Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Yes, this is a rewrite. No, it is not the same as the original. Otherwise, why would there be a rewrite?

In Which People Are Replaced

Quiet is a relatively simple word. The word is very nice, normally, and is sometimes all that we really need. It means the 'lack of sound.' So, quiet is a relatively simple word, with a relatively simple meaning.

It was certainly quiet in the room. It was a rather dark room, at that. All the blinds had been shut, not even allowing the smallest amount of light to slip in, and even then, there wouldn't have been any light to slip in. The sun doesn't shine during the night, after all (unless you're in one of those places that's sunny all summer, including at night, but who's counting that?). The only light came from the faint glow of the computer screen, which featured a fanfiction account and what seemed to be the beginnings of a fanfiction on a Microsoft Word document.

Finally, after letting the melodrama build up for a bit (oh, you know it certainly to be melodrama – what else could it be?), a voice spoke up. It was a deep voice, gravelly, with undertones of- well, I'm sure the reader (you) gets the point. Better to describe things without slipping into purple prose. It's really so much easier to read. Anyway, the voice spoke. "Founda 'nother one."

"Really?" another voice replied, sounding absentminded through the dark, as if lost in a dream. In fact, the owner of said voice probably was lost in a dream, somewhere far, far away. But that's another story for another time.

And then, yet another voice spoke, and instead of an awesomely dramatic drama-y voice, it almost seemed like it was whining. "Can't we turn on the lights?"

"Can't," spoke the absentminded voice. The sound of a page turning was loud enough for the entire room to hear. Now, it is most likely that it's impossible to read in the dark without a flashlight, like this person seemed to be doing, but remember: characters are Speshul. Whenever they defy logic, it must be reminded that the characters are so obviously Speshul that this is ignored. (Of course, you might have special night vision. In that case, ignore that last sentence.)

"WHY?" said the whiny-and-now-frustrated voice. The description above of a page turning must have been so long that you've probably forgotten the original response. Can't say I blame you, honestly.

"Tried already. Didn't work. Power's gone out."

"Then how is the computer still-"

Focus on the plot, man. Focus on the plot.

"Ah. Yes. Forgive me. So, ahem, what were we talking about again?"

There was a distinct grinding noise¸ recognizable of someone gritting and grinding their teeth. "You don't – ah, ferget about it." There was a clicking sound, and obviously, the clicking sound came from the sound the mouse makes when it clicks the word 'Submit.' "I'll tester without you people."

Bang. Bang. Bang.

For those of you who vaguely recognize the sound, good for you. It can be the sound of many things, like a hammer or a herring, but in this case, is a fanwriter banging her head against a desk, a phenomenon commonly known as headdesking. Very painful, but it does wonders for the mind. Namely, leaving you utterly confused and dazed for at least a few minutes. Of course, this only works for a select few people. Most of the time, it just hurts. I should know, I've tried it a few times, and it hurts quite a bit. Though, really, if you're determined and/or insane enough, it doesn't matter whether it works or not. You'll think it works, and that's very often enough. Well, except for the fact that you'd be left with a pretty bad headache. Which, as I've pointed out, is a bad thing.

Bang. However, this writer happened to be one of the select few people who were completely fine after a headdesking. She stared wistfully at the desk one more time before turning away. It wouldn't do for her to give herself a concussion or permanent brain damage, which surely is quite possible.

The source of her frustration? A litmus test. Or, to be a little more clear, a Mary Sue litmus test.

Let's say you're a newbie. A rookie. An inexperienced hand. And so on, and so on. You're new to fanfiction, you're new to writing, and you might even be new to reading in the first place (I certainly hope not). But you like the idea of having an account on fanfiction dot net. So you get your account, you get your creative mindset, and you write. And then you look at other people's fanfics. Some are good (like you hope yours will turn out), and you envy these fics. Some are average (like you think yours will turn out). Then you see the atrociously bad (like you desperately refuse to contemplate your writing would turn out). You look at the reviews, and you shudder, happy that it isn't you that's being quite happily flamed.

Then you realize that it could be you. After all, you're a new writer, aren't you? No writing experience at all, and by the time you actually get some, you could be flamed, multiple, multiple times. You hurriedly look up what makes up a bad fanfic. And, at the very top of the list, is the words "MARY SUE." You're curious, so you look it up. The definition is too horrible for words. And surely, you don't want a Mary Sue, right?

Now, this is only a little example of what could happen. Maybe you simply write by your own rules. Or you ignore good writing completely and just write what you want. But this 'what if' happened to the mentioned fanwriter. She found all litmus tests confusing. Now, if she wasn't a newbie (a new writer, a rookie, whatever), she would have known that most litmus tests were contradictory in some way or form, claiming some very well-liked canon characters to be Mary Sues. Unfortunately, she didn't know that, and so, fortunately, set forward the plot.

She had been extremely careful to make her OC not a Mary Sue. But somehow, she had failed all of those litmus tests. She ran through every single one of her original characters. One of them was "too unexciting." After she fixed that, it became "has no emotional scars." The character happened to be confined to the asylum, suffering from various mental illnesses, and had a habit of laughing maniacally every two seconds. How was that 'no emotional scarring?'

She didn't know. She wasn't even sure if she still cared. Bang. She knew she really shouldn't be banging her head on the desk (it wasn't that healthy) but it was ever so relaxing.

As she brought her head up for another headdesk, she noticed her bedroom door was wide open. She frowned, thinking she could've sworn that she shut it. She shrugged, and decided she must have forgotten, as she often forgot things.

"Excuse me!" sang a voice like chimes.

The fanwriter gave a start. When all remained quiet, she settled down again, stealing a furtive glance to the side, and finally, she shook her head. "Maybe I really did damage my brain…" she pondered aloud.

"No you didn't!" sang out the voice like chimes, tinged slightly with annoyance.

"AHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-mmrph," said the author, cut off by a hand across her mouth. She turned her head.

A figure in a dark (flowy, midnight black, shimmering, dramatic) cloak had appeared. In an amused (pretty, gorgeous, fantastic) voice, the figure asked, "Are you done?"

The writer had finally forced the hand away (it had actually taken quite a bit of effort – although the hand was soft (as soft as very silky silk) and daintily shaped (like a dainty, delicate lily), it seemed to also be made of iron (hard, dense…more hard)). And no, she wasn't in awe of the lightning-fast reflexes of the figure, or in surprise of having a hand slapped on her face. Instead, her first reaction was, "How the hell did you get into my room?" Which is, indeed, perfectly normal – and if not normal, understandable (and if not understandable, plausible) - reaction.

"I have my ways."

The window was wide open.

The writer realized this, and she narrowed her eyes. "You climbed through my-"

"Enough of that!" said the figure cheerfully. The hood fell back, revealing a beautifully pale face, with skin like ivory and cream, with a hint of rose petals. The eyes were as blue as the sky and possibly even bluer, for what sky is bright sapphire? Dark, midnight black, raven, silky locks of hair framed the dainty white ivory face (my, my, doesn't somebody overdose on purple prose), and with her beautiful plush rose-colored lips, she spoke. "I-" the figure paused for a dramatic pause – "I can help you."

The writer slowly eased her chair away. "Yeah…" she eyed the figure thoughtfully, as if wondering if she could possibly escape and/or call the police. Unfortunately, her backpack (that would have made a great battering ram) was downstairs, along with her cellphone. No help there. The figure laughed, with her chime-like voice. Calmly, the writer got up out of her chair, and backed up in the direction of the door.

"Oh, you don't need to do that," pouted the figure with her beautiful rose-colored lips, striding forward.

"You're a Sue," the writer said flatly, looking over her shoulder for something pointy and stabby.

Unfortunately, there was nothing to be found. All the toy swords (made of plastic, wouldn't work quite that well) and toy guns (now, really, you could injure someone with those, you know, with a nice big swing) were located either in her brother's room, or scattered on the floor downstairs. Wait, but her scissors…were in the drawer behind the Sue. Crap. "Correct!" The figure placed a delicate white hand on the writer's shoulder, smiling sweetly. Immediately, the writer's eyes glazed over. "Now, let's get to work re-writing those stories of yours, shall we?" The writer mechanically nodded.

Once upon a time, there were four people. Two girls. Two boys. They grew up together, and together, they made a magical castle. For a time, all was well. And then – well, and then…

…They had a hissy fit and broke up with each other.

But let's focus on that magical castle. Which also happened to be a magical school. Which also happened to be named Hogwarts.

Hogwarts. Hoggy Warty Hogwarts. Ring a bell here?

Yes? No? I'll assume you said yes. Because if there was no bell to be rung, you wouldn't be here, anyway. You can not know about this series unless you know the name Hogwarts.

Anyway, in this magical castle/school, a boy was rather groggily walking through the hallways, past magical talking portraits, past the staircases – whoops, almost stepped in that trick step there – down, down down down, until he arrived at his destination. Once there, he gave another of the very many yawns he had been giving throughout the morning, rubbing his eyes. "Good morning," he greeted, to the first person he saw in the Great Hall.

It happened to be a rather skinny girl, pale and freckled, seated right in front of the silver platter of sausages. "Oh, good morn-" she froze as she looked up. Then, asking politely, "Were you talking to me, by any chance?"

The boy blinked. "Ummm… yes?" He wasn't quite fully awake yet, due to the fact that staying up until near midnight did not help you at all when attempting to get up at a reasonable time in the morning, but he was relatively sure that he was indeed talking to the girl. That, or the shiny, shiny blue glowing sausages behind her. Wait a sec…

"YES!" squealed the girl, as she grabbed her bag and speeded away, Squeeing (because it was obviously squee-worthy) all the while.

Another blink. The boy turned his head and spoke to the person that had just sat down next to him. "Hello. You saw that, right? Did I say something, er, offensive?"

The girl looked at him blankly. "Harry," she said slowly, as if speaking to a very young child. "You're famous. What exactly did you expect?"

Harry Potter, for that was who he was, shrugged, and started liberally applying some jam to his toast. "I thought the Potter fan club already ended."

"Apparently not." Hermione (for that was who the girl happened to be) shook her head. "It's a little sad…"

Kyla Tansmit was a happy, happy girl. She happily skipped into the happy Gryffindor Common Room, where she happily sat down on her favorite happy armchair.

Well, now that we've established how happy, happily happy she is, I believe it really is time to get to why she is happy. I'm sure at least some of you (yes, I do mean you) are somewhat curious.

The Golden Trio were famous (or infamous, your mileage might vary) throughout Hogwarts. Many had heard the tale of the Philosopher's (or Sorcerer's – pesky cross-country things, couldn't they stick to one title?) Stone: one of them bravely sacrificing themselves to a knock on the head by a giant pawn (or queen – or was it a bishop, a rook, possibly something else - nobody was really that sure), another one figuring out a riddle (that sounded a lot less badass now that she actually thought about it, but still), and the last, and most famous, facing down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (personally, Kyla thought that happened to be naming him anyway, but whatever). Then there was the Chamber of Secrets, and a giant basilisk. After that came a close encounter with mass murderer Sirius Black. Needless to say, even some of the upper-years were somewhat impressed with these three now-fourth years.

Meaning the first and second years were utterly, utterly adoring and devoted.

Sure, some of them hadn't really had the time to hear anything about the tales of the Boy-Who-Lived and his friends, but the third years quickly fixed that problem. And of course, there were all the rumors floating around that Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger did even more than that. They ranged from a hippogriff tattoo to the slaying of twelve dragons. And of course, there was the rumor that Weasley liked Granger, Granger liked Potter, and Potter liked Weasley. Personally, Kyla didn't care for a pairing like that, but the third year girls rather liked the idea. She wasn't quite sure why now that she thought about it, and when she asked, they giggled and said something about 'slash' and 'how romantic'. Their explanation confused her quite a bit, even more than the thing that needed explaining. But she was sure there must be a reason somewhere.

Anyway, the reason why she was so happily happy was the fact that she actually spoke to two of the Golden Trio. One of the two was actually going to help her on homework! And the other said 'Good morning!' In Kyla's mind this was a happy, happy thing. Granted, she hadn't seen Weasley yet, but still! It was the thought that counted. Now exactly what the thought counted for, she wasn't exactly sure, but it had to be important.

Some other highlights of the start of her very nice Saturday was the fact that she actually got to the Great Hall, without getting lost even once. This was a very wonderful thing. Yes, Kyla was a second year, and therefore, should be able to know where to go, but for some strange reason, everything changed. Portraits weren't where they were supposed to be, stairs changed when they weren't supposed to, and, once, instead of leading into the Astronomy Tower, it had lead her into… somewhere…with snow. This perplexed her since, really, she was still inside the castle. Kyla had to wait for search parties, or else, as the Prefect solemnly put it, "you would be found four months later, two years older, and babbling in some strange unknown language." There was even more things (she still woke up with nightmares about them), and more dangers, but she had mostly forgotten what they were.

Of course, the other highlights included a very nice breakfast and the fact that, with a bit of fuss, she had finished all of her homework on Friday, which she was never quite able to do. Meaning she was free to enjoy her weekend.

There were some other things too, like the chance to fly a broom, but those other things were rather pathetic achievements, that, although it made Kyla happy, she did realize that they were a little pathetic and sad.

Anyway, her nice, rather normal looking barn owl (she named him Aves) had brought her a note yesterday. Kyla had been a little too busy with homework to notice, but now, she brought out the slightly crumpled, slightly yellowing scroll, and carefully untied the faded black ribbon.

My dear Kyla,

It's really been a while since I've last seen you, hasn't it? You know what? I'll meet you tomorrow. At the Owlery. Somewhere around noon? I hope that's okay with you.

Please see that you sneak some food, because I hear that 'somewhere around noon' is also lunchtime. We'd both be starving, and I really wouldn't be able to write us some lunch. Writing at Hogwarts doesn't materialize like it should. Quite annoying.

There were some blotches of ink splattered after these words, and a dried brown substance that looked suspiciously like blood. Kyla gulped, and tried to continue reading. Finally, after looking past the blotches and splatters, which covered a very large section of the paper, there was legible text again.

Erm, what was I going to say? I can't seem to remember…

Another big splash of ink and/or blood.

Ah, yes. I've got a little surprise for you. I'd write it here, but it'd lose a lot of its 'surprise' factor. You'll get it when you go to the Owlery.


Master (or alternatively, Avriel Larkspur, or even more alternatively, Master Larkspur. I think I like the sound of that last one)

Kyla chuckled weakly. There just had to be something wrong. Had to be. Master's personality was obvious through the letter. But she never spilled quite that much ink. That rust-brown substance… (was hopefully ink… hopefully…)...

There went her perfect day. Of course, it really was a little early for her to be pointing out what was perfect and what wasn't.

She sighed, and began unpacking her bag. Probably going to need it later.

And so, this was how Kyla came to be sitting on the steps of the Owlery, waiting with a sack full of food. Waiting anxiously, nervously – she half-expected Master to be dripping blood when she arrived.

"Hello, Kyla."

"D – oh, hi." Kyla bit back the scream that was going to come out, and arranged her expression in a polite smile. She, ever so carefully, began taking out some food out of the sack: a few flagons of pumpkin juice, butterbeers, a picnic ham, a salad, potatoes, some cream puffs. She had to give up a few Galleons to the Weasley twins to find out where the kitchens actually were (it was rather difficult to do that. Every second year had a near-instinctive lesson drummed into their heads: stay away from the Weasley twins. Percy Weasley had, rather pompously, drilled that in last year. "Or you will end up sprouting feathers, being hung out of a window, and the like," he had explained), but it wasn't very advisable not to do what your author told you to do.

Master (or apparently Master Larkspur) sat down quite calmly on the floor. "Well?" she said, giving a little gesture. "I'm not going to have you go to the trouble of getting all of this just for you not to eat!"

Kyla hesitated, and gingerly sat down, loading a plate with a few slices of ham and the potatoes. She avoided the salad. Both she and the Master didn't really like salad, or vegetables at all, really. In fact, the only reason why she brought salad is because it was something green, and everyone had some form of vegetable at a meal. Master, instead of eating, was looking rather critically at the stone floor. "That won't do," she muttered, and snapped her fingers. The floor instantly turned pink and rather fluffy. While it was comfortable, it was odd, to say the least. Kyla inched slowly toward the reassuringly gray and hard wall.

"Anyway," Master beamed, clasping her hands together. "It's absolutely wonderful to see you, dear Kyla!"

All right. There was definitely something off about this. "Er, it's nice to see you too?"

"Yes, yes, yes," Master waved her arms dismissively. Then she leaned closer, spilling an open flagon of pumpkin juice. Kyla couldn't help watching the orange liquid spill over, seeping into the pink fluffy floor. "Now about that surprise…" She gestured, again, behind her.

Kyla laughed nervously. Behind Master was, to put it quite simply, Kyla. But not just any Kyla. This Kyla had absurdly sparkly shiny chestnut hair, unlike Kyla's normal dark brown. This Kyla had eyes bluer as the sky (like sapphires), when Kyla had gray ones (and no, not steel gray, or silver, it was actually a rather soft, dull gray). This Kyla was extremely pretty. This Kyla wasn't freckled or out of shape or anything like Kyla. She was un-Kyla-ish as any Kyla could be. The normal Kyla-like Kyla felt sick. She'd heard of this before, but she didn't think Master would actually write one.

Mary Sue.

"Umm, thank you," Kyla gulped. "What exactly is...it." She wasn't sure what to call a replica of herself. The natural way would be 'her' but that made Kyla rather uncomfortable, for reasons unknown to even herself.

Master smiled broadly. Kyla, only then, noticed the milky white eyes the Master possessed. It was like cream had been painted over her eyes. Thick, white, gooey, somewhat luminous, cream. "This, - (dramatic pause) – is your replacement, dear Kyla." And then she waited, as if she expected Kyla to be happy about this. Kyla was … not happy.

Kyla eyed the Mary Sue warily. "Umm…" She wasn't really sure what to say.

She was spared of having to make any conversation by Master continuing with her explanation. "You'll have a break for once," Master said, with a sweet smile. "Didn't you always say you didn't like doing the homework assignments? Now you'll never have to work again."

Another gulp. "Master," Kyla said slowly. "Do you realize what would happen if I don't do any work?" An original character without any work, without anything written, would, quite simply, disappear. Oh, if it wasn't a replacement, she would have existed, but she would be stopped in time, until the writer began to write about her again. But if there were no writings remaining…

"What's wrong?" Master tilted her head quizzically. "Work is bad, right? Wouldn't you rather be perfect and beautiful, with no work at all?"

At this, Kyla started to giggle. Giggling soon erupted into full-blown laughter. She was laughing, her ribs hurting, just laughing at her silly, silly Master. Although she very much wanted too, she couldn't stop. Did Master know what would happen if she stopped working? Probably not, because Master started laughing too. When Kyla finally stopped laughing, she asked, with narrowed eyes, "Have I made you unhappy, Master?" What had happened, to make her replace Kyla?

Master kept laughing through it all, tears gushing through her milky eyes. "Oh, Kyla, Kyla, Kyla! You're just so funny."

"I don't see what's so funny." Kyla felt empty. Completely and utterly empty. Was that what she sounded like too?

Apparently she did sound like that, because Master's grin froze. "Kyla," Master said, still pleasantly smiling, "don't." Then she frowned and peered intently at the potatoes. "Oh Kyla! You didn't bring any butter? I'm ashamed."


"No, no, it's okay. Did you bring any salt?" Now rather confused, Kyla fumbled with the opening of the sack and pulled out the salt shaker.

"Thank you!" Master exclaimed, grabbing it and adding some salt to the platter of potatoes, as if she had not just been talking about Kyla being deleted.

"Uh. You're… welcome?" Kyla was thoroughly, thoroughly baffled. She began backing away slowly, toward the direction of the door. Maybe she should try and get Madame Pomfrey…

"Oh, and Kyla? Before you leave, have a cream puff." Master cheerily tossed the aforementioned pastry at Kyla's face. It landed with a splat, right between Kyla's eyes. For a split second, Kyla stared, cross-eyed, at the whipped cream and dark chocolate dripping down from her forehead. Abandoning all subtlety, Kyla ran for the door.

A wand pointed directly at her throat. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," the sparkly version of Kyla intoned dully. "Master wouldn't be happy if you left before you got the complete message."

"Complete message?" Kyla chanced a glance at Master. Master was currently examining a slice of ham, the platter brought close to her face. She snapped her fingers, and the ham separated into little, tiny, perfectly square, pieces.

Master stuffed one of the pieces inside her mouth. After she had swallowed, she nodded. "Yes, complete message. You will need to leave."


Master frowned. "Oh, don't be such a parrot," she snapped. "Yes, I mean leave. Or I will personally see to it that you die. Got it?"

Kyla shut down her impulse to repeat 'Die?' (like a parrot) and instead asked a different question. "What about my sister?" Yes, Master had written her a sister. While she really didn't have all those nice sibling memories downloaded in her mind yet, apparently she had still gotten the big sister instinct. It was kind of annoying, because now, it made her like a personal bodyguard that couldn't be anything but loyal to someone she barely knew. And even now, that instinct was making her feel bad about thinking badly about her sister. Really, really annoying.

"Ah! You mean Natalie? Well, I have a," she hummed, "different use planned for her.

"Hey!" Kyla said indignantly. "What do you mean, use?" Master sounded like she was about to put Natalie up for a murder fic. Or torture. Or some horribly explicit thing she couldn't quite imagine yet.

Master squinted at her, with those clouded over eyes. "Perhaps I made that sister-sister bond a little too strong," she mused, putting a finger to her lips. Then she glared. "And perhaps," she hissed, "you could clean the dessert dripping from your forehead."

Kyla blinked before she remembered the cream puff. The sparkly Kyla offered the regular Kyla a napkin.

"Leave," Master sneered at her, before very carefully probing a piece of lettuce.

And so, Kyla did.

Kyla raced down the stairs. She could leave pretty easily. It wouldn't be hard at all, all she'd have to do was find a fanfiction to escape into. It didn't even need to be to be real world fanfiction, it could just be a diary or something. A thought crossed her mind. What about her sister?

What about her sister? Kyla barely knew the girl's name, let alone be friends (yeah, right) with her. What was wrong with just leaving the girl to disintegrate into a mass of words?

Well, for one thing, there was sisterly protectiveness. Another was her conscience. And the last was that blasted Gryffindor honor. Kyla thought, as best she could, "screw you, honor." It didn't work. The sisterly protectiveness was raising a lump in her throat, her conscience was making her eyes water, and her honor was screaming loudly in her head, "save the victim!"

Damn it. Being a Gryffindor had overridden her survival instinct.

Bye, survival instinct. We'll miss you.

Grumbling, Kyla looked at the virtual map in her mind of the possible locations her sister might be. Master had literally installed a map in her head. It was a version of the Marauder's Map, with a major defect. It could only locate her sister. It couldn't show her where the Divination or Astronomy Towers were, or lead her to the Kitchens. Oh, no, it could only locate her annoying little sister. Something about 'sisterly protection' and 'protecting your sister from bullying." Or even worse, 'maybe your sister needs help with homework!'

Blah blah, blah blah blah blah.

Currently, her sister's little black ink figure was residing at the Library. And so, still grumbling, and proceeding at a much slower pace, Kyla went to the Library.

It was actually easier to find her sister than she thought. For one, the library was relatively empty. The only people she could see was Granger and a dark-haired girl that looked vaguely similar to Kyla. Probably lil' sis. Kyla squinted a little, to see the badge on her so-called-sister's Hogwarts robes. She couldn't see much, but she caught a bright flash of yellow. Yellow? Her sister was a Hufflepuffle? Hmm, to be honest, she hadn't really been expecting Hufflepuff, really. Gryffindor, maybe. Slytherin was a possibility, if they wanted some sibling rivalry. Even Ravenclaw was an option. But Hufflepuff? That was new. Practically nobody made their OC a Hufflepuff.

After a few minutes, Granger left, and Hufflepuffle (she supposed it was sort of mean to say Hufflepuffle, but being a Gryffindor didn't necessarily mean she had to be nice) was left all alone, writing furiously with an electric-blue feathered quill.

Kyla walked slowly and quietly up to the girl, and tapped her shoulder. "Hello." She was a little curious to see how Hufflepuffle would react.

Hufflepuffle gave a start, upsetting the ink. "D – oh, hi," she politely ground out behind gritted teeth, staring at the spilled ink that soaked her essay. Kyla blinked. That reaction was ever so similar to her own reaction. She started smiling when Hufflepuffle started cursing under her breath. "Damn you, you little - argh – what the – It's gonna take me hours to finish again, you little – ARGHHHH!" Huh. Again, ever so similar. The only difference was that Kyla learned to stop swearing because everyone looked at her like she was crazy. This little Hufflepuffle didn't.

"You know I can hear every word you're saying?" Kyla inquired – politely, of course. Doing things politely was really fun when they blew up at you. Then they had no real reason to be angry, because you were polite, and then they started stuttering and stammering and turning red. A few years ago, she always wondered why the Malfoys found it so amusing. She tried it out. First time, she was mortified, and she ended up apologizing. Second time, she didn't really enjoy it. It started getting funny the third time she did it.

Turning red actually used to be her reaction, until she learned to control it. Hufflepuffle hadn't learned how to control it, as evidenced by her turning a bright, faintly glowing crimson color. "I – um, well – er- I just – I'm sorry!" she blurted out. Then, curiously, "Is that a …cream puff?"

Kyla froze. She had forgotten about that. Taking the napkin that she was still somehow holding, she wiped it across (and hopefully off) her face. "Yeah, yeah," Kyla waved off the apology and the inquiry. "Doesn't really matter right now. Just here to say that if you don't get out of here, you'll be deleted."

"Delete…d?" Confusion. "Wait…" Realization. "You're an OC too!" Eureka!

"Don't go shouting it out for the world to hear," Kyla advised. "It's not good for a H -Um." She had just realized how awkward it would be if she said Hufflepuffle out loud. She'd probably get called out for discrimination and prejudice. "Who're you again?"

"My name? Oh, I'm Natalie. Natalie Tansmit. Who are you?"

Kyla was rapidly getting impatient, and a little bit worried. Master said something about dying if they didn't leave soon. Now, knowing Master, there was almost certainly a time limit. That time limit was bound to be very, very short. "No time," she said brusquely. "C'mon we gotta-"


"…Go…" Kyla trailed off as she glanced at the shattered remains of a bookcase. Taking a closer look, she saw the burned cover of Quidditch through the Ages, and winced at the broomsticks on the cover, which were now little piles of dust, still moving with very confused looking Quidditch players on them.


Another bookcase. Kyla bit her lip, and said hurriedly, "Okay, we really gotta go." She grabbed Natalie's wrist, and started tugging her away.

"Hey! I don't even know you! Let go!" Natalie yelled, brandishing the very pointy end of her quill. Kyla flinched as ink splattered on her face, and for a moment, her grip loosened.

Then it tightened, and she retaliated, smashing the ink pot on Natalie's head. (In hindsight, that was a little harsh…) "Do you not see the exploding bookcases?" Kyla shrieked. "If you do not want to explode, you have to run!" Later, (much, much, later) she would wonder why the sisterly protectiveness did not prevent her from injuring her sister, but concluded that it was because it was in the name of protectiveness.

"My, my, my," drawled a voice suspiciously similar to her own. "What a racket you two are making. Madam Pince would have you out in a heartbeat."

Slowly, Kyla turned around.

And there she was.

Sparkly Kyla grinned, showing off shiny, even, pearly ivory teeth. "Fortunately, Madam Pince isn't here right now. I doubt she would appreciate the mess you're making." Her sapphire orbs lingered in barely disguised disgust at the sight of the ink that splashed the OC's robes.

"Why are you here?" Kyla spat out. "We're leaving. Pretty soon, actually. No need to kill us."

Sparkly Kyla had a truly remorseful look on her skillfully sculpted face, eyes shining with shimmering glint of unshed tears. "I'm sorry. I really am." She said it in such a way that it seemed half-way sincere. The other half was slightly manipulative and made it absolutely sure that Sparkly wasn't sincere in the least. "But Master had a time limit…"

"How long?" Kyla protested.

At this, Sparkly Kyla smiled delicately with her rose-petal lips. "Five minutes."

To Kyla's surprise, Natalie burst out with a, "That's not fair!" For a second, Kyla was actually going to take Natalie seriously. The tone of voice had a perfect note of rage, the ink-splattered face added drama, and the pose her body was in was perfect. Then Kyla remembered that it was, in fact, just ink, not blood or anything, Natalie was pre-adolescent meaning she was short and high-pitched, and that, well, she was holding a bright blue quill. Bright blue is a color that most people do not take seriously. Including Kyla.

Sparkly shrugged. "Life isn't fair." And with that, another bookcase exploded. Right in front of Natalie's face.

Now wood shards were embedded in the soft tissue of Natalie's cheeks and forehead, barely missing her eyes and mouth, blood starting to ooze from the little cuts in which paper had whipped quickly past. All traces of Natalie's Gryffindor will (and stuff like that) evaporated. Her skin paled. Kyla could hear the girl start to whimper. Kyla felt kinda sorry. Kinda. Then again, that was probably just her conscience. Trembling, after a few moments, Natalie ran out of sight. Leaving Kyla all alone. Gee, thanks, lil' sis.

"That was mean." As soon as Kyla said that, she could have slapped herself. Pointing out the obvious. Stupid, stupid, stupid Kyla…

Another shrug. "Hey," Sparkly gave a little wave of her wand. "I take no offense." And shrugging, she lifted that absurdly shiny golden-tinged wand. "Sorry 'bout this. Avada Kedavra."

Kyla's eyes widened as the green bolt of light shot forward. It was pretty in a sort of deadly way and – hey, what was she thinking? Kyla, you idiot! Duck, you stupid girl! And so, Kyla dove to the ground, and, in doing so, bruised her knee, hit the table, and spilled the rest of the ink on her.

"I think," Sparkly interjected gracefully, "you'll agree with me that that was not a very elegant landing, no?" She lifted her wand again.

"Damn you," Kyla snarled. She wiped out her own wand (ten inches, hickory and dragon heartstring). With a twirl, she cast the first spell she thought of. "Petrificus Totalus!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Kyla watched, eyes wide, as the two beams of light connected. And then she got bored. She really should be surprised. She should be. But she wasn't. Not really. On the other side, Sparkly seemed just as bored. With good reason to, as –

With a faint little pop, Kyla suddenly disappeared. Natalie, watching with wide eyes behind a collapsed bookcase, did the same.

"Hmm?" The Sue (Sparkly) waited for a while, just in case she disappeared too. Nothing. The Sue let out a beautiful little sigh, sounding somewhat like bells and fairy wings. Master was not going to be… happy. Her eyes had shifted in hue from a bright blue, to a rather cloudy one. She elegantly twisted the emerald of the ring of gold around her finger. And, dreading the worst, she said, "Master, they have escaped."

"Oh, really?" came Master's airy voice from the ring. "Interesting! Now, if you excuse me, I have a little homework to do. Math really is my worst subject, and there's a quiz tomorrow. Good-bye!"

The Sue blinked, and, if she were not a Sue, would be acting a lot more surprised than she was actually feeling. "Excuse me?" she spoke into the ring, portraying no hint of the confusion she actually felt.

"WHAT?" Master yelled loudly. Sparkly Kyla was almost certain that if Madam Pince was here at this moment, that they would have been kicked out because of the high-pitched, shrill scream that Master used. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

Sparkly Kyla was unsure of how to answer that. She decided to take the question literally. "No, not really, now that you mention it."

It seemed that she chose the correct answer, as Master's voice instantly went soft and dreamy. "Oh, yeah, that's right…" Master said in an oddly curious tone. "You can't see." There was a giggle. Then, rather irritably, "I was supposed to tell you something, wasn't I?"

"Er…" Again, unsure how to answer. Well, honesty was the best policy (or it was supposed to be, anyway). "Yes, actually."

"Peh!" There was a spitting sound over the ring. Then, Master resumed talking, in a deeper and graver voice. "Ah, yes. Do not worry about those OCs. They're not important. You are. Take that necklace I gave you. Go back in time, far enough to become the fifth Hogwarts champion." Master's voice suddenly took on a malicious edge. "Remember. You are Kaliana Zenith Eventide Veranharthe. Understood?"

Er…No. But the newly named Kaliana nodded and said yes all the same.