Transfiguration Classroom.

"Hellooo, Poopy!"

I loathe Sirius Black.

The following week has been no less than Hellish. Because of all this stress, I have not had the time I feel I need to develop a suitable punishment for Black, other than running to my parents, which, let's face it, is a bit unimaginative, but rest assured that One Is In The Works.

I received an owl from my mother early yesterday morning saying that she and my father were coming for a visit this Saturday to talk over recent happenings with me. I am both nervous and excited for enlisting my parent's aid. Once I go down the slippery path of tattling, no boy will ever trust me again. It will follow on the grapevine that I am a tattler, a stinkrot, a rat, and my dating options at Hogwarts will be reduced to Slythern 4th form boys. I think, however, it might just be a Just Sacrifice to make. Sirius Black needs to die.

Due to my Notoriety, I now have a new nickname everyone and his mother insists on calling me. If you need a Refresher Course in why this should be so, here you have it:

#1: Since Sirius Black is a Prat Of The First Water, I felt compelled, regrettably, while I was in the first floor Loo on Friday night, to scream and rant about him in a most surprising and revealing manner. I ranted about poo-ing and screamed about poo-ing and evidently the Silencing Charms I had enacted with my switched wand turned out to be Sound Enhancers instead. Such disgustingness seemed like a bit too far, even for Sirius Black to go, but here we have it. I am now fully in the ranks of social pariah-dom.

Black and his minions received a curious insight into my psyche during the past few days, and they pretty much know now, if they hadn't before, that my weakness is people laughing at me.

"Poopy!"

A more horrible appellation has never been heard!

Mara Dice continued calling me this in the intermittent time it took McGonagall to arrive, laughing along with her 'Puff friends while I scribbled away in my notebook trying to not pay them any mind. I just came into the classroom from my Hiding Spot in the second floor Deserted Girls' Restroom. Lucille is ironically sick in the Hospital Wing from some sexually transmitted disease ala Lupin, and so I am left to battle out the masses without a Transfiguration partner. I believe Marly Harold would take pity on a Fellow Prefect and sit next to me; if it only were not for the fact that all her friends despise me.

(Woe, but everyone seems to despise me now!)

I have been trying to escape people ever since Monday when Black decided it would be a Fantastic Idea to continue dogging my heels to class. It is Wednesday now. The only way to avoid Black is to not be in his line of sight to begin with, so I have taken to waiting in a loo before each class and walking out only when I am sure the corridors are almost clear. The second floor restroom is my favorite choice for this endeavor, because the ghost in one of the stalls seems just as depressed as I. Strangely, loos feel more like home now than ever before.

"I am talking to youuu!" said Mara.

"Go eat something!" I requested.

#2: Since Sirius Black's Friends Are Prats Of The First Water as well, and frankly have nothing better to do with their time other than make my life miserable, my rant in full from last week was not only magically intensified but magically recorded as well. Big-Head Boy Potter transfigured a Player sometime on Saturday after my shower, and now my voice can be heard by all any time they want, screaming: "'No! I'm not bloody fucking alright, you bastard! I'm on my period, and I've just found that out for fuck's sake, you dumb, dumb shite!'"

And also: "'Seriously, seriously, fucking shite. What the fuck? Merlin! What the fuck? What did I do, really, to deserve this? I am a good girl, deep down. I am. I mean, sometimes, I am bad. Truly, truly awful. But more often…aiiii!…More often that not, I am blood fucking wonderful to Mankind…'"

You see how I may have a Problem with this. I am persona non grata at Hogwarts. My only two consolations are that:

#1: McGonagall and Flitwick have stepped in, realizing from the constant crowd following me around, and from Lucille's and Camilla's and Tamara's testimonies, that I am being Harassed. They gave Black and anyone else they felt was responsible for this ruckus several detentions. This is a consolation only in the fact that while Black has Detention, I do not have to tutor him.

#2: Despite my hopes on Saturday otherwise, I am not sick.

Test Week is coming up, and as much as I do not want to, it would behoove me to begin studying. I cannot do this to the best of my ability if I am holed up without any study partners in the Hospital Wing.

"Ransom!" Mara slapped her fat hand down onto my work table. I looked up at her. "I am talking to you!"

"Are you? How curious. Go away."

One would think that after my Embarrassment, I wouldn't want to be around Sirius Black ever again. That person would be correct—note my admitted avoidance of him—if it were not for the desire I have to Prove Black Wrong.

This is what I have come to learn:

Sirius Black obviously does not want a Tutor. He could not be more vocal or make his desire more obvious if he smacked me upside the head with it and put a party hat on.

But I have found in the past week that what makes The Black Hole unhappy makes me Jubilant.

Not Jubilant in a Truly Joyful way of course—things are way too bollocksed up for that to ever be the case—but Jubilant in a vengeful way. Black cannot be happy? I cannot be happy? Why should either of us get to be happy? We will all be miserable together. Cheers.

Now I know this is childish, but I just do not seem able to stop thinking in this vein.

I am too unpopular right now to get more than my closest friends' outside support. So I have to nitpick and dig at Black's ego any way I can. Any way I have left to me. Continuing to tutor Black accomplishes that.

"Ransom, are you even listening to me? I know you can hear me! Say something!"

I laughed. "Mara, what would you like me to say? You want a 'hello'?"

Mara grinned cattily. "No. But, oh! Tell us again about Friday!" she cooed. "Did you really clog up the toilets? I'm surprised you didn't pass out! I heard—."

"No," I said primly, folding my hands over my journal lest anyone feel compelled to take a peek at my writing. "No, I did not. Maybe it was someone else?" I shrugged. "Where do you get your information from, Mara? Surely you've been misinformed!"

"I don't think so!" Mara said. "I'm pretty sure I was there for it!"

"Then why do you need to ask me what happened?"

Mara giggled. "Because it's funny, of course! Why on earth else?"

"Tisk, Mara."

"What?"

"I have nothing to say to you," I said. "You should know that by now. Go sit down. Class is starting."

"Stop acting like this isn't a Big Deal!" Mara ordered. "It is. Sirius finally paid you back for—."

"Paid me back for tutoring him?" I said, incensed. I shook my head disbelievingly. "He is such a baby! He can't even come up to me, and try to work out a solution? No. Black can only wail about it to other people. He has to have people following me around all hours of the day complaining for him!"

"He's not a baby!" someone said. "You're the baby! Whinging about Sirius all the time!"

"No more than he whinges about me! All day! Black doesn't have anything else to talk about, apparently!"

"Who would?"

"And he just sits, and whinges, and cries like a Big Baby!" I finished, and sneered. "And that's because he is a Big Baby! Surprise to all that he doesn't wear a nappy!"

"Take that back!" said Mara, looming over me like an Eclipse Of The Sun, and trying to appear threatening. "You don't even know him!"

I blinked in true confusion. "I don't even know him?" I said. "I? Mara, I? I don't even know him? Oh, sister, I think you have your persons mixed up. Because I know Black better than his mama."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mara demanded, hands on Massive Hips.

"Only that I am Black's tutor," I replied. "If anyone knows how much of an arsehole Black can be than it's me."

"Class in order!" McGonagall called, appearing magically and making students scatter. "To your seats, please! Away from Miss Ransom's desk! Away!" Much grumbling was heard, but Mara complied—Thank Merlin—and sat down with a Hufflepuff. Good. Good. If only she would stay with her back turned that way for eternity, we'd all be spared the sight of her. "Good," Professor McGonagall said. She looked at the empty seat next to mine. "Someone sit with Miss Ransom please! This lesson will require partners." Of course no one moved, as I am a pariah, and apparently a baby. "Do I need to repeat myself?" Professor McGonagall asked dangerously. In disbelief, I watched Dim Stuart Diggory move away from his friends and come over to my table to plop his stuff down. "Ah, Mr. Diggory! Thank you! Now: the lesson…"

Writing. Trying to ignore Dim Diggory's foot digging into mine.

Tis hard.

I have never been "in love."

I put that last part in quotes, because I think the term is so objectified that there is no true definition for it. Perhaps I should even put "true" in quotes, because truth is all in your perception?

Anyway: I have never been "in love."

And, probably as a result, it has never been that hard for me to leave a person. Take Mara Dice for instance: She is sitting over there by the window in her mammoth glory, looking all refined with her straight back and cold eyes. Looking, again, like a big frou frou spotty elephant who has just sat down for some tea. I very much dislike her.

She gives me the Bollywoggle Shivers!

Anyway, this story has been a long time in coming, but in the beginning of third year, when girls were coming back for term looking like Something A Troll Would Sick Up or Changed For The Better, I was among the Troll Option. It happened. And I am not proud of it. But it is something that I could not help. I have done some reading, and Muggles say that according to something called "genes," I was not supposed to look as awkward as I most certainly did. My older sister Blessed Bell never had an awkward day in her life, certainly. Our dear mother before her, Antiphone, modeled dress robes for Witch Weekly magazine. Our grandmother, on our father's side, married a very handsome man. All evidence pointed to genes providing for me when I went back to school in third term, but alas, they did not. A mutation occurred somewhere (perhaps my mum imbibed too much hard spirits whilst she was carrying me) and the face that had been adorable the year before now had asymmetrical features and very bad spots.

I believe Mara Dice saw someone encroaching on her ugliness back then and decided to stop being friendly with me. We used to be best of friends, Mara and I. And our animosity is the kind that only former best friends can have for one another. It is almost true hatred. Due to Mara's unmerciful meanness, I spent the majority of third term with my head down and tears in my eyes; and I made a promise to myself that no one, ever again, would humiliate me like she had done every day. Like Sirius Black did last Friday. Like other students have been trying to do to me all this week.

My resolve has worked pretty well up until now, honestly.

And of course Avoidance has helped. I just have to continue being Strong. I have to continue convincing myself that Black's Bad Attitude will just not catch; I am too much of a cold fish for any of his machinations to ever stick on me, and I have to remember that even when my blood starts to boil.

The spots I had all throughout third and fourth year have since disappeared. I have grown into my face a little bit. I have even grown rather large breasts. However, no one anywhere ever can take away the sensical person all that hassling has turned me into. Black should know that by now if he wants to mess with me. He should know that if someone screws me over, I am Out Of There.

I think I am lying in wait for just such a thing to happen. I am waiting to be betrayed. And I am sorry if this makes me mad, but it is how my life experiences have taught me to be: how Black and Mara Dice and the lot of them have all taught me to be.

If Black is surprised in any way at my reticence to fall under his Coo Coo spell of Lurve—"Coo Coo" because he apparently thinks pranks are the correct avenue of woo-age—then that is too bad, because my hate for him is probably only going to grow more intense. But over it this hatred, I will spread a veneer of Superior Attitude.

That is the plan anyway.

So to conclude: leaving a relationship of any kind is not that hard!

A person can do it. Especially if leaving means you are leaving behind a verbally abusive fuckwit. If you want happiness in that situation, you walk the fuck out, that is just how it is. You just walk the fuck out!

Problems walking the fuck out? I will help you. I will take pride in helping you. Yes, I will.

"Psst! Ransom! I've got something for you!"

"I am not listening!" I hummed, smiling at Professor McGonagall when she looked over at our work table in curiosity. Dim Diggory would not ruin my afternoon, I vowed.

"That's not right!" Dim Diggory muttered. "I know you can hear me! I've been trying to get to you since Monday to give you this."

"Aw!" I said. "Bless. Have you?"

"Stop saying 'Bless,'" ordered Diggory. "I hate it when girls say 'Bless.'"

I grinned, sticking my quill in my notebook for the mean while. I turned to look at Diggory. "Bless!" I repeated.

"Stop it!"

I sighed. "Dim…Dimothy," I said, covering up my mistake. "What is it?"

"You know it's 'Diggory'," he said.

"Right." I nodded. "Dimmory. Have you got a note for me then? This one from Lupin, too?" I reached a hand out. Diggory actually leaned away like I had some skin sickness, and gave me a look of mild disgust. "Do I have to pat you down?" I asked him. "Give me the note!"

"It's not from Lupin!" Diggory said. "It's from Black. And I can't give it to you here when you're trying to climb all over me! McGonagall will find us out!"

"But this time," I said, "this time, my goal is not what's in your pants." I paused in thought. "…Unless, of course, you have the note in your pants? Did you stuff it down your knickers this morning, Diggory? Wanted to feel closer to Black, I gather? You know, all it'll take for you both to be happy is for you to tell him. He fancies you back, I promise."

"Get away from me, you crazy thing!" Diggory hissed, glancing paranoid at McGonagall, who for once in her career, seemed oblivious. "We are in a classroom! Respect your boundaries!"

"Ah, he gets it!" I said thoughtfully. "He gets it! I'll respect my boundaries when you learn to respect yours, how's that, Dimmer? Does that make any sense? Am I getting through?"

"What are you prattling about?"

I shrugged. "Only that this past week, you've been mighty unconcerned with my personal boundaries."

"It's not been just me!" Diggory said with a grumble. "I only do it here and at meal times. Black goes out of his way to—."

"But you're admitting it," I said. "That's one small step for man, one giant leap—."

"What?"

"Diggory," I said. "Get on with it! Give me the note so I can go back to not molesting you and dreaming about Black."

"So you do dream about him!" breathed Diggory. "I knew it!"

"Going to tell the whole school?" I said nastily.

Note from Black is as follows:

"Raisin. Hi. Sirius Black here."

"Christ." I rolled my eyes, but continued onward.

"We've gotten off to a bad start, even I'll admit that! I think it would be cool to talk it out without you trying to run away from me. How about it? Half past seven Wednesday night in The Kitchens?"

I crumpled the note up, not interested in reading further, and resumed scribbling in my journal. If Black thought he would get me back into The Kitchens in his company once more in his lifetime, he had another think coming, I'll tell you that right now.

The Kitchens?

I mean, The Kitchens?

Haha.

That is like asking me to transfigure my right leg into a scratching post so Black he can mark his territory on it (i.e., Completely Pointless!). I am not transfiguring my right leg. And I am certainly not transfiguring it into a scratching post so Black can leak his piss all over. My right leg is the best leg I have. I kick the strongest with it, as Black could actually attest to.

I am not going into The Kitchens.

Besides: I cannot attend Black's Little Talk anyway. I have to prep Lucille and Tamara for their Astronomy lesson later on in the evening. And after that, Black certainly has a detention to attend.

He thinks he has free time to make another lazy trip to The Kitchens and harass me?

Well, not on McGonagall's watch, Black, you do not!

Hmmph! Boys are Evil!

And I am not going to be fucked over again.

I gave Dim Diggory a surreptitious glare which he repaid in kind. At least one boy understands and accepts his poor standing with me.

This preoccupation with Black is only because he is just so Goddamned Good-Looking. Every time I see him, I just…I just feel like losing myself. But it cannot continue to happen, because one thing, and we've been over this before, I have learned is that emotion ruins a person. You want to be smart? Emotionis not smart. Emotion is Completely, Dumbfuck Stupid. Emotion is a Gryffindor trait.

(Grin!!)

Aha, probably why Black needs so much help getting along with people he considers to be his lesser? Because he is chock full of emotion and just truly does not know how to act?

Also, another bad thing about Black we know: he is not aware of other people's feelings at all. Black comes in like a Dandy—with the preceding horns blaring—and Strikes His Pose, expecting everybody to love him; and really, not much can be done for him to remedy his madness. It has been going on for too long, and people have just learned to accept his failings and live with their disappointment.

Well, here is some news: I am not living with mine.

Black may want what he wants and if other people don't want the same thing, then well, Dire Things To Them, and we'll show them, they'll be sorry (!), but what I want is so much stronger, so much more righteous than Black's desire, that I feel in my bones Black is going to get his comeuppance soon.

Shite, McGonagall is looking over! Have To Halt.

"Miss Ransom!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" Even though I had been very careful with hiding it—and McGonagall couldn't have possibly seen—I scrambled to put my journal in my thick Transfiguration Grade Six text so I would not be found out completely. "Putting it away," I informed the Professor gravely.

"Putting what away?" demanded McGonagall, beady black eyes narrowing.

"My, uh, my book," I stuttered, uncomfortable with all this pressure. "I, uh, had it open to the previous chapter, and it won't happen again, promise, professor."

"What are you on about?" The class was laughing and McGonagall was looking to get more suspicious.

"Uh…"

"Yes?"

Time to wrap it up, Evelyn! "Merlin. That is…well, I know how you want your kids to stay ahead," I answered her. "It's only right, obviously. Can't have them reviewing stuff they should already know, professor!"

McGonagall grumbled. "Pay attention from now on, Miss Ransom," she said, apparently sick of talking to me and going back to finally looking at the board behind her. McGonagall addressed the classroom as a whole, "This is a very important lesson. Hippogriffs!" McGonagall said, with sniffling emphasis. "It will be on your head next week if you can't turn your quill into one, mark my words!"

"Yes, ma'am," I nodded, in the mien of a soldier saluting her commander. "I'll work on that."

"Work on paying attention?" she wondered, now sounding very annoyed. "I would hope so, Miss Ransom!"

"Yes, ma'am!" I repeated, giving my seatmate a responding, remonstrative kick in the ankle. Dim Diggory had pinched me. Merlin, boys were so annoying!

Fishing journal out and getting back to essay on love:

Cannot think of anything good anymore. I have written far too much as is. Decided I might perhaps continue it later. As its only purpose is for my own amusement and not for class, its completion is not completely vital.

Hippogriffs are important, as we know.

Though.

Thought!

Perhaps Professor Flitwick would consider this essay good extra credit work on our Contemplative Charms homework due Friday. Something to look into.

The Great Hall.

"…Evie?! Evie?!"

"Yes, what is it Camilla?" I asked a little snappishly. My day had been Ruined by McGonagall's class. "I am sitting right next to you. You don't have to talk so loud."

Camilla pouted her unnaturally large lips and blinked at me. Two seats away, Distracted Michael Carrington from 5th year fell out of his seat from trying to look over; Carrington probably has daily visions of Camilla using said lips on a very important and sensitive piece of his anatomy, and this is quite sad ; he is only fifteen, and Camilla doesn't really notice him noticing her. "Have you been listening to us at all?"

I did not understand what Camilla was asking me. It had not been listening to anyone all week. Of course I had not been listening to them; it had to have been obvious. "No," I said. "You'll have to repeat it."

Lucille snapped. "What is wrong with you?" she said. "You've been out of it all day! I know Black has been a nuisance, but—."

"Lucy," I said calmly, now calm. Now calm. "This is the first meal I am actually eating more than just two bites in. Do you really want to ruin my appetite with talk of Black? Do you really?"

Lucille thought about it. "Well…"

I nodded. "Right. So, if you please, repeat what you were saying before I zoned out, and then leave me to my Dinner." I gave a Royal Beckon. "If you please, Lucille."

"Right, well…"

"If you please!" I said a third time.

"Remus wants to do an Intervention!" Lucille finally informed me. "He thinks it'll solve everything. Camilla, Tammy, and I have been talking about it, and we all agree we should do it."

"What do you mean by an 'Intervention'?" I asked, curious in a displaced way. My friends wanted to do an "Intervention" with Black and I? Who didn't want to do an "Intervention" with Black and I? I would love to Call Black To Trial. "Do you mean to Mediate?" I said. "Or to actually Intervene?"

"We mean to Intervene!" replied Lucille at once. "We think it's past due for it. Black is getting out of control."

"He invited me on another Kitchen Trip!" I confided. "He's absolutely mad! Bonkers! I don't know how he keeps coming up with this shite!"

"Are you going?" asked Camilla, interested.

I shook my head. "Of course I'm not going! Why would I go? The last time I went into that room with him Black stole my wand, and had The Elves lace my tea with an Expungent! Why would I ever go back in there if I could prevent it?"

"Maybe it'll be different this time," suggested Camilla optimistically.

"Ha!" I said. "And maybe I'll wake up Queen Of The Fairies!"

"Nothing's impossible," Lucille commented. "You could wake up Que—."

I interrupted her, "I would love to wake up as Queen Of The Fairies, Luce. Would give me all sorts of extra powers. I would love to turn men's heads into arses. Would absolutely make my fucking day."

"You have your characters wrong," said Lucille. "Oberon transformed Nick Bottom's head, not Titiana."

"I said I would love to turn men's heads into arses!" I retorted snobbishly. "Who said anything about being Titiana?"

"Oh, Evelyn!" Lucille heaved a Great, Put-Upon Sigh. "You're a lost one, you are."

I took a sip of water. "No more so than anyone else."