Disclaimer: Mary-Sue, Constantia, Becca, and their assorted "original characters" are mine, but I don't want them.
Summary: Mary-Sue Cartwright is a normal Hogwarts student who writes fanfiction about her favorite local celebrity.
Ravyn leaned in close to Harry and smiled at him. “I know she broke your heart love, but truly, it’s for the best.” She ran a hand through his silky locks, her golden eyes pouring into his own emerald depths. “There are new loves, after all.”
Mary-Sue’s quill scratched into the flimsy paper of her Muggle notebook, tearing short ink blotted strips from the page. As McGonagall strode past, she glanced up at her Transfiguration book and pretended to copy down a passage. She loved Transfiguration. McGonagall babbled on and on about theory and she was safe to write in peace, the hawkeyed professor never suspecting she was doing anything except taking notes. A small puddle of ink had pooled where she had let her quill rest and she blotted it with her real notes, frowning at it.
McGonagall made her way back to the front of the classroom. “Switching Charms are some of the most basic transfiguration you will be learning this school term, however they are also some of the most theory intense.” Mary-Sue’s heart did a leap and a flip-flop at that and tried not to grin as everyone around her groaned. As McGonagall turned to write on the board, continuing to lecture as she did so, Mary-Sue turned her head back to her story.
Her lips met his and she opened her mouth to the kiss, letting it deepen and purred into it as she felt him moan.
The hand around her waist tightened its grip on the fabric of her lilac dress.
“That was amazing,” he said as they broke apart, and she chuckled warmly.
Mary-Sue’s head jerked up.
“Now that you have returned to the classroom, would you please tell us the definition of a switching spell?” the professor said severely. She had her hands on her arms, and Mary-Sue gulped at her tone.
“Umm… well, they are… they are…” she trailed off.
McGonagall’s disapproving frown deepened. “Five points from Hufflepuff,” but the professor turned her attention to another student and Mary-Sue sighed with relief.
When McGonagall dismissed the class, Mary-Sue piled her books into her bag and tucked her notebook into her arms.
She meandered her way through the hallways to the Great Hall, barely noticing anyone around her. The halls were packed with students flooding in from all of their classes, and she bumped and jostled her way along, imagining the next scene of her story. She loved writing. It was so much more exciting than the every day where she was nobody, a Hufflepuff forth year that no one had ever heard of, with a few silly friends and a few silly stories.
Mary-Sue Cartwright had a brown braid while Ravyn Hunter had waves of silky black tresses. Mary-Sue had muddy eyes, while Ravyn had laughing golden orbs. Mary-Sue was tall and clumsy, while Ravyn was statuesque. Mary-Sue hovered at the bottom of her class, too busy with her story for little things like notes and classes, while Ravyn soared to the top, even over the brilliant Hermione Granger, without even trying. Mary-Sue was a lowly forth year, but Ravyn was a grand sixth year, just like Harry Potter. Mary-Sue liked Ravyn so much better than she liked herself.
Constantia and Becca were waiting for her when she slid in between them, their own notebooks already out. Yvonne, Katrina, and Ravyn were the best of friends, because their authors were. Even if Katrina had graduated and was touring
Mary-Sue stared longingly over at the Gryffindor table as the other girls wrote. “Do you think he’ll ever notice me?” She asked.
It was a mark of how strong their friendship was that Becca didn’t even need to ask who she meant. “Of course he will, eventually.”
But Mary-Sue wasn’t so sure. She had stood by him though all the vicious lies the press had told about him the year before, and had even stood up to the old fifth years of her house, a full two years ahead of her, for him, but he didn’t even know. Harry just gazed dreamily at Ginny Weasley as if she were the most perfect thing in the universe. It just wasn’t fair. They couldn’t all be the Quidditch playing freak sisters of Harry’s best friend. Ginny Weasley probably never wrote ten letters to the Daily Prophet to get them to stop spreading lies about Harry.
Mary-Sue had, and Ravyn had to, but Ravyn’s eloquent letters actually did something, and Harry actually thanked her for her help.
Constantia flicked at a dust mote with her quill. “You could always use a love potion; you just slip it in as you walk past.”
“But love potions are so… sordid, I want him to fall in love with me on his own.”
Gilderoy Lockhart had fed Yvonne a love potion, because he knew he couldn’t have the virtuous school girl any other way, but when it had worn off, she realized she loved him without it. Constantia didn’t think love potions were sordid at all. She thought they were terribly romantic.
“Well, at least he doesn’t hate you, it could be worse.”
“No it couldn’t, he doesn’t even know I’m alive!”
Becca patted her hand gently, and Mary-Sue resolved to actually talk to Harry after she had finished eating. She resolved this every day, and she sighed dishearted, knowing that she wouldn’t really do it. She didn’t have the courage. She didn’t have a famous actor for a father like Raven’s who had taught her how to be sultry and attractive, or a famous naturalist for a mother who could teach her secret courtship rituals she had stolen from the animals. No, she was stuck with an engineer and a paralegal.
Constantia and Becca were lucky. They didn’t have to see the love of their life every day doting on another girl. They didn’t know how lucky they were. All they could do was moan about how they never got to see Lockhart and Krum at all, and how she should be glad that at least she went to school with Harry, so she had a chance.
But she didn’t have a chance, really, and so it was just harder seeing him every day. Mary-Sue pushed herself away from the table and marched up to
Of course not.
Harry, Weasley, and Granger walked past her as she leaned against the wall next to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Her courage failed and she couldn’t think of anything to say, so as Harry whispered the password, she gave a warm, low, enticing chuckle.
As the portrait closed behind them, Ron turned to Harry. “Girls here are strange, aren’t they?”
“Yeah,” Harry said bewilderedly.