Ravenclaw 6th Year Girls' Dorm Room.
Morning.
The sun is stubborn and ignoring my threats, shining through the window and right into my face. I woke with my bed curtains hanging open.
I am not sure what this means; if Camilla or Lucille, or dare I suggest it, Mara, pulled some prank on me, but I hope nothing dire has happened. Mornings are not my thing. And until a spell comes along that makes them my thing, I will continue not liking them. Which is why the person who opened my curtains is going to pay in blood! If I can remember my anger when I find her.
What I really dislike is what morning means. I know I said I wanted classes to start the very day after The Welcoming Feast, but I do not want that anymore. I do not want classes to start at all. I want more sleep, dammit. It is not proper to be up before your stomach is ready to be up. It brings about ill health!
We are leaving to get some breakfast, and the clock is ticking, making my tummy rumble all the more—and not in a good way. Considering I am not the world's thinnest witch, it is amazing to me that I am forever feeling queasy. It could have something to do with my nerves about classes starting—this morning especially, as Lucille and I have Double Potions together right at 0800 and that is my hardest class—but I sometimes like to entertain myself with the idea that I have some disgusting bowel disease, like IBS, or some ulcer of the stomach and therefore cannot function in normal society when I am around food. I know both of these are Muggle ailments, but Muggle culture fascinates me, and I read a lot of Muggle literature to understand it more, so I do not think it is too far-fetched an idea that I have wished some sicknesses on me.
For instance: Tamara P. is a Muggleborn and suffers from a heart murmur and enlarged thyroid gland. To my knowledge and complete incomprehension, she has not told anyone aside from me and Madam Poppy Pomfrey about it. If I could take Tamara's bad heart away from her and give her my good one, I would. But do not tell her I told you that, because I have just re-read this, and it makes me even queasier than I already was.
"Are we coming?" The "Royal-we." And it sounds exasperated. I don't really understand why we all like to use The "Royal-we," but Merlin knows I say it all the time.
I closed my notebook—sigh—and gathered up my other school things, including my thermos of water that I had filled in the bathroom, and, most importantly, my wand. "Yes!" I looked around and made sure I really had not forgotten anything. "I am ready."
"Well good, because we've been waiting for you to finish writing for fifteen minutes!" said Lucille.
"It hasn't been that long, surely?"
"Oh yes!" she said. "You were too slow. Camilla and Tammy are actually waiting downstairs for you to get your fat lump of an arse moving."
Taking exception to that, I said, "I do not have a fat lump of an arse, and you know it! It's actually quite a nice bottom." I paused. "…Would you like to touch it?"
"No!" cried Lucille. I am not sure it warranted a cry since she knew I was only bluffing, but no matter. "I would not!" She started walking hurriedly. "Now, let's go!"
Soaking into the spirit of the march, I followed Lucille down the twisting stairway of Ravenclaw Tower and into our Common Room.
Camilla immediately stood up from one of the chaises. "You're here! Finally! You don't know how long I've been waiting for this breakfast. My stomach is eating itself right now."
"So's mine," I commented, hiding a grimace.
Potions Classroom.
One thing you have to understand about Professor Slughorn is that He Means Well. He may be odd and a sycophant but he's sincere in his efforts most of the time.
Privately in my thoughts, I usually have no patience for people who only mean well, but Horace Slughorn is a different case.
For one, he is my professor and in charge of my grade, so if he is odd sometimes, then that is his business. And for two, contrary to what others might have you think, he is really not a bad man. He is not a Death Eater for instance. even though these days, "not a Death Eater" is basically like saying, "Well, at least he's not Satan," I find it is a good description of Professor Slughorn's character. He is not a Death Eater. Meaning, as Annoying as Professor Slughorn can be, he is at the very least, his own man.
"Miss Ransom? Miss Ransom!" And that means a lot. "Miss Ransom!"
I felt Lucille kick me. "Yes, Professor?"
Squat Professor Slughorn smiled like he and I and Lucille were both in on some Big Joke. "Thank you for taking such diligent notes, Miss Ransom! But in the future, I would like it more if you didn't get so absorbed. I have been calling your name for the past minute, and in the end I had to enlist Miss Sawyers's help. It would not be a good thing at all if an accident were about to occur and we couldn't move you to a safe location because you were off in your own world! Now, I know Potions is your favorite subject, but…"
Ah yes. Over the summer I forgot how long-winded Professor Slughorn could be. My mind worked furiously to tune him out.
"Class dismissed."
"What?"
The class started laughing. "I see one thing can still get your attention, Ms. Ransom!" Professor Slughorn said good-naturedly. "Pity, it is not me! Oh, to be so young and full of life!"
I blushed. "Sorry, Professor." I actively wished class would end now. Advanced Potions was not turning out to be a favorite—how it could when it was the only NEWT level class I've had so far, I don't know, but I did like Potions well enough when everyone else's minds were on their own business and not my own.
"Now to move on!" Professor Slughorn said, with a wink directed my way, "I would like to briefly go over the potion we are brewing this morning; a thin, clear liquid most of you know as, Doxycide."
Over in the corner, Samariah Smith, a Hufflepuff who was partnered with Mara, raised her hand uncertainly.
"Yes, Miss Smith?" Professor Slughorn said.
"Sir," Smith said, "Isn't Doxycide extremely flammable? Only I heard it—."
Professor Slughorn chuckled. "Not to worry, Miss Smith!" He addressed the class as a whole, "And anyone else who has any reservations about our brewing this, please, do not worry! In a controlled environment, with a Potions Master at hand, like myself, the brewing of Doxycide can be a fun and enlightening experience! Do not cavil just yet! We're going to give it a try and see how we do."
During the next hour and a half, Slughorn walked around the room with his hands behind his back, whistling what sounded suspiciously like a Rollicking Warlock song. As his known favorite for 6th year, my potion was given more scrutinized attention I imagine a pot of cream gets from McGonagall when she's in cat form. I should be used to Professor Slughorn standing behind my back and breathing on me, but as it happens, one never gets used to that sort of thing. Lucille and Camilla like to joke that he's in love with me, but that's such a repelling thought that it literally makes me shiver.
I am sure he's not in love with me!
I am sure Slughorn's just being Sluggy and loving his Potions. And because I like brewing Potions as well, he's found a protégée.
I am sure it is nothing sinister.
I am also sure all this talking about Professor Slughorn is setting the scene for something exciting later on, but please do not be fooled. If there is one thing you can be assured I won't write about, it is a romance with Horace Slughorn.
The Great Hall.
"So!" Camilla and Tamara joined us at The Table. "How were classes?"
Lucille scoffed. "McGonagall's out to get me again!" she said. "First day, and how many points does that blousy crow take away from me?"
Tamara took the bait. "How many?"
"Fifteen!" Lucille said, banging a fist on The Table, and making people look over. "She took away fifteen points!"
Camilla frowned. "That is a bit harsh, even for McGonagall," she agreed. Tamara nodded her head and Lucille actually glared at me until I followed suit. "Did you stay after to ask her about it?" Cam asked.
"Yes!" Lucille said grumpily.
"And what did she say?"
"She said that she was disappointed I couldn't at least hold off on passing notes until she was finished speaking. But I wasn't passing notes! Stuart Diggory from Hufflepuff handed a note to Evelyn, but that was it. And it wasn't even from him! If anything, Evie and Diggory should have gotten the de—."
"Who was the note from?" asked Camilla. Lucille refused to answer and decided instead to apply herself to eating her ham sandwich. "Lucy?" Camilla looked to me. "Evie, who was the note from?"
I grinned hugely. "Remus Lupin!"
Tamara started clapping her hands. "Oh!"
The Grounds
Rewind.
I am sure you are all just as confused as me as to what happened. Did a page or two fall out from my journal? Did I forget to write the Blessed Event down?
No and no.
I have just needed at least five hours to digest what happened in McGonagall's classroom this morning, because as so far as I know, Lucy has never talked to a boy.
Not that she's a lesbian.
And not that there is anything wrong with Lesbians in general—actually, it would fit in quite nicely with Lucille's personality. And not that we have not talked about this topic before. But not about Lucille and not about this Specific Event.
The Big News You Only Heard A Smidge Of Previously is as follows:
Remus Lupin apparently has a bit of a fancy for Lucille.
!!
That is the only reason Camilla and Tamara can come up with for why this particular Gryffindor 7th year has suddenly decided to pay attention to our particular friend.
It's a good guess, I suppose. And one with merit, because Lucille just so happens to be outrageously good-looking.
In the beginning of 5th year, when Lucille came back from Summer Break looking like a Nubile Young Woman, none of the boys could keep their eyes off of her. They whistled and fondled as she came down the hallway, and some days, Lucille had to resort to using Bubble-Body Charms just to get to class unmolested. It was awful, really.
It became increasingly hard to just have a proper conversation with her, because Lucille was always on the look-out, always paranoid that some arsehole would jump out from nowhere and sit next to her and (horror of horrors!) strike up a conversation. From our years as wallflowers, Lucille never really knew how to deal with talking to boys, so she would always remain silent and still. And as a result, for about a year. she was always very short with us.
I could feel Lucille's desperation to ignore the boys like a physical thing, and in the end, the attention worked the wrong way, and she became cynical. The more cynical Lucille became, the harder it was for the boys to talk to her, and eventually, most stopped trying.
As a self-proclaimed "ugly duckling,"—excuse me while I laugh for a minute—Luce is now so against superficial surfaces, that anyone who is even remotely, passably good-looking immediately drops several degrees in her esteem. If you are thick, do not bother talking to Lucille unless you just happen to be ugly as well, because that means she can pity you.
But if you are thick and handsome, well, my friend, there is no hope for you.
Most teenage boys are thick—thick as pig shit—so this is why you will never see Lucille talking to one.
Unless, apparently, that boy happens to be named Remus Lupin.
I am still suspicious however.
Remus Lupin is best friends with Sirius Black and James Potter (There is another boy among them who is just as well-known among Hogwarts' denizens, named Peter Pettigrew, but honestly, as sweet-faced as he is, he simply does not compare to the smorgasbord of good looks that is the previous trio!). In my experience, all good-looking boys have agendas. It is just up to us girls to figure out what in Merlin's name they are about. To find out a good-looking boy wants to pass notes with one of my dearest friends, causing said dearest friend to giggle (giggle!), well…
I have already done a Spell-Check. Lupin hasn't sent anything Lucille's way.
And Lucille did not take an Excitable Draught this morning, before attending Transfiguration Class.
Something is still in the air however, and mark me, it is not love.
Transfiguration Classroom, Five Hours Previous.
"Pst! Pst!"
"What the hell?" Since Lucille would not turn her head, I felt I had to. "What is going on?" A tanned hand with a signet ring on the pinky finger appeared, handing over a crumpled piece of paper. I took it automatically. "What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked, wondering why Stuart Diggory was giving me trash. The days when Stuart Diggory could give me trash were long over.
"It's for Sawyers," Diggory told me, going back to his work. McGonagall was currently giving us The Evil-Eye from a faraway position behind her desk, and because of this I had no doubt detention—unpalatable as it was since I've never had one—was in our future for tonight.
Only slightly annoyed, I nevertheless replied, "Lucille's sitting right next to me, Dimmory. You can't give it to her? Go on, just reach a bit more. I know you can do it!"
"I can't," whispered Diggory, moving his lips as little as possible. "McGonagall could look over."
"She's looking over now," I said. "And what prevented you from waiting 'til after class, then?" Diggory, the fool, kept his head down. "Hufflepuffs," I murmured—hopefully sounding derogatory; though not loud enough for The Intended to hear me. "Luce," I nudged her unnecessarily—Lucille was already holding out her hand under the table. "You've got a love-note."
"It's not from me!" was Diggory's hiss.
"Fine," I said, not bothering to turn around. "Luce, if you would be so kind: read the note that is not from Diggory, but sent via him."
"I'll read it after class," she said.
I did not like that at all. "Lucy Sawyers, you will read that note right now!"
"You can't make me!" said Lucille primly. "I am my own person, and I'd like to see you try."
"Lucy Sawyers!"
"Stop it!" Lucy commanded. "McGonagall is looking over."
If anything can bring me around to attention, it is the inevitable, verbal chastising of a professor, so for the next ten minutes, I was a very good girl and said not a word to Lucille about anything—even when I heard her giggle.
"Has everyone finished copying down the assignment for Wednesday?" Professor McGonagall asked the class. We all nodded. "Good." The professor made a pretense of looking around the room for a volunteer until her eyes settled on me. "…Miss Ransom!" she called finally. "Please come up here and demonstrate The Animus Spell."
The class—filled to the brim with Ravenclaws and Slytherins and just a scant few Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors alike—groaned; groaned, because everyone knows I am awesome at Transfiguration, and naturally, these points are mine.
After class, McGonagall did indeed make Diggory and I stay behind; though with us was also Lucille.
"I am very disappointed in you!" the professor began with pursed lips, eyes looking over the tops of her bifocal glasses, "Very disappointed." All three of us made an effort to hold up our heads and meet McGonagall's stare, but Merlin, was it hard-going. "Very disappointed. Miss Sawyers, Miss Ransom, it was my hope that the summer break would have taught you two some discipline, but it seems I am wrong. You are just as bad, if not worse, than last year! Giggling like little ninny hammers! It's disgraceful!" Professor McGonagall paused, evidently waiting for Lucille and me to comment.
"Sorry, Professor McGonagall," I said.
"Sorry, Professor McGonagall," Lucille echoed. Diggory remained silent, though I knew he was grinning with triumph on the inside for not getting the figurative slap on the wrist as well.
McGonagall nodded. "You will find that NEWT Transfiguration is a Serious Class," she said. "We study Serious Things here. And I want you both to Seriously Consider why you are in this class now. If things do not look up, if your behavior does not improve, well, I do not see any reason for allowing you to remain in my NEWT class. Is that what you want?" Professor McGonagall demanded. "To be kicked out?"
"No, ma'am!" I said.
"No, ma'am," Lucille echoed. I was pleasantly surprised to see that Professor McGonagall evidently meant Diggory to answer as well; and so he did.
"No, ma'am," he said.
The professor stared us down for another half-minute. During which I began to get Very Bored. "Very well," she said finally, already beginning to shuffle the papers on her desk into a neat pile. I believe this was done in an effort to drive home the fact that we were no longer important. "You may go."
Lucille and I started to trudge out.
"Miss Sawyers!" called Professor McGonagall, halting all three of us. "Please come back for a minute! Mr. Diggory, Miss Ransom, you may both go."
"Ah," I said.
Free from the room, Diggory walked away without any goodbye to me whatsoever. I comforted myself with a sneer at his back, wishing Dire Things To Happen To His Genetalia. Lacking the courage to enact an Eavesdropping Charm on Professor McGonagall's door, I waited Lucy out.
Twenty seconds later, she joined me outside the classroom.
"Well?" I said.
"Well what?" responded Lucille annoyingly.
"Did she make you give her the note?"
"Of course."
I sighed. "Figures." Following a hunch I asked, "Did you get to read it during class, though?"
I wasn't surprised when Lucy only shrugged.