Ravenclaw 6th year Girls' Dorm Room.

I know what's wrong with me: I hate Sirius Black.

It's been a while in coming. It has taken more than five years and three hundred run-ins, but I've finally figured it out. And the conclusion is that I hate Black. Of course, I would hate him. He's the kind of boy whose presence makes you start your period early. Spending so much time with Black recently has made my emotions open up like a dam and the hate pour out. I'm not used to feeling so negative all the time, but there you go. However, I feel more than just hate.

#1: I feel Bravery. I don't think I have ever felt as brave.

And #2: I feel a new Kindness.

Encroaching on everyone who is not Sirius Black or Mara Dice is this wave of grand appreciation. Even with all of their quirks, those loyal to me are still the best group of females I have ever met and I don't know what I would do without them (Be a miserable fat hermit, I suppose, though this thinking isn't worth bearing on). New Feelings aside however, the miserable-ness of my situation with Black does not escape me. I still am under his thumb. I still need to make him pay. Fell deeds like these cannot go unpunished.

I was right: this day is going to be pretty shite, and it's only been ten minutes since I've woken up. I've been staring at my midnight blue canopy with the white stars, trying to come up with a Solution and only remembering what went wrong last night and how I could have prevented it all by just pranking Black in the beginning and not owling my parents. But I was stubborn, and I didn't want to admit defeat. I thought I'd persevere in my own way by running to mum and the result was embarrassing.

I have never, unnatural though it is, felt the compulsion most kids my age have to protect their malefactors when they've done them a wrong. On the contrary, I like these people to pay and pay hard. I have no revulsion to tattling if it gets the job done. Tattling is sometimes the only method of revenge a person has; which is why I used it; and which is why I preemptively got a big head and ruined it all.

I did a Tempus Spell perhaps…six minutes ago. It is hard to tell how much time has passed when I am feeling like this. So much anger is coursing through my head, I do not think I feel like getting up even for Quidditch.

This is how I feel:

I feel like the first person I meet is going to get a Blast Of Anger So Thick that he or she will be blown away into the atmosphere never to be seen again. I feel like I did a week ago when all this mess started, and Black had the House-Elves drop an Expungent into my tea. I do need to get up, however, because I made a commitment when I joined Quidditch, and that is what people do with commitments—They Commit.

Aside from feeling angry, I also feel a bit strange. Perhaps I've forgotten something important? Some key piece to all of this mess that may help me work everything out? But obviously I do not know what that is or I wouldn't be talking like I do not. Maybe Lucille promised to tell me something last night.

Am not sure. All I know is that if I live in the immediate moment, I cannot possibly fuck up too badly. I just might survive and come out a little stronger.

So: no thinking about the future, Evelyn! That is an order! No matter how soon it might come to pass.

(Edit: Perhaps it would indeed be just as well to stop thinking full-stop and put down my notebook?)

I put down my notebook.

I need a shower anyway. My anger is making my armpits smell rank.

And I doubt my notebook is going to bring me the kind of snuggly cuddly comfort I need right now, anyhow. Best to leave it on my bed. My suitemates know through experience not to touch it.

Hmm…thinking again.

Maybe The Kind Of Comfort I Need Right Now is simply Impossible to attain? Truth that Black is still alive and under the impression that he can run my life.

Well, he cannot!

He Cannot!

I am Sick Of This Mess.

Black fooled my parents into believing that we were dating (a notion so absurd that I wonder at my parents' sanity for buying it) and then in the end I was the one who was punished. And punished doubly on that score too!

Being Naughty And Getting Out My Journal And Thinking About This Some More:

There are, as I see it, Four Options Left:

#1: Take This Lying Down and Learn To Live With It. Learn To Live With the fact that Sirius Black is Superior when it comes to Getting Even and anything else I try Black will just block, so why try it in the first place? Black will push my self-esteem down into the dirt like he has done so many countless times before, and I should just learn to accept that it will naturally happen, as Facts Of Life will naturally happen.

Scratching that one out. I don't like the look of Number One! It seems Foul.

#1 Revised: Go along with Black for now. Lead him into a false sense of awareness like he did for me. Gradually, and inconspicuously—the inconspicuous is very important—get him to Let down his guard for a counter-strike. When the moment is ripe, humiliate him.

Or kill him. Either or.

Dear Reader, you should realize that just humiliating Black might not be as satisfying for me in the end. I hate him so very much. I think I may need to kill him. Surely, surely, once I Humiliate Black, it would be a much better plan to tie up all loose ends.

Surely, once I Humiliate Black, he will come back twice as angry and eager to do me a wrong. Oh, I think the latter is much more likely.

But I am a peaceful person when it comes down to it, so maybe I shall save Actually Killing Black for Second Revised Edition Of Number One.

First Revised Number One has a more than few flaws. I am seeing that now. Most important among them being that Black has what Muggles call "Street-Smarts." If I even veer off in my conspicuous hatred for a minute, Black will find a way to force me to come clean on my plot; I know he will. So I have to make sure this Number Two is a very good one.

#2: Enlist Lucille's Beautiful Remus to annoy Black into submission. Lupin will nag Black to do what's right by me until they are both sore in the arse from a buggering. And when that happens, I can come in and receive my apology from a cowed, now sympathetic to my plight, reputation in shatters, Sirius O. Black.

Or not.

Ha!

I know that will never happen. Dreams will exist.

I should make a Revised Edition of Number Two as well. If Pervy Lupin, through apparent countless talks, and ideas of intervention, has since failed in his efforts to get Black to see my side of things and stop harassing me, then what makes me think that Lupin will succeed now? Lupin is still just as meek when presented with a foolish friend as he was three years ago. The only difference now is that he possibly realizes what Black is doing is wrong. And perhaps that makes his reticence all the more egregious. This is a character flaw I am not sure Lucy should overlook.

#2 Revised: Contact Black's parents again. I had not quite been thinking clearly yesterday, but now I know: if the meeting with my parents was supposed to Clear All Of This Up, then why weren't Black's mama and papa in attendance as well? My parents said they had informed the elder Blacks, but maybe they just don't really care about their son? I find that hard to believe since Black is a Pureblood Scion and the Eldest. He is their Heir. He must be important in at least a prideful kind of way.

I Will Contact Them. See that this mess is cleared up once and for all. Black says his mama is mad? Well, they can have a reunion, I think. Madness is exactly what is needed right now, anyway, because it'll get things done. Black looks to have inherited this insanity anyway.

I think this list looks good. I know, in the beginning, I said I had Four Options, but it looks like I now have only two.

But no one ever got anywhere by not having a back-up plan to The Back-Up Plan, so I think I will employ all choices. I am curious as to what kind of home life Black has had if his parents are not even concerned enough with appearances to come to a Reckoning for their son's misdeeds.

Headmaster Dumbledore's Office.

Quidditch was Marvelous!

Since decided that Captain Heathcote is also Marvelous. Though this isn't really news.

Heathcote Barbary is so serious about Quidditch that he infects other people with his disease, and we all fly like creatures born to the air. What is even more marvelous is that since our Captain is such a serious boy, he will not brook any—to use a McGonagall term from The Welcoming Feast—Tomfoolery on his Pitch. Captain Heathcote expects to win the Quidditch Cup, and we certainly cannot do that this year if everyone is harassing me and trying to get me off my broom.

No. We must remain a Team.

I actually almost wish there had been an extra spot available so Mara could have had another chance of making it. Get verbally smacked around by an irate 7th year and see how Mara likes harassing me in the future. Merlin, but I think I fancy our Captain a bit!

Anyway!

I am walking to Headmaster Dumbledore's Office right now to have a little chat. I felt the need to journey up here so I could try and talk some sense into him concerning last night, and I am feeling a little anxious. I am amazed that even when Dumbledore knew everything that was going on he still stepped back and let Black run the show. I am amazed.

Amazed and, yes, somewhat appalled that this old man can call himself our Head. My faith has been shaken a bit.

Lucille apparently realized this about our Headmaster a long time ago. I wonder when she stopped considering him to be the incarnation of Merlin? Maybe in 4th year? 5th year? I would like to know why I am always behind everyone in Figuring Things Out these days. This is not usually the case. It is getting very annoying.

"Ah, Miss Ransom!" The Headmaster met me at the top of the Staircase on the seventh floor and gestured me to walk in front of him. "I have been expecting you!"

"You have? I didn't write you a note, sir, I'm sorry. I was just at Quidditch Practice. Thought I'd just come up."

"So I see," Professor Dumbledore said kindly making me more aware than ever of my Sweaty Quidditch Attire. I was in a hurry, but I should have at least done a Cleaning Spell. I realize that now. "I'll follow you. We'll go straight up."

"Yes, sir."

I have been inside The Headmaster's Office only once before. That was in third year when I swallowed my pride, and went to beg him to re-sort Mara Dice into a different House so I didn't have to look at her fat face every morning when I woke up. I was obviously rebuffed; "obviously," because Mara still lives among the Ravenclaws, and sent on my way with a mouth full of half-sucked lemon drops and a spirit full of humility. This will not be the case today.

I am nervous, true. But if I have to talk until my throat closes up from overuse, I am going to convince our Headmaster that he needs to step in and do something about Black.

I mean, this is not the way to run a school.

I understand that Hogwarts has a large enrollment. I understand that its supervisors generally like to employ a don't ask-don't tell policy concerning the individuals of this large enrollment, but when it comes to nurturing the freedom to grow, these people are doing it all wrong. I have half a mind to send an owl to the School Board and see what comes of it. Only thing that is stopping me is that it might bring more attention than I want.

At the moment, I am content with just having a talk with Professor Dumbledore and see how things go.

The Headmaster better prepare for me however, because with the adrenaline pumping through me, I feel oddly alive. Quidditch has refreshed me and I feel like I can do anything. I feel like I can Move Mountains and Crush Heads with only my bare hands to do the job. Hopefully no Crushing will be necessary, but it is still always nice to know one has that option.

"Pumpkin Pasty!" The Headmaster said the password, and up we went on the spiraling staircase and into his Office. "Will you close the door behind you, dear?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Ah, thank you. Have a seat." The Headmaster gestured to a large wing-backed chair in front of his desk, and I slipped in, feeling more than a tad uncomfortable now. This talk apparently was Actually Happening. "Would you like some tea? How about a lemon drop?"

"No thank you on the lemon drop. Though some tea would be nice." I leaned forward to inspect the silver serviette resting on his desk. "What do you have, sir?"

"Let's have a look, shall we?" Professor Dumbledore bent his aged wizard head over the tea pot, and breathed in the aroma of fresh fumes. "Smells like peppermint!" he said, then smacked his lips. "I love mint! Shall I pour us some?"

Anxious about The Headmaster's abnormally long beard dirtying up my tea cup, I said, "No! No! I'll do it, sir! I mean, if you'll allow, of course."

"By all means! Thank you, Miss Ransom."

I nodded, beginning to pour. "Do you want any sugar, sir?"

"Two cubes, if it suits you. And a dab of milk and honey."

"You do have a sweet tooth," I commented.

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "I do indeed, Miss Ransom! I do indeed!"

Only when I had poured myself a cup and had settled back in my chair did The Headmaster address me again: "I take it you're disappointed that I didn't say anything last night?" He stared at me with eerily swirly blue eyes.

"Yes, sir," I said, holding the urge I had to fidget; rumor had it that The Headmaster had a way of looking at you where you felt all your secrets were laid to bare. I've decided this rumor is true. Was a bit creepy, was what it was. "Yes," I said again. "I'm sorry, but it didn't seem to me like you, well, like you cared either way, sir? Is that wrong?"

"I apologize if I gave you that impression," said Dumbledore. "It is my wish that the students and faculty under me can come to me with any complaints, any desires they have, and I will listen. And I apologize if I gave you the impression last night that I was not listening when I actually care very much."

"Oh," I said. "I'm sorry. Sir."

"You shouldn't be apologizing to me, Miss Ransom," Professor Dumbledore chided, "if I am in the wrong!"

I nodded. "Right."

The Headmaster steepled his fingers under where I imagined his chin to be, and gave me a long considering look. "Maybe it would be best if I told you a little story? Maybe then you will understand the difficult position I am forced in when two of my brightest students have a difficulty with each other."

I nodded. "Two of your bright-?"

"Indeed."

"Well, alright, sir."

The Headmaster sighed. "It all begins with a wizard by the name of Lord Voldemort."

I choked on a sip of my tea. "Y-You-Know-Who?"

"Yes," said The Headmaster with a hard glance. "Him. I know it goes against what you've been taught by your peers, but please try in the future, Miss Ransom, to refer to him by his name. Letting your fear overtake you just for a simple name is giving Lord Voldemort more respect than he deserves."

Not agreeing with The Headmaster that You-Know-Who's name was anything simple at all, I nevertheless said, "I'll try, sir."

"Good. Getting on with it: as you know, there are many families out there who support Lord Voldemort's tactics." He paused, waiting for my nod, and then continued, "They may or may not be Death Eaters themselves, but there is no question that a kind of arrogant approbation exists between those families and Lord Voldemort."

"You're talking about the Malfoys and the Lestranges," I whispered.

The Headmaster inclined his head. "In a word, yes. Also: the Blacks."

I sat up quickly, splashing a bit of my tea in the process. "I didn't think—."

The Headmaster raised a hand to forestall me. "While it is true that the Black Family isn't very vocal in their support of Lord Voldemort, I know for a fact that our young Mr. Black's home life has never been the easiest. Or the brightest. These past six or so years have been particularly awful for him."

"Sirius Black is a Gryffindor. His parents can't like that too much." I paused for a moment, remembering: "…My parents did say that his dad spent thousands of galleons on warding his house with all sorts of dark spells…"

"Yes, that would be just like Orion Black," The Headmaster said seriously, "to do something like that. Bear in mind that that is only one example however."

Momentary Sympathy for Black aside, I couldn't control my sneer. "Poor little rich boy!" I muttered.

Headmaster Dumbledore frowned. "It would behoove all of us to show a little compassion in these dark, devastating days, Miss Ransom," he reprimanded. "It is not fair to judge what you do not know."

"I know that he's immature, sir," I said. "I also know that regardless of Black's life at home, he should be able to show some common courtesy! Nurture and Nature."

"True. Though, the sad fact of the matter is that Sirius Black does not live at home—or 'home' as you would think it—anymore."

"What?" I said, surprised. "Where does he live, sir?"

"The summer after his 5th year here, Mr. Black left his parents' property for good. Unfortunately, he will never escape the shadow his years there have left him with."

"Why did Black leave, sir?"

Professor Dumbledore shrugged. "Sirius Black simply could not take the amount of hate directed towards him by those who were supposed to love him."

"So he ran away?" This was inconceivable to me.

"Yes," said The Headmaster somberly. "To Mr. Potter's house—where he has always felt more comfortable."

For a couple of minutes, I didn't know what to say to that and just sipped at my tea. Black was evil, sure, but it was starting to sound like his stupidity wasn't completely his fault. As a person who found it hard to understand how any parent could not love their own child to distraction (and even eventual resentment on that child's behalf), it struck me as unpalatable to think that Black had any kind of difficulty at home. Surely, for Black to feel unloved enough to run away, something dreadful must have been done to him as a child?

Surely?

That thought Rapidly Brought Me Around To Sense. As The Headmaster looked on, the frustration I felt made my face go red. "I just bet he felt unloved!" I said snottily.

"Miss Ransom!"

"I'm sorry, Headmaster," I said, "but from all I've seen, it doesn't take much for Sirius Black to feel like people don't like him! He puts up a front, I know. And maybe, sometimes, he does have a softer side, but all I seem to get from him is his bad one. I'm sorry, sir." I was more than a bit agitated with myself that I was sharing all of this. I couldn't seem to stop! "But I just don't see how I should be expected to let things slide. A serial rapist can go around raping women, and he may have had a bad childhood, sure, but does that excuse his acts? It's not practical!"

"I believe you may understand young Mr. Black more than you think you do," said The Headmaster after a long moment of silence.

I nodded. "I agree, sir. I know his type very well."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Regardless of what his parents think of him, regardless of their lack of concern, it doesn't change the fact that Black Obviously knows that he's being an arse—." The Headmaster raised his eyebrows, so I rephrased. "An arrogant person, sir."

"I see. Well, Miss Ransom, I am sorry you feel that way. I have to say I am disappointed you feel so disheartened by Mr. Black's behavior. It was my hope that I could get you to, not agree with Mr. Black's actions—as he did wrong you, and for that he is being punished—but to understand perhaps why he feels the need to act out on occasion."

"And an understanding eventually leads to prevention, of further tiffs sir?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Just so!"

The Quidditch Pitch.

Going out to do some flying again. I haven't been able to sit still all morning. The Talk with Dumbledore has only increased this desire I have to move about and release my energy. I don't know what to think anymore, really.

The Headmaster more than hinted that Black has been abused. As it should with any human, this doesn't sit well with me at all.

However…seriously, the rest of his little speech was just a load of Dirty Bollocks.

Sure, Black is either what he was born as or what he was made to be by his parents and sycophantic peers, but regardless of what other people say, it does not change what he is Doing to me. If he's insane, then send him to St. Mungos, but otherwise, Black should be punished just like all of us regular-looking people. If Black wants to be a shitehead, I don't think he deserves any kind of sympathy from me for feeling the need to act out. I've been bullied. I've been pushed around by people I've given my trust to, but do I go off and play malicious pranks on people just so I can feel Superior at the end of the day?

No.

No, I do not.

I guess it all boils down to this:

Is Revenge really worth it in the long run?

The Headmaster had a good point earlier: we are living in dark, devastating days. Maybe I should just let what Black did go as Unimportant, and make a more concerted effort to Band Together With My Fellow Man.

Maybe.

Perhaps I won't contact Black's parents after all.