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

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

Chapter Three: A Dote in the Note, or A Prig Named Stuart Diggory

Ravenclaw 6th Year Girls' Dorm Room.

Morning. The sun is stubborn, and ignoring my threats, blatantly and disrespectfully 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. My sheets feel clean and I don't have surprise spots, so it's probably generic school-bred paranoia at work. Mornings usually leave me feeling discombobulated. I have always hated them.

When I was little, and getting up in the mornings wasn't a prescribed part of the day, I used to sleep in like a fat sultan. And I was happier than pie. Now I attend Hogwarts and have my mornings dictated to me. It is one of life's gross unfairities that we are made, like teenage ants, to get up at 0600, and trudge to class, and be expected to produce spells. Nowhere in any sea scrolls ever has it specified the time one should arrive at class. Perhaps it is assumed that we never stop working, which would be just like the Old Testament God. If this is the case, God, I must say to you: I am no Job. If a spell were to come along that made mornings my thing, well, I would enjoy them, but that spell has not yet been invented, 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.

Admittedly, I usually cannot. Especially on our first day of classes. Merlin heard my wish in the carriage ride and scattered speed-up spell over our little heads during the night. It isn't really the 6th of September, but the 2nd. I feel more scatterbrained right now than that time Professor Binns was propositioned for sex by Lady Ravenclaw. Shame, those two never made it as a couple. Binns post-ejaculation would be a happy man to be around. Looking for my shoes.

Now, I know I said I wanted classes to start the very day after The Welcoming Feast, but that's obviously not true anymore. I'd rather classes not start at all. I want more sleepy break time. I need more sleep, because it is not proper to be up before your stomach is ready to be up. We are leaving to get some breakfast, Lord knows why, since we have nowhere we need to be this early, since class doesn't start till 0900, but the clock is evidently ticking.

Not being the world's thinnest witch, I sometimes like to entertain the idea, during mornings when my stomach is all a-gurgle, that I have some disgusting bowel disease, like IBS, or some ulcer of the stomach; and therefore have to consume vast quantities in order to meet the demands of chronic diarrhea. I simply cannot function in normal society when I am around food, you see. We all know the real reason fatter people can't function normally around food has nothing to do with IBS and everything to do with the fact that all food tastes like cake, but, shh, let me delude myself for a minute. IBS and stomach ulcers are both Muggle ailments, however, it is not too insane an idea that I have wished some sicknesses on me. I am a witch and the power of thought is strong in me.

"Are we coming?" The "Royal-we." And it sounds exasperated. Lucille is foaming at the mouth again, most likely because her medication has run out. It has nothing to do with me.

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, you witch."

"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 far 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. Would you like to touch it? It's not squishy, see?"

"No!" cried Lucille. I am not sure it warranted such a cry, but no matter. Lucille is just jealous. "I would not!" She started walking hurriedly down the hall to the stairs. "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."

I slung an arm around Cam's shoulder. "Oh, push off, you won't be eating anything anyway," I commented. "You're as thin as my little finger. If you can fit a sip of tea into that thimble-sized stomach, I'll be surprised."

"Evie!"

Potions Classroom.

One thing you have to understand about Professor Slughorn is that he means well. He may be odd but he's sincere in his efforts most of the time. Anyway, he's old, so normality doesn't even matter, does it? He's lost the battle before the first cannon fired. If he walked into the classroom with scratches on his face, duck semen on his hands, and his wand up his nose, we'd still all greet him with a perfunctory, "Hello, professor, looking well. What potion do you have for us today?"

And if Slughorn said, "Coodle-da-boo, my ninnies, I ate a privy and it tasted fine" we'd all just nod, and say, "I thought you had" and get on with business. Potions are like that; just as finicky, just as old, and some of them smell like week-old sweat mixed with denture cream.

Sometimes, I'll let you know, I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. So if this is nonsensical, well, it's only your fault for reading it, isn't it?

Privately in my thoughts, I usually reserve no patience for people who only mean well, like Professor Slughorn, but out loud, of course I voice the opposite. He is my professor and in charge of my grade for one. And for two, contrary to what others, usually Non-Slug-Club Members think, he is really not a bad man. He is not a Death Eater for instance. These days, saying he's "not a Death Eater" is basically like saying, "Well, at least he's not Satan" but I find it a good description of Professor Slughorn's character. He is not a Death Eater. He just smells like one.

"Miss Ransom? Miss Ransom!" And that means a lot, especially considering my sensitive olfactory bulb. "Miss Ransom!"

I felt Lucille kick me. "Hmm, yes, Professor?"

Slughorn smiled like he and I were in on a joke. "Thank you for taking such diligent notes, Miss Ransom! But in the future, I would like it more if you did not get so absorbed. I have been calling your name for the past minute. In the end I had to enlist Miss Sawyers's help, and a fine job she did in re-orienting you! 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 our professor could be. My mind worked furiously to tune him out. Perhaps, he felt he had to be even more long-winded, now that we were in NEWT territory.

"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 pizzazz!"

"Professor! I don't know what kind of student you take me for…"

"Miss Ransom, 'pizzazz' means life."

I blushed. "Oh. Well, sorry, professor, mistakes do happen." What is this pizzazz? I thought pizzazz was bread with cheese and tomato sauce. I actively wished class would end now. Advanced Potions was not turning out to be a favorite. How it could when it was so goddamn early in the morning, I don't know, but I found it to be well enough before everyone started looking at me. This is why I like writing. Books don't talk back to you or make judgments.

"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 had the unfortunate task of being partnered with Mara, The Great Lump of Eastwick, 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, brewing Doxycide can be a fun and enlightening experience! Do not cavil! We are going to give it a try and see how we do. If you don't finish the assignment, please remember that you can come in during my office hours, 12:00-15:00, Friday and Saturday, to tweak it to your heart's content. This is a NEWT level class, but rest assured, I do not fail students for not finishing Ministry-Standard potions within an hour's time."

"He only makes them bend over for a little how's your mother."

Lucille giggled. "Stop that!"

"That would be unreasonable of me," Slughorn said, in what I thought for a moment was a direct response to my comment. "My duty as a professor, is to be here for you. Saying that, I would like you all to refer to your syllabus over the weekend and review the pages concerning your end of term project. I want to be informed of your topic choices two weeks hence. For those of you who would like to collaborate with another student, please note, that you may choose amongst the 7th years as well."

Lucy and I shared a smile. "Well, that'll be us," I said. "7th years, ahoy. We're incompetent as anything."

"Especially you."

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, and inspecting our Doxycides. As his known favorite for 6th year, my potion was given more scrutinized attention I imagine a pot of cream gets from McGonagall, cat and human form alike. I should be used to Professor Slughorn standing behind my back and breathing on me, but as it happens, surprisingly, one never gets used to that sort of thing. I suppose it's my aversion to rapists. Some girls seem to like that attention, but I prefer my space to not be troubled by mouth-breathers or mad men out to sniff at my knickers. Slughorn is basically harmless, however, we all know it. Most potions professors are. If you aren't harmless, you don't choose a profession that involves wading through animal fluids and sifting out the better parts. Only men who have no concept of how they appear to the fairer sex do that, and this man with gusto. Yes, Slughorn is an asexual.

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.

"Yes, Lucille. That's awful."

"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 detention."

"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 has happened. Did a page or two fall out of 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 afternoon, because as so far as I know, Lucy has never talked to a boy. I think she thought they couldn't talk back.

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 snappish personality. It's just that Remus Lupin, observably, is a male, and lesbians date females. Lucille, before, today, has dated no one. So, the Big News You Only Heard A Smidge Of Previously is as follows:

Remus Lupin apparently fancies 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 an accurate 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. I mean, I can't relate, having never in my life been that attractive, but I am sure the undying sexual devotion of all males everywhere must get annoying sometimes. Really, I am.

It became increasingly hard to have a proper conversation with Lucille last year, because she was always on the look-out, always paranoid that some arsehole would jump out from nowhere and sit next to her and strike up a conversation, so her defenses adapted to striking out at first contact. I would say "Hello" and Lucille would say "For the last time, I will not go out with you!" From our years as wallflowers, Lucille never really learned how to deal with talking to boys, so she just didn't. And as a result, for about a year, she was always very short with us. I could feel Lucille's desperation to ignore these boys like a physical thing, and in the end, the attention worked the wrong way, and Lucy became cynical.

Philosophically, it seems like it was due to happen, anyway; the letter "c" is in both words. The more cynical Lucy became, however, 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 Lucy 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, I'm afraid.

Most teenage boys are thick—thick as your mother after Yule cakes—so this is why you will never see Lucille talking to one.

Until now.

Remus Lupin is either extremely confident or, well, I was going to say extremely stupid, but as we've seen with Potter, those two things aren't exclusionary. Especially if you're a Gryffindor. We Ravenclaws have our faults but failure to notice the concrete in front of us isn't one of them.

I am suspicious like a Mother Superior noticing for the first time how her novice's habit doesn't completely cover her head; there's a wisp of Hester Prynne hair flying out, and it's my job to shove it back in, and go on my way. Remus Lupin is best friends with not only Potter but Sirius Black. 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 on about; honestly, we need dictionaries. To discover that a good-looking boy with a reputation for mischief wants to pass notes with one of my dearest friends, causing said dearest friend to giggle, well, Lucille is only manic when I'm acting up.

I have already done a Spell-Check. Lupin hasn't sent anything Lucille's way. And Lucille did not take an Excitable Draught during lunch, before attending Transfiguration Class, though it would explain away her Parkinsonian hand tremors.

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, though he evidently wishes they were back again.

"It's for Sawyers," Diggory said, 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.

Slightly annoyed, I nevertheless replied, "Lucille's sitting right next to me, Diggory. You can't give it to her? Go on, 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. "Luce," I nudged her unnecessarily—Lucille was already holding out her hand under the table. "You've got a love-note, it seems."

"It's not from me!" was Diggory's hiss.

"Well, I didn't say it was!" I said, not bothering to turn around. "Luce, if you would be so kind: please, read the note that is not from Diggory, but sent via him…from some unknown."

"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, sounding like a madam. "Please come up here and demonstrate The Animus Spell."

The NEWT class, which was 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. I just have to show these bints that what they've gotten used to over the past five years, me being an incorrigible Smarty-pants, is not going to change. Which, I did.

After class, McGonagall did indeed make Diggory and I stay behind; though with us was also Lucille, radiating fear.

"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 basilisk 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 add in a 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. That's fine, he may not visibly have a vagina, but we know he has one inside.

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. Detention won't be all you'll receive. 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 for her head swiveled to him; and so he did.

"No, ma'am."

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. "Mr. Diggory and Miss Ransom may go. You, I would like to remain behind."

"Uh-oh," 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 Uterus. 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.

"Well, what did she do? 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. She knows I like knowing these things.