----
Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together at the Gryffindor table for dinner, just like they had for the last seven years -- with, of course, the fabulous exception of three very tense and character-driven weeks the previous year, which, fortunately, were resolved with very few tears and only one maiming. Joining them now, and probably for the rest of term, were Neville and Mary Sue.
Mary Sue and Hermione had become fast friends once they discovered their similar measurements could lead to a doubling of their respective wardrobes -- Neville had been given strict instructions by his grandmother to keep a close eye on Mary Sue. ("Whither thou goest," Neville was fond of saying now; he thought the author might appreciate a reference to actual literature in the midst of this glorified PWP.) In any case, he didn't do much in this scene -- no one did, really, except Hermione and Ron. They talked about a sensitive topic; Mary Sue's high-pitched giggles masked their conversation from everyone present.
Except the author, of course.
"Have you noticed anything, I dunno, _strange_ about Harry lately?" Ron whispered, unaware of the author's newfound interest in Hogwarts table-talk.
"What do you mean? Strange how?"
"I can't really say. There's like, like this _air_ about 'im."
"You mean like Mary Sue's air? Attentiveness, trust, that sort of thing?"
"No, no -- like the author's planning to embarrass him horribly later in this fic."
"Really?"
"Yeah -- leaves a mark on you, it does. Happens to me all the time, but I haven't seen it on Harry in _ages_."
"Gosh," Hermione said, and looked over at Harry. Harry was busy adding butter to his mashed potatoes, trying to achieve a silver-blond look. It wasn't working. "Now that you mention it, he does look like he's in for a rough time."
"It's like he's already got a cream pie smashed in his face," Ron said glumly, remembering certain events from the last book.
"Poor Harry." Hermione didn't like it when her friends were treated badly by the author just to create an interesting story; it reminded her that she could be next. In a sequel, for instance.
"Listen, Hermione, we've got to be there for him, all right? Whatever happens, he's our friend, and the author isn't. I mean, look what she's done already in this piece."
Hermione shivered. "You're right. Pact on it?"
Ron and Hermione clasped hands, while the author looked on in interest. "Pact," Ron said. "No matter what, we'll stick by Harry."
"Pact," Hermione agreed.
The author was delighted to see how long it took for them to separate their fingers. Sequel material, indeed.
---
Neville Longbottom sat in the Gryffindor common room after dinner, feeling depressed. This morning's writing class had been a flop, as far as he was concerned; Inspirations just didn't work with him. His essay was as dull as ditches, and his haikus just talked about rabbits and ineffability. Nothing _interesting_.
And then there was his new "sister". Everyone seemed to like her. Hell, _he_ liked her, but not like everyone else. "She has an... _air_," they all said; why couldn't he feel it? It just wasn't fair.
He looked up. Standing in the doorway was Mary Sue Cutebottom herself, staring at him. She turned her head, a blush sweeping up her cheeks, as if Neville had caught her doing something naughty. Doubt it was anything that bad, Neville thought gloomily; she was probably thinking about what a badly-written oaf I am.
"Hallo, Neville," Mary Sue said hesitantly.
"Hello, Mary," he said. "Enjoying yourself at Hogwarts?"
"Oh. Oh, yes. It's quite wonderful. As, as I guess you'd know, right?" the girl said, mumbling the last few words. It was painfully obvious, at this point; compared to everyone else here, Neville was a complete git. She was regretting being related to him. He was only embarrassing her now by making her talk to him.
"Well," said Neville, "I think I'll leave now."
Mary Sue blinked rapidly. "Of, of course, Neville. I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"
"Tomorrow. Right." He got out of his chair, smiled cheerfully without really feeling it, and left.
---
Harry found Mary Sue in the common room, staring into the fire and sighing. "Mary, you all right?" he said, wondering if maybe he should get Hermione or some other female to do the girls-crying-emotions-bonding thing. He wasn't very good at dealing with sighing women.
Mary Sue looked up at him and smiled softly. "Nothing, Harry. Just thinking about the prequel. Now," she said, straightening her spine and beckoning him to a nearby chair, "let's have a look at that essay of yours."
Harry handed over the notebook, and pretended to be incredibly interested in the carpet for the several minutes that Mary Sue took to read his essay.
"Hmm... " she said.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing. The author's trying to think of something Freudian for me to quote, and needs to kill some time."
"This author's got funny ideas about--"
"I've got it!" Mary Sue quickly leaned over and said, "Harry, tell me: Do you have... _feelings_... for Draco Malfoy?"
"_What_?" Harry would have sputtered if he'd been drinking something, another oversight by the author. What ever happened to evening cups of hot chocolate? "That's _rubbish_! I hate him -- I've hated him ever since we were First Years together! He's a Slytherin, he's a rival Quidditch player, he hates Muggle-born, his father was a _Death Eater_ and before I killed Voldemort it looked like he was going to join the Dark Force the _second_ he graduated--"
" 'I would often think about my broomstick during the summer months -- the cool, firm wood that would warm as I flew it through the air,' " Mary Sue began reciting, " 'I'd think about who I'd like to fly with, the way his hands would caress my broomstick, sending me higher and higher until I met the sun and then, oh God, and then we'd fall together. We'd wave our wands before we hit, and the hard ground would become softer than gosling down. The landing would be made all the better by his hair brushing my cheek while we both lay gasping, and his eyes would promise devotion ever more. No more Dark Force for him, no sir.' "
Harry looked shocked. "It's a _metaphor_, that's all, I just want to win the Quidditch cup again--"
"Harry," Mary Sue said sternly, "Harry, it's no good. Don't deny your feelings! I want you to think about this, all right? How bad could Draco possibly be?"
"_How bad_?" Harry said with disbelief. "How bloody bad could he be? Should I start listing the myriad of choices _now_--?"
"You needn't bother, Harry, you already did a few paragraphs ago," Mary Sue said. "I want you to think about how much truth is in that list. I think you'll be surprised."
She got up and handed Harry his notebook. "As for the essay... I think it's important that you leave it the way it is. Professor Jimison is American -- I doubt she'll be shocked or anything. And as for everyone else... " She shrugged. "This is the British boarding school system; who'd be surprised?"
Mary Sue smiled again, and left the common room.
Harry looked at his essay. "Gosling down... " he mumbled. "_Hell_."
---
" 'His skin is of silk,' " Mary Sue recited to a gaping Malfoy, mimicking the previous scene with almost disturbing accuracy. " 'His eyes like emerald chips / His mouth sweet and warm.' "
"I _do not_ have 'feelings' for Potter!"
"Is that so? Let me see... 'Evil? Nonsense! No! / Betray him now, with my love? / Rather die smelly.'"
"That has nothing _whatsoever_ to do with Potter. It's probably a reflection of my childhood."
"'Harry Potter, sweet / angel of divine lusting / Can't I admit love?'" Mary Sue read triumphantly. "And while I'm at it, 'Hot sex on field with'--"
"All right, all _right_!" Malfoy ran his hand through his hair; Mary Sue delighted to see that it was trembling. "Just what am I supposed to do about this, Mudbl--" He saw her lift his haikus threateningly. "--ah, Mary? I'm his enemy. Always have been. I mean, granted, I'm too nasty to exist very long in the canon without changing for the better, but this isn't canon is it?" Malfoy stood and began pacing around Mary Sue's chair. "No redemption for me," he muttered, "oh no, we have to keep our antagonists, we'd be stuck with only Snape and Voldemort if _you_ turned good... "
"Ah, Draco?"
"...damned prepubescent fanwriters... "
"Draco?"
"...no sense of character flaw resolution..."
"Draco!"
"...don't bloody drool in my sleep, nearly cut my throat after I read that fanfic..."
Mary Sue stood up and glared at Malfoy. "'Hot sex on field with / famous, too kissable scar'--!" she hissed angrily.
He stopped, and looked nervously about the room. "Here, now, let's not get drastic..."
"Listen to me, Draco, because otherwise I'll read every damn haiku you've got out loud. Now, you may think it's unlikely, and you may think it's embarrassing, and you may think it'll never happen in canon, but that's not the point! You love Harry!"
Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh gods."
"And you have to come clean with it, Draco! Face your emotions!" Mary Sue took a deep breath. "You may be pleasantly surprised if you do."
He looked at her sharply. "What was that?"
Mary Sue gave him back his notebook. "I think the professor will understand if you don't have an essay. You've got plenty of poems; it's an even trade. Just think about what you've written, all right? I just want you to be happy."
She smiled, and left the Slytherin common room. Once she was sure she was out of earshot, she murmured, "_Both_ of you."
----
(cont. in 3/7)