The Saga Of Celestielle Midnyte Starr

One day, an eleven-year-old witch named Anna received the letter which all young witches and wizards get when they are eleven: the letter telling her she "had a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." She had been looking forward to this day all her life and it was with great excitement that she went to Diagon Alley with her mother (who was also a witch) to buy her school things . . .

I'd just started typing a new "Harry Potter" fanfic, when a young girl suddenly appeared in my room. And she looked decidedly pissed off.

"Who are you?" I asked, wondering how the hell she got in here when the door was closed.

"Your character," she replied, looking at what I'd already written. "And you're doing that all wrong. I don't want a boring name like Anna! I want a really cool name like . . . Celestielle Midnyte Starr!"

"No!" I told her. "Celestielle Midnyte Starr is a stupid name for Mary Sues! You're called Anna."

She pouted like some little kid who couldn't get her own way and stamped her foot on the floor. "Then I don't want to be in your stupid story!"

I sighed. "Fine. Have it your way. But don't blame me when people call you a Mary Sue."

OK, start again.

One day, an eleven-year-old witch named Celestial Midnight Star . . .

That's as far as I got before our precious little madam pulled me up short. "That's not how you spell my name!" she snapped, elbowing me away from the computer. (For an imaginary character, she had remarkably sharp elbows!) But, anyway, she then changed "Celestial Midnight Star" to "Celestielle Midnyte Starr" and proceeded to type the following:

One day, an eleven-year-old witch named Celestielle Midnyte Starr received the letter which all young witches and wizards get when they are eleven: the letter telling her she "had a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Celestielle was the most beautiful witch that ever lived. She had long black hair, hair which was as black as a raven's wing, as black as ebony, as black as the sky on a dark night, as black as a panther's fur, as black as onyx. It was so long it came right down to her waist and it had the texture of silk. Her eyes were really unusual; they could change colour according to what mood she was in. If she was calm, they were blue like sapphires. If she was angry, they turned a brilliant ruby red and they glowed. She was also tall and had curves in all the right places.

"Excuse me," I said. "How many eleven-year-olds do you know with "curves in all the right places"?"

"Oi!" she shot back. "Stop trying to stifle my creativity, you bitch!"

"Ahem! This is supposed to be MY story and you're supposed to be a character in it! Now, go away and let me write it the way I want!"

She pouted again, looking more like a petulant child than ever. Then again, that's exactly what she was, a spoilt brat who wanted everything her own way. She continued typing as if I hadn't spoken.

Celestielle always wore the coolest clothes. Her favourite outfit consisted of a black t-shirt with the word "Babe" embroidered on the front in silver thread, a denim skirt with a big black belt and a pair of black boots. She also wore three earrings in each ear. She was the coolest girl in the world . . .

The next twenty paragraphs were more of the same: waffle about what Celestielle looked like, what clothes she wore . . . and so on. This was beginning to look less like a "Harry Potter" fanfic and more like some dross about a hideous little brat with a name no sane parents would bestow upon their child. Then came the following:

Celestielle was Harry Potter's long-lost twin sister. She had been snatched from her pram when she was a baby, which is why she was not with Harry and his parents when Voldemort attacked them. But the people who snatched her were even worse to her than the Dursleys were to Harry. They made her do all the chores, gave her barely any food and used to hit her all the time. Then, when they found her letter from Hogwarts, they told her she couldn't go and burned the letter.

I looked at that last paragraph. "So, let me get this straight. We've got a character with abusive guardians who starve and hit her? And we're expected to believe she wears cool clothes and has "curves in all the right places"? And as for her being Harry Potter's long-lost twin sister . . ."


"Where in the books does it say ANYTHING about Harry having a sister?" I demanded. I had read all seven books from cover-to-cover, so I knew Harry did not have any siblings. To be perfectly honest, I was starting to regret starting this stupid story; if I'd known the main character was going to come to life and start acting like this . . .

"That's what every other author does," a certain brat informed me. "If you make up your own character, she has to be Harry's sister."

"Well, I'm not every other author!"

She ignored me and carried on typing:

But Celestielle decided to run away from home and go to Hogwarts anyway. So she packed all her things and Apparated to London. Even though she had no formal magical training and was also underage, she could already Apparate perfectly and she knew lots of other cool spells as well. When she arrived in London, she went to King's Cross and soon found her way onto Platform Nine-and-three-quarters. As she walked onto the platform, she saw the bright red Hogwarts Express getting up steam and could hardly contain her excitement. She was about to go to the best wizarding school in the world!

Soon, it was time to get on the train, so Celestielle did so. As she boarded, all the boys stared at her, all of them wanting to get her alone at the first opportunity. And all the girls looked angry, as though they were jealous because she was such a beautiful and talented person. But Celestielle ignored them - she did not care what a bunch of jealous bitches thought of her - and marched down the train with her nose in the air.

She found a seat in one of the compartments and sat down. Deciding a bit of music might help make the journey go quicker, she took out her iPod and selected the Amy Winehouse song "Rehab". She . . .

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" I said, cutting her off before she could type another word. "The "Harry Potter" books are set in the Nineties - iPods weren't around in those days and nor was Amy Winehouse. Besides, it's an established fact in the books that electronic devices don't work if there's too much magic in the air."

"And," I added, looking directly at the one who had usurped my place as the author of this story, "I'd like my story back now, thank you!" With that, I pushed her out of the way and began to type once again:

Please ignore everything that was written in the last few paragraphs.

Celestielle, who was a perfectly ordinary eleven-year-old witch and was not Harry Potter's long-lost twin sister, got on the Hogwarts Express and found a seat in one of the compartments. As she sat there, she did not get out her iPod (because iPods hadn't been invented yet) to listen to music which wasn't even around when the events of the "Harry Potter" books took place. Instead, she looked out of the window, watching the world go by.

"Boring!" came a voice behind me. But I ignored it and carried on typing:

Not much happened on the journey to Hogwarts and, when the Hogwarts Express finally pulled into Hogsmeade Station, Celestielle got off the train with all the other students. Because she was a First Year, she and the other new students went up to the school in the boats with Hagrid, whom she found a bit frightening because of his beard and because he was so big.

Soon, Celestielle was in the Great Hall, waiting to be Sorted along with the other First Years. She watched as the other new students were called forward and the Sorting Hat was placed on their heads, where it called out: "Gryffindor!", "Hufflepuff!", "Ravenclaw!" or "Slytherin!" according to which House the kid belonged in. She wondered which House she would be in. And, then, came her turn . . .

"Starr, Celestielle Midnyte!" called Professor McGonagall.

Celestielle walked forward and sat down on the stool, as the Sorting Hat was placed on her head. A pause followed, before the hat shouted:


I was suddenly aware of a certain little so-and-so looking daggers at me. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" she demanded angrily. "I don't wanna be in Hufflepuff! Hufflepuff sucks! I wanna be in Gryffindor with all the cool kids!"

"No!" I told her sternly. "You're in Hufflepuff whether you like it or not!"

Damn! Now I've lost my place! Now, where was I . . .?

Anyway, Celestielle was sorted into Hufflepuff and she went to sit at the Hufflepuff table. She spent the rest of the start-of-term feast getting to know her fellow Hufflepuffs. They seemed like quite a decent bunch, actually, "just and loyal" like the Sorting Hat's song said. And, then, it was bedtime and the prefects came to show the First Years to their dormitories. Celestielle was feeling rather tired by now; it had been a long day and she longed to snuggle down in a soft bed.

The next day, classes began. Celestielle's first lesson was Transfiguration, where Professor McGonagall taught the class how to turn matches into needles . . .

"That sucks!" a whiny voice complained beside me. "I want to learn some cool magic, like how to turn someone into a pig!"

"No!" I told the owner of said whiny voice. "Turning someone into a pig is too advanced for a witch who's only been at Hogwarts for two days."

"But turning matches into needles isn't cool!"

"Look." I was beginning to get REALLY sick of this brat by now and was sorely tempted to kill her off in the next few paragraphs; that should put an end to her constant whining and bitching. "You are a character in this story and, like it or not, you are not special. Now, shut up and accept that you are going to have to learn a few basic spells before getting on to the "cool magic" as you call it."

"No!" And, with that, she elbowed me out of the way again.

One day, Celestielle was in the Library when she came across a book full of really cool spells. So, just for fun, she decided to try one of these spells out to see what they would do. She waved her willow-and-phoenix-feather wand and shouted out the incantation:

"Meus invincibilius!"

There was a bright flash of light and Celestielle was suddenly transformed from an eleven-year-old to a beautiful young woman with luxurious midnight black hair, eyes as blue as two brilliant sapphires and a figure to die for. And Celestielle was suddenly the most powerful witch that ever lived; she could use really advanced magic, which meant she got transferred into the Seventh Year and moved from sucky Hufflepuff to supercool Gryffindor. And she was also made Head Girl.

All the boys at Hogwarts suddenly fancied her (much to the disgust of the girls) and wanted to get her into bed. And, from that day forward, she was completely invincible and no-one (not even Dumbledore) could perform magic better than she could. She even managed to make it so that she was Harry Potter's twin sister, even though Lily and James had had no other children apart from Harry.

"Now, that is just bad," I said, frowning at the drivel that had just been typed on my computer. "That is the most unbelievable load of shit ever written!"

With that, I took my keyboard back and added the following:

But, then, Celestielle woke up in bed and looked down at herself to find that she was a perfectly normal eleven-year-old witch again. She was not an exceptionally beautiful young woman who knew more magic than even Dumbledore. And she was not Harry Potter's twin sister.

The stuff about finding a spell which made her beautiful, sexy and invincible had all been a dream.

"What the . . .?!" Our spoilt little madam looked absolutely furious. "How dare you spoil my story?!" She looked like she was about to throw the tantrum to end all tantrums; she actually grabbed an ornament from my desk and prepared to throw it. "And saying it was "all a dream" is totally stupid!"

"Well, what else could I do?" I asked, taking the ornament out of her hands. "What you wrote was completely unrealistic and made you into a complete Mary Sue."

She stamped her foot. "That's it! I quit this piece of crap! If you won't let me be what I want to be, I don't want to be in your stupid story at all! I'm gonna find myself another author!"

"Good," I told her. "I'm sure there are plenty of insane fangirls who'll be glad to write about a Mary Sue like you."