When Something Was Different

When Something was Different

I like to think of myself as normal. Sadie Tibbs, the official normal thirteen-year-old, that’s me! Yeah, right. I mean, I’m not a weirdo, don’t get the wrong idea. When I say normal, I guess I mean boring.

Everyone has that one thing they’re good at. I mean, I wish I was smart, like Hermione. Sure, I get B’s, but it’s not the same as A’s. The only class I ever get A’s in is English. And that’s the only class I really love. Writing is my passion. I mean, it’s like something deep inside of me that I can just pull out whenever I feel bad or angry or even happy. Mrs. Lotus says it’s my talent. Some talent. Whoop-de-do, I’m blessed with the muse of writing.

Then, I sometimes wish I could be like…Ugh, I can’t be saying this…Harry. Yes, I hate Harry. I will say it out loud. Ron teases Hermione about being perfect. Ha! He just has to turn around and the ultimate example of perfection is always standing three feet away from him. I hate perfect people. Harry does not get bad grades. He has never lost to Voldemort. He’s met the guy four stinking times! If he’s so powerful, why can’t he kill the stupid boy? Why does he always give Harry a fair chance? Two words for you, Voldie: Avada Kedavra. But I give one thing to you, Harry. You are brave. I’ve always wanted to be brave. Then again, I’m braver than most people. Courage is something I really respect and strive for. I’d say I’m daring. I mean, I flat-out told Draco I liked him…how good is that? And I can ride the biggest roller coasters about five times in a row without even puking. I think that’s pretty good too. And I never, ever turn down a dare. Ever. But I’m not truly brave. Well, maybe I am. I’ve never faced Voldemort, so I guess I wouldn’t know.

And then, I sometimes even wish to be like Ron. Do you know how loyal that kid is? I mean, he has to put up with Harry, the snot, day in and day out. How many times has he been shunted aside? Let’s count…1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…you get the idea. Has he ever really stopped being that loser’s friend? No. I mean, if I was him, I would’ve slugged Harry in the jaw, kicked him in the shins, and shoved him out the door if he ever insulted me. Though that wouldn’t be a problem, because I would never be friends with Harry. But I might try that someday…

If you’ve noticed, I say the words, "I mean" a lot. Does that annoy you? Tough. Because that’s the way I talk. Sure, I can write all flowery like this: Harry’s emerald eyes flashed as his piercing gaze turned to Voldemort, and he could feel the rage building in his chest. He breathed heavily as he watched a disgusting smile play on his enemy’s mouth, lifting the skin on his lipless face. Suddenly Harry roared, "I am the biggest, stupidest loser on the planet!"

Ok, Ok, sorry. But you Harry lovers might as well leave now…not. He’s in this story you know. I guess I know what you’re thinking. I’m one of those Mary Sues that goes to Hogwarts and is all buddy-buddy with Harry and Co., invading another possibly good fic. Wrong. I’m about as far from a Mary Sue as you can get. I mean, I’m just a little predictable, but I try not to be…look, if this is confusing you then I had better start way back at the beginning. From when I first got the account on fanfiction.net. No, wait, before that…. I guess we have to go back to the first time I met Harry. Ok, here goes nothing…

I was nine. I picked up the book. I ran my fingers along its cover. From the moment I even felt it, the different texture of the paper, the crazy but strangely real illustration on the cover of that odd-looking boy catching a winged ball. The snitch. I never even dreamed I would actually see it….oh, sorry. Jumping ahead again.

There was something in that book. It was a kind of heat. I didn’t have to read the inside of the cover. I didn’t even have to read the title. I ran straight to my mom, tugged on her dress.

Her face was so happy when she looked at me, handing a book to her. She was an author. And she loved to see me read. She thought it was the most important thing, hands down. But then when she saw the book, saw how thick it was, she pulled another book off the shelf next to her.

"The One in the Middle is the Green Kangaroo"? I had said skeptically. I ran my fingers down the spine of the book in my hand, feeling that warmth from it that beckoned me to rip it open and savor each one of those tantalizing, sweet words inside it.

"I want this one," I said. Mom took it from my hand, and it went cold again.

"It’s over three hundred pages, Sadiebabe," she said, using her nickname for me.

"Three hundred nine," I answered in a monotone. How did I know the number of pages?

After she saw how dejected I looked, she immediately gave in. I knew she would.

The moment the book was paid for, (on sale, $14.98) I nearly ripped a page in my haste to open it. I mean, it was like this strange magnetic attraction between me and this book. And I began reading out loud, perfectly, with no mistakes: "Chapter One: The Boy Who Lived. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn’t hold with such nonsense…"

And so it went. The rest is history. I finished the book in less than a day, and read it a second time the next day. My mother had to literally pry it out of my hands. And every time we went back to that bookstore, I kneeled in the corner where Harry sat and I sat down right with him to read.

One day, about a year later, I went to sit down in that corner when I noticed that another book was sharing Harry’s shelf…in anger, I picked up the intruder to put it in its place but when I saw the title and my eyes practically popped out of my head: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets! It was mine five minutes later.

Harry Potter was not a book series. Harry was a person. I didn’t have to like him, but alas, he was the main character. Hermione was real. Ron was real. They were all actual people to me. But I always got angry when I heard someone at school talking about Harry Potter.

"Have you read Harry Potter? Oh, I’ll have to loan you my copy, Sarah. It’s really cool!" Jennifer Mulbare, The Official High Queen of Popularity at my school (Oh, you know it, every school has one!), had said one day.

I had spun around to face her so fast, a few of my books had dropped from my pile. "You know about Harry too?"

"Excuse me?" she had asked, her tiny tweezed eyebrows raising.

"You know Harry. Harry Potter."

She had laughed in my face. "Well not personally! My God, you talk like the guy’s real or something. It’s just a stupid book. Not even that good, anyway. C’mon Sarah, let’s go."

If she hadn’t turned away right then, her ugly dark hair with its ugly red highlights swishing behind her, I would have slugged her or stomped on her foot or slapped her face. How dare she insult my friend Harry! I picked up my eleven-year-old self and walked away and swore to myself that I would always hate Jennifer Mulbare.

But I soon discovered that Jen was not the only one that knew about Harry Potter. The craze had soon hit the school. None of the fifth graders in my class could wait for summer and Harry Potter number three to be released. This was quite good for me, though, because I became quite popular. I was the Harry Potter freak that knew absolutely everything about it. I knew long before everyone else that it was called Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I knew every rumor that had ever traveled the grapevine. And I knew the first book cover-to-cover, so whenever the seventh graders, who read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone in English class, had to take a test, they immediately turned to me. I had become popular in a mere few months.

That summer, my friends and I shared our thrill of the wonderful Prisoner of Azkaban. And after previously being in love with Draco Malfoy, I was now officially in love with Sirius Black.

Sixth grade passed for me with all the boringness it could possibly contain and the summer simply followed suit. I still had another whole month until Harry Potter Four came out (then rumored to be called "Harry Potter and the Doomspell Tournament").

So one day, I believe it was June third, I logged onto the internet. I checked my Neopets account and e-mail as I usually did, then headed to www.bored.com for something interesting to do. I scanned the list for any new items and, to my luck, I did find something. Fanfiction.net.

"Hmmmm…" I said out loud to the computer, interested. I have a habit of doing that, talking to computer. I mean, it’s just one of those annoying things I do that I can’t help. Like saying "I mean".

I looked at the site description and my stomach somersaulted. Harry Potter! There was Harry Potter fanfiction on this site! Immediately clicking excitedly on the link, I was delivered to the site where I proceeded to the Harry Potter section.

I was in absolute heaven. My characters in all new adventures, all amazing however stereotypical they might be. I was presented with a whole new language which I learned quickly: Mary Sue, flame, slash, constructive crit, shippers, sugar-high, and all those little words and phrases that are used daily by us authors. I studied all the writing for hours each day, all week. I learned to tell different types of fics apart from each other, how to write reviews, got author alerts, and did everything I could to prepare myself. And then, it was time.

On June 10, a week after I had discovered the miraculous ff.n, I clicked "authors" and got myself a screen name: Pegasus. It was simple, magical, and one of my favorite mythical creatures. And soon came my first fanfic.

Harry Potter and the Doomspell Tournament

It looked wonderful. It felt wonderful. It was fantastic to see this fic on the internet. My fic. I wrote it. It was mine. Wow.

It was even more fantastic when, several hours after posting it, I looked at the number of reviews. Reviews: 3

Yes, I know. Not so great. But I read that first review and my heart melted. I mean, it was like I had just had a baby and it was the first time I was taking her out to play and someone tells me how beautiful she is. The review said: Awesome! Sequel please! I hope the real book is like this!

I was so proud until I saw the next review and my inflated ego let out a bit of air. It said: To tell you the truth, I didn’t like it.

But the rest of the reviews I received afterwards (157 in all, so far) were mostly positive. I loved fanfiction.

Twenty-seven fics, one Harry Potter book, and another grade later, I was on 109 favorite lists and had 3783 reviews total. My teacher, Mrs. Lotus, had us reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. She also allowed me to read my fanfics to the class, and I am truly grateful to her for that. She helped me learn to write as well as I could, taught me to "Go over the waterfall".

One Saturday, I was putting the finishing touches on fic #28. It was about a girl named Ara Stellen who is placed in Hogwarts in her fifth year when her parents, who were aurors, are murdered by Voldemort. She learns she is witch and her parents had kept it a secret to protect her from the dangers of her world. Once at Hogwarts, Ara befriends Harry and Co. But one day, she falls through some soft ground into an abandoned chamber where she learns she is the Heir of Gryffindor. She also learns the secret to controlling Gryffindor’s monster, which she uses in an exciting battle with Voldemort at the end.

Typing "The End" with a flourish, I had finished and rushed to upload it. So impatient to get rave reviews for what I though was my best fic, I didn’t bother to close the files.

Several minutes later, I had safely uploaded my story and was surfing the net for something to do. Bored.com had nothing new, nor did Neopets. Almost ready to give up and shut down, I came across an interesting banner across the top of some Harry Potter site I had been to a thousand times. It read: We can make your dream come true.

It was really simple. A light blue background and bold, dark blue letters. So I clicked it, so bored that I would do anything, even visit one of those stupid "Win a vacation" sites that this appeared to be.

It started downloaded something. A little bar appeared on my screen that was gradually filling up. Sensing it would take awhile, I walked out and had some Oreos and milk.

Maybe if I had taken a few more minutes to lick the chocolate off my fingers like I usually did rather than wash them off because I was using the computer, it wouldn’t have happened. I mean, everything we do affects everything else. But I didn’t. And I can’t go back in time.

I had walked back to my room and the downloading bar read, "One File Remaining", and soon, the little green bar was full. Suddenly, my fanfic story popped back up.

"Huh?" I tried to click back to the internet, but suddenly, the black and white letters began to swirl together on the page.

"Hey, pieca junk!" I yelled, thinking it was broken. But the words just as suddenly formed themselves back together into eight new bold words: Get ready for the adventure of your life.

And then, It happened. I fell. I fell, headfirst, into the computer screen, which was like a pool of some creamy liquid. Words swirled around my head. Letters, all colors, my brain was swirling with them. Getting an awful headache, I had to close my eyes. There was this awful humming noise in the twisting mess around me, and I was surrounded by the pressure of air or wind or something. I felt a sharp pain in my head, but before I had time to scream for Advil, my feet hit hard, stone ground.

And when I opened my eyes, I didn’t even have to look around or guess or reason. I mean, it was exactly as I knew it in my head, in my dreams. I was in the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

End of Chapter