I wanted to write a story where they were all bad eggs. So I did. Welcome to Ouran Institute for Juvenile Reform - version 2.0. Some big changes have been made in this revision, things that change the characters and the plot, but work better overall for me. For those who followed the first version, a lot of this will seem familiar. For those who haven't... enjoy.

A couple of warnings about this story - it's AU, as mentioned in the summary, so there are some canon details that have been changed. Pasts have been played with, which in change messes with personalities a bit. Or, in some cases, a lot. I took into account how some of the characters might act if they had been raised differently, and while most of the changes are subtle, I feel it's my duty to warn you that this story contains the periodic use of dark!Hunny, in the interest of experimentation. I know that doesn't appeal to everybody, so if it's not your thing then here's your warning.

Also, it's come to my attention in the past few weeks that there are some inconsistencies in characterization in the earlier chapters, so a second revision might go up sometime soon. It won't halt new chapters coming out, and I will make author's notes if major plot points have been affected.

Seven Ways to Die Trying.




Chapter One.

She had never seen a stained glass window in a restroom. After all, toilets were places of practicality, not fashion. But there it was, above the potted plant, letting in slanted blue and green light. It was the prettiest thing in the room, Haruhi mused, looking down at her men's department sweater and severely bitten nails. She smirked. Perfect.

It could be said she threw together the outfit just to spite her aunt, but that was not entirely true. It had little to do with spite and more to do with the pleasure she got out of seeing Etsuko Saitō have a cow. With short, mussed hair and ancient loafers, she was the epitome of androgyny. And it was not as though Great Aunt Etsuko could hate Haruhi any more than she already did. Her grandniece was a criminal as far as she was concerned. A blemish on the family tree. A blemish that must be hidden far, far away.

That was what Haruhi Fujioka was doing in reform school.

Still smiling in spite of herself, she pushed open the restroom door and came face to face with the most handsome boy she had ever seen.

He was lounging in an armchair, a textbook perched haphazardly in the crook of one arm. Auburn hair fell into his fox-like face; he appeared to be sleeping. Haruhi planned to sneak past him, but a sudden voice stopped her.

"You do know," the boy said, "that that's the girls' toilet, right?" He opened his eyes and looked up at Haruhi.

She deadpanned, a mix of amusement and offense swirling in her chest. She knew she did not look like a girl, but she had never imagined that...

"Y... yes I know that," she stammered, but before she could argue further the boy closed his eyes and waved a careless hand in the air.

Haruhi scoffed and turned on her heel. Screw it. He would find out sooner or later. She was stuck in this place for eternity, after all.

Ouran Institute for Juvenile Reform was unlike any place Haruhi had ever seen. It was a sprawling mansion, like Versailles, with crystal chandeliers and picture windows and golden sconces. She past a bust on a pedestal; a giant oil painting of a garden; a set of French doors leading to a small room lined with bookshelves. She grimaced. Why spend so much money on a home for delinquents? They were only going to mess it all up.

Etsuko was waiting outside the administration office, a sour look on her face. Her black perm and intense eyebrows gave her the appearance of an upset pug.

"You've kept everyone waiting. What on earth were you doing? Go apologize to the secretary. Now." She puckered her burgundy lips. It looked as though she was about to swallow an unpleasant lozenge.

Haruhi pushed open the door and entered the office. Dark red velvet seemed to line the room, and she felt slightly suffocated. The woman behind the desk looked to be in her forties, and she had a long face like a horse. She held up something small and gold.

"Here's your room key, Miss Fujioka!" She gave a toothy grin. Haruhi half expected her to whinny. "Just upstairs, down the main corridor, take a left at the end, another left by the big painting, and your room should be at the end of that hall."

Haruhi glared at the key. 155. Much to her distaste, the secretary kept speaking.

"I'm sure you'll like your neighbors! There's a sweet foreign girl in 154. Why don't you give her a visit?"

Not a chance. "I'll be sure to do that. Thanks." She gave a forced smile.

Haruhi trudged out of the office and bumped right into Etsuko. The fur coat absorbed any impact.

"Listen to me," the woman said, taking Haruhi's chin in one hand. "None of your strange stuff, do you hear? I don't want to hear you've been up to any of that, or it's overseas for you." Her eyes were like fire.

"I understand," Haruhi murmured, not really meaning it. "You don't have to worry."

"I mean it." The tirade was not over. "One wrong move and I swear you will never see your father again. I will always regret not removing you from that hovel sooner. It would have done you a lot of good..."

There was more. A lot more. Haruhi just stopped listening. Her eyes wandered around the room, falling on the intricate lamps and patterns in the tile floors. A man in a tuxedo walked past and gave her a sympathetic look.

They have butlers here? What the-

"Are you listening to me?" Etsuko furrowed her brow. She did not wait for an answer. "Get on upstairs and get changed out of that wretched sweater. And remember what I said."

Haruhi hurried. She could not get away from her aunt sooner. Dragging her oversized duffel behind her, she climbed the steps as fast as her lazy, slow legs could manage. Upon reaching the top she went through an archway and found herself in a long, wood-paneled hall. There were no windows; only door after door, each with a number and a name.

110 - Miyake... 111 - Oshiro... 112 - Suoh...

She made a right and came to a hall lined with nothing but windows on either side. There were little cushioned benches and potted plants beneath the massive windows, which overlooked the gardens and rainy landscape. It was a satisfyingly dreary day.

Finally she came to 155. It was the next to last room at the end of the long corridor, and her feet were beginning to ache when she reached it. She unlocked the door, noting the plaque already filled in with her name, and stumbled into her room.

She gaped.

The first thing she noticed was the bay window. The window seat, scattered with tasseled pillows, was at least the size of a small sofa. It overlooked the sprawling back lawn, all the way down to the lake, which was just barely visible through the trees. The Institute sat on innumerable acres of wild land, she knew, and it seemed that she could see at least half of them from here.

There was a four-poster double bed covered in a soft, pristine comforter; a large desk made from dark, nice-smelling wood; a towering armoire with room for even her aunt's entire wardrobe; and a bathroom with a glass-walled tub, a deep ceramic wash-basin, and fluffy towels hanging on ornate fixtures. It reminded her of a five star hotel she had once visited with Aunt Etsuko. She had sampled English tea and delicious scones, and made believe that she was the Queen of England.

Haruhi frowned and tossed her duffle onto the bed.

What an ugly room.

She collapsed beside her bag and stared out the window. Etsuko's words passed briefly through her mind: None of your strange stuff, do you hear?

"Screw you," Haruhi muttered. She sat up and crossed her legs, leaning back onto the fluffy pillows. A thought passed through her mind. What if...

Haruhi closed her eyes. She had done this millions of times before, but it always took the same effort, the same pointed focus. She dug her fingers into the comforter.

The bed lifted off the ground. One inch, two inches, three inches.

No more Aunt Etsuko. No more snooty neighbors.

Six inches... eight inches.

No one here knew her. She could be as rude and hostile as she wanted.

Haruhi reached up, touched the ceiling, and smirked.

Yep. Haruhi can manipulate gravity. I told you I made some big changes, some of which were for my personal enjoyment.

This was more or less a teaser. I cut off the first chapter halfway through since it was dragging, and I figured having part of it posted would give me more motivation.