Concerning Queen Evelyn, the Mighty, Mysterious, Last Gryffindor of Ravenclaw and her Adventures with Sirius Black

Disclaimer: I do not own The Harry Potter series, nor is this story intended as a commercial exploit.

Chapter Four: The Stitch From the Witch

Ravenclaw Tower.

"Ah, got you now, you great sneaky thing! How's it feel to be the one hit in the nose this time, huh? Huh?"

"Oi! Cunt!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Now, we couldn't have that. "Hey, now!" I said, in my most commanding voice. "Only I may throw spells! Get back here!" I raised my wand and fired a warning shot, which hit the window and evaporated. Of course, no one was impressed. I watched, as the normally very staid Quirinus Quirrel, hopped his way across Patrick Carrington's neck. In another corner, Heathcote Barbary, of the magnificent physique, tried to show off his Quidditch skills to standers-by by flying his broom around the room. Only the ceiling wasn't high enough for that, and he cracked the top of his head, much to the hilarity of his mates.

I came back from Dinner, and this is what started happening. The dessert gave everyone a massive sugar high, and people are literally jumping around and smashing things. Not just chess pieces either, but other peoples' heads.

I see Mara Dice, lazing in the corner, reading a Bertram Russell book with our other fat Prefect, Humphrey Hubert, so they have perhaps developed enough glucose-resistance to remain unaffected. I suppose they'd need a bear's dosing each of whatever it was that was in the Treacle Tart, while the rest of us, just ate a human's share. I'm immune of course, not because I'm fat, but because I'm on a diet.

This kind of behavior, this kind of reckless endangerment and disregard for the surroundings of others', smacks of pubescent prank. Obviously, not that I considered even for a moment a professor would have started this riot, but the kind of definitive adjective we need for this situation requires a distinctive pube-ish quality. The kind of quality, which, only a handful of people in this institution have the temerity for. And only one person is always at the top of my list of genuine bad apples.

Suspiciously, I waved a diagnostic spell. No point in not verifying what I thought to be true. "Comperiō!" The entirety of Hogwarts was most likely drugged with some type of Happy Potion or Euphoria Elixir, and it'll turn into a stupid mess in a minute, because I'll have to alert Flitwick, who will alert Dumbledore, who will then lightly reprimand Sirius Black—this spell tells me, he is indeed the culprit—with a swat on the bottom or some sort of therapist session involving lemon drops and Calming Draughts. And my night will still be ruined, because I wanted to go to bed early, and I am not. Why does this have to happen every year? I mean, every year? Can't we have a reprieve? I am sick of welcome-year pranks.

"Evelyn! That is a Restricted Section spell!" said Camilla, rushing to my side, and staring at my wand as if it were a Dark artifact. It had gotten the intended result, so that's all that mattered.

"Oh, hush, you great marmee!" I said. "I have a lovely bed to get to and these people are blocking my way. Where is our Featherbutt? Out snogging some girl, is he? Well, see that I see he gets a bad time of it when I bring up this reticence to help a fellow student in our next Prefects Meeting. I could have been accosted and then where would we be?"

"Evie, he's not in the room. He can't help you."

"Yes, see? He is not helping by being absent. I'm going to share that with Evans, too. He's probably off milking his owl, because he's a pervert."

Camilla sighed. "Does he ever show up, Evie? I doubt he's being deliberately cruel. Several people haven't made it back from Dinner yet."

"And so they are suspect," I stated. "Here, since we seem to be Prefect-less for the moment, help me sort this mess out. We need something to silence them, like a tazer, and we need it fast."

"Just wait it out," suggested Camilla. "Look, I've already notified Professor Flitwick. And they seem to be calming down."

We heard a boom! and looked as one unit over to the girls stair case, where there seemed to be smoke rising.

"Do you think that was Mara, genes reverting on themselves? Yes, indeed, Cam, apparently the smoke is going to asphyxiate everyone into unconsciousness. Then we'll be very calm."

Camilla, of course, sighed again.

Lucille, seeming to disagree that harsh, more corporal, measures were necessary—or even measures at all—to corral the Ravenclaws, sat her arse down on one of the armchairs not being jumped upon, took a file out of her handbag, and blithely started editing her nails.

That's all that needs to be mentioned about Lucy, really. She either whole-heartedly believes in my aptitude for discipline or, and much more likely since it's true, was struck by the importance of a hang-nail.

Camilla is on my side at least. She and Tamara are huddling now in the corner, avoiding falling plaster lest it hit their perfect hair and ruin everything. She obviously finds it odd that every Ravenclaw in our Common Room has suddenly and inexplicably turned feral, even if her methods of correction leave something else to be desired; though, seeing as how every child in this room respects our Head of House, I suppose it was good that Camilla had notified Flitwick. I'm not sure I'd be able to justify spelling what basically amounted to the entire Ravenclaw student body. Hmmm, one can wish, can't she?

"You lot!" I called, magnifying my voice with a Sonorus. "Professor Flitwick has been notified, thanks to a diligent student. If he doesn't show up within the next five minutes, however, I will begin handing out Deprimuses like they're candy. You all know about my Deprimuses. Some boys have been known to cry. Coming down from that high unnaturally will be depressing. Do I make myself clear?"

I wish Heathcote Barbary really had been in his right mind, because I received a wink and a genital grasp after that statement. Well, Heathcote was either supplying me with an invitation or scratching at an itch, but it looked beautiful, whatever it was. Flitwick came in short order soon after, and with a wave of his wand completely dissipated the affects of Black's silly potion, and all returned to normal.

Sometimes, I don't know why I'm a Prefect. I hate being counted among these vapid peers. If tonight can be used as an example, and it can, we are not all operating on the same level of intelligence. I mean, one should know to not touch the dessert, really. The Gryffindors always do this to us. Perhaps it's Stockholm Syndrome at work and we've all gotten used to the abuse, in my case learned to expect it, and have fallen in love anyway, but it is still rather depressing. I just don't seem to get along with these people anymore. Most of them, I mean. Camilla, Lucille, and even sometimes Tamara, despite them being enormous bints, are alright. Sometimes, they are actually fabulous, and I do love them, even if I have a bad way of showing it. The rest of students in my year, however, I think can rot. "Muteo," I murmured, at one evil little minion in front of me, seeing that no one else was looking.

"Evelyn!"

"Oh, alright," I said, still unwilling to let go of the image of my brother flapping his lips with no sound coming out. His shoulders hunched up when he noticed his glares weren't having any effect and he looked in the process of forming a proper tantrum. "Mummy's not here to punish me, is she?"

If I haven't mentioned my brother before, well, I'm not sorry. His name is Apollon, and he really does not care that I'm a Prefect, or that I might have feelings. If any higher power, such as Flitwick, were to glance over and ask, I have every confidence that I can explain my punitiveness was justified. No other prefect was concerned enough to help out anyhow.

The occasion of Apollon glaring at me isn't really an occasion so I am prepared to continue ignoring it. It is downright commonplace. The Story (or how our mum tells it) goes that my brother came out of our mother's womb with a sneer already on his face, ordering the Mediwife to "Cut the damn cord so I can breathe on my own." Over the years, Polly has only grown more unnatural. We recently discovered that he is a child genius, and this has turned him into an Unbelievably Arrogant Human Being. So on top of being evil, he also knows rather than suspects he is superior to everyone; and this just makes him a person I cannot stand to be around.

Cue another example to the terror that is Polly and school-age children in general (further evidence to the need for Restriction-Section spells): late last Sunday evening, while Camilla and I were holed up in our dorm room, quizzing each other on Charms for our exam tomorrow, some strange girl barges in our room, all supposed feminine fury in her night robe and streaming golden hair, demanding that I pay Polly a weekly stipend for having the privilege of living with him.

I responded very nicely, as is my wont. "But I do not live with my brother," I said. "I live with my fellow sixth-year dorm mates. And even though I know it is a hard concept to grasp, that girls live independent lives from their counterparts, could you please still vacate the premises so my friend I can get back to our work?"

Polly apparently paid this girl to perform the service, and her responsive fury was therefore genuine for it was tinged with desperation to get her cut of the money. She took offense to my request, whipping out her wand and threatening my beloved midnight blue bed hangings with a Singeing. Now, it is hard to not laugh in the face of such cuteness. All twelve-year-olds seem to accomplish in their anger is to look like very wet kittens. And this girl even more so. The very fact that Polly's Hireling knew the incantation for Singeing, however, is deplorable and it cannot go without reprimand. The Devil whispered in my ear to call this pixie on her bluff and invite in her baby wrath, but I knew in the end, I was just too tired for such nonsense.

Eventually, Polly's Girl fled the room, after I arose from my perch on my bed, stalked her to the door with my wand, and snarled, "You will not sleep, you will not be able to eat, for knowing that I will somehow destroy you, pitiful peon! I AM A PREFECT AND I CAN CHANGE YOUR GRADE! YOU WILL GET A TROLL! YOU WILL GET A TROLL!"

I think snarls can be very effective, but Camilla doesn't approve of my handling of the situation. She has told me countless times how she feels I should be a bit nicer to children (Apollon in particular), but she doesn't understand that you need to employ a firm hand with them. See how they tried to walk all over me even with liberal use of threats? And this is only the first week of school. Once we feel the stress of exams it will get worse. These students will need to demonstrate proper cow-towing before I'll relinquish my ferocity. Camilla does not understand anything, because she does not have a younger sibling of her own to mold; and is in fact an only child. Also, she is no longer a Prefect. So leave lions to the lion-tamers and falcons to the falconers, I say. Her responsibility is to have shiny hair.

"Evelyn!"

"Yes, alright." Flitwick was closing in after all, it seemed for a chat. I offered Camilla my winningest smile. "Cam, quick, take Polly away for a second. Let him gaze at your face or something." Camilla did as asked but not without a stiff bum. Apollon immediately latched an arm around her waist, forgetting, momentarily that the silencing spell was still in place, and tried to steer her towards an unlit corner where his unconcensual groping could be done in peace.

"Hello, dear," said Professor Flitwick, coming up from behind. "If you wouldn't mind, could you step off of that ottoman? I'd like to address the whole Common Room and I'd like their full attention."

"Oh!" I looked down, surprised. Indeed, I was on one of our footrests. Well, it was being used well, is all I can say. My feet were resting on it. "Of course, professor. Sorry."

Professor Flitwick flicked his wand and started to levitate. "No trouble, no trouble. Ladies and Gentlemen!" he said, voiced wandlessly magnified. "You have all returned to normal, and as it is almost 2100, and you have your second day of classes tomorrow, I would like you all up to bed within two hours. It seems today was an exciting day! Thank you, and goodnight!" I would like to say Flitwick fluttered out of our Common Room, but even he is not that silly.

The Common Room groaned collectively upon hearing this announcement, but nevertheless, got over it quickly. 2300 is our lights out time, anyway, so we're used to being treated like Marines. I've heard other Houses don't have to suffer this injustice, but other Houses don't exactly make the grade, performance-wise. This is probably because they spend their nights playing 'Snap, canoodling by the fire, and ingesting Howard-Taft-sized amounts of Honeydukes' chocolate instead of going to bed at a proper hour; their minds are all muddled and hung-over for the next day.

"Professor," I said, remembering, Black's hand in this affair, "are you aware of how this all came to pass?"

"No, I am not, Miss Ransom, however, I am sure the matter is no longer your concern. If you notice any further hilarity tonight, please, let me know, but I think we're all ready to get to our beds, if you get my drift?"

I deflated. "Right, right. Of course, professor. Though, if I may, you hardly need beauty sleep."

Flitwick giggled. "My mother used to say the same thing, Miss Ransom. Get some rest, and I'll see you in the morning in my class. If I could add a hint, review the section on Bubble Head charms. We might have a quiz."

"Thanks, professor!"

Now, it is the day after The Night of Great Excitement, and everyone is settling in to their new routines. All morning, people from other Houses have been trudging slowly into The Great Hall, as I predicted, looking hung-over and dizzy-eyed, tired and grumpy. I am actually quite smug. I am not tired for once, nor am I dizzy-eyed. I must make a note to myself to watch Sirius Black at The Gryffindor Table before meals from now on so I remain my smug, superior self. If any Stuff Is About To Go Down, it would be nice to be able to recognize its happening, by the crafty villain look on his face, before it happens. Only way to do that is to stare at Black. Really, that is the only reason I am looking at him.

The Charms Classroom.

"Just a warning," Lucille said, breaking me out of my thoughts. It was late into the afternoon, almost evening really, and she and I, sans Camilla—who had gone off to do Camilla-toiletry-things—had decided to stay behind in The Charms Classroom to work on some Extra Credit for Professor Flitwick. (Edit: I should note here to readers that Staying After was strictly Lucille's idea, as I would never voluntarily work harder in a class I can get an Outstanding in without studying, especially after having a test, but Lucille physically made me)

"Yes?"

"Evans is coming this way."

"Oh, really?" I slipped my journal into my pack nonchalantly and turned around.

Lily Evans. I know I haven't mentioned before, but she is pretty much my closet-nemesis. Surprisingly, really, when hers was the first name I invoked last night when I needed reassurance, but I'm not sure I want to see her in the light of day. She's a year older, and Head Girl, and a Gryffindor, and has perfect red hair, and fairy skin, and is runway model tall, and is just too perfect, you know. She also has what seems a very large animosity towards the most popular boy in Hogwarts, Potter—who also, incidentally, happens to be the second biggest berk ever born. So all these things (the last one especially) place Lily Evans in the realm of Annoying-Female-Who-I-Just-Can't-Help-But-Like-Sometimes. Really, this dislike is benign. And so I tolerate her.

I imagine my unease around her is mostly due to the fact that I'll have some very, very large shoes to fill when she's gone and I doubt I'm up for such a challenge.

"What does she want, do you think?"

"Probably to talk to you about some Prefect thing," Lucy suggested in her delicate way.

"Hmm," I murmured, a second before Evans joined our tiny group.

According to Lucille's Muggle watch, Dinner would be starting in twelve minutes, so Lily Evans had better not intend to give me a lecture about using spells last night. No Siree! How the Head Girl could find out so quickly that had I tied two twelve-year-olds together after our professor disappeared, I do not know (and neither did you, until now), but no one knows every inner working cog of Hogwarts either. Magic can be mysterious sometimes. Or I could be unnecessarily paranoid. "Hello, Lily," I greeted amiably.

"Evelyn," she said, nodding at me—all proper Head Girl decorum. "Lucille. May I talk with you for a second alone, Evelyn?"

"Is it important?"

Lily Evans's red brows puckered. "Yes, of course! I won't take up much of your time. Only I have a favor to ask from you."

"Alright," I said, perfectly amenable, now that I knew that the smartest witch in Hogwarts wanted something. "We'll go over by the window, how's that?"

Evans smiled. "Great."

"So?" I said, leaning against the sill, affecting poise and snobbishness.

"So…right!" Evans cleared her throat. "I have a friend…actually, this is more in the realms of me being a Concerned Student. He's a fellow Gryffindor."

"Go on," I said.

"Right, well, Sirius Black, you know him, right?"

My breath went rank. "No!"

Evans blinked, surprised. "I'm sorry, you don't know him?" I could hear her exact thoughts as she thought them: How could you not know Sirius Black? Indeed, how could anyone? According to the stories, how could his mother?

"No, I do know him," I said. "What I meant was: no, I won't do it. Whatever it is. No."

"But you haven't even heard my offer yet," Evans protested.

"You've found the wrong lady. If it involves that…Lothario," I began, only to be interrupted.

"But he's not as bad as that! I promise! I mean, yes, he does have a dreadful reputation, but it's not like I am asking you to date him!"

"Ha! Fool wishes!"

Evans went on, "I am asking you to take away from the time he would spend dating to tutor him in History so he can practice for his NEWT's."

"Does he know you're asking me?" I said, wondering where this was coming from. Certainly not Black. He's never taken such an interest in his studies. I also doubted Evans really believed "He's not as bad as that!" If only for the simple reason that, yes, you've guessed it, Sirius Black was as bad as that. Worse. Worser than Worse. Black was literally the goblin-green Grinch.

Oh, tutor the boy who poisoned everyone's tarts last night? Of course! Sign me up for that train wreck right away!

"No, he doesn't," Evans admitted, and for some horrible reason, even though I tried to control it, this made me sad. "But he needs a tutor. He really, really does!"

"Hypothetically," I said, periodically glancing over at Lucille making faces behind Evans's back, "what would I be tutoring him in? I heard he's pretty smart anyway. What does he need me for? I'm not even in his year. I don't study the same things he does."

"But you're smart," Evans said promptly. "Especially in History of Magic. I've heard you could write the book on that. And he's just awful at it."

"But that class is just studying, Lily. It has nothing at all to do with skill. Not like Transfiguration or Charms. Which, I've heard, you could write the books on. Sounds to me like he's just a lazy arse who doesn't want to try."

"All of that's right," Evans said, "but I know you, Evelyn. I know you can somehow make it interesting for him. You love history. I've seen the books you carry around. You're always writing in that journal of yours."

I snapped back like a cornered turtle. "I am not giving it to you!" Why did everyone want my journal these days? All of last year, that's all I ever heard. Everyone wanted to either read it, or they wanted me to stop writing in it. "I am sick of people asking me that," I said. "No, I will not push it on a publisher. No, I will not give it to Dumbledore. And like I would anyway—."

"That's not what I meant!" said Evans, ending my tirade, and throwing me a strange look. "I was just trying to make a point on how you're more literature-minded than the average person your age. How that's a good thing. Especially if you're going to be encouraging Sirius to read more. His curriculum needs to be more well-rounded. Despite what our professors tell us, in the real world, Evelyn, employers are no longer looking only for trade-specific skills. If you want to be hired, you need the whole package."

I said absolutely nothing for a couple moments, digesting what I'd heard.

Over Evans's head, Lucy was giving me questioning looks. What is wrong? Do I need to come over there and beat her? Lucille had an Annoyance with The Head-Girl as well; however, it wasn't genuine, and had to do with them owning the same pair of pink Gladrags' 4 inch boots.

I shook my head. "This is a lot to take in. Sorry, I need some time to talk it over with my friends," I said.

"What? Why?"

"Well, I can't make decisions for myself, obviously. I need their guiding light to…light my way!"

"Evelyn, are you serious?"

"Partially. Lily, as much fun as it'd be, getting insulted and molested by Black, I think I still need to get someone else's opinion before I let him near me." At Evans's surprise I added, "For the greater good, you understand. If he can agree to respect me then perhaps I'll tutor him."

"But Sirius won't molest you!" she said. "On the contrary! He—."

My lips quirked. "Oh, so you think I'm not molestation-worthy? Lily, that's not very nice."

"That's not what I meant!" Evans said, getting as worked up as I'd been last night. "You're putting words in my mouth, Evelyn!"

"I'll try not to from now on."

Evans nodded. "Good." She looked hopeful again. "Good. Well, if you could think about it. Only I'm just concerned he's going to fail and be without prospects…"

"You're a very kind person, Lily. I wonder if Black knows he has you in his corner."

Evans blushed.

"I'll think about it, okay? No promises, but I'll think about it. I have a lot going on this year, and I'm not sure I can fit him in my schedule. If he didn't talk back, that'd be one thing, but developmentally, he's on par with the other 7th years."

"That's all I ask," Evans said, trying not to frown at me. "That you think about it. Take your time. Though, I would like to have an answer by dinner tonight? If it's at all possible? We need to get started early with him. Binns likes to give out tests early on in the year and Professor McGonagall asked me to secure you before we discussed the matter with Black."

"Done," I said, while my head screamed at me, "Not done! Not done, you vagina! Speak up for yourself! Tell her 'no'!" I glanced at Lucille. She immediately walked over into Evans's vacated spot.

"Did I hear this right?" Lucille said. "Lily Evans is commissioning you to tutor Sirius Black?"

"It's not for sure," I prevaricated, pleased at the attention she was giving me as such single-mindedness didn't usually happen. "Nothing's for sure."

"Oh, come on!" Lucy said, flicking me on the shoulder. "It's in the bag! It's Sirius Black."

"Really? I didn't know it was Sirius Black. I thought it was Regulus! Or some cousin of Sirius's. How remiss I have been."

"Come off it!" said Lucy. "You know you're going to do it. You love him."

"I do not love him! And who are you to talk? You said I hated him last week. I fancy him, and, not for his sterling character either. There's a big difference between the two, and you know it. And I might not tutor him, actually. Maybe Black should ask me if he really wants to have a tutor. None of this running around organizing things without the knowledge of the consenting party business. He's evidently completely unaware of what's going on…behind his back, even…" I paused, considering this information.

"On that note!" Lucille encouraged.

I nodded. "On that note, it might actually be fun! He ruined my night last night after all."

"And all of third-year," Lucille said.

"And all of third-year."

In American-fashion, we high-fived each other. "That's my girl!" Lucy said. "Now come. Dinner awaits. Camilla's trying to stay thin for Riktus so we have to force some food down her."

See, I knew this year would be just chock-full of Interesting Things. I knew it.