Concerning Queen Evelyn, the Mighty, Mysterious, Last Gryffindor of Ravenclaw and her Adventures with Sirius Black

Summary: A long time ago, in time immemorial, Evelyn once knew a friendly Sirius Black. Perverted by hormones, his behavior is now barely redeemable. Unfortunately, Evelyn is enganged to tutor him in History of Magic. Join us in one girl's bleak struggle to uncover the soft underbelly of boy-kind. ...Thy estrogen shall triumph!

This story is AU only in that, to make an obvious point, Rowling did not write it. There are original characters, of course, but for the most part, I am attempting to stay true to what we know of Sirius Black, his friends, and his personality. Liberties have been taken but I don't think my rendering of Black will be completely ridiculous. Perhaps only slightly. Time will tell.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Harry Potter series, nor is this story intended as a commercial exploit.

Chapter One: The Brain on the Train

Hogwarts Express.

Sixth year back at Hogwarts. Nothing to write home about really, but both my parents are excited, because sixth year is the form when students start their NEWT classes. As a Ravenclaw, and as a pureblood, I am expected to do extremely well.

Actually, it is not strictly about expectations anymore, is it? What my parents want from all of their children goes beyond expectations. It is more a general unspoken knowledge that anything less than a stellar performance in my classes this term will lead to a quick abandonment and then disownment. Read: I will be left on the streets to make my own way if I so much as slip an inch and get an Exceeds Expectations on any assignment. I frequently daydream and over plot, so a Life On The Streets would not be a good one for me. To my parents, bad grades at Hogwarts are the worst betrayal of any kind. I think they would sooner betroth me to a Lestrange than see me do poorly on any exam, so I must do well this semester. It's about family pride, really. Family pride and keeping my allowance in check.

Everything is fated to work out, however, since I am an amazing student.

Prefect.

Top of my class.

Tutor to Muggleborns and younger students alike.

I should be any parent's wet dream.

I was raised in an environment that is the epitome of what a Ravenclaw pureblood family should be about. We are neutral in political matters. In the mid to upper echelons when it comes to finances. And more or less on the fence when it comes to just about every other aspect of life. Straddling that fence is not necessarily a bad thing—I have grown up to believe the opposite—but it sure as Madam Bovary does not put one in the mind of Doing Things Soon; this is why people at Hogwarts usually see me buried in a book.

But books are lovely. I like books. I could blather on for pages and pages about books and how I think they're an indispensible step towards achieving enlightenment, but I was raised by intellectuals and they taught me to set daily goals, not dither on. My family didn't necessarily stress the importance of meeting these goals, but the act of making lists is important in the Ransom family. My set goal for this afternoon, alas, does not include rambling monologues about the general captivating nature of literary works, so I must get my thoughts in order. You have joined me at the beginning, which is always a nice place to start, so I think right now, I will make a list about what I want to achieve this 6th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1976.

#1: Quidditch Team.

My parents loathe Quidditch. The "official report" is that they have no opinion on it whatsoever, but I know that they would just as soon see that it got abolished in Britain. This means that if I want to rebel at all this year, I need to make our House team. I have been practicing in secret with my friend Tamara P's broom all summer long, so I do not think making the team should be a major difficulty. Barbary—our Captain, and a 7th year, and, who could forget, a swell hunk of man meat—is one Chaser down right now and who am I to deny my potential by not trying out? I could be marvelous. We never know.

#2: Get A Boyfriend.

Interesting that this is my #2. I have always wanted a boyfriend. I have never had one. For an entire month last year, I wondered very seriously if I indeed was a Lesbian and consequentially sending out Lesbian-like-vibes to all males of age I knew existed, since they tend to walk in the opposite direction when I'm approaching, but after kissing three girls and feeling no "sparks," I came to the conclusion that I am straight as an arrow. And you cannot bend an arrow; the wood would break. Unless it was a young wood, or unless you put a Bending Charm on it. Hmm.

Anyway, you get my point. Girls have cute faces and everything, but inside, they are insane, obnoxious beasts, and not worth anyone's time unless that person is very drunk off of Firewhiskey. I would know about the insanity of girls, being one myself.

Honestly, kudos, Lesbians, for being trailblazers, because it takes a bold mind to handle the double taint.

#3: Do Well On My Exams!

This should be an obvious one, but I felt like writing it down anyway. If only to make me focus more on What Is Most Important.

After Sensical Consideration, I believe #3 should actually be #2, but my brain this morning is apparently hung up on specimens of the male persuasion, ever since it espied Bertram Aubrey, homo erectus contestant number one, getting onto the Express, looking fit and very much changed from last term, and it is unwilling as yet to let go of Naughty Thoughts. So the 2nd stays, haha.

#4: Be a Better Friend to Tamara P. Paulelicky…Paulylicky…something like that.

Tamara P. is sitting across from me right now. I guess it goes to show how wrapped up in my own head I get sometimes, but I can never, for the life of me, remember how to pronounce—or spell, apparently!—her last name. I have known the girl for ten years, and every year it has yet to change. Despite the fact that she has repeatedly lent me her flying apparatus, my brain recognizes Tamara as inconsequential and that is that.

This is a very sad thing, because I genuinely do like Tamara P. Or at least I try to.

It is hard to genuinely like anyone who does not understand sarcasm. Sarcasm being a British Invention, anyone who does not apply it in everyday language should be horsewhipped.

Bad Thoughts! Bad Thoughts!

Perhaps our Tamara is insecure. Perhaps she is slightly dyslexic. But she tries hard to be what she thinks people might like and only unfortunately comes off as some sweet no-thing your mum pushes on you for tea—ironically, this is how we met. Tamara is like an amoeba with no swamp or a Madam Pince with no books. And it is easy to feel sorry for her and just as easy to be envious; because who wouldn't like to feel oblivious to the impression you're having on everyone? I would. I certainly would.

Just once, however, I would like to be allowed to write in my journal in some semblance of peace. At home, I live in a house surrounded by overbearing parents. At school, I live in a dorm room, surrounded by femmes. Just once, I mean, I would like to be allowed some privacy. Buggering Merlin and All His Toes, why can I not be allowed a moment to write? I am getting worked up, but it is only inevitable when I am the only other person in the compartment for our T.P. to talk to.

How I wish she would just leave. We are on the Hogwarts' Express, so surely, surely there is someone else to visit, someone else to bug who just so happens to be writing in her journal as well? I know the likelihood of this is astronomical, because we are all British here on this train, and Britain refined the written word.

My lack of patience is why Tamara is on my List.

"Can I have a look, then?" See?

I closed the book on my finger—so Tamara would not look—and shook my head sorrowfully. "I'm sorry, but I really don't like people reading what I write! I'm very insecure about it, if you want the truth."

Tamara sat back down in her seat and visibly deflated. "Oh." Thirty seconds of blessed silence passed and then she started talking again. "But, why—?"

The door banged open. "Hello, friends, how goes it?" A tall female with white-blonde hair preceded this greeting into our small compartment. Another girl, this one of medium height with black hair, followed directly behind her. Both were still in their casual leisure clothes, which was something truly unfortunate, as we should have been setting an example for the first years, but we are all allowed to be selfish. I really did not want more company—I would have much preferred reaching a solid #5 on my What Is Most Important List—but I resigned myself to making conversation.

"Hullo," I greeted somberly, standing up slowly and giving out hugs. "How have your holidays been?"

If anyone can roll their eyes sweetly at a person, then it is Blonde Camilla Jones. "Evie, mad girl, you just saw the both of us last weekend. We went out for Ice Cream and shopped at Mrs. Phillips's Robes for All Occasions. You bought a blue one and cried about your mum."

"Yes, I know, but I'd thought I'd ask anyway. Get it out of the way for other things."

"Like what?" Lucille Sawyers-of-the-dark-hair asked me.

I shrugged, unable to think of anything. "Well…"

"Oh, budge over!" Lucille said. She suited command to action by nudging me out of the way with her hip. "Getting fleshy, I see!" She turned to Tamara with a big smile. Lucy has always had a soft spot for Tamara, though Merlin knows why, because she does not seem to have any kindness for me. "Tamara! Good to see you! How's my favorite chicky?"

Tamara giggled. "But, Lucy, I'm not a chicky, I'm a girl."

I nodded in agreement. "And a finer one, God never did make."

Thirty minutes later, it was time for me to go to The Prefects' Compartment to meet the new Prefects and the Head Boy and Girl and get my assignment for the remaining ride to Hogwarts.

"You'll come back, won't you?" Camilla asked, sparing a glance to her right to look at Tamara and Lucy—they were braiding each other's hair and I am not kidding. "Time's like these I wish I hadn't handed in my badge."

Lucy turned her head. "What? What do you mean by that?" she asked suspiciously.

"I just mean that Evie and I had so much fun last year…traipsing around the school—."

"I wouldn't call it 'fun,' Cam," I said. "It was actually a bloody waste of time most nights."

"Hear, hear!" Lucy said. "I remember waiting up for you guys. Boring, awful evenings. No one to talk to."

"But you had me," Tamara said softly.

Lucy patted her head. "Sweetie, I know I had you, but you have to admit, you do fall asleep early. Sometimes, I would be talking to you and, poof! Out you'd go! I wouldn't know what to do with myself, because I'd be done with studying and it would be too early for bed."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, honey!"

Oh, Merlin. I exited before this could degenerate into something worse. Something like a Muggle Soap-Sud Drama. Camilla looked like she wanted to follow me outside, but knew she could not (and so was left to mope in her seat!). I decided to save a smirk for her for when I got back. It was Camilla's damn fault she was no longer a Prefect after all.

Not wanting to handle the added stress of being a role-model to the younglings on top of NEWT classes, Camilla had explained to Flitwick at the end of last term that she did not think she was ready for both responsibilities. I think Camilla's real motivation lied in not wanting to be around her ex-boyfriend—who also happens to be a Prefect for Ravenclaw—but alas, I am not privy to Cam's inner thoughts.

I, of all people, however, do know the stress a 6th year Prefect is under.

It is Big. I will not quit my Prefect-ship, however, because I do not have anyone I need to avoid. Or at least, there are people I would like to avoid, but no one I have to.

Walking along the hallway to The Prefects' Compartment farther down the train, I started wondering who our new Head Boy would be.

I was very curious.

I knew our Head Girl could not be anyone other than Lily Evans, as she was The Original Swot, but the Head Boy position was still Up In Air last time I overheard Headmaster Dumbledore talking about it with the Head of my House, Professor Flitwick.

The fact that Dumbledore was discussing the Imminent Head Boy-ship with Flitwick of course led me to think that our new Head Boy was a fellow Raven. And this of course is solely due to the fact that I am self-absorbed and over-oblivious to the facets of banal discourse. Out of the seven possibilities of 7th years—we had a big crop of boys in Ravenclaw—the only two I could think that stood any chance at all were Heathcote Barbary and Alexander Riktus; and that was because they were fellow Prefects. Out of the two, I dearly hoped Heathcote would get the position, because if I had to be under the thumb of Cam's inept swain, Alexander Riktus, I would set down my books and go on strike.

Anthony Featherhead, one of our 6th year Prefects—and an inveterate flirt for all his curly hair and supposed harmless-looks—met me at the sliding door to the enlarged Prefects' compartment. "Hey, Ransom, looking very healthy today. You may walk in before me."

"Pederast," I murmured, wondering why this boy was blocking my way.

Anthony looked amused. "What was that now?"

"Oh, well, Anthony, I thought we were supposed to go in there. If you want to continue to hang outside and be existential, well, I can't stop you. But will you allow me to pass?" Featherhead, inexplicably, looked quite firm in his robes, something that I assure you was not the case last term. I could not remain another minute alone with him. Obviously, he was wearing padding. The tight spots around the shoulders and arms clearly needed tailoring if Featherhead planned to dress himself up to look fit. "I thought we needed to be in there now."

"Oh, of course, of course." Featherhead gestured me in before him. "After you."

"Thank you."

Sitting down, I nodded at those I knew—which were not that many actually. There was redheaded Lily Evans, who I was more or less happy to note, if only because it proved my supposition (and I always delight when that happens) had made Head Girl. She looked a bit nervous, and I am not sure I envied her.

"Congratulations!"

Evans smiled. "Thank you, Evelyn."

Next to Evans was Alice Prewett, a Gryffindor as well, and current girlfriend of one of last year's Gryffindor graduates, Frank Longbottom. "Alice," I said.

"Evelyn."

There was Camilla's replacement of course: Mara Dice, the only other Ravenclaw 6th year girl aside from those whom I have mentioned previously, and a Bigger Bitch anywhere you cannot meet; which is why I am only allowing her this one sentence in my entry for this afternoon and am not going to even greet her.

There was Remus Lupin, 7th year male Prefect for Gryffindor, along with one of the Prewett twins—relation to Alice unclear. I could never tell these twins apart, but both were tall and good-looking enough to warrant a certain obliviousness to my existence, so it never really mattered in any case. I smiled at Remus, because he was giving me a kind look.

There were Marly Harold and Victor Bell, Hufflepuff 6th years, and our resident Golden Couple.

There were various and sundry Slytherins—a couple whom I nodded to. Severus Snape was sneering as always, but he looked in better health than the last two years I have seen him, which is a lucky break! He had gotten rid of that grotesque patchy mustache, for instance.

Also in attendance were the 5th year Prefects. Amelia Selwyn and Lucretia Bordeaux were part of our House's contributions to the list. I only mention the girls, because fifteen-year-old boys are not worth my time.

Every Prefect looked to be accounted for. However Evans was still silent, supposedly waiting for the arrival of the Head Boy, so the two of them could follow tradition and introduce everyone else together.

Five minutes later, and still no Head Boy.

People were starting to get antsy, wanting to get the meeting over with and go back to their original compartments. I was greatly surprised to find that neither Heathcote Barbary nor Alexander Riktus had gotten the spot. Whom it was, I no longer had any clue. Remus Lupin would have been my third choice, but obviously he was not it since he wasn't wearing The Badge.

"Oh, my God. It's not possible!"

I glanced up. That outburst had come from Lily Evans and I could tell this was exactly the wrong kind of impression she wanted to make on everyone. Truly, I could not blame her, because leaning against the open doorway to The Prefect's Compartment, like some muggle movie Romeo, was James Potter, arrogantly displaying his Gryffindor crest on which was nestled a shining, gleaming Head Boy Badge.

I groaned, in firm belief that James Potter as Head Boy was one of the last things Hogwarts' young minds needed. Potter was more the type to run a bawdy house than a Common Room, and he certainly had no business having authority over our point system. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Severus Snape moaning and clutching his stomach like someone about to sick up.

Potter stepped into the room. "Oh, Lily-Flower, I assure you, it is true! Why, I woke up last month and there that owl was—."

"Shut up!" Evans cried. "Just shut up! I have to think!"

Everyone was basically silent, waiting for Evans to think it out. It was not a rare occurrence to see a fight between these two, but I had to admit that that never stopped it from being entertaining. I have always gotten a kick out of seeing Evans's forehead burst into flame like it's doing right now. Those damn redhead genes hit you in the figurative sac every time.

Alice Prewett tried to soothe her friend with a hand on the back but Evans was having none of this comfort and brushed her away. "Please," she said to Potter, "please, tell me this is one of your jokes. Please!"

"Believe me," Potter returned, "I was just as surprised as all of you!"

Well, interesting year up ahead! Cannot wait for The Welcoming Feast if this is the kind of excitement we should all be expecting. I only hope this means our meeting is coming to a short end, because I have further writing to do.