"I am Yvonne and I wannabe

...love to Legolas, friend to Frodo, allure to Aragorn, agony to Arwen." And the worst of it, she actually has the means to join the Fellowship! But perhaps she ought to have read the book, first... This old, as-yet-unfinished story was intended as a parody of Mary Sue Fanfics, but it is much milder than most such satirical fanfics you'll find on this website. Also, to conserve my sanity and ability to write grammatically correct English, Yvonne is actually quite literate and her main linguistical failing is excessive punctuation.

Chapter one: a Crossover to begin with...

Dear livejournal readers,

I will be taking a vacation. I may be able to update now and then, but mostly the next month for me will be spent hiking in England and Wales.

If I fail in plan A, that is. Plan A I can share with you only because I know you either will not believe it or will not dare tell anyone, because they would think that you are as mad as I to believe such a thing.

My plan A is to join the Fellowship of the Ring in Rivendell and spend a month on the road with them. I will go hiking in Middle-Earth!

You see, I have this British cousin who can do Magic. I don't know him well, but we used to write letters four years ago, before he learned he knows magic. He is three years younger than me, so it was nothing but friendly letters... and he is my cousin too, although distant. I'll go and phone him now. He has no email, can you believe it?

Yours, Yvonne

later in the day...

Yes! I did it! But let me tell it in order. I phoned his family, long-distance as I live in Boston, so we could only talk a moment. His aunt answered the phone.

Hallo?' Her voice sounded very British, all proper manners and starch.

'Hi, Mrs Dursley. This is Yvonne speaking. Yvonne Potter.' I told her.

'Oh, hello. What do you want?' The tone of her voice was petulant, as if I had been a magazine salesman.

'I'd like to have a word with Harry, if I may?' I asked, using my most polite voice that I usually reserve for talking to teachers.

'Oh. What about?' She inquired, a gossip as ever.

'I'd like to see him next week. I'll be coming to England anyway, hiking you know, and I would like to see my only relative there.' I explained, trying to make it sound logical and harmless.

'Ain't much of a relative, third cousin of yours or somesuch. And you are no relative of ours at all.' She told me. The Dursley family is related to me through Aunt Petunia's sister Lily Evans, more specifically her husband James Potter, Harry's father. Harry's great-great grandfather, Alastair Potter, is also my great-great grandfather. Harry is descended from his first marriage to the Italian witch Mirabella Dinardi, and I am descended from his second marriage, after Mirabella was killed by a wild dragon and Alastair emigrated across the Atlantic, to a West Virginia schoolteacher called Dorothy Dollmaker.

'I wouldn't dream of bothering you, Mrs Dursley! I'll just come straight from London for an afternoon, no need to serve tea or anything, I could take Harry out for ice cream or something, and then I'll be on my way.' I explained, with a slight note of panic in my voice.

'Oh. But perhaps he doesn't even remember you. It's been long since you wrote those letters.' Petunia Dursley tried to find more reasons why we shouldn't meet. I remembered Harry's letters – Petunia and Vernon, Harry's adopted parents, had not wished Harry to have friends of his own, any fun hobbies or toys, and especially no contact with his Potter relatives or the friends of James and Lily. James and Lily died in a car crash when Harry was a baby, and since then, he's been looked after – and mistreated by – his closest living relatives, the Dursley family.

'Only one way to find out, isn't there? I will ask him. If he doesn't want me, naturally I won't come.' I suggested. As you can see from her comments, Mrs Dursley is not very polite, at least not to anyone named Potter. But she did give the phone to Harry:

'Harry Potter speaking.' He sounded grown-up, or close – I remembered he would be fifteen now.

'Hello, this is Yvonne. Your cousin from Boston. Remember me?' I asked, dreading a negative reply.

'Wait a minute - yes, you were my "foreign penpal" in that geography assignment when I was in elementary school, right?' He sounded a bit uncertain.

'That's right. I will be spending a month in England and Wales. Would you like to see me next Tuesday? Any time after five pm would be fine for me.' I told him.

'I'll have to ask -' He began, hesitantly. '

I already did.' I assured him.

'And?' He inquired.

'She didn't get the opportunity to say no, so I'll turn up anyway. Let's say half past five unless you have some obstacle.'I suggested.

'Sounds fine.' He told me.

Then Aunt Petunia took the phone and ranted at me a long litany of things I was not allowed to do with my cousin Harry on our 'date', as she called it. This included kissing, holding hands, going to the movies, going anywhere other than the Gelateria cafe and the Dursley home, riding a bus, taking a cab, using any form of transport other than walking, going to see Harry's former school, going to meet any of Harry's friends, going to meet any of my friends, talking to any strangers other than the Gelateria staff, and so on. I agreed to all of her rules, just to shut her up, and finally told her I had to close the phone because the call was long-distance. And yes, that is how I manipulated my way to meet Harry Potter.