Vector and Sinistra are Dead

Sighing, I toss the upcoming weeks' call sheet onto the low table. Nothing new there then! This was officially the staff room at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or, as some of us have 'unofficially' nicknamed it, the headquarters for the S.A.U.C.F.

For those of you who don't know what S.A.U.C.F. stands for, then obviously you must be what we call a C.O.C. or F.O.C. Let me explain it a bit more clearly for you. My name is Vector; yes, that Arithmancy witch, an issue in itself, and one I will raise later. I am a member of The Society for the Appreciation of Underused Characters in Fandom. Although to be honest, most of us don't get a lot of work outside of Fandom either.

The Created Other Character, and the particularly disliked Fictionally Overused Character are the chosen ones. They are the ones who are favoured in Fandom, they are the ones who do more than give out homework, and they are the ones who get lines. All that my fellow society members and I do, for the majority of the time, is sit around this room playing games, devising new and interesting plots we don't get to participate in, and... well, waiting.

Waiting. That was the bit I hated most about this existence: the fact that I was subject to the will of others. Something that I wasn't especially happy about, and a feeing that was echoed among other society members. A well-educated, logical, and still-youthful woman like myself shouldn't be as under-appreciated, and almost redundant, as I am at the moment. Apart from one or two instances, my only involvement in the World of Wizardry, and Hogwarts, has been to stay firmly entrenched as a background artist. It seemed that the only things I was ever to be used for were handing out homework assignments, or being classed as the teacher of the subject Hermione likes best. My personal peeve, however, was being addressed as 'that Arithmancy Witch'. I mean, come on, what were they thinking, leaving a fully-fledged, fully functioning, (and if I do say so myself) very attractive witch lying around like a spare part for an out-of-date car?

Take, for instance, last month. In the whole thirty days I had only five lines, and all of those had included the words 'why', and the overworked and underpaid: 'homework'. It was all so very mundane and ordinary, about as original as Snape the greasy-haired git being redeemed by the no-nonsense new teacher, or dramatically clutching his arm in agony at least once a week. I mean, who in their right mind would want to get close to that head of hair? The smell alone would put you off from the start. Considering the amount of noxious potions he is continually brewing, and, when he gets the time, depraved acts he participates in, it amazes me how he seems to find the energy for random sexual acts. Well, okay there was that one time, that he and I...well, you know! In my defence, however, I will say it was a bet and I have to admit it was nice to get out of the staff room, corridor, or Great Hall for a change, even if it had entailed belly dancing.

As for physical appearances in fan fiction, well, I had done a little better there than in the original source. I had won the 'Wow, I've made it out of the staff room!' pot for the second time in a row. It was all due to a slightly inappropriate relationship that I had been scheduled to witness one night while getting some hot chocolate from the kitchens. Though what a witch like myself would be doing at two-thirty in the morning roaming around Hogwarts is something that, in my opinion, should have been attributed to something more scandalous and exciting than cocoa!

But anyway, back to the original subject. Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley were having a very passionate and vocally erotic session on my desk! I was shocked, to say the least. I mean, it was the beginning of term and I didn't want to have to clean whatever erm, mess was going to be left on it after the scene I had just witnessed. I had toyed with the idea of disregarding the plot and letting them go at it like busy bunnies, with personal permission to continue their...get-together on my desk. The stipulation being that one of them had to get me that Creevey kid's (someone who for some reason gets quite annoyed that writers seem to think he is gay, and make him go around kissing guys) camera so that I could take pictures. Draco Malfoy was certainly...endowed. Good thing I'm not a house elf, or I'd be ironing my hands for weeks with that one, although the pictures would fetch quite a bit in the bi-annual staff auction. But then they would never put something like that in the script, wink wink!

I mean, Hell, couldn't they have used Sinistra's tower like everyone else? Then again, it must be getting a little crowded up there, with all the secret rendezvous that no other place is deemed suitable for. In all good grace, the writers have to be given their due. They were at least trying to be original, on one point, but please someone, give me strength; though probably by the looks of that position, the pair of them could use some as well. At my age, (no, not going to give it away that easily, ladies and gentlemen,) at my age, I'd like to think I had seen and done a lot in many varied and interesting ways. I haven't always been confined to spend long hours regarding these four walls: my life before J.K.Rowling had been a lot more exciting.

But again, I'm getting a little sidetracked. Let me return to Draco and Ginny and their, erm... attempt at performance art. Now, taking all of the previously discussed factors into account, even with the help of pain reducing drugs, the gift of double jointed-ness, and a very dextrous partner there is no way I could do that! Well, not in the particular way that they had been told they must. They're younger, yes, but they would need to have the flexibility of chewing gum, the knowledge of the gods, or at least the dexterity of I-love-sex-any-way-I-can-get-it Sirius Black (a man who, even when he is dead, gets more action than I do), to be able to do that!

Sinistra. I call her Sinistra because, like me, she hasn't as yet been given the courtesy of a first name. Not a lot to ask, is it Ms. Rowling? You would think after the things we have had to do, we would at least get that honour. I know, I'm sort of fixated on this point, and there are people worse off than me, but it's an identity thing, you know? Take, for instance, Blaise Zabini, who, at the moment, is of indeterminate sex. Which often works out quite well for him...or her; it allows a lot more opportunity for utilization within plots. Privately, however, I will disclose that it has caused interesting problems in the dressing rooms, and that is as much as I'm going to say on that one! We are in polite company after all. I don't blame him (or her); it would drive anyone towards schizophrenia and a sexual identity crisis. Who wants something as important as that left hanging? Or not, as the case might be.

Sinistra and I have formed a theory about the Astronomy Tower, given the fact that it seems at times to have almost the entire courting population of Hogwarts holed up within its walls. Sinistra, one day over mid-afternoon tea and bourbons, commented that all the making out and soul searching that went on in her classroom, when not disrupting her lessons, seemed to cause underage pregnancy, an excuse for detention, and the unexplained appearance of Severus Snape in her classroom. She said that it was all highly unusual, and very entertaining for those that liked reading that sort of thing. But Severus, as far as she could remember, had hardly ever spoken a word to her; so why he should take it upon himself to stop his dastardly deeds and emerge from his dank smelly dungeons was beyond her comprehension.

Admittedly, she did remark upon that one instance when they had done more than talk and pass each other in the hallways. In her defence, she said that it was only because I had told her that he liked her, and she didn't want to have to go into that embarrassing situation, thank you very much. It seemed she hadn't forgiven me for that one, even when I pleaded author manipulation and plot device. She had shrugged my apology off rather angrily and told me I should have more respect for her integrity, wittily adding that when on God's green earth was she supposed to sleep with all that activity going on?

The alternate universe/time-line/reality theory formally known as the 'Black Hole in another big cross-gendered worm-hole theory' was the work of many hours away from nail filing, crosswords, and indoor bonk-busting. Bonk-busting was a name for a two-fold game we had devised. First, we would try to predict the next couple to have amorous relations; second came the more interesting part. Once we had a winning combination, we would put their names up on a board. The point system we use, however, is a bit more complicated to explain. Points were awarded for correct location, time of day, caught in the act by (insert name), involving animals, and whose desk/classroom/office (with extra points given if it happened to be yours), were involved. There are others, but I won't be tricked into giving all of our secrets away.

Alongside the 'official' marking system was the one the ladies of Hogwarts had devised for their eyes only. Well, Blaise was the exception because of the identity issue, but who could blame him (or her) for wanting the full picture? Not me. Okay, our 'unofficial' system works like this: the men get points for erm, length, breadth and stamina. Unusual positions and originality get a bonus, as does female vocal exclamations over the normal decibel rating. It's very informative for us, and it drives the men mad trying to guess why we keep on giggling when we look at their genital regions, or give them a sly wink and smile.

It was, however, slightly annoying if you never seemed to be able to get your leg over yourself, I mean the frustration is killing us; there isn't a beer mat or label left on anything. Gilderoy has even resorted to desecrating his carefully devised labels for his hair care product range, just after he had spent six weeks in one story designing the labels. At this very moment he is retrieving the bits from the bin, by hand, because no writer has given him his wand back yet. Apparently, according to Muggle physiologists, the destruction of beer mats and labels indicates sexual frustration; if that's the case then let's just say it's pretty rampant in this room! Sorry, I'm going off on a tangent again, but if writers actually wrote something for me to do then I might stop rambling so much. Right, well, back to the more popular theme of sex and relationships, and, more importantly, my overall participation in said situations.

There was that one time...okay, more than one time, with Professor Lupin, but I wouldn't exactly say that it was unbelievable or hilarious, and it certainly resolved the frustration issue. For a time at least anyway. It was a change to be seen as a sexually active, well-rounded person, and, for once, more than a last name. I mean, what does it take for a girl to get noticed around here? Peeves, Nearly Headless Nick, and even Aberforth Dumbledore's goat get more page time than Sini and me. Let me tell you, that last one (with the goat) struck all of us, even the most talkative, quite dumb for at least ten minutes. Hey, be nice, there isn't much we haven't seen or read; we have a lot of spare time on our hands you know. Although it puts a new slant on the phrase 'randy old goat' doesn't it?

Getting back to the Astronomy Tower theory, let me give you the basic points that without definitive proof can never be anything but unsubstantiated rumour; a discussion that gives us something to do besides reading the thousands of call sheets that hardly ever deign to give us a mention. Sometimes when I close my eyes I'm sure I see the names of Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort whistle past, just before I go off to dream of plots which feature more than my name on a seating plan. So far my personal favourite fantasies are: Sexy Sevy ravishing me on the table in the Great Hall, loving Lupin in our love nest, or for a much-needed change of pace, I defeat Voldemort with only my cutting rapier wit and little pinkie. Oh, yeah, and teach Arithmancy, something which hasn't exactly been explained to me in any great detail, but when asked I say it has something to do with numbers. Well, that's what it says in the various Internet resources, and Harry Potter guidebooks anyway.

Given the fact that Sinistra is actually supposed to educate the minds of the youth of Hogwarts, not much is really known about her lessons' objectives. Not a lot is known about Sinistra at all, really. It is highly amusing to see the fan fiction writer's imagination at work. The great variety of nationalities, ages, sexual tendencies, wands, eating preferences, and what it is we actually do, besides sitting at the teachers' table in the Great Hall, is the subject of much debate. Well, Sinistra did once try to break the mould by accepting the offer of a dance with Mad-Eye Moody, but then, she is always regarded as being a little more adventurous than me, belly dancing incident aside.

Although, again in her defence, she did disclose that for her part she did believe it was more a mix of bravery and stupidity than any attempt on her part to leave the rather uncomfortable wooden chair she was forced to use. As she remarked to me herself, it usually took far too long to warm it back up again once she had deserted it. Only now, was it nice and warm again after her brief but courageous sojourn with the oft-disgruntled ex-Auror. Personally, I think the dance had more to do with the seven shots of Vampire Vodka that preceded the bottle of wine she drank at the ball. Or maybe it had something to do with the whisper of a secret past relationship between the pair of them?

Gilderoy Lockhart has agreed to officially record our Astronomy theory on paper, sorry, parchment. You may now know that he has regained the ability to do joined-up writing. In his own words, he said that the task would give him a brief respite from designing hair-care products, answering fan mail, and wearing with greater frequency garish and gaudy dress robes. As he often announces with unrepentant regularity, he is most definitely an autumn, not a spring as everyone seems to assume. Personally, I think he is more of a ponce myself. That is probably due to the bitterness that stems from the fact that he at least has a first name and personality, but then again, would I even want one if it had to be like that? At least some of the people I spend my day with can claim 'never disclosed' or 'I'm an extra' instead of 'formerly-known-but- hell-now-I-don't-even-recognise-my-own-reflection-how-do-you-expect-me-to-remember-my-own-name?'

Biting my toast, I glance up from the rough draft of the aforementioned theory, and stop to listen to the disruption in the normally abandoned hallway outside the room. It seems someone is late for his or her walk-on role, something that will mean an extra box of smarties in the pot. Sinistra, Grubbly-Plank, Pince, myself and the unfortunate teachers of Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies who haven't as yet learnt which one of numerous last names they might actually be allowed to use, (or if they can evolve from their androgynous state) permanently participated in a monthly prize pot. Usually filled with Albus' sweets and chocolate, because there were only so many that the man can physically eat without having to be moved about by a forklift truck! I gave my last win to Sirius, because by the looks of him he needs feeding more than I do, or so everyone keeps on telling him. But as he said himself, it's a change from either having to have sex, (can't say I know much about that one) resurrect himself from the dead, devise pranks or, (God forbid,) as has happened a few more times than he likes, father a litter of puppies. (I praise God I don't have to know anything about that one.)

"Vector, Arithmancy witch, you've missed your first line."

Hearing that most wondrous phrase, I quickly abandon our theory planning to Sinistra. A person who now looks like she has been sucking a lot of those rather sour, fizzy, sweets that Albus persists in leaving around the staff room. Speech will make a nice change. Maybe it's the first wave of a change, and I'll finally get to participate in carnal activities in a deserted classroom or (God forbid) on the back of a broom.

Well a girl can dream, can't she?