten again.

Ever.

"Scarred," Ron panted, eyes wide. "I'm scarred for life, I am."

"I need bleach for my eyes!" Harry had his hands over his glasses. "Just gouge them out while you're at it. I can never un-see that room!"

"That woman is sick!" Ron exclaimed, slack jawed.

"We have to kill it," Hermione gulped air into her lungs and nodded in agreement. "Kill it with fire."

Harry lowered his hands. "Can we please? I thought you said-"

"Her home is much more isolated than I thought it would be. The Fiendfyre would cover our tracks and destroy the Horcrux without anyone knowing it was the reason we came." Her eyes lit up in delight, momentarily forgetting the horror of the dead kitten room. "We can all take turns practicing. It will be a teaching moment!"

They walked back to the dining room with the plates covering the wall. Their spirits were already rising at the thought of razing Umbridge's house to the ground and erasing all evidence of that terrible, terrible room.

They walked back to the sitting room with wall-to-wall flatware and Ron gave one last shiver of revulsion.

"What should we do with her?" He motioned with his head towards Umbridge, unconscious and bound on the floor in the corner.

"It would be hiLARious to leave her in the Forbidden Forest bound to that same tree, but she'd know it was us." Harry released a sigh, clearly disappointed that wouldn't be an option. "Being at the mercy of animals would be appropriate considering what she's done with all those kittens." He glanced back towards the closed door of the dead kitten room and gave an involuntary shudder.

"Let's not mention that room or those kittens ever again." Hermione wanted to burn the image from her mind.

Literally.

"Agreed." Ron looked ill. "If not the Forbidden Forest, why don't we take her back to Pinner?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, we don't want the Order getting involved with the Ministry like that. If we captured every Ministry official working for You-Know-Who we'd need a holding cell larger than Azkaban. Even the lower ranking Death Eaters are barely worth the effort. Inner Circle Death Eaters are the focus."

The Trio stared down at Umbridge's unconscious form in thought.

"We could leave her in Knockturn Alley," Ron suggested.

"I guess we'll have to make do," Harry conceded reluctantly, upset that the Forbidden Forest wasn't an option.

"We could still smash all the plates before we burn the house down," Hermione offered.

"Yeah," Harry said, his voice lifting up. "Yeah. That would get the vision of that horrid room out of my mind. If only we had some music while we did it."

Hermione dug in her beaded bag and brought out her CD player. Malfoy wasn't the only one that could be cheered up with music. Harry turned to her in elated surprise. She tapped the player with her wand and the power went on. "I thought trashing her home would be more fun with music and came prepared."

Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her into a bear hug and kissed her cheek, making a loud smacking sound. "You are the most wonderful woman in the world."

She smiled warmly at his praise. Anything for Harry.

Hermione set the CD player down on a side table and then reached into her bag again to pull out two CDs. "The Ramones or a Joan Jett/Runaways compilation?"

"I have no idea who either of them are," Harry said.

Harry turned to Ron, who shrugged. "Don't look at me. They're Muggle."

"They're American." Hermione explained. "I thought some punk rock would be appropriate."

For the next few moments, all that could be heard was the sound of whizzing hexes, porcelain shattering, and the hysterical laughter of the trio to the sound of Joan Jett belting out the lyrics to Bad Reputation.

They were almost sad they had to destroy the evidence of their playtime with Fiendfyre.

But at least the devil kitten room would be gone.

Chapter end notes:

The Trio has been through a lot. They deserve some fun.

This scene was also inspired by Better Off Forgotten by Delancy354. Umbridge didn't get her house trashed and burnt to the ground in that story, but she gets her comeuppance. And there is riotous laughter when she does.

Next chapter? Severus Snape. What's he been up to?