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 Six: The Unction in the Instruction

Ravenclaw Common Room.

Late at night and I am actually not supposed to be down here at this hour, but I can't sleep. I can't stay one more minute in my suffocating, vanilla musk ridden dorm room. I forgot, over the summer how weird it is living with four other girls. Everyone knows you shouldn't keep food scents around fat people, and these bints have done it anyway. Well, in my case I am not necessarily fat, only marginally overweight, as compared to my mum's standards,—she is forever squeezing my waist in hopes some fat will pinch off—however, vanilla is in all kinds of baked things. Everyone knows it is subliminal advertisement akin to nazi brainwashing but do they stop? No. I believe, in fact, Lucille keeps these candles lit to annoy me. Hopefully, next year I will make Head Girl and will not have to worry about sharing a dorm with anyone, vanilla-candle-lighting-or Mara-Dice-ing alike.

Hmm. Thought!

Speaking of Sharing Rooms With People, there is one person, one man, in particular whom I wouldn't mind sharing a room with. If Heathcote Barbary, of the flowing blond hair and keeper physique, were to be held back another year so he can make Head Boy to my Head Girl, it would actually make me quite happy. I'm sure some people, of the Board of School Governors variety, believe if you're stupid enough to get held back in the first place, then maybe you don't deserve to get rewarded with something like being made Head of the Prefects, but in Heathcote Barbary's case, I disagree. That boy's face is way too nice to not have with us another term around. Surely, the governors would agree.

Heathcote has a girlfriend (they always seem to, alas) but Suzy Carmichael, though pretty, is also a 7th year. By July, if Heathcote doesn't want Suzy to expect a ring on her finger and lots of babies, he should be getting out of that relationship. By July I also expect to have at least kissed a boy for the first time, so I think Experience-Wise I will be up to date and ready for Some Action.

Merlin, I am lame.

Ready for some action? Of course I won't have even kissed a boy by end of term. I look like a grizzly bear and I haven't got any manners.

I should probably just throw in the towel now, eat my weight in berries and fish, and go hibernate for six months. Perhaps, by March or April, I will be able to emerge cocoon-like into a butterfly. And then the boys will stare in rapture instead of, well, horror and fear.

You see, I came down here to clear my head by writing, and all I seem to be doing is making it more jumbled. It's my fault anyway. I let my own need for revenge lead me around by the teet today, and here is the result: my cogs have gotten quite bollocksed.

Several times, Sirius Black gave me an out to tutoring him, and what did I do? Well, I declined. I declined, because as much as I don't want to be around him, I know my presence will annoy him that much more. Petty, but whoever said I couldn't be? I am sixteen. And with boys, you sometimes have to sink down to their level if you want to win. I will win, obviously. I'm a Ravenclaw.

It is Thursday tomorrow, and that means I have Potions again; though this time it's only an hour-long class. I am looking forward to seeing Sluggy, because he sent me a note (in the same vein as McGonagall), saying that he has "something of import, Miss Ransom" to tell me. I am hoping it is to discuss our end of year assignment and not some sexual proposition. In the case of any sexual proposition with a professor, I'd have to decline, but tempting, isn't it, to lose the v-card to the equivalent of a very large potato? In this instance it would be sure to flatten my own slightly overlarge form into something resembling a pancake. Though avoiding the inevitable mastectomy is of course preferred. Wouldn't the world be a happier place if every female in it had full breasts and a flatter tummy?

I am glad no one is down here with me. I always feel uncomfortable writing in front of people, because I know they are staring at me thinking I am odd. "What is she writing?" (esp in the case of our previous paragraph) they think. "Is it about me? Is she writing that she has a crush on me? That she wants to snog me? Well, I don't want to snog her!"

Thank that great robe-wearer up in the sky, that I have this journal spelled private-o.

If this weren't the case, my inner thoughts would be pasted all over Hogwarts as soon as Mara could get her fat grabby hands on them. Not that I'm sure people would care all that much about what some Laughable Ravenclaw 6th year Girl has to say ("You're writing your memoirs at sixteen?") but the possibility of Notoriety is enough to make me very careful whenever I take my journal out. I don't want to be famous yet. No, only when I've become beautiful and miraculously photogenic.

McGonagall almost confiscated this yesterday when she saw me walking in the hall with my head buried deep in it. I think she thinks I am deranged and possibly scarred by the horror going on in the world and writing constantly is the only thing I have that is preventing me from jumping off The Astronomy Tower.

I think she may be right. I am at home with my thoughts more so than I am interacting with others. There is a comfort in knowing yourself so intimately, especially when one's friends are ridiculous. One belief McGonagall evidently doesn't share. However, McGonagall is a proponent for action rather than contemplation, and we know all great wars were ended by diplomats, not lunatics with swords. She should be comforted someone in this school knows how to write.

I have a tutoring session with Black tomorrow, or so said the note from her. Right after Dinner, Sirius Black is supposed to meet me in Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration Classroom. Evidently, Professor McGonagall will be overseeing the first couple sessions until Black gets comfortable and accepts the fact that yes, he really does have to do well in History of Magic, his Head of House told him so. Because of this, I am back to feeling smug. Black cannot possibly act up that badly with a professor in the room, watching him. I am confident I will actually make some head-way on his thick head. Previously, all that seems to knock down that two-by-four is tiny ballerina girls pirouetting in nude paintings.

Perhaps I can get Lily Evans to convince James Potter that Black should behave anyway, regardless of a minder being there? Perhaps I also want to get hexed by Charms Expert Evans for even daring to suggest such a nasty thing as her pleading to Potter.

I am finally starting to yawn again, so I think I am going to put this away.

Until tomorrow, My Beloveds!

The Great Hall, Afternoon.

"How was Arithmancy?" I asked Camilla, setting my pack under The Table at my feet. Lucille took a seat next to Tamara, and the two of them commenced a hushed conversation complete with intermittent giggling and several "really?"'s on Tamara's part. I stared at them but their wall of gossip remained for the moment impenetrable. "Could you pass the rice, please?"

Camilla nodded, still chewing on a biscuit. "It was okay," she said. "Professor Cecil gave us a chart to do, but we don't have to finish it until next week, so I should be okay." Camilla's Thursday morning class apparently got out ten minutes before Lucille's and mine which I would consider unfair if it weren't for the fact that (from what I hear) Arithmancy is a very hard subject. Something to do with adding the numbered-values of letters to get one single number…no more. My head ached, thinking about it.

"Well, tell me if you need any help," I offered. At Camilla's confused look, I added, "I know a person who's very good at it."

Cam started to smile. "Featherhead, right?"

"So!" I said. "Lucille!"

"What?" Lucy asked, annoyed at my voice, still with her back turned to me. "I am in the middle of something!"

"What are you and Tamara talking about?"

"None of your business!" said Lucille.

Tamara looked over at me. "Hi, Evie! We were just talking ab-mmph!"

"Lucille!" Camilla and I said together. "Take your hand away from her mouth right now!"

Lucy shrugged. "Sorry, but I can't. Tamara," Lucille addressed her, "I really am sorry, but I want this to remain private for now, okay? I'll tell everyone later, I promise you."

Tamara nodded, eyes wide.

"You're so rude, Lucille," I said. "Such a bad friend, isn't she Tamara? Why, Camilla! Look at how she's manhandling her! Tamara's such a delicate girl. She surely doesn't need this abuse!"

"I know, Evie," Camilla said. "It's outrageous, the stuff these Muggles teach their children these days! Vulgar!"

I nodded. "Absolutely horrible! Further evidence to their inherent inferiority."

Lucille and Tamara glowered at the both of us.

The Grounds, Half Hour Before Dinner.

On the Remus Lupin Front, I am still unsure of what is going on. Lucille has been getting zanier by the day, so I assume…I assume Something Must Be Happening, but what, I have no idea. According to Tamara—whom, I am sorry to say, Lucille, cannot be trusted with a secret!—Lucille is off on a walk with Lupin right now. I know this to be fact, because I am following a discreet ten feet behind the pair. It is very cold out, so I do not know what kind of first date Lupin thinks this is, but he is not scoring any points at all.

The two know I am behind them but my presence is necessary. I am here to make sure No Funny Business goes down. Lucille is periodically throwing dirty looks over her shoulder, and Lupin looks delightfully embarrassed, but I will not budge.

The fact that Lupin won't talk to Lucille in a public forum is I guess what is bugging me. I do not buy the excuse that he is "Just too shy for that sort of thing," as Camilla puts it. Remus Lupin obviously has enough audacity to single Lucille out for his perverted attentions via note passage, so I think he should man-up and be proud of his feelings. Sit with her at Dinner and hold hands conspicuously above board, that sort of thing.

The fact that I liked Remus Lupin before this year started is a moot point. I had a crush on Sirius Black before he opened his big fat gob. Feelings change.

Transfiguration Classroom.

"Welcome, and sit down, Miss Ransom," Professor McGonagall greeted me, as I came in through the door, indicating a desk in the front of The Classroom. I smiled at her wrinkled face and took the chair on the right. The room was conspicuously absent of Sirius Black, but I knew he was coming, because all throughout Dinner he, along with Lucille (but that's no matter), had been sending me Looks. "We will start as soon as Mr. Black gets here."

"Alright, Professor," I said. "How are you?"

"I am doing fine, Miss Ransom, thank you for asking. And yourself?"

"Oh, I am doing fine," I said. "Fine. Can't wait for this to start."

"Hmm," Professor McGonagall said. "Is that so?"

"Yes, Professor. I have been very excited."

"Well, I suppose that must be a good thing."

"Yes."

"If you want," suggested McGonagall, "you can get your notes out and choose the ones from which you think Mr. Black will benefit the most tonight. I believe The International Warlock Convention of 1289 is relevant? He has an exam next week on the subject."

"I've already done that, ma'am," I assured her, extracting from my school bag a thick stack of parchments I had re-copied just for Black last night. In it, key points were underlined; sometimes twice.

"Merlin, Miss Ransom!" said McGonagall. "You did come prepared, didn't you!"

I shrugged, suddenly modest. "Thank you, Professor."

"Not at all," Professor McGonagall told me. "Oh good! Here he comes." I busied myself with reshuffling papers. "Hello, Mr. Black. Take a seat by Miss Ransom, please."

"Alright."

"Hello," I mumbled, feeling I had to be civil to this specimen of newt, even though it galled me.

"Raisin."

I rolled my eyes. I know I chose the current scenario through a combination of a desire to be a better-rounded Ministry Applicant and a desire to annoy the person in front of me, but he doesn't have to make doing it so hard. Or rather, so easy.

"Professor? How long is tonight's session?"

"Two hours, Miss Ransom. I think that should be a good start for tonight. I also understand you have Prefect Duties, so I won't keep you later than what those will allow."

"Thank you, Professor."

Professor McGonagall nodded, and waved her wand. An hourglass appeared on her desk and she turned it over. "You two may start now." She began marking papers, ostensibly not paying us any mind.

"Okay, Black," I said. "I've copied down some of my notes for you. I want you to study them when we're not together."

"Fine," said Black, sounding grumpy.

I paused. "…Are you alright with this? I mean I know…" I lowered my voice, lest McGonagall hear what I was about to say next. "I know Professor McGonagall is making you, but I'm not sure I feel comfortable teaching a person who doesn't want to learn."

Black shrugged. "Your fault, Raisin."

"I guess it is." I took a fortifying breath. "Now, first off, Black, I'd like to see the notes you've been taking down…or…" I glanced up at him. "Or, if there are no notes, then I would like you to very briefly go over what you remember of the class you had this week. When was it again? Monday?" Black nodded. "Alright. Monday. It's Thursday night now, so that means tomorrow is Friday…stop me if I'm wrong. I know Hogwarts' educational system has declined in the past fifty years but surely they've taught us enough to recognize days of the week. How are you on telling time? Was it difficult, reading the eight and twelve? Only you were a few minutes late and I have my doubts."

"Can we just get on with it?" said Black testily. "Why don't you just tell me what to study and I'll study it and then we don't even have to talk, how's that?"

I shook my head. "The problem with that is that I can't be sure if you're absorbing the information you're reading."

"There are spells for that," he responded, like I was the stupid person.

"Any that you know of?"

"Well, I know of them, obviously, otherwise I wouldn't have said anything!" Black snapped.

This, apparently, got McGonagall's attention. "Mr. Black!" she said. "Keep it down, please! I am grading your homework right now, and trust me when I say you want me to be as calm as possible!"

"Sorry, McGoogly-Pooh. I'm trying. But Raisin over here—."

"It's Miss Ransom, Mr. Black. Please show her the proper courtesy." She paused. "Please show us both the proper courtesy."

"Right. Ransom. Well, she keeps on going on about how I need to review these notes she's given me, but she won't even give me the chance to do it! I'm not trying to be rude, but honestly! It's enough to drive even you mad, Professor McGonagall!"

"Black, I believe we should get back to the matter at hand," I said.

"And what is that now?"

"Right, let's start with a few questions to see where you are. What was the purpose of the convention in 1289? And why were women henceforth banned from attending?" I shot at him.

"I believe it had something to do with vaginas."

"Mr. Black!"

I will turn you into a vagina, it's not hard, I furiously thought.

Ravenclaw 6th year Girls' Dorm Room

McGonagall extracted a promise from Black that he would walk me back to my Common Room after our session, and Black actually complied, prolonging what has to be our mutual misery, and leading me by the elbow like some misguided and rogue-ish Arthurian Lancelot du Lac, though not with the added general perverseness of a trusted first knight whose gone off and buggered one's wife.

I have to go back outside in five minutes to patrol The Hallways Of My Favorite Second Floor and so am waiting right now for Mara to get her fat arse down here so we may leave. I am certain I will enjoy the time apart from my nosy mates, however, the downside, of course, of not being on friendly terms with our other 6th year girl Prefect is that I periodically have to work with her. Not that Mara and I everwalk The Hallways together—you can bet we split up once we are out—but the limited time we do spend in each other's company is Rife with both Silence and Yells.

I think she's disappointed she's not the one tutoring Sirius Black.

After tonight, I don't like that I am tutoring Black either but if one more upside to this is that I get to annoy Mara, then that is alright with me. Unfortunately, Mara Dice is second in our year to me. It galls to even think about it, but there it is. On paper, she's actually competition. She comes off as moral and diligent, however, it takes a face-to-face meeting to discover how psychotic she actually is. She's not even talented enough for a career in radio—and with her looks one would hope she'd pick a career that kept her sightless—because her voice reminds one of the slime rolling off rocks, but that does not stop her from talking.

"Okay," announced Mara; her fat form jiggling as she stomped down the stairs in stiletto boots. "I am here!"

"Lovely, shall we go?"

"Yes, because the sooner we go the sooner I am back and away from you again!"

"Well, Mara," I said, following her outside, and closing the door behind us. "That would be true if it weren't for the fact that we sleep in the same bedroom. Alas! Your plans were foiled before they began."

"Hmph!"

"Right. So, making our conversation as short as possible: I have decided I am taking the 7th Floor Hallway. You can have 2nd Floor."

"I don't want 2nd Floor!" said Mara obstinately. "I want 7th."

"Well, I just called it, so you can't have it, sorry."

"I'm taking 7th Floor!" Mara told me. She emphasized this by moving to get in my face.

"Well, fine," I said, turning around and walking away, secretly cheering, because 2nd Floor didn't contain nearly as disappearing many stairs nor hiding places. I'd be back up within twenty minutes. "I didn't want your manky 7th Floor anyway!"

"My 7th Floor is not manky!"

"It is if you've been stepping on it!" I said. Walking fast—practically running now. The stones of The Castle shook as Mara ran to catch me up.

"Why are you such a twat?" she demanded from behind, huffing a bit.

"I have no idea! Why are you such a shitehead? These will forever remain mysteries of the universe."