Witterings Of One Definitely Not Related To Uncle Geoffrey

Lavender Brown is a surprising mess, and she would give quite a lot to overcome her problems that involve de Pierre of Gascony's feets, a toilet with backwards bulimia, horrifying and accidental private meetings with Professor McBigStickUpHerBum, and her headcase mother. Unfortunately, those problems love Lavender far too much to go away.

Disclaimer: What you recognize as J.K. Rowling's is indeed J.K. Rowling's. I am not making any money from this whatsoever; am in fact spending money (use of electricity for computer and Internet), and I have likely stolen other things from other places as well, however accidentally (or not). Lauren Bacall, obviously, does not belong to me, and neither do the starving children in Africa. (Actually, it would make quite a bit of sense if they did belong to me, as they would be starving just as much under my care as under their own. I am significantly poor.) Most other things should be mind, but enjoy if you wish and if this fic lends you to be so inclined.

7 a.m.

OhmyGod I hate my life. Not only did I get a seventy-two percent on my Transfiguration final exam last year and thereby brought my total grade down to seventy-five percent, but Hermione Granger is bustling about with her hundred-and-fourteen percent and gloating about it, the chip on my tooth from accidentally biting down on toe of newt in Potions last year appears to be permanent, today is the first day of school, and the bathroom for the fourth-year girls is overflowing again. Periodically, it decides to practice backwards bulimia, and instead of sucking everything down its little throat, it spews it back up.

And, er, yes, that is actually backwards bulimia, if you are a toilet.

But either way, our carpet is soaked in I-don't-want-to-know-what, and my red slippers are quite positively ruined, meaning that I am stuck in scratchy grey wool slippers and have to walk downstairs to use the first-years' bathroom.

7:15 a.m.

Suppose it's time to get ready then, right?

7:20 a.m.

Oh, well, it's all right. I can sleep a bit longer. Don't want to trip over first years while trying to wash face. Might squash them, they're so tiny. All in the spirit of kindness to others.

7:25 a.m.

I am not going to sleep. I am meditating calmly on the influence of harmony and magic on the overall school day.

9:05 a.m.

Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger!

12:00 p.m.

McGonagall not in good mood this morning. Suppose wasn't good idea to come skidding into class at nine-fifteen and have forgotten homework in room. Even worse idea was to look at her hand when she slowly scribbled down large fat zero at hearing that I did not, in fact, have my essay with me at the moment but could get it to her right after class. Witch.

…In the bad way, I mean.

Parvati got to hear about my most extreme dissatisfaction through lengthy note-passing in Flitwick's class, because it is all her fault that I slept in. As best friend, she should have the courtesy to not make me late for McGonagall on the first bloody class of the school year, and I told her so. Her response was to lecture me on going back to sleep after she woke me up in the first place.

Hate Parvati.

In most loving manner, of course, as she is best friend, but right now, hate her, because she is quite right.

Lunch is most disturbing today. Shepherd's pie is not so much shepherd's pie as shepherd's sheep goop, and I believe I detect walnuts in the chocolate mousse pie, which is just wrong. Also, I really don't know how poor Harry Potter and Ron Weasley have gotten this far without bashing Hermione's head in; she's ranting about house-elves for some peculiar reason. Maybe it really is just me, but I can think of quite a lot of things more endurable to rant about than invisible servants.

12:10 p.m.

Parvati said that Hermione was just in a really bad mood because of some injustice about house-elves, but I told her, in the most loving way possible, to please shut up, because I am not in any mood to listen to anything about Hermione Granger. The girl annoys me horribly. Oh, all right, she's a fine roommate; isn't messy, isn't fussily clean, although she's getting there, and she does occasionally give homework tips, however much they have to be forced out of her. But really, she's horrendously overachieving and doesn't miss a chance to fuss about how little she's reading and about how bad her grades are, which really makes me want to strangle her. I would kill, murder, and/or torture to have her bad grades.

Still, homicide isn't an option as of yet, since our Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers still have not found the time in their oh-so-busy schedules to teach us the Killing Curse, so that will have to wait for better and more educated times.

3:30 p.m.

…I absolutely despise History of Magic.

3:31 p.m.

Seamus has quite the right idea. I believe he's snoring. Fantastic idea, really.

3:32 p.m.

No. Mustn't. Mustn't. Got enough sleep this morning. Scribble notes! Must scribble notes!

3:34 p.m.

Rodolphus the Great killed Roger of Fenwick the Fourth in the Battle of 1365 when the trolls overran the magical community of Warwickshire and began the practice of launching blazing rocks at their enemies.

November 14, 1366 Warwickshire capitulates

November 17th, 1366 De Pierre of Gascony incites a revolt against said trolls and twenty-seven villagers die, though not de Pierre, who was rumored to have kept himself locked away in an inn with the innkeeper's daughter while the revolt took place.

November the Somethingth, Something Sixty-Six Mr. Angry Bastard the Forty-Sixth Conquers Something Else And More People Die, Die, DIE!

…Oh, dear, I think I definitely need a nap.

4:59 p.m.

Ooh, perfect timing! And—yes, there goes the bell! Goodbye, Professor Garbage Binns, until Friday, which is four whole days away!

7:00 p.m.

Oh, God, why am I so bored? I have homework in front of me and a fire next to me and I am so prepared to do homework except for the one single inescapable fact that I AM JUST SO BORED.

You know, something should be done about this. I should take charge. I should take charge of my own life and FORCE it to be something. I should become a NEW PERSON this school year, one just like Hermione Granger, except with more fun and more social life and less rantage and less boring-ness and less just basically Hermione-ness, except for the studying bit. Right. I will make out my list now. Resolutions are not just for New Year's Day, or to be discarded the morning after. Mine are to be stuck to and kept, because they are made in the flush spirit of a new school year.

Yes. Exactly. Right.

Hmm.

WHAT I WILL NOT DO THIS YEAR:

1. Be late to class. EVER.

2. Sleep so bloody much. Am capable adolescent without diseases, so should only need eight to ten hours of sleep, not twenty-four.

3. Fall asleep in Binns' class, or call him or any other teachers rude names (even mentally) that have invented in copious free time, i.e. during class.

4. Give in to the universal prejudice about Slytherins. It is, after all, not their fault that they were bunged into that house at eleven years old, and it is not possible that each and every little Slytherin child was a complete bastard at birth. I hope.

5. Rant at poor Hermione behind her back. She is perfectly capable of unlocking this journal, or of torturing Parvati. Not that that would be hard. All she would have to do is start babbling on about something apparently important to the rest of the world, like starving children in Africa. Which, let me assure you, I am indeed dreadfully concerned about, but not to the extent of ruining my own dinner. If I bothered to send them my dinner, it would be spoilt by the time they got it, so not worth effort. Instead, will work on ending world hunger one bit at a time, starting with myself.

Where did I put those Chocolate Frogs?

Oh, wait; list. Right. Which brings me to the next item.

WHAT I WILL DO THIS YEAR:

1. Start some kind of diet. It is really ridiculous that I end up skipping dinner most days because I have a stash of candy in my trunk. Just because I have it does not mean I have to eat it. Generosity and Abstinence must be practiced, both with capital letters so as to provoke some kind of fear and respect in my mind for those two terms.

2. Do my homework on time. (Which I will do, just as soon as I finish this list.)

3. Abstain from eagerly watching owls in the morning as they bring mail, which irrevocably brings home the fact that I am a sad sack as never get any mail whatsoever, not even from my mum.

4. Use mother as comparison to self, as mother is special breed of headcase indeed and should not be compared to self as standard for behavior, no matter how many butterbeers I may have imbibed.

5. Bring home more than ten bottles of butterbeer from Hogsmeade, as am convinced that house-elves already think am crazed drunken maniac. Or, abstain from peeling labels off of butterbeer bottles, so that people can clearly see that I am not drinking myself into a drunken stupor, but merely pretending to do so while sniffing: "Have a drink, Mr. Marlowe?" in manner of 1940s American love-object.

6. Yelp too extravagantly about Lauren Bacall in public, as people probably think I am a lesbian anyway on account of this and that really isn't the case. I want to be her children, not bear her children, and I feel almost positive that this statement was misunderstood gravely during our second Hogsmeade visit last year.

7. Learn how to flirt, or do something attractive to the opposite sex, which does not include learning how to belch fire. (It is all Uncle Geoffrey's fault. He was quite spiffy at Auntie Pauline's Bastille Day party a few years ago, which she holds every year notwithstanding the fact that we are not in the slightest bit French, and he belched all over a flaming torch and it looked quite as though he was spitting fire. Which is fun and amusing and really rather cool when you are all of eleven years old.)

8. Be better at schoolwork, and this does not mean brownnosing. It means being an intelligent, mature, knowledgeable person of fourteen years who studies in the evenings.

9. Be nicer and more gracious to Hermione. She does, after all, need help. (And I need help in the homework area. Fair trade. Please do not ask about my own social life; you will get v. vague and roundabout answer.)

10. Keep face clear of all spots, pimples, scars, nervous eye twitches, and stop eating the skin off of inside of mouth. (Eurgh, sounds gross when put down on paper, but is a nervous, addictive habit.)

Oh, blast, does this look like a boring year.

But! Can start item number eight, list two right now. Schoolwork.

8:45 p.m.

…Well, I've done my Transfiguration essay, at least. Have found superior remedy to procrastination: write "Professor McBigStickUpHerBum" at top of parchment roll and look at it whenever I think of stopping for a short break. Has worked superbly so far, and I may be breaking Rule Three, List One but overall Rule Eight, List Two is more important. Now, to reward myself, I shall—

Ooh, no, I won't. Diet, remember? DIET. Healthy diet for fourteen-year-old schoolgirl which includes overcooked broccoli and steamed beets and really badly done Brussels sprouts and oh God where's my bag of sweets?

8:50 p.m.

I can always start my diet tomorrow.

9:00 p.m.

Blast first-year girls. They giggle at you horribly when you examine your face for spots in the mirror. All they have to bloody worry about is not having food on their faces. They should really think about long walks by the lake, into the lake, and into that giant squid's mouth.

9:30 p.m.

Bedtime for the New and Improved Me.

Tuesday, September 2nd, 1994

7:00 a.m.

La, do I feel rested and accomplished and isn't that sunrise early? Pretty, pretty birds…blargh. Too fecking tired. Perhaps will have nap…

No! Won't. Am remembering list. Have taped list to headboard so will be certain to see list when wake up, so am getting up now and taking long, hot, steamy, relaxing shower.

…In the first-year girls' bathroom.

Maybe I could try our bathroom? It's the toilet that's overflowing, really, not the showers that have combusted. The showers should still be working. At least it would mean privacy.

7:20 a.m.

…Oh, Godddd, I hate this schoooool. Grrr, grr, brrrrrr, bzzy bzzz dearGodI'mcold.

Turns out the hot tap was turned off in our bathroom, and I stepped directly into v. freezing stream of cold water, which I subsequently thought would be good for the system, so I did not do the sensible thing and scuttle back into my bathrobe and downstairs, but stayed and washed hair and scrubbed self all over and stayed to get rid of underarm hair but really had to dash before shaving legs, because that water was just too bloody cold for poor shrimp like me.

7:45 a.m.

But at least I'm ready, and dressed, and my hair's decently okay, and…

Oh, dear. My hair.

Must remember number seven on list: be more attractive to boys.

Right. Parvati has curlers somewhere, I think.

8:05 a.m.

Oh, God, am frightful mess. Hair frizzy and most Hermione-esque and distractingly hideous. It is like what would happen if a toaster met a fork and a wig and they had little threesome babies.

8:15 a.m.

Parvati was v. kind about whole fiasco, even lending her superb skills to twisting bushy and flyaway hair into tameable knot at nape of neck, although a few wispy things cannot really be said to be controlled as of yet. But. Breakfast! Am not sleeping through breakfast!

8:45 a.m.

Pansy Parkinson just made v. rude comment about hair, asking for help with the Curse of Uncontrollable Frizziness, but in the spirit of the New and Innerly Poised Me Who Follows Guidelines Set Out On List One, Item Four, I did not tell her that she had apparently already achieved it to perfection and abstained from sending a Humidity Jinx at her once she had her back turned. Instead, I told her to bugger off in elegant and poised fashion and resumed my path to Care of Magical Creatures along with Parvati, which we unfortunately have with the Slytherins again this year, bugger it all.

8:55 a.m.

Ooh, have found nice Ice Mouse in pocket. Think will snack a bit before class.

8:56 a.m.

Oh, Merlin, nonononono! Diet, remember? DIET. Healthy diet for fourteen-year-old twit.

"If you're not going to eat that," Parvati said nosily, pointing at the Ice Mouse, "I will."

In great spirit of generosity I gave said bit of candy to her and promised her that she could loot through my candy trunk once we got back, upon which she stared at me like onlooker gaping at madwoman.

"You've gone off your rocker, haven't you, Lavender?"

"I am not," I said, annoyed. "I am merely giving up sweets. They're bad for you."

"I am quite aware of that, though it never stopped anyone on this earth before."

"Well, it is stopping me," I huffed. "I am becoming a New Person this year, Parvati, one with a steady diet of good food and healthy exercise and attention to schoolwork."

"Oh, Merlin," Parvati mumbled. "Not again."

I resent that remark very highly, thankyouverymuch.

Parvati insists that the only reason I am doing this is to become attractive to the boys from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. Actually, I had almost forgotten about the Triwizard Tournament, some age-old competition thing they're holding again this year and getting two other schools to participate in. Unfortunately, they're not letting anyone under seventeen participate, and the prize is a thousand Galleons. Parvati and I have already started planning to inveigle ourselves with whoever wins, so that we can get a crack at spending his or her money. Preferably his, really, as I don't see how any seventh-year girls would bother with us.

9:05 a.m.

Oh, finally. It's about time Hagrid showed up.

9:10 a.m.

Dear GOD, what are those THINGS?

9:11 a.m.

Blast-Ended Skrewts, apparently. Whatever that is. Eurgh. They're like gigantamongous slugs with stingers and they shoot off places and they burp fire and make odd popping noises and altogether remind me far too much of my Uncle Geoffrey, which is v. disturbing, as they are indeed more like slugs than any other animal or beast I have yet seen.

Maybe this is a statement about Uncle Geoffrey?

Would not be surprised.

10:35 a.m.

Torture beyond Hell and the Fires of the Damned And Icky is what Care of Magical Creatures is. Honestly, I can't wait until Hagrid gets himself mutated or blown up or eaten and we can have a nice, sensible substitute instead.

"He's the best Care of Magical Creatures teacher we could ever have," Harry Potter insisted like the brownnosing little pet he is, trying to fight Hermione, who for once seems to have the right idea.

"Harry, don't you think he's taken things a little...er…too far?"

"He's a wonderful teacher!" Harry Pratter continued. "Right, Ron?"

Poor Ron Weasley. Had to back him up no matter what, as they have a best-friend code. Have given up best-friend codes long ago, as they are more trouble than they're worth and don't allow you to make snarky comments to your best friends, and Parvati and I have far too much fun doing that.

12:05 p.m.

Think I have a cold.

Hate cold showers.

Homework:

Potions essay on use of mandragora in Reviving Potions

Research for Hagrid on flobberworm food

Transfiguration essay (finished)

Charms: read chapter 1, take notes, and answer questions at end of chapter and write mini-essay on the uses of Bunglement Charms in burglar alarms

History of Magic: one roll of parchment on the feats of de Pierre of Gascony (battlefield feats, not feats of physical stuff done in inns with innkeepers' daughters, and much less the feets of de Pierre of Gascony)

Merlin; might want to get started, then, what?

Daily Quotas:

Sweets 0, essays completed 1 (good), other homework done 4 (all of Charms—good), mental rants about Hermione 2 (not bad), butterbeers downed 0 (wonderful, but does not really count as have had no chance to acquire butterbeer, therefore abstinence was not really practiced), disturbing thoughts 13 (all about Uncle Geoffrey, though), snarky comments avoided 6 (and most of them came to mind while I was staring at Pansy Parkinson)