Mary-Sue and the Bombastic Booty

Part One: HARRY POTTER AND THE PANDORA'S BOX or MARY-SUE ARRIVES

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"We need to live first of all; to believe in what makes us live and that something *makes* us live -- to believe that whatever is produced from the mysterious depths of ourselves need not forever haunt us as an exclusively digestive concern." -- Antonin Artaud

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CHAPTER ONE

"GRYFFINDOR!" bellowed a brass voice, distorted in volume and pitch as though muffled by a soft, velvet pressure.

Harry jolted awake as the table all around him erupted into applause, and the blue haired Beatrice Zaffer removed the hat and took her seat alongside her fellow Gryffindors. It was the beginning of Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the third sorting ceremony he'd attended, and the only one in which the sorting hat had rapped the background and reputation of each of Hogwarts' four houses.

'Hey Hufflepuff puffers hope ya see,
'at you got a consistent quality
of constancy, reliability, an' loyalty.
'cuz 'ats what Helga Hufflepuff wants you to be.'

Harry hadn't noticed; he'd had been drifting between sleep and wakefulness through the whole procedure. He felt he hadn't slept in days, and the feeling was justified.

Summer had burned. Burned like Delilah desires and Jezebel dreams, a constant haze of panic and anxiety. Uncle Vernon had kept him locked in the cupboard under the stairwell most of the time... the basement stairwell, and in the shadows among the rats and spiders, Harry drifted through livid dreams of serpents and death-eaters and You-Know-Who.

Or, on other days, when something strange happened (strange being a black cat sitting on the corner for a suspiciously long time; definite bad luck for Harry), he was hurried over to crazy Arabella Figg's house for protection, and usually spent his time there listening to her innumerable, never-ending lectures on the addictiveness of Sugarquills.

Now, though, things would be better. Hogwarts, hidden in the Welsh wilderness, was both safer and more enjoyable than life on Privet drive. Harry had already reunited with his best friends Ron, Ginny, and Hermione, and the train to the school had been filled with excited rumors of the year to come.

Harry was a wizard. He had been born to wizards named Lily and James, but they had died one fateful October night when Harry was a year old. Voldemort had come to kill Harry, but had killed his parents instead. And yet, when You-Know-Who turned his powerful death curse against the Boy-Who-Lived himself, the Boy-Who-Lived, that is, Harry, lived. The curse rebounded on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and He-Who-Leads-Death-Eaters-and-was-formerly-Hogwarts'-Head-Boy-'Tom-Riddle' fled into the darkness of the night, a shadow of his former self.

Only to return fourteen years later with murder on his mind.

All this raced through Harry's mind for the seven-hundredth-and-sixty-second time as Beatrice took her seat, the Great Hall gradually quieted, and headmaster Albus Dumbledore rose from his seat at the staff table.

"Ahem," he said.

The Great Hall erupted into laughter again.

This was PoVo humor (Post-Voldemort), and if you'd been there, you would've laughed too.

Dumbledore leaned over the table, his knuckles whitening as he surveyed the students with a grave, serious face.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, those of you who are new here, and returning. Now before the feast begins, I have a few announcements to make."

At this remark, all murmuring at the four student tables subsided, and Dumbledore relaxed a little, smiling slightly.

"First years should be aware that the forbidden forest lives up to its name and is, in fact, forbidden. If you are a second year or older, and are interested in playing Quidditch for your house team, you'll want to see Madam Hooch. Also, at the encouragement of graduates and faculty, as well as the urging of letters that have flown in from all over England, we will be holding the Yule Ball again this year. Alright? We will hold the Yule Ball every year from now on."

At this the hall erupted into cheers. Several students threw their hats into the air, as well as some plates and silverware, and Neville Longbottom fell off his stool, hit his head on the stone, and began bleeding on the floor. Nobody noticed but his girlfriend, Ginny. Dumbledore made a motion for silence.

"Finally," he said, standing up straight, and extending his hand to his right, "we have several guests at Hogwarts this year. I would like you to meet Professor Antonin Artaud, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

For the first time, Harry noticed the frowning, translucent ghost hovering next to Severus Snape. Artaud's eyes seemed to swell in his face, but his chin and jaw were shrunken, and a few loose stands of black hair clung desperately to his head. "Doesn't he just look like a really old, ghost version of Snape?" hissed Ron across the table.

"I know," Dumbledore continued, "you might have expected Tristan Tzara to fill the post, but he was misinformed when he applied for the DADA position here. I am sure you will find Professor Artaud a most competent and resourceful teacher. And last, but not least, I would like to announce our other special guest. May I introduce Hogwarts' first exchange-student... from the United States of America we have Mary-Sue Darkstar-Riddle."

The candles and flames were abruptly extinguished, as if a sudden wind had come upon them. Only the dull flickering of lightning on the ceiling high above briefly illuminated the hall. And then there was light. "Look at her!" said Ron, eyes wide in surprise. Harry strained to see.

A pale gray spotlight had fallen on the entrance to the great hall, and the girl who stood there was the most beautiful Harry had ever seen. She was lithe and long, in her mid-teens, and walked with a confident gait towards the front of the hall, held in the heart of the spotlight. As she passed Harry, his heart gave a painful lurch. Her silvery-blonde locks seemed to curl and writhe about her head, as though animated by some ephemeral, ethereal power. Her contagious crooked smile revealed sharp, cunning, straight white teeth. And her eyes, startlingly green, flashed like emeralds in the sun. For the record, her eyes were exactly like the sun; her lips, coral; her breasts, white; and so on, and so forth.

She walked briskly towards the front of the hall, and the echo of every distancing footfall voiced "Heartbreak! Heartbreak!"

The girl reached the front and stopped, and now the Hall was completely silent.

Professor McGonagall nervously stood at the staff table and coughed, clearing her throat.

"Um, um," she stammered. "D-D... Darkstar-Riddle, Mary-Sue."

Mary-Sue stepped up to the stool and, gingerly holding the hat in her long fingers, sat down. With a careful smile, she slipped the hat over her head.

"SLYTHERIN!" it cried.

The Great Hall was filled with sound and light. The Slytherin table went crazy, eating candy, spilling drinks, dancing on the table. At the other three houses, the boys and some girls were sobbing all over their robes. Ron pounded his fist angrily on the table, Hermione yelled at him, and Ginny clamored urgently for someone to help Neville. Everyone was loud and excited, except Harry who, with an open mouth and a colorless face, gradually tore his napkin to pieces, his eyes struggling to catch Mary-Sue's attention.

And just as Harry sought Mary-Sue, Artaud fixed his smoldering gaze on the Boy-Who-Lived, as though it were possible to consume a soul with vision, as though Harry were the answer to Artaud's dark fire.