Author's Note: Hip hip huzzah! Chap 2 is up. Thank you for the review, Cookies321! And now, please enjoy the madness...
FIRST YEAR
"It's a problem," Alex announced, dropping her armful of books and papers onto Dumbledore's desk.
"What is, my dear?" the old professor asked.
"This." She pulled back her sleeves, revealing a red swelling indicating that a bruise was forming on her arm.
"You'll want to keep it, I suppose?" he said, examining the wound.
"Of course." She sniffed, then pulled out a list. Three feet of parchment unrolled over the desk, scattering quills and paperweights.
"Third Year Claw caught bullying a First Year into throwing away his tissues, off with a warning by Prefect," Dumbledore read out loud. "What is this?"
"A week's worth of hazing and bullying. In just one week of school, Hogwarts students have managed a hundred and sixty-nine offenses," said Alex matter of factly.
"I see," Dumbledore murmured, peering through his spectacles at the parchment. "'Sly girls cause a Puff to cry because of mismatched socks, offense number forty-two.' Oh dear, I do believe my own are the same. Should I be worried?"
Alex gave him a Look.
"How do you know what goes on in the Slytherin girls dormitory? Or," he pointed down the list, "Hufflepuff common room?"
She smiled deviously. "I had a double free period last Wednesday. Perfect time to set a few things up. I was bored."
"So you put magical surveillance everywhere? That doesn't ring against your own moral compass?"
"Stop playing devil's advocate," Alex said. "You know me. You know that isn't going to guilt me into anything. I can't help the way I am."
"You mean, an unsatisfiable eavesdropper?"
"I just like to know what's going on," she protested.
"Where did you even learn that spell?" asked Dumbledore.
"After Germany a couple years ago Father asked Aunt Elsa to teach me some basic charms. Anyways," she said to change the subject, "some Sly grabbed my arm so he could send me on an errand to fetch some slightly illegal substances from Filch's safekeeping."
"You refused?"
"Not exactly. I let him teach me how to open the locks – simple Alohomora – then walked off as if I were actually going to do it. Doubtless he thought I'd be easily scared into doing what he wanted."
Dumbledore gestured to the list. "Why have you brought me this?"
"It's proof that something needs to change. And I have an idea." Alex was sporting that wicked grin again.
"My dear, that sounds positively frightening," said Dumbledore.
Alex shrugged. "Detention doesn't work. Points lost don't change anything. Expulsion creates a criminal for life. The only thing that will affect them is embarrassment. Embarrassing moments will stick with them forever."
SIXTH YEAR
The next morning Dumbledore met me on the east tower to watch the sunrise.
"A fairly uneventful night," he greeted me, leaning against the stone.
The sky brightened another shade. "Apparently the flour joke didn't go forward as planned," I said.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "It didn't happen?" he said incredulously. As if he hadn't been hinting at that with his greeting! Bah.
I nodded. "Sirius must have cleaned it up. I heard nothing."
"Hm," Dumbledore stroked his beard. "I wonder why he would have done that."
Dumbledore always tries to appear naïve, but his innocent sounding questions contain many layers once you understand him. His trademark genius can sometimes be quite annoying. This time I didn't honor him with a response, only turned back to the peaceful sunrise.
We discussed politics and current news until the sky was fully brightened. Dumbledore broke off in his response to a question of mine about Britain's new prime minister to point out the time. "Aren't you going to breakfast?" he asked.
"I suppose I must." I sighed. Really, the duties of student life were not so thrilling. But one must keep up appearances. Being an anonymous, though familiar, face, just a common everyday student, was the perfect cover. People were used to seeing me around, but they probably didn't know my name. I wasn't distinguished in any class or club and kept to the background. It was the best way to stay under the radar and play the game as I wanted.
"Good. It gets noticed if you're absent from too many occasions. I assumed you don't want that."
I snorted. "No one would notice. I've created my character too perfectly. She's practically invisible."
"Ah, you've accomplished this by never making yourself noticed by anyone?" He was hinting at something again. Well, he was always hinting at something, it just usually didn't take me this long to understand.
I made my exit while I could without revealing that I had no idea what he was talking about. Silence and escape seemed the best way to go without admitting anything. Thus I managed the veneer of having the upper hand. Hey, think of me what you like, but it's my style to always have the upper hand. Style is everything. I call mine Versacci. I heard it's very stylish among muggles to be Versacci.
Breakfast wasn't supposed to be eventful. I didn't have anything planned, and I doubted anyone else would. I was enjoying a nice piece of toast while Amanda was describing to a couple First Years the route to the dungeons.
"But whatever you do, don't use the portrait corridor," she said suddenly. I almost choked on my toast. No way was she bringing that up now, in front of me. I was not going to be able to keep my cool.
"Why?" breathed the First Year boy, clearly impressed with Amanda's dramatic words.
"Three years ago," she whispered, theatrically leaning closer to the First Years, "Q flooded the corridor with sewage. They say some days you can still smell it."
She was immediately flooded with questions. They were, predictably, of a "What? Why? Who is Q?" nature.
Amanda widened her eyes. "You mean you don't know who Q is?"
Paul leaned over and whispered "I do," in my ear. This was too cruel. Both of them were having too much fun with this, at my expense.
"Well, no one really knows the true identity of Q," continued Amanda. "It started my first year, so Q has to be a Sixth year or older. Maybe Q graduated last year. No one knows. See, before Q, hazing was a large problem at Hogwarts. First Years like you were beaten up if older students wanted something. It was uncommon to see one without a black eye, bruises, or a limp. First Years never had any time to themselves, every moment was spent catering to the whims of the upperclassmen.
"Then Q came along, taking revenge on those who had bullied someone younger or weaker than them. It was always different – underwear displayed to the entire school, embarrassing photos leaked, suddenly having everyone at the table during breakfast throw food on you and run away, but whatever it was, it was always accompanied by a scrap of parchment signed with a Q. "
The First Years were hanging onto her every word. I was trying to hide behind Paul.
"Whoever Q is, he or she is a legend. Somehow Q always knows what you're doing. There's no hiding from Q. No place is safe. But," Amanda straightened up suddenly, startling the First Years, "as long as you stay on Q's good side, you have a champion."
Paul applauded the speech. Because of his movement I almost fell off the bench. While my face was rather close to the floor I happened to glance down the table – and finally realized what Dumbledore had been talking about.
The Marauders were seated farther down the Gryffindor table, on the same side. Sirius was looking about the room for someone while the others pointed people out and laughed and made jokes when Sirius shook his head.
Sirius was looking for me. The only reason I was undiscovered so far was because about ten people sat between us, providing an effective shield, unless he were to stand up or peer to the side, as I had done.
Dumbledore had been trying to say that I had made myself memorable to Sirius and thus was invisible no longer.
"Curses," I cursed. Amanda continued crafting a ballad like tale of Q's exploits to the impressed First Years, but Paul heard me.
"What is it?" he whispered.
"Sirius Black is looking for me. Can I borrow your glasses?"
He gave them to me, confused but unquestioning. I have trained him well. I knotted my hair up into a bun in order to make its length indeterminate. Couldn't do anything about the color, but it was a good enough makeshift disguise without being too obviously a disguise.
"Will that do anything?" Paul asked.
"If he's only looking for the face and hair he saw last night, yes. Sirius isn't very perceptive. I doubt he's remembered much about what I look like," I said.
Paul glanced down the table. "They're looking at black haired girls," he observed.
"Good." I grinned. "The shadows must have made mine seem darker, or Sirius really is blind."
"You know," Paul said, "I've always thought so. Remember that time you created a new broken step in his path, dropped a Q as a warning (which everyone noticed), and he still stepped in it?"
"Shh!" I whispered. "It would be nice to keep some sort of secrecy and not have you blab on in public. People are listening."
"Like who?" Paul snorted. "No one cares enough to eavesdrop on our conversation."
I looked pointedly down the table.
"They can't hear me," he dismissed. "Now, how much longer do you need those glasses for? I can't tell if this is toast is buttered or not."
I reached a hand out and felt the top. "It's not buttered."
He looked aghast. "How could you! I was going to eat that! Why with the touchy feely!?"
"Hey, I can't see any more clearly than you. Your glasses make everything fuzzy," I protested.
"Of course, Paul. Alex had to use her other senses. Simple logic. Spies use whatever resources get the job done quickly," Amanda broke in.
"No using the s-word in public," I said.
"But she petted my toast!" protested Paul.
"You wanted an answer. I gave you one," I defended. "Maybe you should reconsider asking questions if you aren't prepared for Machiavellian solutions."
"Alex," he said pointedly, "most people do not readily provide Machiavellian solutions. This is because most people are not ruthless immoral spies."
"The s-word again!" I exclaimed. "And I am not immoral. What do you call my defense of the downtrodden?"
"Alliteration. What do you call secretly watching every single person in Hogwarts?" retorted Paul. "Give me back my glasses."
"No. I need them."
He tried to snatch them off my face. It didn't work because I have highly trained reflexes while he has less than perfect depth perception without his glasses. Why do people always think they can out maneuver me? Don't they learn their lesson after falling down a few times for seemingly no apparent reason whenever they try to do things to me? The world is full of idiots. If I had a penny, etc etc.
"Stop! You're attracting attention," I tried to say mid-dodge. Paul continued on, a determined look on his face, so I decided to escape. Using Amanda as a shield I left the Great Hall. Once outside, safely away, I finally gave him back his glasses. He grumbled about it under his breath until Amanda handed him a limp piece of bread and told him she'd brought his toast. Then he was too disgusted to complain any more. Silly children.
I ran away to class before they could create any more attention grabbing disturbances. Eventually they followed me. The first day of class was rather important, though I can't say it had much influence on me. What was more informing than the academic material was the conversation I overheard while sitting in Transfiguration.
Author's Note: More on the way. Next chapter we greet our favorite Cissa, Bella, and Lucius. Only one thing to say to that: Growl.
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