A.N. Yes, I'm still alive, sorry it took so long to update. (Probably shouldn't mention I've had this saved since June.) Anyway, part of what happens in this chapter is due to my Creative Writing Teacher's comment that she should get even with her sister. So, you'll see how that goes...eventually.

...Remus and Tonks live; they live I tell you!

Professor Dawlish currently thinks I'm taking notes. Yes, I'm writing to you in DADA. Feel honored, Diary, feel very honored.

So pretty soon after I stopped writing to you, there came a sign of the apocalypse. No, pigs did not fly. Well they did, but that was part of that days Charms lesson. Anyway, that's beside the point. No, Hell must have frozen over, because today at lunch MS sat down in front of me.

Her: Hi little sister! How are you today?

Me: N-n-not very well, I-I-I j-just learned I'm suicidal. I-I-I really wish people w-would keep me informed on-on stuff like this.

Her: Err, yeah, sorry about that. I was trying to tell Dean about what happened my second year, but he completely misunderstood me. I've done my best to correct it, Corrie.

I raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

Her: (awkward pause) Well, I just came over to say how deeply moved I was by your editorial.

Me: Y-y-you were moved b-by an editorial on why Hogwarts should teach English?

Her: What? No that whole, "Speak up and shout" nonsense.

Me: Th-that-that was last week's editorial.

Her: Oh, whatever. Look, I liked it okay; I just didn't have much time to read it before now.

My thoughts: I understand; wrecking homes takes both time and energy. Not to mention the beds she's jumped into on the side.

There was a long pause after her statement, and then she burst into tears.

Her: Oh Corrie, you don't know what it's like to be me. I think everybody hates me. It's such a curse to be this beautiful.

And here I had always thought it was a charm.

Me, standing up: Th-th-then I recommend y-you stop it with the-the hair dye, an-an-and charms.

I walked out, leaving behind a speechless sister.

-

I've never compared potions here, with potions at Salem, have I? Professor Slughorn teaches potions here. He knew Dad. It's awkward.

Back at Salem we had Professor Willow Moonbeam. She legally changed her name at sixteen. She's a hippie. It's not "she was a hippie" because she's still a hippie. Before class we lit scented candles, to clear out the bad vibes. We'd write down our problems and leave them in a box outside the class. She was convinced that our headmaster at Salem was slipping Submission Solution into our drinks. The first thing we learned how to brew was the antidote to Submission Solution. If we wanted to experiment we were allowed to do whatever felt right, and to see if we could just feel what the potion wanted to stay in harmony. It was all about harmony, the harmony of the ingredients. We actually learned a lot of theory that way.

Professor Slughorn teaches in the dungeons. He does not light scented candles. He needs to lose weight. He fawns over a select few, of whom, I must admit, I am included. He wants to talk about Dad.

Dad developed potions. He laid the foundation for some of Belby's research. He was really good at his job. Then one day his potion exploded and a chunk of caldron went straight at his head. He was killed instantly. MS was watching. She was four; I was two. Neither of us had any desire to go near potions for years afterward.

One of the problems with that is that both of us inherited our dad's talent. In the middle of making potions we'll get these brain waves that a sprig of peppermint here or a dash of lacewings there will improve the potion. MS has been convinced to go with these and is currently worshiped by P. Slughorn. I'm a perfectionist in potions. I do not experiment. If you want a gallon of something, I will measure it for you in drops. My first potions class the caldron behind me melted. I had a panic attack.

I hate potions and I really wish Professor Slughorn would just shut up about Dad.

I will not be attending the Slug Club meeting. He probably just wants MS there, anyway, and I need to study.

Countdown to OWL's: About 8 months. I'm doomed.

-

MS is practicing her dance in the Great Hall. She was "accidentally" discovered early one morning in a skin-tight leotard in the middle of a leap. I was wondering how long it'd take her to be "discovered."

Mom signed MS up for dance when she was three. She, MS, is now almost as good as a professional dancer. She took dancing at Salem for her Muggle Class. She knew more than the teacher. Everyone was very impressed, mostly by her tight body and incredible flexibility.

Mom signed me up for swimming when I was three. I nearly drowned. Next year we tried horseback riding lessons. MS got so jealous. We couldn't afford to continue the lessons beyond one year. Next I tried ballet dancing. I hated the tutus; they itched like nothing else. Finally, when I was six, I signed up for gymnastics. I'm not very flexible, well not as much as MS, but I'm a demon on the balance beam. Before I left for school I'd learned how to do a cartwheel on it, without falling off.

Mom was so proud.

-

We got back papers today in History of Magic. Apparently I mixed up Barcon's Rebellion, one of the last of the Giants' stand for independence, with Bacon's Rebellion, a group of small farmers who rebelled against Virginia's Royal Governor in 1676. Oops. Look, it's an easy mistake to make. Mind you, I did wonder why we were writing about Nathaniel Bacon.

So now I have to both re-write my essay tonight, and have a detention with Filch for falling asleep in that abandoned classroom. He looked strangely gleeful. I bet he's a sadist. He mentioned something about thumbscrews. I hate today.

-

I love, love, love Professor Slughorn. He asked me today if I was going to the Slug Club meeting tonight, and I responded that I had detention. He seemed surprised, which is always a nice feeling, the feeling that teachers seem to feel you're not the girl who gets detentions regularly. Anyway, he asked about why I had detention and I told him, truthfully, about falling asleep in the empty classroom. He said I didn't deserve detention and that he'd talk to Filch for me.

Professor Slughorn is awesome!

So I now have "detention" with Slughorn tonight. That was the solution. It's not bad; it basically means that it is now mandatory for me to go to the Slug Club meeting tonight. I will reiterate: I love Professor Slughorn.

-

The Slug Club was actually fun. Apparently Professor Slughorn knows several publishers at the Daily Prophet and he promised to get me in touch with them. More than that, he sent them a few copies of the HH! I'm currently doing a happy dance.

Alright so I felt a bit like a purebred dog being trotted around a ring, shown off for all to see. But, you know what, the rewards are worth it. P. Slughorn spent the night fawning over MS, yes, but still, connections with the Prophet, definitely worth it. Ginny was there as well; she looked uncomfortable. She said something to the effect of "at least McLaggen graduated."

MS looked right at home, but I'm not all that surprised. She's always been a purebred bitch.

-

I almost fell asleep in Transfiguration today. Instead I just vanished most of my desk. Yay me!

Professor Tonks was somewhat impressed that I could vanish most of my desk, nonverbally. What can I say, Mom always drilled us in Transfiguration; it was her specialty. Dad developed potions, Mom invented spells for Transfiguration. She'd taught a few of her secrets to MS, because MS could do magic over the summer. I'm referring, of course, to the summer after MS turned 17. So MS has wowed P. Tonks as well. Go MS!

And now I'm comparing myself to my older sister, which according to my therapist is not good for my mental health or self-esteem. I'm to remember what I can do well. Every time I find myself comparing myself to MS I'm to state at least two things I can do better than anyone else. I can edit better than anyone I know.

I just spent twelve minutes trying to think of the second thing.

-

Madame Pomfrey gave me a Draught of Peace between Arithmancy and Herbology just because I burst into tears because I was tired and obviously couldn't handle this, and should just be failed now. I may have also ripped up my last paper because it only got an EE.

I'm tired; I need coffee and fast.

-

So I drank five cups of coffee so that I could stay awake during Herbology, and now Herbology is over but I'm still wide awake, and so I'm going to go work on Arithmancy instead of writing run-on sentences. It's past midnight and I'm not even tired. I love coffee. Coffee, coffee, coffee. Sentence fragments are bad.

Hysterical laughing is good. Volunteering to let third years practice their cute little Cheering Charms on you is bad. And by you I mean me.

-

Did you know that you are never supposed to mix large amounts of caffeine, a dose of Draught of Peace, and Cheering Charms? It creates a chemical imbalance in the brain that can land you in the hospital wing. Well, not you seeing as you lack a brain, but it sent me to the hospital wing after Luna found me simply laughing hysterically in front of the fire, for absolutely no reason.

-

MS is now allowed to bring Duke, her "wolf," to Hogwarts. He's not a wolf, he's a purebred Malimute if I remember correctly, but MS calls him a wolf. One of her many boyfriends gave her Duke. She's allowed to bring him as he's "part of the only family [she has left." Plus he's her "protection in this war torn world."

MS has also started animagus training. She claims she's practically a full animagus right now and is learning faster than anyone has ever learned. I don't believe her. Why?

Her left side has a strand of hair that's all messed up.

-

Duke enjoys chasing cats. He chased Mrs. Norris all around the school. Filch is currently raging about that to McGonagall.

On a side note, who is Mrs. Norris married to?

-

Sara has a sick, sick mind. I accidentally asked that last question, about who Mrs. Norris was married to, out loud.

Sara's reply: Probably Filch.

She went on, but I'll keep you unsoiled by that. Eww! I'll never, ever be able to look at Filch again.

Especially since I think she might be right.

Actually Abby's response to Sara's comments was the best. She danced around the dormitory screaming, "The mental images, they burn!" She made Kate and Jo crack a smile for the first time in ages.

-

If my life were a novel I'd be the throwaway foil character that makes MS look that much better by comparison. I would probably also not be awake at two in the morning working on homework. I'm not alone; actually, every other year is here; seventh years frantically preparing for their NEWT's smile sympathetically at fifth years, feverishly reviewing for their OWLS and empathizing with the third years, who are bemoaning their hard new classes and simultaneously comforting the homesick first years. Upon review I figured out that that was a very run-on sentence and this is a very random paragraph. I'm going to bed.

-

I had an interesting conversation with P. Slughorn today. He stopped me after potions to ask if I was coming to the next Slug Club meeting.

Me: S-s-sir? C-Ca-Can I ask you something?

Slughorn: Of course, Corrie, of course.

Me: W-w-why do you w-want me to-to join the Slug Club?

He looked surprised at that. S: Why ever not?

Me: I-I-I'm not half as talented a-as my sister.

S: This isn't a competition, besides you're plenty talented in your own way. I have no doubt that someday we'll all be reading some newspaper or another run by you.

Me: …Th-th-thank-you, s-s-sir.

-

Today is the third Friday in September. It's poker night! Every third Friday for as long as I can remember my family has played Texas Hold-Um, with candy betting. MS and I are pretty evenly matched. At Salem we had a whole group who would join in. Here, I'm wondering if she even remembers.

I'm up twelve sherbets. MS remembered. I'd sat down across from here this evening, getting several odd looks from the Gryffindors, and simply stuttered, "D-d-deal," while placing a deck before her. We'd each pulled out a bag of sherbets and the rest of the night had passed amiably.

There are as many different colors of sherbets as there are M&Ms. MS bets her brown sherbets first, and then mixes the rest into a colorful hand. Except the rainbow ones, those she bets as a last resort. I separate mine by color, betting first the rainbow ones (mystery flavored), next red (strawberry), purple (grape), yellow (lemon), orange (orange), green (lime), blue (blueberry), and finally the brown (chocolate) ones. I like chocolate; I hate mysteries. It works out perfectly.

As for tells, all of mine are in my voice, so I don't speak. MS used to play with the hair on the left side of her face when she bluffed, but she's learned to put her hair up. Now she bites her lip. MS is very easy to read once you know how.

Anyway the last hand I won with a pair of nines and a queen. MS was one card away from a straight. So close, but close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

We got quite a large audience and MS was teaching several Gryffindors how to play by the time we finished. I hope this doesn't become boy-infested like the Salem games.

I hope the teachers don't mind us betting. They didn't like it at Salem so in the end we split the sherbets after every game. We did that here too; I gave MS six sherbets. Hopefully they won't have a problem.

-

Saturday is normally a day for blissful relaxation, but today it is raining, yet again, which overcrowds the library and common room. It rains too bloody much in this country. (I enjoy British curse words; they don't make me feel guilty.)

Anyway, it's only three in the afternoon and I've finished all my homework. Now I just need to create an editorial, a headline, and three articles, not to mention a report for Salem. Shit, I'm doomed.

-

I have a small article on a batty house-elf named Dobby. I suppose I could turn it into an article on the evils of using slavery at Hogwarts, but it could use a lot more research to be effective. Anyway, I need to search for another couple stories.

-

P. Tonks is awesome. She gave me a comparison between working as an Auror and as a teacher. It's for an article series comparing different professions to aid the upper classes in what they wish to go into and the lower classes in what they wish to take third year. I've heard of several cases where children signed up at random, only to learn later that they weren't qualified for their choice profession.

On a side note, why is "Auror" upper case and "teacher" lower case?

-

I hate her; I hate her; I hate her! How could she do this to me? I'm her sister. That bitch, can you divorce your family because if you can I'll do whatever it takes to rid myself of her.

I'm sorry; I'm crying all over you and the ink is smearing.

I mean it's not enough that she get to wear mini-skirts that are smaller than most belts, or shirts that don't even pretend to be decent, but this just crossed the line. I thought, well I thought she still cared for me, at least a little. Shouldn't she? I'm her sister. Why does she always have to mess up my life?

I mean it's not enough that she's stolen every guy I've ever liked, that she's slept with so many guys that my reputation is in tatters by association (I was the "easiest" virgin at Salem); it's not enough that she can ace anything without half trying, but now this.

I over heard her talking to a large group of people. She was pretending to stutter, in this really exaggerated manner that reminded me of Stephen Clarkes. She lisped, pronounced her "r's" as "l's;" she did everything I'm used to people doing while making fun of me. Everything that everyone's done to me in my entire life, all the time she was laughing; they were laughing. I was crying. I listened to make sure that it wasn't me jumping to conclusions, but there really isn't any jumping involved when you overhear "H-h-h-hell-hell-h-hello. M-m-m-my n-n-name is-is-is C-C-Co-Cowwie-Cowwie-wie-ie C-C-C-Cow-Cow-Cowwin-win."

I don't know how long I stood there, rooted to the spot, tears streaming down my face, their incessant laughter ringing in my ears, when Professor Sprout came along. She took one glance at me and asked what was wrong. I fled. I think she overheard MS, though, because she looked angry. Of course if she punishes MS, MS will simply think I squealed on her. And she'll make me pay.

Last time she spread rumors about me I spread a counter rumor. She went all boo-hoo upset to the headmaster, who nearly expelled me, but lucky me, my charming, distraught sister was willing to forgive me. And by forgive I mean convince the entire school population that I was a lesbian. That's part of the reason I never got dates at Salem, I was an easy, aggressive lesbian. One of the things I was looking forward to coming here was a chance to reinvent myself. Well go me, now I'm a suicidal freak.

What did I do to deserve a sister who mocks me? What is so bad about me that my own sister hates me?

And why do I care so much?

Now I'm crying again. Oh today is just so bloody perfect.

-

I just realized something. One of the problems with my spreading rumors at Salem was that I wasn't in the rumor mill. MS ran the rumor mill and could stop any rumor I made before it saw the light of day. Thus, rumors weren't effective. Here, I control the newspaper; I control the information everyone in this school receives. MS forgets, I can reinvent her just as easily as she reinvented me.

I think I have my editorial.

-

The Herald is out with an emotional editorial on forbidding dogs at Hogwarts. Dukes chased thirty-three cats up trees in less than one week. Unfortunately for two cats, the tree they chose was the Whomping Willow. They're recovering after breaking almost every bone in their bodies and probably using up a life or two. MS is unrepentant and has scared the owners into not complaining to the professors. It's just too bad for her that they all read the HH.

Doubtless she will take this as it's meant, as a personal attack against her. Wait till she sees next week editorial on how the dress code applies to all. I mean honestly, fish-net stockings?

(Week after is questioning whether abortion should be legal. I know MS has had at least seven, and is probably due for another. I can make everyone realize I'm referencing her, without actually stating her name. Revenge is sweet.)

Bring it on, sister-dear. I'm not as mild as you seem to think.

-

History of Magic time again! Aka it's time to inform you of MS's reaction.

This morning I was hit in the back of the head by a disillusioned airplane. It uses a nonverbal spell that was common at Salem for passing notes. Anyway, what follows is the result of all this morning's breakfast.

What the hell?

You shouldn't swear, MS, it's not ladylike.

I told you to stop calling me that.

You also told me that the suicidal rumors were a mistake; forgive me if I'm uncertain on what to believe.

Har-har, Corrie, your a real riot.

"Your," it ought to be "you're" as everyone with half a brain knows. Oh, sorry, you're right; I shouldn't expect you to know that then.

Oh just shut up! But then you could never keep that fat mouth of yours shut, could you? Your such a little snitch, crying to this professor and that, can't do anything for yourself.

Says the girl with so little inside her head that she repeats grammar mistakes on which she was just corrected. Says the girl who told the entire school I was suicidal, homosexual, slutty, and too stupid to speak. Honestly, you're telling me to keep my mouth shut. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. I didn't have a thing with Professor Sprout overhearing you. Half the school heard you.

And all of the school read you're attack on poor Duke. Plus, he's a wolf not a dog.

Well the dog in the editorial was anonymous, so if Duke is actually a wolf it obviously isn't about him. But MS, really, he's no more wolf than you are a multi-animagus.

I'm more animagus than you.

It's illegal to become an animagus under the age of seventeen, idiot.

Like you could do it anyway.

That was a sentence fragment.

Bite me.

No thanks, according to some new reports, whore is contagious.

Oh, great comeback. (Note the sarcasm.)

Note the sentence fragment. Besides, why on Earth would I waste my good material on you?

Because I'm the only person who talks to you.

That's a sentence fragment, but I can't bring myself to care. Well, that's a lie; it's actually driving me insane. The thing is though; I have no comeback for that. Ah well, we'll see what happens at lunch. It'll be more interesting than Abby listing the "merits" of steak-and-kidney-pie. British people have weird tastes.

Hey, there are a bunch of owls outside. Huh, I wonder why. From what I can tell they're bearing letters from the Ministry. They don't look like the normal Letters of Death either.

-

There was an attack on the Daily Prophet's headquarters. There is no longer a Daily Prophet. Well, there is one; it's simply controlled by Voldemort. Freedom of press has been virtually abolished.

The thing is people are stupid; people are scared. People will believe what they read, which is right now controlled by Voldemort. Eventually he will sway them and Britain will fall.

I'm scared; I want Mom.