Alrighty. First off, no flames, okay? Yes, this blatantly makes fun of all the Mary Sue fics that are out there. If you've written something like that and you're mad at me, it's your own damn fault for being repetitive.
And no flames about the Draco/Ginny. It may seem like I'm making fun of them together, but I'm not. Trust me, if you have read any of my stuff before, you know that I am the last person who would hate that couple. I'm just making fun of some of the ways I've seen people write them together.
And Then There Was One
It was a prophecy, that the One would come…that she, yes she, would bring the balance of light and dark to the wizarding world. Though she would almost certainly have a dark secret, because we all bloody well know that there wouldn't be a story if she didn't.
Many questions are yet to be answered. Does she hold the key to defeating the Dark Lord? Does she have the power to save the world? And most importantly: Is she single? This and many other questions will be answered. Let us pray that she we deliver our world from these dark times…
Harry's Journal, July 21
Well, another year's come and gone at Hogwarts. It's summer at the Dursleys again. I really don't like them but I'll be a good little boy and tough it out.
I've had some really weird dreams lately. They've all been about this girl. I can't really see what she looks like—hell, I don't even know if it's really a girl, or another feminine house-elf—but she's beautiful. She calls me to her with a siren song, a lovely voice. I'm doodling hearts all over my journal page—see?—and I can't stop thinking about her fuzzy, featureless face. She enraptures me.
Dudley's Diarie, July 23
Hedwig's Air Log, July 27
This kid is scaring the crap out of me. Every time I think about him, another pedestrian gets bombed.
Ron's Diary, August 5
Dumbledore's Pensieve, August 7
It is here. It walks through the halls, and has made friends with all of the teachers. I don't even know how It got here. Technically, term's not supposed to start for at least another month. I asked It once, and she said that she had no family to stay with. It was an orphan. Another damn orphan. How many of these freaks am I going to have to deal with?
Ginny's Diary, September 2
Oh, Lord. Here it comes. You know, I knew this was going to happen. I've been trying to catch Harry for a snog for five years now, and Miss Thing comes prancing up at the Sorting Ceremony. Sure, we had a couple of first-year celebrities in line for the Sorting Hat already—Harry's long-lost cousin, Draco Malfoy's twin sister that's just now been declared intelligent enough for education, and here comes this tall girl transferring from some Yank school with hair that's somehow even redder than mine—the way I was written in the books, I didn't think that was possible—NO freckles (beauty queens can't have freckles, can they? Nooooo), and purple eyes. The colors clash, but all the boys are smitten.
The Sorting Hat wanted to jump straight on her—and most of the assembled boys did, too—and took a very long time deciding what house she should be in. Of course he'd take a long time, seeing as he can look inside her head and get memories of her undressing. Raunchy bugger. Anyway, he for yelled her to be placed in Gryffindor. She'd have to be, 'cause that's the way all stories like this go.
And then there magically happened to be an empty seat right next to Harry Potter, who is one of the most popular and surrounded boys in the school. So she flounces over and sits just there. And Harry looks like he's ready to say his wedding vows right then and there. Or at least have his wedding night right then and there. Or hell, just have her at his bachelor's party.
Hermione's Diary, October 3
Oh hell, here it comes. She's hanging around us now. Usually it takes someone a couple of years to work up to our little social circle, but she flashes a couple of boys and they're suddenly her lap dogs. And the nerve! She tried to show me up in class today! It was in History of Magic and somehow everyone just happened to be awake for this. We were taking notes on famous witches and wizards, like always, and Professor Binns starts on about this woman who was a necromancer.
Well, Neville asks what a necromancer is—perfectly understandable, sweetie—and the professor looks right to me to answer. I think for a moment on how best to phrase to poor Neville, when suddenly Kaisa—or is it Katra?—jumps in and says, "Oh, it's perfectly all right that you don't know, Hermione." And then, if you please, she doesn't even give me a chance to respond when she details what a necromancer is, and how she's descended from a really famous one.
Like hell I don't know what a necromancer is. I know what everything that a spell check doesn't label misspelled is.
Draco Malfoy, October 13
I don't know what the hell she's on, but whatever it is, I want it. She's got everyone under her thumb. Boys flock to her and jostle around for a good look at her butt. You see her walking around and about ten boys with their noses two inches from her fanny. And it is a big butt too. If I didn't know better, I'd swear she was a hunchback.
And all the pathetic girls want to be her best friend. Even Moaning Myrtle, who doesn't flush her toilet for anybody, is all simpering smiles when Dania—Lavinia?—comes around.
Potty and Weasel are hooked, obviously. They follow her around like love-sick dogs. I'm sure they get a couple of licks now and then, too.
So why aren't I hooked? Simple: Ginny Weasley. She'd finally decided that she'd had enough of Prick Potter's pricky-prick ways and has come over to me now. Which is great—I've always secretly loved her, but never had the courage to say anything. She makes me feel deep. She makes me want to spout poetry and be nice to her brother and Potter. Or at least knock her up. She doesn't mind. She's made me a better person, which is really impressive considering that I've had such a crappy childhood and all.
Severus Snape, October 27
That titless little weasel dares to show me up in my classroom and try to make everyone think she knows better?
McGonagall's Log, November 4
By this time in every book, we've had a run-in with the Dark Lord by now. Of, course, She says his name without fear and goes about insulting him at the top of her lungs. And the first time he did come, she was incredibly heroic and battled him with nothing more than whipped cream, cherries, and a thong. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley and about half of the straight male population decided that she needed rescuing, and so they did so—for about half an hour. Needless to say, they were all very tired and didn't go to classes the next day.
And now Felicia—or is it Tricia?—has got some stupid idea that just about everyone in the staff body is her parent somehow. I don't know how the hell that is, unless we each contributed to that in some large, bisexual animalistic orgy.
Hermione's Diary, November 19
Well, it took two more rescues of Marcy…Darcia…oh, hell, I'll never learn it. It took two more rescues of What's-Her-Name before she finally got the hint that she was being a bother to everyone and went and left. I don't even care that she's gone to fight You-Know-Who. I don't like her and she can die. In any case, she'll probably charm the socks off "Voldie"—her disgusting little pet name for him—and he'll make her Queen of the Death Eaters or something.
Harry's Diary, December 1
It feels so right, being here by the one I love most…screw Ginny, I'd rather screw this girl. Isabella—all of her names are lovely—makes me feel all warm inside. I'm sure that she's the girl from my dreams. I told her, and she looked into my eyes and sighed happily. And we made out through the night.
Crookshanks, December 5
Hermione, I'm really sorry baby. Look—it's been great, but that girl is seriously creeping me out. Just the thought of her gets me peeing. Boom, that now-blonde head pops into my mind and I start whizzing.
Dobby knows not what's going on, diary, sir. Harry Potter's left, he's gone and left Dobby. Dobby thought he made Harry Potter happy, sir. Harry Potter and Weasley-Sir gave Dobby socks. SOCKS, dammit!
Crabbe, December 8
O, She doth teach the torches to burn bright.
Did my heart love 'till now?
Forswear it, sight,
For I ne'er saw true beauty 'till this night.
Dumbledore, December 24
That little prat's at it again. She saved the day, she did, and managed to get beaten up with five hundred bloody boys throwing themselves on top to protect her. And of course, each and every one of them tried CPR to save her—we don't even teach that in this school, how the hell do they know it?
A couple reported trying to use one of those special spells you read in the back pages of every self-respecting book. You know, the kind where you 'know he/she's your true love, and then when he/she's pretty much dead, you give her a snog and everything's ok again.' Bloody hell, Voldemort's using that somehow. Why won't he just DIE?
And Mary—Faerie—Jeanie—hell, I don't even care. What's Her Name is at it again. She's contracted some sort of disease and has been stuck in the hospital for some time now. Obviously nearly everyone in the school's worried about her, except the staff—they don't give a damn; she's got some hallucination that we're all her mummies and daddies. Just like those damn orphans, looking for parental figures everywhere and mucking everything up.
Ginny, December 25
Well, part of today—Christmas, dingbat, read the italics—was at least bearable. Draco-baby gave me a nice ring and a good snog. We roasted marshmallows over a makeshift fire and pretended that they were Renee's heads. Or Theresa. Whoever the hell she is now.
She's got all the boys wrapped around her little pinky. We get the latest version of her origin story every morning at breakfast. She's an orphan of course. Has to be. 'Cause nobody with parents is allowed to be sexy, right? And Voldemort wants her dead. I do too. I would really, really like her to die.
And so nearly every boy in school is getting her the most meaningful present they can. Most are lockets, or little puzzle boxes with engagement rings inside. Or something stupid like that. Draco-baby knows better. He just ups and proposes to me.
I said YES, of course. Why wouldn't I? I don't care about what my brother thinks, TRUE LOVE WILL PREVAIL—
Wait. Ron doesn't think anything about that—Harriet…Henrietta…that girl has got him thinking about nothing else than getting her in the sack. 'Course, she probably gives about a hundred blow jobs a night.
Mary Sue, January…um…wait. Shouldn't someone be doing this for me?
Oo, this is like, soooo exciting! Like, I've got a bunch of boys that will do anything—any position—I want. And isn't Harry cuuute, with that wild hair, and those REALLY, like, green eyes? Glad he's filled out a lot more and got better glasses, 'cuz nobody liked those!
But Ron's like, cute too! Freckles and that cute little nose! And red hair! But, like, who should I choose? Harry or Ron? I wanted that Draco guy, 'cause of the whole bad boy thing, but he's really very sweet, I've never seen him like that but I just KNOW IT! But he's off with that little whore Ginny. Dirty slut. She doesn't like me—she can rot in hell. And can SHE morph? Hah! Didn't think so.
So, like what should I do? Should I go after Voldie again and get like, really hurt and have all the boys make me feel better? Or should I stick around and wait for him to come for me—you know he wiiiiilll! Everyone always does! 'Specially him, 'cause he's the only one that knows my big, BAD secret. It's so secret, sometimes even I don't know!
Oh, that Voldie. He just needs a friend.
Voldie, er, that is Voldemort
Oh, the potion's almost ready. I just added the final pinch of bones, hair, skin and eyeball necessary to make Harry Potter my slave! Getting that one last ingredient was easier than I thought.
She thought she was getting into a hot tub with me.
Hope you liked. I almost didn't write this, but after reading a really BLATANT Mary Sue yesterday, it stiffened my resolve.
My apologies to those that are offended—don't be. This was all in good humor. I hope.