Welcome, Welcome. You may call me the Mentor. Any resemblance to any of the work of Richard Ridings is wholly and completely intentional, and I will not apologize for it. I will apologize however for the abysmal luck this story has had in progressing in any meaningful way.
That is very much unintentional. Maybe if Nintendo didn't make such good games, it would progress at a decent speed, and maybe even have been done by several years ago, never mind being done by this side of Christmas. And yes, I know how long it is since Christmas.
Disclaimer: The Author does not claim ownership of any franchise listed below. They do own a PC that has seen better days, a refurbished Android phone, and the thrice-be-damned Switch (SW3210-4646-0725). If you wish to add them to your Switch friend list, please read this line again. It's right there.
If you can't see it, Get some glasses! If you already wear glasses, I worry about you. Your prescription is clearly abysmal.
Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling, who shows clear signs she planned it by the seat of her pants, by the fact it's got some of the worst continuity checks ever. That or there's one severely bludgeoned muse somewhere.
Dungeon Keeper belongs to Electronic Arts UK. EA should just die. The sheer irony of this project is hilarious.
Labyrinth belongs to the Jim Henson Company, and we wish to express our deep condolences to the families of both Mr. Bowie and Mr. Henson. They were both great, great visionaries.
Overlord belongs to Codemasters. Evil Will Always Find A Way. Ms. Prachett, We thank you for filling a gap in the gaming landscape.
Sailor Moon belongs to Toei Animation. Hotaru's appearance is based mostly on the original manga interpretation, rather than the anime, but has elements which are not from either. Mainly since the Seifuku is out of date. Way out of date. Even Kirameki High doesn't use it any more!
Girl Genius belongs to the Foglios. Make sure to have a nice hat ready for when the Sparks happen. A very nice hat. A vunderful hat. As good a hat as you can find. Oh yes, and a really really good blast shield. M5 Industries proved, over several years, quite how good of one you need.
...He belongs to Lydia Deetz. The franchise, oh, that belongs to Time Warner. He won't be appearing. We got a restraining order. However, all references to the Afterlife reference His series.
Author's Statement: Any complaints about Hotaru's speech patterns… Well, I originally did them using small capitals. FFn requires all stories when they are posted are stripped of any formatting short of Bold, Italics, Underline and Centring, so there will be something lost in translation.
And yes, if needed, Japanese will be translated as well.
Also, concerning her role, as mentioned just above, a certain other franchise, which willremain nameless, puts the Afterlife mostly on Saturn. It was a natural progression to outright have her be in charge of the entire thing.
Harry Potter And The Dungeon Heart
A Not-So-Typical Morning
Or 'Vernon's Most Unusual Day'
A man walks into a door. After dusting himself off and dealing with anything mildly bruised by his bout of literal-minded stupidity, he tries to walk through the door, gets stuck, then eventually manages to figure out that he needs to open the door then walk through the doorway, and is presented with a room containing two doors.
Where does he go from there? This is a classic example of a prat-fall, narrative causality and Chaos Theory. Maybe more than one version of the man remembered to open the damn door before he walked into it. What kind of idiot bloody forgets, but I digress…
Maybe, some men walked through the wall instead. Mr. Banner, please, control your temper at perfectly good walls. Oh yes, and Norse gods. It's getting expensive. Other men may well have ignored that voice in his head telling him to take the left door, and ended up breaking reality in surreal and frankly annoying ways...
Look, People like him have jobs you know, so stop ignoring it! Sheesh. Maybe I'm overthinking it though. Who cares about the goddamn door! I'd just climb on the desks and jump out of the nearest window. And don't dare loiter in the broom cupboard! You don't work for CBBC!
Ahem. This is a story that is all about the effects of Chaos, and what happens when it is brought into the life of a typical boy wizard… Ahem, I said 'Typical'. Any resemblance to the stories of Percy Jackson, I said 'boy wizard', not 'demi-god', or Negi Springfield…
He's not typical, so we wish to apologize profusely in those situations. However, Any resemblance to the story of Harry Potter, if you find issue with that, look up the page, just below the disclaimer, at that bold text. Yes, the first line of it. Go on, We're waiting… Of course it would resemble Harry's story, you bloody idiot!
We wish to apologize for some of the resemblances. Apparently, due to powers beyond our control, we are unable to avoid the machinations of meddling, borderline senile old fools, sadistic toadies, emphasis on toad and evil men with the subtlety, power base, oratory skill and moral code of Donald Trump.
That or evil masterminds who apparently got the job since they ARE a good orator and apparently know how to use an anagram to befuddle wizards. Not hard. A chinese finger trap could disarm a wizard. That or a wood chipper. However, the finger trap can be got from a pound store. Much cheaper.
Leaving that, Harry Potter's life is a perfect example of Murphy's Law as well as Schrodinger's Law. If someone with a lick of sense heard the ramblings of a perpetually drunk fortune teller, where she declared that due to some vague requirements, the only one who would defeat the aforementioned evil mastermind is, more than likely, Mr. Potter, he'd probably have at least two or three wives, I suggest at least the Lovegood girl, her name reeks of potential, and a frankly ridiculous number of children… and more than likely the bastard would have been defeated without him.
However, similar to that little thing about cats and boxes… Good tip is that, if there's no air holes in the box, the cat's probably dead, you berk… Since there were witnesses, and one of them was the most obvious spy in history, next to Mr. Smart, the prophecy was declared true.
They do know that most prophecies fulfil themselves without outside… Oh wait, I forgot, We're talking about Wizards… Damn it it all to Hell… Oh wait, We were going to do that anyway. Never mind. Let's instead look in on a sick, depraved man...
Albus Dumbledore sucked on a lemon drop as he studied...
Ahem, Excuse me while I ki… ck a minion over that mistake. Wrong sick, depraved man… The fat walrus, not the tall, slim possibly gay man with a fondness for evil wizards who enjoy murdering everyone… We'll look in on him later! There's cheap labour, and there's minions.
Vernon Dursley glared at the sight before him. It wasn't anything to do with his breakfast, which was ample and perfectly cooked. It wasn't anything to do with his coffee, which was just as he liked it and in his favourite mug. It wasn't even the mail, which was already sorted.
It wasn't even the weather, which was sunny and mild, with little chance of rain… for a change. It was that all of this exemplary good fortune had come from his nephew being up early and having done all of this without a single shouted word. In fact, it was all done ahead of time and in complete silence.
He distinctly remembered that his wife was staying over at Muriel's, helping her recover from a minor incident involving one of her dogs, the postman and Muriel getting a sprained leg. He'd even worn his special belt, with the particularly good snap when it was used to deal out punishments...
However, he'd not even needed to undo his belt in warning. This meant that the Boy had done it all without being prompted. That was frankly Unusual, and usually meant that he would be finding out something even more Unusual had happened. He checked the mail with the same discretion and hunger as a fox with a chicken coop.
The Boy had, in his diligence, allowed him to see a familiar crest. A Letter From School. These almost always made him happy, as he got to give the Boy ten of the best for whatever foolish thing he'd done this time. He opened it with barely disguised glee, The Boy not even flinching where he was doing cleaning.
Vernon's face fell. It wasn't about the Boy giving him excuse to beat him raw. It was a follow-up letter, after one that had claimed that there was possible evidence of his son, Dudley, stealing from students. That had been Dealt With safely, and with little fanfare…
...and a nice series of detentions for the Boy when the stolen items were found in his school locker.
He was now claiming, a ridiculous notion, that Dudley and the Boy's grades were 'below acceptable', and he was planning a Visit. This was a crisis. He would be busy with just this one letter for most of the day, reassuring the poor misguided fool that there was nothing to worry about.
Quickly making his way through the other letters, mostly bills and another request from Gringotts Bank for an accountancy check from Mr. Williams concerning his spending habits of the support money he got for the Boy. He'd post another apology that he couldn't come in for a few weeks, and leave it at that.
Nothing would come of it. He'd not yet actually deigned to attend one of those visits, since he knew he couldn't account for a single penny of it.
Mr. Williams is indeed also known as Jareth Williams. He took his queen's last name for muggle affairs. Gringotts prides itself on the fact that every letter they sent Mr. Dursley was printed on normal paper, with a nice neat corporate letterhead, with a nice normal address.
Unlike most magicals, he actually understands how to make a good impression on lesser beings. And when to just throw them in the nearest sewage pit when they truly are lesser beings, or are suicidally stupid. None of his Bankers are like that. He never needs to manage them.
They do not pride themselves on the fact he bullshitted them every single time they sent him a letter. Or the fact the accountancy statements and other paperwork that would have allowed Mr. Potter to find out was unfortunately in Row 12, Box 14 within a vast room that contained all non-perishable mail sent to him.
This was supposedly due to someone forgetting to screen most of it for curses. We hope. If there's another reason he didn't get said mail, Mr. Williams will be having a nice chat with the owner of the room. Hopefully not involving his castle's sewage runoff. He gets complaints when that happens.
Once he'd satisfied himself about the mail, he summoned Dudley to deal with the pressing problem of Dudley's grades. Of course, he didn't address the real problem.
"Dudley, I just got a rather bad letter from your headmaster. He is worried about your grades," Vernon stated, "I'd not mind if it was the Boy's grades that required special attention, but how can we get my good friend promoted to replace the headmaster, with his suspicions about your grades as well as Harry's?! If that fool of a headmaster remains in charge, Smeltings won't be happening! You'll be sent to Remedial School! It would tarnish our family for years!"
"I'm sorry, Dad… But, you remember… The library..." Dudley tried, Vernon grumbling. Harry had ruined a few things that day for them both...
A little bit of background for a moment. Dudley's school headmaster had, several times already, questioned why the Boy, actually known as Harry, had grades which were abysmal in an almost regular progression, namely, within tolerances, always a fairly uniform level below Dudley's. Almost like they were required to be.
Of course, according to the Deputy Headmaster, it was all rubbish and there was nothing to worry about, and he'd look into it, even planning, as part of a reward for Vernon's sterling friendship with him, to back Dudley going to the prestigious Smeltings with a glowing letter of recommendation.
However, the headmaster himself wasn't planning to help, and in fact was claiming that Dudley's grades were worryingly low, and he had an ongoing discipline problem that needed rooting out. He even had a rather large folder containing reports over when discreetly planted students reported that Dudley was stealing or bullying.
Oddly, despite the fact the planted students swore Dudley did it, when the Deputy openly investigated, Harry was found to have done every single one, and detentions were handed out to Harry on an almost daily basis. And daily if he actually tried to raise anything with the headmaster.
The headmaster had no idea that folder would be burned the moment the headmaster was fired on Vernon's orders, with Harry planned to be sent to St. Brutus School to be forgotten, paperwork ready to be given to the headmaster declaring that, unfortunately, they felt that Harry's behavioural problems were so bad that he might as well stay there.
Vernon satisfied, once he'd finished there, that any further potential problems would be already dealt with. Preferably involving a body floating in a ditch. And not his. He hadn't broken the rules of the Letter, it wasn't his fault if the Boy had a terrible accident...
The library was a master stroke by Dudley and his gang. Harry had been found with several expensive reference library books, along with proof he had been trying to remove the security features, which had seen him get a lifetime ban from the library, and Dudley was given a temporary ban for not notifying the librarian of his cousin's suspicious activity.
However, the reality was far less clear cut. Harry was never anywhere near the reference library section. He'd dumped his bag, filled with rocks from a particularly hilarious prank by Dudley, before going to read in the young adults section, and had been there all visit.
While he did that, Dudley grabbed a handful of random books, not even looking at the titles, as he dropped the rocks out of an open window, while some of his friends used a small iron to remove the security features off the reference library books, premarked with Harry's name.
Most of them were dropped out of a particularly bad spot in the security camera coverage, while the rest went in his bag, which was carefully checked to weigh practically the same as it did earlier. Notably, Dudley didn't do either of those parts, since he only understood weights when he was lifting them.
When Harry picked up his bag, having not been able to get any books out, due to losing his right to tickets when he apparently vandalized some books he borrowed a few months back, a new security feature caused him to set off the alarm and he was found with all the evidence.
Later, he apparently attempted to sell even more of their missing reference library in the local classifieds. It was at that point he was forbidden from ever entering any library in the area, with threats of police action if he didn't return the books immediately. Ergo, Lifetime ban, and Dudley got a slap on the wrist.
Vernon sighed. He was still not happy right now, even more so since there hadn't been anything Unusual yet. This was, in itself, Unusual, but not in the right way. Hopefully, Dudley's grades would improve soon. He tried to think when Harry's pocket money ban would end.
He'd have to, again, put a bit more pressure on the local busybodies who thought it would be a good idea to give Harry odd jobs around the area, encouraging them to give them to Dudley again. He had been incensed when they'd claimed Dudley kept swiping their valuables.
"Boy..." Vernon stated, trying hard to keep his voice calm, and not to show any appreciation for what he'd done that morning. He might get ideas about getting more of his numerous revoked privileges back. Or even some of them actually offered.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" The Boy asked, with just the right amount of trepidation and worry. He'd done well to coach the Boy into not betraying how scared he really was of repercussions. It put him in good standing when asked about things at school. The headmaster had said that
"We will be going out to pick up Petunia shortly..." Vernon began, ready to 'request' the Boy stay there, preferably locked in his cupboard. Well, He wasn't only going to pick up Petunia. She was just on the way.
"Umm… Uncle, Is it alright if I stay behind?" The Boy asked fearfully, "I heard some strange, worrying noises under my bed, and when I got up this morning, they rang… hollow. I'm worried, Uncle..."
Vernon got up to walk up to the Boy and give him a beating for speaking out of turn, when he frowned. His footsteps were echoing more than they should, and that was most definitely Unusual. Expensive even. However, in being interrupted, he'd not had to lie quite as badly about the real reason he was going out.
Also, if something did happen that caused the Boy harm… The Letter was not specific about things like that. As he was leaving, he decided to get one last snipe in, just to make sure the Boy's last words from him were less than complimentary...
"As long as the house is still standing when I get back… One of the letters was your recent grades, and they're deplorable..." Vernon finished firmly, a flat lie, Vernon only got Dudley's grades, "Now, go into your... room and poke around for a bit..."
An hour later, Anything he couldn't afford to lose if there was a problem with the house was stuffed into the back of the car, as well as a large loose leaf binder of insurance paperwork for the things he could afford to lose, so he wouldn't need to deal with explaining where his paperwork was.
This was lucky for him when he arrived back from the meeting to find the residents of Number 2 and Number 6 looking ominously at a hole in the ground where their homes were ready to fall into, which had once been his house, but was now spewing fire from a broken gas main while the broken water main drained water into the depths.
He had the politeness and mental fortitude to simply pretend he'd just been reversing into the street and headed right back out, straight back to Marge's house, while assuring his son that anything they'd not been able to recover would be replaced as soon as possible. For the first time since that morning, he was truly happy with the day.
A few days later, he was even happier as he finished a meeting with a nice man with a nice big bank account, who happily signed off on replacing the items that were lost when the house was destroyed, and an equally nice police officer who was happy to hear no-one was in at the time, due to the immense luck that no-one had asked about the boy.
And that, dear readers, is the last we're likely to hear about the life of Vernon Dursley, or any of his family, and that is simply Perfect. We wish to add that the broken water main was repurposed for use as part of the Dungeon's water supply until we were able to fit a proper bypass.
The number of baths and showers mandated for some minions went up to a whole five times a week. The rest actually understand hygiene.
Also, Yes, Considering my vitriol about EA, I do know who was brought in to do the voice of the Horned Reaper for the mobile game and about the online game. No, I do not feel EA properly marketed either of them. And the mobile game is still downloadable, despite the fact every review of it was vile. How is that right?! I'd have accepted the chinese game getting localised, but to keep that vile piece of…
You'd almost think that EA make it part of their current mission statement to lie, cheat and defraud people out of their hard earned money through micro-transactions…
Umm… Excuse me for a minute, an Imp handed me a missive. Oh right. As of the past few months, They DID. Unofficially, Good for them, but, as Dungeon Keeper is a former Bullfrog license, I officially wish to offer them a trip into Hell, no expenses paid. Not even the funeral ones.
I know full well that if you spent that much on an imp in real life, you're being scammed. And if an imp took that long to dig out a block of earth, I'd suspect he was taking bribes to boot. And both of those are outright criminal.
We now move to shortly before the Boy woke up. The Boy shall henceforth be known as Harry James Potter, to deal with several issues with comprehension by particularly thick Minions. Admittedly, you show me a smart Minion, I'll show you a funny bear. As far as I know, They both don't exist.
This part of the story begins with one of them, specifically an Imp. A particularly vile subspecies of a dumb, but coherent species of creature known simply as a Minion, Imps being suspected to be a devolution of the Browns according to our local expert, Imps have worked for keepers for longer than anyone knows.
This isn't helped by the fact that there wasn't a consistent, and coherent writing system when the first one started work, added to the fact that an overwhelmingly large amount of the various species of Minion are universally, without fail, dumber than a brick.
As a result, no-one was able to actually figure out how to record the early life of the Minion race with anything resembling a translatable account. Gnarl may possibly know, but he's not willing to talk about it. Partially since, last time he was asked, all he said was that they prove Darwin can be wrong sometimes.
The Imp in question, who earned the title Sinkhole The Thick-Headed from this escapade, was attempting to see how high he could safely dig, an experiment suggested by one of his relatives, whose name was lost to history, when he discovered that the Master's castle had a moat.
Well, More the entire dungeon did when said moat emptied into the dungeon and flooded out a perfectly good dungeon, dismissing several drakes and a nest of salamanders when they drowned, and killing many of the other creatures who were working in the dungeon when they were washed away.
He thought he was more intelligent than most Imps as he managed to safely avoid the various pipes, cables and other things that Man had put down there, which one of our sub-contractors had taught him not to hit at digging school, he arrived at some partially rotten, foul-smelling damp planks.
While he was studying the planks, he abruptly realised something else he'd been taught about in digging school. Suffice it to say that the only reason he survived long enough to earn his new name, a 'proud' moment for the Imp in question, was the fact that his race is nigh-on indestructible.
Unlike the regular Minions, who are encouraged to avoid construction work, The Imps, in various digging accidents, have so far managed to almost make themselves extinct several times over. Unfortunately, I stress 'Almost'.
The fact that the dungeon had been put into what was effectively 'standby' mode, and had been for several years, due to an unfortunate incident with the prize inside some breakfast cereal, part of an ongoing issue with evil Overlords and choking on their breakfast, was the only reason some of the Imps were still under 'employment' at all.
If they had a competent Keeper, they would have immolated them in the Dungeon Heart. An Expert Keeper wouldn't have even considered using such poor grade labour, and would have hired specially trained workers.
At least Minions, either the ones that Gnarl employs for Overlords, or the yellow pills in dungarees that, (un)fortunately only work for the Gru family, come in a seemingly endless supply and all have a sick glee in working on any task, and even a few tasks you didn't ask them to work on, but they got bored and did anyway.
Admittedly, If I wanted a dumb, haphazardly built construction, I'd point Rabbids at it and explain what I wanted. And maybe get something resembling it. Eventually. Possibly. OK, Never in a million years. Better to emply Lemmings. They'll build anything you need, and then find every health risk in it, and demonstrate every single one.
Later study of the incident would show that his exemplary digging had removed entirely the load-bearing portions of the foundations of Number 4 Privet Drive, with the subsidence leaving Number 2 and 6 near-collapse.
Unfortunately, the incident also destroyed everything in Number 4, which was annoying since they had a really good television. Admittedly, we'd like to see someone help wire up a TV in an underground cavern. It's hard enough to give a basement dwelling a TV signal, You tell me how to put Sky TV in a dimensionally transcendent space located nominally several hundred feet below ground level.
That is without getting fourteen Imps almost electrocuted, one imp actually electrocuted, plus even worse problems with rain that the usual subscribers due to how the imp angling the dish did so, meaning it consistently flooded, until they got rid of the bowl shape anyway. And you wonder why I prefer cable.
Two figures watched Sinkhole plummet towards the Dungeon Heart, a group of four Minions nearby holding up what were ostensibly meant to be numbers, giving him an overall score of -15.9384, Barney The Dinosaur and a production still of a Gremlin, (A new high, in that two of them actually held up a number!)
When he drew near, the taller of the two hit him with the butt-end of a massive scythe, sending him flying into a wall, having initially planned to use the bladed end, while the shorter one looked thoughtful as he scanned the bits of rubble and other wreckage.
"Gnarl, Why are we even here?" The taller figure boomed, "This place reeks of decay and lack of use… As well as general ineptitude… It would be preferential to just bury the Heart under the collapse… Instead you actually are sifting the rubble..."
"Patience, Hornicus, There's something more to this than meets…" The shorter figure stated, before they saw a figure plummeting within the wreckage, "And there it is! A Keeper! A strange way for him to arrive, but the original one choked to death over a decade ago..."
"Hmm..." Hornicus mused, before he grinned toothily as he used his abilities as a Reaper to study them in detail, "And he seems to have a… passenger..."
"Oh bugger, there goes the neighbourhood..." Gnarl stated as Horny's scythe ripped into the head of the future Keeper, not caring about delicacy. They'd be repairing the hole later, and some short-term memory loss wasn't a problem. However, the problem came moments after he pulled a black mass out, when a gong sounded and a white owl shot through the corridors, morphing into a furious looking Jareth mid-landing.
"GNARL! What are you up to now, you vile, scheming monster?" He snapped. Gnarl cursed. There went the chance to get Sinkhole killed. Again.
"My liege, We were about to summon you. We even had a suitable hapless minion to send with the missive!" Gnarl stated, stuffing a long, bony finger into his ear as if cleaning it out from the sudden noise, digging a large lump of some kind of substance, which he flung at the wall, annoyed that Sinkhole had already been dug out.
A clean hole was burned through the wall, another Imp looking through it curiously before a glare from Hornicus got him repairing the damage. Minions... They made dumb luck an art form.
"What is one of those wretched THINGS doing Underground?!" Jareth stated, snapping his fingers as a goblin appeared holding a book, the Goblin King taking out a pair of reading glasses as he opened it to a particular page, "The treaty specifically forbids any use of a Horcrux to keep a Keeper… Isn't that right, Hornicus… or Overlord alive once their inner sanctum is breached..."
"Very much so..." Hornicus rumbled, moving to kneel so he was only head-level to the Goblin King, rather than towering over everyone else in the room, "However, this was found IN the wretched lost soul who he hopes to sculpt into a Keeper…. Literally, It was there already… We promise we didn't plan to use a Horcrux in the Underground."
Jareth paused, contemplating the slowly dying figure as he studied the black mass, before sealing it in a crystal, studying it, manipulating the mass of mindless spirit. It barely had any intelligence to it, which made him study it in more detail. A closer check showed it wasn't an Imp, Minion or Lesser Goblin's spirit.
While it had barely any intelligence to it, It was still way too intelligent for their horcruxes. And the Keeper still had his whole soul, he already checked that when he arrived.
"Hmm… Yes, this isn't a Keeper's soul..." He mused, before, he added, almost jovially, "Could you be able to find me some more pieces of this wretched fool?"
"As long as you remember to waive the finder's fee..." Gnarl offered, "We prefer to keep our heads..."
"The finder's… Oh yes, That fee is only if you have one of your Overlords or Keepers keeping a Horcrux. We barely authorize reliquaries..." Jareth mused, before smiling even more toothily at the goblin he'd summoned earlier. This was going to turn into an audit. He always loved audits.
Especially when he got to visit the wretched fools who were being audited. And his banking staff adored audits. They took a 75% share of all assets seized, except if they had a living relative who hadn't pissed them off, where they accepted 65%. If they had a living relative who respected the bank, They'd even go as low as 50%.
"I need you to notify Gringotts that we're closing for the next hour, while all tellers and vault runners do a check for any unauthorized reliquaries or soul jars with this soul imprint..." Jareth stated, handing over the crystal, "Once cleansed, charge the owner the usual finder's fee… then bring them in for questioning, and if they aren't able to explain why it was in the vault, well, bankrupt them and feed them to the dragons, If they can, just fine them into poverty. If you happen to find anyone else's soul jars, please ensure to bring it up in the next account review…"
Hornicus and Gnarl then were left with the slowly dying person in their midst, and the restoration to something resembling alive and breathing. We will not go into huge detail about the restoration process. It's not pretty. Suffice it to say that any issues with the recently… nearly deceased, such as poor magical growth or eyesight, diagnosed medical problems, undiagnosed medical problems, and anything that may well cause them more harm than good in the long term.
This includes believing politicians and people in power. Unfortunately, we still are unable to deal with any tendencies to impersonate the less desirable traits of certain previously mentioned green haired rodents or guerilla, well, worms. That's a completely different part of the education.
The former is diligently given by this nice guy named Lomax, while the latter is taught by an earthworm named Jim, as well as his bee-styled girlfriend whose name is lost to time. I'm not kidding, It's literally lost. Most people just call her 'What's Her Name' and leave it at that.
Admittedly, considering her sister is the imaginatively named 'Slug For A Butt', we're thankful that her name is lost to time. Very thankful. Immensely thankful. As is she some days.