A/N: Hello! This story is from the perspective of Lily Evans. This is what happens when one of Hogwarts's star pupils breaks free from the shackles of respectability, confusing the stuffing out of everyone around her and causing a general commotion. Silliness ensues.
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Teenage Pandemonium
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Everyone thinks I've gone mental just because I plunged my prefect badge into a jar of Flobberworm mucus before leaving it on McGonagall's chair as a sign of resignation from prefectorial duties. I haven't gone mental, I just felt like making a bold statement. And Professor McGonagall waddling around with a mucus soaked derrière and my prefect badge wedged between her crinkly butt cheeks is a really bold statement.
The statement was so supremely bold that I started to regret my audacity when McGonagall used her transfiguration powers to morph into a dragon and remove the top layer of my skin with a jet of fire breath that exploded from her enormous dragon mouth. It was an intense experience. Or at least it would've been, if it had actually happened. James Potter interrupted before things could get escalate that far.
The clueless lout thought I'd be really grateful if he took the rap for the desecration of McGonagall's backside. He was wrong. The whole point of lubricating the sternest teacher's bottom zone was to express to the entire school that I officially forfeit all attempts at pretending to be a decent teenage girl. I don't see the point of trying at anything anymore. I've succumbed to the wicked clutches of chaos and I intend to stay here.
My decline into the grips of anarchy all started in Care of Magical Creatures class yesterday. Before lunch, I was innocent, and the world still shone with all the potential of its wonders for me. I was joyfully watching a bee, which was equally as joyful as it got frisky with a flirtatious daisy. The events unfolding on that delightfully warm spring day took a tragic turn when the Hippogriff we were studying decided to have a nice sit down so it could vigorously scratched its nether regions.
The Hippogriff's trivial urge to have a good scratch led to the demise of that joyful bee and dainty flower, as they were crushed underneath the Hippogriff's comparatively colossal weight. In it's last instance of life, the bee then stung that Hippogriff. Due to some natural weakness in the Hippogriff's immune system, the beast promptly keeled over and lapsed into a deep coma.
Nobody won in that situation. Not the bee, not the flower, and certainly not the Hippogriff, who was rolled into the Forbidden Forest by our frazzled teacher, for lack of a better course of action. It was all frightfully unjust. I bet that bee had little baby bees as well, who will now turn to a life of illicit honey use and unwarranted stinging attacks because they were deprived of a sturdy male bee influence.
That's the moment when it all clicked for me, when I realised the blaring truth. There is no point. There are no epic, predetermined destinies. There is no underlying purpose to being a conscious being. We're just here, and that's all there is too it. The scrap of metal formerly pinned to my uniform, emblazoned with a pompous 'P' doesn't mean anything. It doesn't make me better than anyone else. There is no point pandering to the illusion of a just and logical world, because at any moment your existence could be snuffed out by a Hippogriff with an itch on his underbelly.
So there you have it universe, I forfeit. Let the chaos ensue.
