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Chapter 3

Scar-Face Evans

Harry looked up at the girl standing next to Tonks in the doorway, and furrowed his brow. What the hell was Scar-Face Evans doing here? She didn't have any connection to any of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, as far as he was aware, and, more importantly, Harry felt that she was the last person who deserved to be there. Everyone who'd had the misfortune of crossing paths with the gangly, bright-haired witch at Hogwarts knew two things: Scar-Face Evans was a braggart and a bully.

"Er, so I take it you lot already know each other," Tonks stammered, clearly taken aback by Ron's outburst.

"Unfortunately," Harry deadpanned.

Tonks ignored him. "So, um, yeah, the profs have arranged for Evans to stay here for the rest of the summer. And er, your mum-Mrs. Weasley-was thinking she could have the third bed in here with you girls, so yay!" she said, looking hopefully at Ginny and Hermione, who exchanged concerned glances.

"You've got to be joking!" cried Ron, echoing Harry's thoughts. "There's no way! Dumbledore didn't actually say that Scar-Face Evans could stay here!"

Tonks stood momentarily speechless, her mouth agape as she struggled to find a response. Meanwhile, Harry noticed Evans' demeanor shift. She straightened up and folded her arms across her chest, her expression hardening as she looked at Ron. She smirked.

"Actually he did," she replied. "In fact, it was his personal request."

"I highly doubt that," said Ron, his eyes narrowing.

"It's alright, Weasley, I know you're just jealous," Evans said lightly. "We can't all be the headmaster's pet. But since it looks like I'm going to be here for a while, I can always give you some pointers. Get you out of a few detentions and whatnot."

Ron snorted, getting up from the game. "That's rich coming from you. Don't you hold the school record for most detentions or something?"

Evans shrugged, making her way into the room. "Eh, not yet. But I still have two more years, I'm sure I can make it. So which bed is supposed to be mine?"

Harry looked over at Hermione, who seemed mildly flustered as she surveyed the bedroom. It was a good sized room, covered in peeling green wallpaper, and situated almost directly above the room that Harry shared with Ron. It seemed sparsely decorated compared to the rest of the house, though Harry wasn't sure if that was due to most of its original contents having to be emptied out before it could be deemed habitable or not. At any rate, all that was left were three single-sized brass beds, lined up next to each other on the right-hand wall, opposite an intricately carved mahogany armoire and matching dressing table.

"Oh, um, that one's free," Hermione said, pointing to the middle bed, which was the only one not surrounded by small piles of personal belongings. "If you want, I can show you around the house," she added quickly.

Evans stared at her for a few moments, then shrugged. "Sure," she said, flinging her dirty green satchel onto the bed.

"Well, I'll let you get settled in then," said Tonks, awkwardly recollecting herself, and looking very much like she wanted to make a quick getaway. "Let me know if you need anything!" she chirped, and scampered back downstairs to the kitchen.

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, and nodded towards the door. Taking the hint, Harry got up, grabbing the pile of sweets that they had been using as game pieces. Shooting Ginny and Hermione an apologetic look, they were about to head back down to their room before they heard a faint pop, and their exit was blocked by two stocky red-headed figures who suddenly materialized just inside the doorway.

"We heard a commotion," Fred said, with a grin.

"So we thought we'd investigate," finished George.

"Anything interesting?" asked Fred.

"See for yourself," said Ron, nodding towards Evans, who had sat down on the bed and was rooting around in her bag.

"Evans!" George cried, gleefully. "What are you doing here?"

Ginny and Hermione looked up from the floor, where they had been packing up the board game. Ron visibly recoiled. "I'm sorry, what?" he cried.

"Oh, hey you two," said Evans, barely looking up.

"What happened?" asked Fred. "How come you stopped answering our messages? Also, what did you do to your face? It looks like you got trampled by a hoard of hippopotamuses."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Got into a wrestling match with a Bulgarian heavy-weight champion. You know how it is. Challenged my family's honor and all that, not exactly the kind of thing that I can let slide. Though you should have seen what he looked like at the end of it."

"Probably not a scratch on him," said George in a low voice, glancing at Fred, his eyebrows raised. Ginny rolled her eyes, and muttered something under her breath.

Harry didn't think that Evans heard them, however, because she continued, "Thanks for checking in though. McGonagall actually came over to my place and brought me back here."

"Wait, wait, wait," said Ron, turning to the twins. "You two are the reason we're stuck with Scar-Face Evans for the rest of the summer?"

"Stop calling her that," interjected Hermione.

Evans shot her a bewildered look. "Why would I care what he calls me?" she asked.

Hermione seemed taken aback, but said nothing.

"We just asked Professor McGonagall if she happened to know what she was up to," Fred said, answering Ron. "We hadn't heard from her in a while, and something seemed off."

"Why would Professor McGonagall know anything about what Evans does during the summer?" asked Harry. "And since when are you friends? Didn't she put a sticking charm on your robes last year so strong that you were stuck back to back for two days?"

"I know, it was brilliant," said Fred, grinning. "I can't believe we'd never thought of that one before. And I don't know, we figured that she's spent enough time with McGonagall in detention, she probably knew more about her than anyone else. I didn't think she'd actually bring her here. No offense, Evans."

"Oh, none taken," said Evans distractedly. She had somehow managed to fit her entire arm and most of her shoulder into her bag, and seemed to be reaching around an area that seemed to impossibly extend beyond the bag's natural limits. "But who's to blame her, really? If I were her, I'd want to take advantage of my acute natural abilities too. Also, I don't know if I'd call us friends... we're mostly just business associates."

George furrowed his brow, looking mildly hurt. "Evans has been helping us develop our skiving snackboxes," he explained.

"For a twenty percent cut of the profits, of course," added Evans.

"Fifteen," said Fred, firmly.

"Right, sure," said Evans. "And hey, if the higher-ups want to make the most of those same talents that make me an outstanding business partner for whatever is going on here, who am I to deny them? Speaking of which, what exactly are you all doing here? Is this a commune? Some sort of cult thing? I'm not judging, I just want to know ahead of time if anyone's going to go all "universal love" on me."

"Um, well, I'm not actually sure how much we're allowed to tell you," said Fred, hesitantly.

"So, yes to the cult?" Evans asked, finally making eye contact with the twins. They looked at each other. "Nevermind," she said. "I'll figure it out eventually."

Clasping onto something inside her bag, Evans suddenly let out a cry of relief. "Finally!" she exclaimed. She pulled out a battered-looking notebook and started flipping through it. "Cor blimey," she said, with a laugh. "You guys really are desperate. What is this? Two, three pages of messages?"

"Yeah, well, we were worried," said George, shortly.

"Why?" asked Evans. "I was fine. Sheesh, you'd think I'd been left for dead somewhere. I just didn't feel like talking."

Fred glared at her indignantly. "Well, get feeling like talking. We've reached an impasse with the Fainting Fancies. If you want your fifteen percent, you're going to have to work for it."

Evans slumped down on the bed and closed her eyes. "I'll get right on that," she said.

The twins huffed, and disapparated out of the room with a snap. Harry looked at Ron, who was staring at Evans in disgust, and motioned towards the door. Ron turned and followed.

"Guess we'll see you at dinner," Harry said to Ginny and Hermione.

"Actually, I wanted to borrow Pigwidgeon," said Ginny, quickly. "I'll just come with you down to yours."

"I'll come too," said Hermione. "I think I left some books in your room earlier."

"Sure, okay. Well, um, bye Evans," said Harry, ushering them all out of the room.

Evans raised her hand in what seemed like a half-hearted, and mostly sarcastic, wave.

Harry frowned and closed the door, leaving Evans with no one but herself for company. Which was, Harry thought bitterly, how she seemed to prefer things.

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