"So I heard y'all are in need of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," a voice like honey purred, and the doors to the great hall flew open. It had been a normal evening, only the most recent professor of said aforementioned subject had been crushed by a falling turtle. These things happen. Anyway, as these glorious words were said in an

American accent with the slightest hint of a New Orleans drawl, the doors flew open, and a single black boot could be seen in the light of the candles. It was Parent-Teacher Conference Night, and Harry Potter was interrupted in the middle of his chat with the recently divorced Mr. Draco Malfoy. The most definitely sexy black boot advanced and the woman wearing it came into view. She was tall compared to all the women in the room, while somehow managing to be just a mite shorter than all the attractive guys. She was curvy in all the right places, her crimson hair cascaded down to her mid-back, and her silver eyes gleamed as she grinned.

"Who the fuck is that?" Ron asked in a stage whisper. She threw him a sharp glance and made her way to the staff table, where she stood in front of the recently appointed Headmaster Jeff. Jeff was Norwegian and old and stuff. Everyone liked Jeff.

"My name is Mary Sue LaRue—and I'm here to enquire after that position I spoke of." Her scarlet lips curved into a smile. "Should I leave my application with you, hon?" Jeff, a little bit mollified by this oh-so-Southern and adorable term of endearment, blushed.

"Um…well…I guess…there's no need for that…I mean…there's no other applicants and all…so I guess you can just…I guess you can just you know, go out and um…meet the parents of…the students and all that…" he sputtered, unable to remove his eyes from her boobs which were like eyemagnets.

"My eyes hurt," Ginny said, trying unsuccessfully to blink. "Who does that cheap slag think she is?"

"Well hi," Mary Sue said politely, approaching the Potters. "My goodness, you must be Mr. Potter. I'd say it's an honor, but where I come from the only Englishman we revere is Elvis Costello." Her laughter was most charming.

"Um…" Harry said, finding it hard to form a coherent sentence.

"I have a beard," Malfoy announced to no one in particular, suddenly feeling the need to be considered macho. "And a mansion." Mary Sue's eyes lit up.

"Isn't that the most interestin' thing I've heard all night!" she laughed, sidling up alongside the parent of what would undoubtedly be one of her favorite pupils. "I didn't catch your name, Mr…?"

"Malfoy," he replied instantly. "Draco Malfoy."

"Does he do that every time he meets someone new?" Hermoine asked Ron quietly. The paunchy ginger's only reply was a shrug. Suddenly Harry stood, sure that something was about to go horribly wrong.

"There must be other factors," he growled, glaring at Mary Sue.

"You don't have any," she hissed. "You don't have any caramel, either."

"I don't know what's going on, but it sounds familiar," Malfoy said quietly to the much older, and suddenly much hotter, Neville Longbottom.

"Yeah—leave me out of this," he replied, ducking under the nearest table. "I'm to pretty to be out of canon!"

"Rawr," someone said, and everyone was quite confused.

"Okay, so…random asteroid," Jeff said quickly, making some magical looking movements with his Norwegian hands of reindeer power. "Yah!" Suddenly, an asteroid that was only two feet in diameter but was apparently extremely dense fell through the ceiling, crushing Mary Sue where she stood.

"Thank god," Elvis Costello said in a relieved tone. "I was worried she was going to start hitting on me next. I so don't need that right now."

"Oh Elvis, you so silly," Jake Gyllenhaal said delightedly. "By the way, Imma need that Ressurection Stone, 'cause me and Heath are having a tea party."

"I sure as hell better be invited," Robert Downey Jr. growled, brandishing his stylish Victorian-era pistol.

"Di mi," someone said. "I should just end this."

"It should have ended when Mary Sue walked into the building," insisted Twilight Sparkle of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. "We all knew it wasn't going to work."

"Twilight Sparkle?" Suddenly David Bowie was there. "What are you doing here?"

"More importantly," Andy Cohen grumbled, "What on earth are you wearing—wait, okay, this has gone on long enough."

"Yeah, sorry," the author replied. "I was bored."

The End.