Ha, am finally updating again! Is all the fault of mad computer, honestly, which is refusing to accept the fact that it is indeed connected to the Internet. See the consequences of wiping out your hard drive. SEE. ACCEPT. LOATHE. BUT LOVE LAVENDER.
…Because, y'know, she really needs some love right about now.
Disclaimer: All that is mine are the situations Lavender finds herself in, and not even all of those. Basically, I've stolen a character I didn't create and put my own spin on her life. You may sue me, Mrs. Rowling. You have every right to. I think. But, see, this would make you admit that you somehow inspired this mad-crazy thing of a main character, and you probably wouldn't want that.
Witterings of One Definitely Not Related To Uncle Geoffrey
Chapter Three: Squirrelly Divinity
Sunday, September 7th, 1994
5:07 a.m.
It is five o'clock in the morning, and Lavender Brown is awake.
She welcomes the Apocalypse, the Second Coming, and the End of the World, and invites them all to take baths in prepared rose-scented water with flower petals floating amongst the bubbles before attending her luscious banquet. Entertainment will be provided by the dancing talent of a host of horizontally gifted Arabian sheiks and the flobbering up and down of their fat wobbles as they bounce up and down to "YAY, YAY, YAY!" by the Quidditch Queers.
5:12 a.m.
Parvati, apparently, was under the impression that something horrible had happened to me, in the way of an abduction. First, she applauded the abductors, meaning the Weasley twins, but gradually she became worried, and by about three o'clock was completely convinced that I was lying half in, half out of a toilet somewhere, with a sign taped up above me reading I WAS MURDERED BY MOANING MYRTLE in Fred Weasley's handwriting.
In lovely best friend fashion, she rounded up Norma Kingsley, Hermione, Seamus Finnigan, Neville Longbottom, and Dean Thomas to go on a searching spree, and they looked everywhere except where I really was (do they honestly think I never get into the library? Pfft!). Then, they ran outside, scouring the grounds, and managed to get locked out. It was four-thirty before the brilliant idea hit them to go wake Hagrid up and ask him to let them in, seeing as he is, after all, the Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts.
Then, of course, Parvati, Norma, and Hermione came back to bed and saw me lying there, snoozing peacefully and having a very disturbing dream about Cousin Raymond which I will explain later, and they awoke me and were generally v. indignant at something that I swear is not my fault, if you overlook the fact that it just might be, a little bit.
7:15 a.m.
Ran into Seamus Finnigan downstairs, who asked me where I had been and what had happened to me, and I sort of glared at him and stated: "Go away. I hate you," before stalking off to breakfast. I consider myself fully justified, though, because he is part of the troupe that kept the rest up till five in the morning.
8:31 a.m.
Oh, miracles!
Have letter. Finally! Am not completely unloved!
8:33 a.m.
Is letter from Mum.
8:34 a.m.
…Is addressed to "Mr. Lavender Brown".
Oh, dear.
8:41 a.m.
Is indeed very disturbing.
…Have never read anything more disturbing in my life.
8:43 a.m.
Including, I think, that time in St. Mungo's when I had gone for my thirteen-year checkup, and some idiot of a Healer scribbled "rien" next to that little box marked MENTAL DISEASES, and I spent months convinced that I was mentally ill and had somehow contracted rien, a disease I had never even heard about because it was so bad, and then Auntie Pauline sent out her Bastille Day party invitations, which are partly in very bad French, and I saw the word "rien" next to "Please bring".
I thought it meant me, at first, and had a very scary moment there, as apparently I was no longer known by Lavender but by the name of my disease, and started to wonder what I would call my hypochondriac Cousin Raymond, because I didn't think "Cousin Everything" would be that appropriate. Then long period of amusement crept in, during which I renamed several relatives and waved hello to Auntie Humongous, Cousin Smelly Feet, and Cousin Spotty out of window as they arrived for Mum's scary ladybug-themed birthday party.
Then, of course, I was informed that "rien" meant "nothing", was not pronounced "ryenne", and I was left to deal with my own mad self without any excuses for being myself.
8:45 a.m.
This is one letter Parvati is not reading, and it is going somewhere secret.
12:23 p.m.
Have just completed new entry in dream diary, and now have two, one about alligators and the other one that was mercifully cut short by Parvati and Co. on Sunday pre-morning. I believe I was mysteriously in the act of marrying my very gay Cousin Raymond, who then attempted to strangle me with his bridal train after the service was completed in order to marry Mum's hairdresser, and I somehow ended up kissing my mother in the midst of all of this confusing chaos.
I believe I may have an Oedipus complex.
Except, you know, that I'm not male.
My Greek is a bit rusty. Is there such a thing as an Oedipusina complex?
…Doubt it.
But I probably have a Lavender Brown complex anyway, which is much worse: it is UNIDENTIFIED.
12:31 p.m.
Do you know, I believe that dream may be telling me that people will go to any and all lengths to kill me, even to go through an obviously suicidal scheme just to go through with the Homocide of Lavender Brown. It explains my ninth birthday party, at least.
Poor Uncle Edgar.
Heart attack, my foot. I still maintain he was poisoned. After all, he slumped over dead in Mum's hydrangeas after abducting my chocolate cheesecake with ten pink candles and dispatching all of it.
I will end up dead someday, you know, dead as a coffin-nail that will not have to be used because coffins will likely be glued shut by then, glued shut with that special nail-glue of Mum's that gets on your middle finger and sticks itself to the inside of your right nostril and won't dissolve until about a week and a half later.
And no, that did not happen to me, thankyouverymuch.
…Apparently, it's happened to Mum.
Wednesday, September 10th, 1994
12:06 p.m.
Free! Free at LAST! I hate Double Potions, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. Not only do I have to sit across the aisle from Pansy Parkinson, I also have to deal with the fact that I am a terrible potions concoctor and am coming really close to failing that class. Again.
It really doesn't help that our professor's a complete and utter bastard.
Well, at least I'm not Harry Potter.
12:10 p.m.
..,Because, if I were Harry Potter, not only would I be terrifically hated by the Potions master, I would also be male.
12:12 p.m.
…And the Dark Lord would be out after me.
12:13 p.m.
…Me, as in, a male me.
Oh, God. Maybe Mum was right. Am I indeed a Mister Lavender Brown?
12:15 p.m.
Love Parvati. She laughed at me in an "aren't you the ridiculous twit" fashion when I asked her if I was a Mister, and I felt much better. Then she looked pointedly at my chest and said: "Yes, well, Lavender, if you were male, you wouldn't have those."
To which I replied, in v. intelligent fashion, "Parvati, you have forgotten about sumo wrestlers."
And I stalked off, probably leaving her wondering what on earth sumo wrestlers were.
…I remember when I found out about the scary wrestler people with far too many fat rolls for comfort and oodles of breast-fat—er, I mean, muscle. Uncle Geoffrey tried sumo wrestling, in an attempt to make his poor little daughter's chest grow. I believe the idea behind this was to make his own chest expand unnaturally and thereby make his daughter's chest jealous and competitive so that it would start growing faster. The main factor that he forgot was that chests do not work this way, and the other factor that he forgot in his frustration was that it is very hard to undo a double Enhancement Charm, if not in fact impossible.
Well, at least he can get men to open doors for him at supermarkets.
5:12 p.m.
Parvati and I skittered out of Divination together, and I started heading for Gryffindor Tower to dump my books on my bed, and realized that Parvati was not following me. I hurried after her and asked her where on earth she was going, as she was mysteriously heading towards the dungeons, of her own free will.
"I've got to ask Professor Snape something."
"What?"
"Er…about homework."
"About what homework?" I frowned. For once, the man refrained from giving us any except the questions he wrote on the board about chapter three and I know Parvati has those done, because I saw her do them during Divination.
"I accidentally handed in something that wasn't homework," she admitted, turning an odd shade of red. "It was a mistake, and I've got to get it back now before he reads it."
"What was it," I wondered.
"A letter," she said shortly, walking v. fast.
"A letter?"
"A letter."
"One of those nasty, embarrassing, personal, private, horrendously awful letters that you can't let anyone else see for fear that you will have to kill them?"
"Yes."
"Oh, dear," I said, remembering Mum's letter from this morning and shuddering at the thought of Professor Snape finding it. "Parvati, you will have to kill him."
"I know," she almost wailed, slumping against a portrait frame.
"I will not help you."
"Grr," she growled indistinctly. "Okay, fine. I'll see you at dinner."
"Yes," I agreed, walking in v. proper manner back to dormitory and promptly getting my foot caught in one of many bloody trick steps, the point of which I do not see if it isn't blatant sadism.
"Bugger," I grumbled, dumping my books onto the floor. "Parvati!"
Nothing. Too far out of hearing, I think. I hope, that is. Would hate to think that best friend would not even bother to help her best friend, should best friend call her name loudly and in agony.
"Lavender?" a voice asked. "Is that you?"
"Yah!" I shouted, jumping about a foot in the air, and having to yank myself back down, as one foot was really quite incapable of leaping at this point.
"It's just me," Seamus Finnigan grinned, stepping out from behind a tapestry. "Here, lemme give you a hand."
"This is so embarrassing," I muttered while being pulled out of the trick step by two hands that grasped me under my arms and wondering if this was what amputation felt like.
"There you go," he nodded, as my feet hit un-tricky steps again.
"Schptanks," I said indistinctly, wobbling a bit and wishing away the painful twinges all along my leg. Wishing, by the way, does not work.
"So," he said, suddenly uncomfortable for some odd reason, and jamming his hands into his pockets, "er, are you okay?"
"Yes, yes, yes, fine," I muttered, highly embarrassed at whole situation and eager to scurry off as soon as bloody well possible. "Right. I'll be going then."
He sort of frowned, and then shrugged. "Okay, then. Fine. See you around."
Okay, getting away from here right now right now right now.
Homework:
Herbology: chart thing on reproduction process of bubotubers, ugh, ugh, ugh.
Care of Magical Creatures: avoid eye contact with Hagrid during next class and therefore avoid being singled out to do anything whatsoever with icky screwts
Divination: dream diary, which I have made progress on but am tempted to lie on, because I don't think I want to know what that dream about Cousin Raymond was about
Transfiguration: seventeen-inch essay on the similarities of a hedgehog and a pincushion for absolutely no reason whatsoever, continue researching cartography project
Potions: ask Parvati
Defense Against The Dark Arts: prepare report on one of three Unforgivable Curses at least 3,000 words long (hate that teacher, hate him)
Advanced Astronomy: star chart of Pleiades and surrounding areas with radius of 60 light-minutes; am thinking this is more like Physics than originally anticipated, and getting irritated. After all, am stupendous witch with ability to make things turn green and should not need to know actual math behind stuff.
Charms: practice that trampoline-bouncy charm thing
History of Magic: ask Hermione as no one else pays attention anyway
Overall: get back on track with schoolwork; this is getting ridiculous.
Daily Quotas:
Sweets 4 (not bad), essays completed 0 (not good), homework completed 0 (also not good), snarky comments avoided 0 (said them all; not good), potential sex changes 1, disturbing letters 1, disturbing thoughts 14 (all thanks to Mum and Uncle Geoffrey), times nose has been eaten off by plant 1, overall mood: not v. good.
Thursday, September 11th, 1994
8:45 a.m.
Oh, GodohGodohGod, late late late! Late, late, late…shower? No time for shower. Oh, GodohGodohGod. Skirt? Skirt? What happened to—wait, never mind. No such thing as little black skirt; house-elves not done laundry yet and Parvati will turn into Pansy Parkinson before she lets me borrow any of her clothing again. Jeans. Jeans, jeans, jeans. Where, oh, where would I be if I was a clean pair of jeans?
8:55 a.m.
…Not in Lavender Brown's universe, apparently. Right, then. If I was a dirty, crumpled pair of jeans thrown under Lavender Brown's bed a week ago, I would still be under her bed, and I am so going to be late for claaaaaass…blouse. Blouse, blouse, blouse. Where are my bloody clothes?
…Clothes not important. Must get to class on time. At least robes are clean. Can just throw them on over bra, can't I? Is black bra, anyway, so should not be so obvious under black robes that fasten in the front.
9:02 a.m.
Have never run so bloody fast in my life but am in class on time and Professor Sprout is not there yet anyhow and I should have worn a belt over these robes but Merlin and Zeus and the Lord of the Dance willing, we will not be working with plants of the persuasion that try to pluck your overgarments away from you. So. Calm. Deep, cleansing breaths—
9:30 a.m.
…during which I will not attempt to breathe in the fangs of a Fanged Hydrangea.
You could have warned me beforehand, you know, Lavender, instead of letting me find out what it feels like to have a carnivorous plant dig its way into my bloody nose—
Oh, ha, right. Um.
9:35 a.m.
Hahahahaha, I crack myself up. Not that my nose is bleeding anymore, but it certainly is still bruised, and it was bloody at the time, so…
All right, yes, I will never again attempt any sort of pun whatsoever.
10:20 a.m.
…Grr. I just had to be released in time for Transfiguration, didn't I? Typical, typical, typical, and I do wish magical medicine didn't work, sometimes.
However, I do love the way Norma's concealer works on my nose, as it is still rather purple. She came up to visit after Herbology and to drag me back to McGonagall's classroom, but handed me her concealer out of mercy. Her skin color and mine are almost the same anyhow.
10:35 a.m.
"Brown, who ate your face off this morning?"
…Grr, grr, grr. Hate Pansy Parkinson. Want to kill her until she is dead. Dead, dead, DEAD. Why must I always run into her in the hallways when I am in a really stupid position, even when I don't have classes with her till bloody Friday?
10:45 a.m.
Hate hedgehogs. Hate them, hate them, hate them. Hate quite a lot these days. Would admittedly like my hedgehog much more if it decided to turn itself into a pincushion, but it seems to have no intention of doing any such thing. Grr.
10:59 a.m.
Also hate Hermione Granger, who has managed to turn her hedgehog into not only a pincushion, but a nice red pincushion with a special little appendage to poke needles into and a stupid gold tassel, which she can shove up her—
Right, er, yes.
Um.
Back to actually trying to do my work, then.
11:45 a.m.
Or…back to miserably failing my work, if that's the way the gods are inclined to view things. But honestly. Failure is just a concept. It is an idea come up with by evil school board people to force us to have bad opinions of ourselves and it has no value whatsoever.
11:55 a.m.
Except on my "classwork" grade. Grrrrrrrr.
12:15 p.m.
Nothing beats a wonderful lunch sans scary parsley. Does wonders for the stomach, the thinking faculties, however slight they may be, and the coolness of the head, especially when one stays very far away from the hot spicy peppers Dean Thomas is pouring into his mouth.
12:17 p.m.
…I have never known that skin can turn from really dark brown to a lighter shade of burgundy after the application of twenty-three red-hot peppers. Most interesting.
So interesting, in fact, that I will actually confine myself to watching instead of participating.
Oh, dear, that looks painful.
12:57 p.m.
Oh, God, meant to find blouse before Defense Against the Dark Arts! Too late now; must rush, rush, rush; will be late for class a-bloody-gain…
1:01 p.m.
Hate this castle; must it be so bloody huge?
1:02 p.m.
Only slightly late. Is not so bad. After all, class usually takes about five minutes to start anyhow. Professor Moody surely won't be too ang—
1:03 p.m.
"Miss Brown, would you care to be our first volunteer?"
Um. Right.
"Now, please pay close attention. Miss Brown is going to attempt to resist the Imperius Curse."
Grr. Hate him. Hate him hate him hate—
Aahh.
Nice floaty world. Very nice floaty world. Feel drowsy. As if have had several shots of vodka. Not as if have ever done that, exactly, but is feeling like that. So I'm told. It was someone else's dream, and I don't think I was in it anyway…aaaah.
Iss vernicefeeling. Ooh, have voice in head! Isslovelyvoice, nice and sultry and justoooooooohhh…
"Aren't squirrels lovely, Miss Brown?"
Oh, squirrels are divine. Simply divine. I love the little thingies, so squirrely and fluffy and pretty and…
"Imitate a squirrel for me, Miss Brown."
Oh, the divineness of actinnike a squirrel. Isslovely. Yum. What do squirrels do? Squirrels…aah, squirrels hop...they hop and scamper…and chew on things.
…nefferknewthisswasswhata tableleg tastedlike. Yummy.
"Squirrels climb, Miss Brown."
Aaaaah, what a lovely voice. Lovely, lovely, loffly. Yes. Climb. Climb…whatto climb? Treesh…treesh…where to findatreeesh? Treessshissshtall…talltreeshthing…yes, thing. Ooh, tall thingyeshgoodideaclimb, Lavender, climb. Nice climby thing. Oh, dear, robesssh in way. Must move robes. Aaaaah.
Hum, treesh issh fuzzy. Hum, wonder why…funny treeshthing. But nice treesh. Very nice treesh. Divine treesh. Simply loverly—
"AAAGH! LAVENDER, GET OFF ME!"
1:21 p.m.
…Oh, my God.
1:22 p.m.
"Um, right, yes. I'll…just go get my blouse, then, shall I?"
"Yes, Miss Brown, do so. Immediately."
Oh, God.
1:33 p.m.
Have never been more embarrassed in my life.
On bright side, have apparently been excused from class and have no other class for rest of day so can simply sit in room dying of complete and utter embarrassment and lack of butterbeer.
But is okay. Life is not so bad. I can overcome this…somewhat really horrific experience if I put my mind to it and continue to act in a serious and mature fashion that does not involve climbing onto Seamus Finnigan's back and unclasping my robes to reveal the lack of a blouse, all while chattering teeth and wriggling nose in imitation of a squirrelly-thing—
Mummy!
1:45 p.m.
Am securely swathed in turtleneck. OhGodohGodohGod. I will have to transfer. I will never be able to look in the mirror again for fear of dying the death of just being ME. I...
I am going to kill Professor Moody.
And that is all.
1:59 p.m.
Heard creaky thing outside and immediately dived under mounds of covers. Am just going to rot here, and then commit mass homicide, because suicide has been proven to be a Very Bad Thing, and the sort of Thing that all teen-agers are cautioned against. Homocide, though, doesn't seem to be as bad, because there are no little instruction booklets that your mad private school hands out that tell you why it is bad to kill an entire room of witnesses. Suicide is a Whole Different Matter and should be Avoided At All Costs. The lesser of two evils, I figure, wins. Mass homicide it is.
…as soon as I learn the Killing Curse.
Which would mean setting foot into that class again.
Oh, GOD, no!
Will simply be Samson, and break foundations of Hogwarts and thereby kill entire student body. Or be Delilah, and find strong-man somewhere who will agree to kill people for me.
Maybe this is why You-Know-Who has so many followers. They all have dirty little secrets that they are too embarrassed to face and have joined the Army of the Devil because they want their witnesses to be as silent as the grave.
…And…they took that theory one step further and actually put them in graves.
Good plan, actually. Maybe You-Know-Who not so bad after all.
...Oh, God, want Mummy.
5:03 p.m.
Parvati and Norma just came skidding into dormitory, with, I hope, words of sympathy and love and hope and good cheer for the sick-at-heart and—
"Lavender, you idiot, what on earth did you do that for?"
I am doomed.
Homework: do not care as will never again attend class here and anyway, can ask Parvati.
Daily Quotas:
Sweets 45 (reasonable under terrifying circumstances), essays completed 0 (will not matter long-term anyhow), other homework completed 0 (again, will not need), additions to terrifying, embarrassing, absolutely horrendous memories 1, purple noses 1 (v. good; would be awful if had two purple noses, or just two noses. Would be like Eloise Midgen, except with two noses instead of one, or Auntie Pauline, except with two noses instead of fourteen chins.)
Read? Review!