A Marauder's Cliche

Harry Potter Fanfiction Parody

Prologue

"Marley!"

A distant voice down the hall trailed in through my bedroom door, which was open wide enough only for my cat, Mortimer, to come and go. I pretended not to hear my name being called and kept my eyes glued to my laptop computer screen.

"Oh, Marley!" chanted the same voice in a sing-song manner. "Where, oh, where could you be?"

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Quietly to myself, I said sarcastically, "Gee, I don't know, Stella. Maybe my bedroom? On my computer? The same place I've been all summer long-?" I stopped myself from ranting any further. It was too much energy to waste, and I was conserving it for reading a crapload of different fanfictions full of the same plot and character portrayals as the last ones I'd read.

As the person reached my door, I peeled my eyes away from the story I was reading, feeling a judgmental gaze burn a hole in the back of my head.

"Ever hear of knocking?" I said, reaching behind me to pet my black cat, Mortimer. I stroked behind his ears, and he began to purr.

"What are you talking about? I called your name like ten times. You had to have heard me coming," said Stella, my younger sister by one year. She was the sixteen to my seventeen. "Also, your door wasn't even closed. It was ajar."

I snorted. "Ajar? Isn't that the evil guy's name in Aladdin? No. Wait. That's Jafar. So is ajar your word of the day or something?" I reached for my coffee mug, sipping three hour-old, stale coffee. Making a face, I put it down and went back to petting Mortimer whilst reading the terrible, horrible, strangely addictive Harry Potter based fanfiction by some fourteen-year-old girl from Michigan.

"Quit trying to distract me, Mar," she said, taking it upon herself to plop onto my bed next to the cat. "I have a proposition."

"No," I said reflexively with my back to my sister.

"Just—" she sighed, flipping curly strawberry blonde hair away from her pale face, "—hear me out, okay? If you don't, you'll regret it. It involves a certain someone!" She started again with the sing-song voice.

My eyes went a little bit wide. I'm not going to lie; she piqued my interest. But I couldn't let her see she was winning, duh, so, very coolly, I turned to look her in those same pale blue/gray eyes I saw staring back at me in the mirror every day. "Okay. All right. You may propose to me."

She squinted, allowing her coral lips to part ever so slightly. "Strange choice of words, but—"

"You chose them, not me," I interrupted, but quickly added, "but continue."

"Do you want to hear this or not?" she huffed, folding her arms to her chest.

Not, I thought. With effort, I had to refrain from saying so. I put my hand up as if to gesture for her to keep talking. I could tell this was going to take a while, so I minimized the window on my browser with the Marauder era fanfiction on it. My hand collapsed into my lap, making a slap sound. My attention was completely hers… except for the part that was admiring how cute Mortimer's little face was.

"Okay, well, you know how the doorbell rang like ten minutes ago?"

"Did the doorbell ring?" I said quizzically. "Hmm."

"Okay, what do you do all day in here? Read?" she said, her voice tinted with disgust. "It was Jenna. At the door."

"Bitch Jenna or Little Jenna?" I inquired. I had a unique way of remembering people with common names. There were at least five Jennas in my grade, and five more in my sister's grade. You might see why and how the Marley System came to be. Bitch Jenna was Stella's frenemy. She gave out back-handed compliments like they were Halloween candy, only it happened more than one day a year. Little Jenna was the little sister of—

"Little Jenna," replied Stella with a creeper grin on her face. "She just told me that Jared wants to go bowling tonight, and we're invited!"

At the mention of his name, my skin came close to goose bumps. It was a pleasurable chill. I hoped Stella hadn't noticed, but I could tell she saw right through my nonchalant act. "Oh, yeah? Bowling, huh? I don't—I mean, I'm no good at sport-type things… Bowling is kind of lame—"

"But Jared will be there. In the same room as you. Hanging out with you. In public," argued Stella convincingly. "But if you want me to go tell her to forget it, then—"

I stood up involuntarily, nearly knocking my chair over. "NO!"

A black blur pounced off the bed and thudded against the hardwood floor. I accidentally scared Mortimer off. I watched his tail disappear out the white wooden door of my bedroom.

I realized how embarrassing that was right after I'd screamed it. I collected myself and said calmly, "I can do bowling. Psh. Yeah. I don't really have any… plans…" I stared back at my computer screen, just before it went idol.

Stella, wide-eyed, stood up and headed for the door, as well. "Okay, well, I'll let Jenna know you're in." She gave me a look over, from head to toe and back up again. Her button nose was crinkled. "You might want to, like, shower… and put on some mascara… and something besides jeans and a t-shirt."

I stared back at her, Stella, with her sundress and wedge heels, white headband contrasting light red hair, and cute face with a perfect application of makeup. I then turned my attention to the mirror hanging on my wall and felt grim. "Maybe you're right."

It just seemed like she didn't even have to try half the time. I wasn't the girliest girl. I was more of a tomboy, class clown, sort-of-just-there girl. Nobody cared that I had no cleavage to speak of, or that my eyes weren't perfectly lined with black kohl pencil on a day-to-day basis, or that my skin was even paler than a dead body's. Dramatic, I know, but curse my Irish blood! However, it seemed to work for Stella just fine. Damn it.

"I can help you," she offered slowly. "If you want."

I nodded hesitantly, tucking my own dark red hair behind my ear.

"We better start, like, right now," Stella said, pointing a finger at the ground as she spoke the word now. "This is going to take a while."

"Hey!" I said defensively, but then I giggled. What a little brat. "Fine. I'll go take a quick shower. Help me pick an outfit while you wait."

"Right after I get rid of Jenna."

"I don't want her to go bowling with us either, but killing her is a bit much, don't you think?" I joked. "It probably wouldn't get me brownie points with her brother, either."

"You're so weird."

You're just noticing this now? I thought, grabbing a fresh towel from my dresser drawer.

"Don't forget to shave your legs!" she squeaked annoyingly, darting off down the stairs to inform Little Jenna of the news.

I bit my lip, holding back a feisty reply. I guess if I chose one day of the week to shave, it would have to be today. I had had a crush on Jared since Kindergarten. He was the cute boy-next-door type, kind of nerdy, but in a hot, hipster way.

Better make that shower a cold one.

"What in the hell-?" I clasped one hand on the towel covering my naked body and used the other to flail excessively. "What is this? What is this?!" I made a wax-on, wax-off motion over Stella, who seated herself in my desk chair.

"I can see why you spend all day reading this stuff," she said, surprise coloring her voice. "I mean, it could use a spell check and some more punctuation, but it does give you some pretty mixed feels—"

"You did not just say 'feels'," I groaned, using my flailing hand to wipe wet hair away from my eyes. "Stay away from the blogosphere, mmkay? No need for both of us not to have lives."

"Well, that's about to change for you, huh?" Stella teased excitedly. "Marley and Jared, sittin' in a tree…"

"Did you at least pick out an outfit, or were you reading on the job the entire time?" I said, annoyed by the personal space invasion.

She looked at me. "Yeah, but I'm not sure if you'll be able to fill it out properly." She held up a sundress similar to hers, though this one was solid black. She had a chunky beaded bracelet with a matching necklace lying next to it on the bed. My face must have shown the distaste brewing up inside.

"Fill it out properly?" I began, and suddenly I felt very self-conscious in only a white towel. I held it tighter to my body. I was a small B cup with narrow hips, but hips nonetheless. Not everyone could have gloriously curvy bodies. In my head, I cursed my sister for being one of those girls. "Who wears dresses when they're going bowling, anyway? This is all wrong." I shook my head in the outfit's direction, then quickly darted my eyes to Stella again to add, "Slacker."

Turning on my heels, I almost ran over Mortimer. His fluffy leg tickled my bare foot, and I yelped. Then I growled impatiently.

"You can wear whatever you want. It's a bowling alley. No one is going to care except Jared," said Stella. She appeared to be slightly offended. "If you don't want my help, I can leave you to your own devices." Her tone implied that my "devices" were extremely limited. She wasn't wrong.

"No," I exhaled loudly, "I can pick the outfit. Just fix my face."

Her eyes slowly trailed across the room. She frowned. "You don't have a vanity."

"Your name is Stella Jenkins," I replied.

Her brow creased.

"Oh, um, I thought we were stating the obvious," I explained, nodding to myself. "We're not doing that?" She rolled her eyes and grabbed my hand.

"Follow me. We need makeup. And a curling iron. The only place we're going to find those things in a time crunch is my room."

Down the hall, I was led to a room I avidly chose to avoid. I stepped inside as if the room was full of spiders. Every step I took forward was a step I wished was backward.

Pale pink walls with off-white trim surrounded me now. I felt like I was inside of a baby blanket… or a stick of bubble gum. Light pink and white comforter, white painted vanity in the corner, white painted dresser, closet, as if nothing changed since she was five years old. Everything was neat and in its place, including two stuffed animals lined up on the perfectly made bed. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought the room actually belonged to a five-year-old. The iPad and laptop lying in the middle of the bed coupled with the knowledge of her true age were the only tip-offs. I shuddered. It was rare for me to go into Stella's room, and in that moment, I remembered why.

"Why do I feel like throwing clothes all over the floor and furniture whenever I come in here?" I said under my breath. She heard me anyway and shot a glare in my direction.

"That probably has something to do with the fact that you are a disorganized freak with psychopathic tendencies," she spoke clearly without stuttering.

I smacked my lips and mouthed a silent, "Okay," as I sat down on the vanity's little bench. The mirror reflected a pasty face with high cheekbones, subtly arched brows, and auburn hair. My collarbones stuck out too noticeably in just the towel, especially with my back hunched over the way it was. I straightened myself up, attempting to use good posture. I quickly gave up and began making silly faces in the mirror.

"Enough," Stella said, picking out a peach powder blush and giant brush. "Hold still. You don't need foundation, not really. I just want to add some color to your face. You look like you've seen a ghost."

I corrected her quickly. "I don't look like I've seen a ghost. I look like a ghost."

"So do I," she said unexpectedly. "But this works for me every time."

I sat still, let her swipe powder on my cheeks, let her take a scary black wand to my eyelashes, and watched as she applied a neutral color combination to my eyelids with fancy-looking application brushes.

I stared at myself, admiring her work. She knew what she was doing. "Looks nice."

"You look pretty," Stella said proudly. "Jared is going to die when he sees you tonight."

"We're just friends, Stella," I sighed. "He's known me since I was two. I don't think he's suddenly going to be swept off his feet with a little blush and some inappropriate-for-bowling dress."

We both changed clothes and waited for my hair to air dry. I decided to wear simple jeans shorts and an orange sleeveless blouse. My usual dainty gold chain necklace hung around my neck. The outline of a cat sitting with its back toward the admirer of the necklace pressed against my chest with as much pressure as a feather.

I sat at my computer, reading some Marauders fanfiction on my favorite website. She sat on my bed behind my desk, reading over my shoulder. Normally I wouldn't allow such irritatingly close proximity, but she was doing me favors today, so it was hard to tell her to leave me alone. Besides, the story I was reading was one of the worst yet best ones I'd read all summer. It had all the clichés and then some. Nobody wants to read original content. They don't want to be surprised. They want to know what's about to happen or pretend they have no clue where the story is headed, silently hoping "this one" is different.

"I wish my eyes could change color with emotion like Charlotte Grimshadow's do," giggled Stella. "Where do they come up with these ideas?"

I wanted to say they stole their ideas from other writers they had read stories from until it became common and unoriginal, but all I did was shrug. My hair seemed to be dry enough, but there was a very sudden knock on the front door downstairs.

"Is that Mom and Dad?" Stella asked, confused.

"Mom and Dad wouldn't knock, would they?" I said rhetorically. "They're still at work. What if it's—oh, God. What if that's Little Jenna, or worse? What if that's Jared? I'm not ready! My hair—"

I had no idea I felt so strongly about girly things until I had to face him in a date-like scenario. Usually it was only through school that we ever saw each other. I felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to puke. And die. And be reborn as a sexy butterfly of majesty.

"A sexy butterfly, huh?" Stella burst into laughter and stood up quickly. I flushed, unaware I had said those things aloud. "I'll answer the door. Don't freak out."

"Stella, wait—" I went after her, a million thoughts running through my head. We both weren't expecting what happened next.

Mortimer, the ever-adorable love of my life, was a sneaky son of a bitch. One minute, he's nowhere to be seen or heard, and the next, he silently sneaks up at our feet, stuck there like the root of a tree to trip us when we're walking. Normally, where there's a tree, there aren't stairs to tumble down.

And what a tumble it was. Probably the best of my life. It even went black after I fell. I thought Stella went down, too, but I would not be able to find out soon enough for a very troublesome reason.

I never woke up.