~ chapter one: owl post ~
hello everyone! before i start the first chapter of third year, i just want to address something.
a lot of people are commenting ideas of what i should do for this year, and i LOVE IT. keep 'em coming, guys!
but unfortunately, i won't be able to squish the full recommendations in. i already have the core story planned out, so this may result in some modifications of your requests. of course, i absolutely would LOVE to squeeze all of your suggestions, truly, but it would be too confusing and it would overlap with the story outline i've made already. and we all know how long i can keep you guys waiting. i don't want to keep y'all waiting for too long.
but please keep in mind i love you all dearly, and i would love to see more ideas from you guys. but i'm sure this book already has, like, a hundred plot holes, and i don't want to add more. i'll have to see what i can fix when i go back to revise after 'twisted' is officially completed before i start/continue any of my other stories. i hope you can understand.
Harry Potter and Y/N Black were highly unusual kids in many different ways. For one thing, they hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year. For another, they really wanted to do their homework but were forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And they also happened to be wizards.
It was nearly midnight, and they were lying on their stomachs in Harry's bed, the blankets drawn right over their heads like a tent, both having flashlights in one hand as sharing a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped open against the pillow. Y/N frowned as she moved the tip of her eagle-feather quill down the page, looking for something that would help her and Harry write their essays, "Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless—discuss."
Harry hesitated before reaching out to stop her hand at the top of a likely paragraph. A faint layer of red covered Y/N's cheeks (she was thankful it was dark) as she removed her hand and brushed her hair out of her eyes and they both read:
'Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than forty-seven times in various disguises.'
Y/N and Harry both put their quills between their teeth and reached underneath Harry's pillow for their ink bottles and their rolls of parchment. Slowly and carefully they unscrewed their ink bottles, dipped their quills into them, and began to write, pausing every now and then to listen, because if any of the Dursleys heard the scratching of their quills on their way to the bathroom, they'd probably find themselves locked in the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of the summer.
The Dursley family of number four, Privet Drive, was the reason that Harry and Y/N never enjoyed their summer holidays. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their son, Dudley, were Harry's only living relatives. They were Muggles, and they had a very medieval attitude towards magic. Harry's dead parents and Y/N's dead mum, who had been magical themselves, were never mentioned under the Dursleys' roof. For years, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Mr. Brunson had hoped that if they kept Harry and Y/N as downtrodden as possible, they would be able to squash the magic out of them. To their fury, they had been unsuccessful.
Y/N had spent eleven years in the orphanage with Mr. Brunson, friendless and downtrodden. Only two years ago, she and Harry had met, becoming friends almost instantly. Mr. Brunson had left Y/N to the Dursleys, where she stayed with them and Harry. These days, the Dursleys lived in terror of anyone finding out that they had spent most of the last two years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The most they could do, however, was to lock away their spellbooks, wands, cauldrons, and broomsticks at the start of summer break, and forbid them to talk to the neighbors.
This separation from their spellbooks had been a real problem for Harry and Y/N, because their teachers at Hogwarts had given them a lot of holiday work. One of the essays, a particularly nasty one about shrinking potions, was for their least favorite teacher, Professor Snape, who would be delighted to have an excuse to give Harry and Y/N detention for a month. They had therefore seized their chance in the first week of the holidays. While Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had gone out into the front garden to admire Uncle Vernon's new company car (in very loud voices, so that the rest of the street would notice it too), Harry and Y/N had crept downstairs, picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, grabbed some of their books, and hidden them in Harry's bedroom. As long as they didn't leave spots of ink on the sheets, the Dursleys need never know that they were studying magic by night.
Harry and Y/N were particularly keen to avoid trouble with his aunt and uncle at the moment, as they were already in an especially bad mood with them, all because they'd received a telephone call from a fellow wizard one week into the school vacation.
Ron Weasley, who was one of their best friends at Hogwarts, came from a whole family of wizards. This meant that he knew a lot of things Harry and Y/N didn't, but he had never used a telephone before, nor did he have any idea how to do so. Most unluckily, it had been Uncle Vernon who had answered the call.
"Vernon Dursley speaking."
Harry and Y/N, both of whom had happened t be in the room at the time, froze as he heard Ron's voice answer.
"HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I—WANT—TO—TALK—TO—HARRY—POTTER—AND—Y/N—BLACK!"
Ron was yelling so loudly that Uncle Vernon jumped and held the receiver a foot away from his ear, staring at it with an expression of mingled fury and alarm.
"WHO IS THIS?" he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece. "WHO ARE YOU?"
"RON—WEASLEY!" Ron bellowed back, as though he and Uncle Vernon were speaking from opposite ends of a football field. "I'M—A—FRIEND—OF—THEIRS—FROM—SCHOOL—"
Uncle Vernon's small eyes swiveled over to Harry and Y/N, both of whom were rooted to their spots.
"THERE ARE NO HARRY POTTER AND Y/N BLACK HERE!" he roared, now holding the receiver at arm's length, as though frightened it might explode. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT SCHOOL YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT! NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN! DON'T YOU COME NEAR MY FAMILY!"
And he threw the receiver back onto the telephone as if dropping a poisonous spider.
The fight that had followed had been one of the worst ever, and Y/N hoped with all her heart that she would never have to partake in one of those fights again.
Ron obviously realized that he'd gotten them both in trouble, because he hadn't called again. Their other best friend from Hogwarts, Hermione Granger, hadn't been in touch either. Y/N and Harry both suspected that Ron had warned Hermione not to call, which was a pity, because Hermione, the cleverest witch of their year, had Muggle parents, knew perfectly well how to use a telephone, and would probably have had enough sense not to say that she went to Hogwarts.
So neither of them had any word from any of their wizarding friends for five long weeks, and this summer was turning out to be almost as bad as the last one. There was just one very small improvement—after swearing that they wouldn't use them to send letters to any of their friends, Harry and Y/N had both been allowed to let their owls, Hedwig and Hades, out at night. Uncle Vernon had given in because of the racket Hedwig and Hades made if they were locked in their cages all the time.
Harry had a secret of his own; he just so happened to be utterly in love with Y/N. He had been ever since they met. He also had a scrapbook (filled with pictures of her) and a camera (for taking the pictures of her). Some people may tell him off for it, saying he was being a stalker and that he was 'crazy', but he thought he was being perfectly reasonable. He was just careful, that was all. Nobody suspected him at all. There had been a few close calls, but he had gotten off Scotch-free, so he was still in the clear.
The scrapbook was something Y/N, of all people, should ever find out. She had no idea of its existence thus far, and Harry was going to make sure it stayed that way.
He hummed under his breath as they finished writing about Wendelin the Weird, pausing to listen again. The silence in the dark house was broken only by the distant, grunting snores of Harry's enormous cousin, Dudley. 'It must be very late,' he thought.
"We should finish this tomorrow," he muttered, nudging Y/N's arm.
She yawned. "Yeah, I guess so."
They replaced the tops of their ink bottles; pulled two old pillowcases from under Harry's bed; put their flashlights, their essays, quill, and ink inside it; got out of bed; and hid them under loose floorboards under Harry's bed. Harry had A History of Magic inside his pillowcase, so his pillowcase was significantly bigger than Y/N's, but it could still be concealed under a floorboard. Then they stood up, stretched, and checked the time on the luminous alarm clock on Harry's bedside table.
It was one o' clock in the morning. Harry's stomach gave a funny jolt. They'd been thirteen years old, without realizing it, for a whole hour.
Yet another unusual thing about Harry and Y/N was how little they looked forward to their birthdays. They had only received two birthday cards each for their own lives, and those were only from each other. The Dursleys completely ignored their last two birthdays, and they had no reason to suppose they would remember this one.
Y/N and Harry walked across the dark room, past Hedwig and Hades's large, empty cages, to the open window. They leaned on the sill, the cool night air pleasant on their faces after a long time under the blankets. Hedwig and Hades had been absent for two nights now. They weren't worried about them: They'd been gone this long before. But they hoped they'd be back soon—they were the only living creatures in this house who didn't flinch at the sight of them except each other.
Harry and Y/N, though still rather small and skinny for their age, had grown a few inches over the last year, although Harry was a few inches taller than Y/N. Harry's jet-black hair, however, and Y/N's (H/C) hair was just as it always had been—stubbornly untidy, whatever they did to it. Harry's eyes behind his glasses were bright green, while Y/N's were sea green. On Harry's forehead, clearly visible through his hair, was a thin scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning, which Y/N also had on her left forearm.
Of all the unusual things about them, these scars were the most extraordinary of all. They were not, as the Dursleys and Mr. Brunson had pretended for ten years, souvenirs of the car crash that had killed Harry's parents and Y/N's mother. They had been murdered, murdered by the most feared Dark wizard for a hundred years, Lord Voldemort. Harry and Y/N had escaped from the same attack with nothing more but scars on Harry's forehead and Y/N's forearm, where Voldemort's curse, instead of killing them, had rebounded upon its originator. Barely alive, Voldemort had fled....
But Harry and Y/N had come face-to-face with him at Hogwarts. Remembering their last meeting they stood at the dark window, Harry had to admit they were lucky even to have reached their thirteenth birthday.
He and Y/N scanned the starry sky for a sign of Hedwig or Hades, perhaps soaring back to them with a dead mouse dangling from their beaks, expecting praise. Gazing absently over the rooftops, it was a few seconds before Harry and Y/N realized what were they were seeing.
Silhouetted against the golden moon, and growing larger every moment, was a large, strangely lopsided creature, and it was flapping in their direction. They stood quite still, watching it sink lower and lower. For a split second Harry hesitated, his hand on the window latch, wondering whether to slam it shut. But then the bizarre creature soared over one of the street lamps of Privet Drive, and Harry, realizing what it was, pulled Y/N aside.
Through the window soared four owls, three of them holding up the fourth, which appeared to be unconscious. They landed with a soft flump on Harry's bed, and the owl which was large and gray keeled right over and lay motionless. There were two large packages tied to its legs—the second package had a cord wrapped around the first one, weighing the owl down.
Harry and Y/N both recognized the unconscious owl at once—his name was Errol, and he belonged to the Weasley family. Harry and Y/N dashed to the bed, untied the cords around Errol's legs, took off the parcels, and then carried Errol to Hedwig's cage. Errol opened one bleary eye, gave a feeble hoot of thanks, and began to gulp some water.
The two teenagers turned back to the remaining owls. Two of them, the large snowy female and the large, black male, were their own Hades and Hedwig. They, too, were carrying a parcel each and looked extremely pleased with themselves. They gave their owners affectionate nips with their beaks as they removed their burdens, then flew across the room to join Errol.
Neither Harry nor Y/N recognized the fourth owl, a handsome tawny one, but they knew at once where it had come from, because in addition to a fourth package, it was carrying a letter bearing the Hogwarts crest. When Y/N relieved this owl of its burden, it ruffled its feathers importantly, stretched its wings, and took off through the window into the night.
"Dramatic much?" she snickered.
Harry stared after it in awe. "I never knew owls could be dramatic."
Sitting down on his bed, Harry and Y/N grabbed Errol's packages, ripped off the brown paper, and discovered each had gotten a present wrapped in gold and their first birthday card that hadn't been each other's ever. Their fingers trembling slightly, they opened the envelope. Two pieces of paper fell out—a letter and a newspaper clipping.
The clipping had clearly come out of the wizarding newspaper, the Daily Prophet, because the people in the black-and-white picture were moving. Y/N and Harry picked up the clippings, smoothed them out, and each read:
'MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE
SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE
Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw.
A delighted Mr. Weasley told the Daily Prophet, "We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank."
The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.
"It is quite nice, being able to do whatever we want, but I can't wait to go see all my friends at Hogwarts," reported Ron Weasley, the second youngest of the Weasleys. The youngest of the Weasleys, Ginevra ("Ginny", as people close to her call her), was quick to agree. Ron and Ginny have confirmed that two of Ron's closest friends are indeed the famous Harry Potter and Y/N Black, but they have not divulged any more information, we're afraid to say.'
Y/N had to crack a grin at that. She'd forever be grateful to Ron and Ginny for not revealing any unwanted secrets to the public. She read her letter, which read:
Dear Y/N,
Like I told Harry, happy birthday!
Look, I'm really sorry about that telephone call. I hope the Muggles didn't give you and Harry a hard time. I asked Dad, and he reckons I shouldn't have shouted. So maybe that was my fault. My bad.
It's amazing here in Egypt. Bill's taken us around all the tombs and you wouldn't believe the curses those old Egyptian wizards put on them. Mum wouldn't let Ginny come in the last one. There were all these mutant skeletons in there of Muggles, who'd broken in and grown extra heads and stuff.
In case you're wondering how you and Harry got the exact same clipping, I managed to get two copies of The Daily Prophet. Although I suppose you should have guessed that, seeing as how you're smart and all.
'Smart? Me?'
I couldn't believe it when Dad won the Daily Prophet Draw. Seven hundred Galleons! Most of it's gone on this trip, but they're going to buy me a new wand for next year.
Y/N remembered only too well the occasion when Ron's old wand had snapped. It had happened when the car the three of them had been flying to Hogwarts had crashed into a tree on the school grounds.
We'll be back in about a week before term starts and we'll be going up to London to get my wand and our new books. Any chance of meeting you and Harry there?
Don't let the Muggles get you down!
Try and come to London,
Ron
P.S. Percy's Head Boy. He got the letter last week.
'Bet Ron's not too jazzed about that,' Y/N thought as she glanced back at the photograph. Percy, who was in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, was looking particularly smug. He had pinned his Head Boy badge to the fez perched jauntily on top of his neat hair, his horn-rimmed glasses flashing in the Egyptian sun.
Y/N now turned to her present and unwrapped it. Inside was what looked like a miniature glass spinning top. There was another note from Ron beneath it.
Y/N—this is a Pocket Sneakoscope. I managed to get Harry the same exact thing. If there's someone untrustworthy around, it's supposed to light up and spin. Bill said it's rubbish sold for wizard tourists and isn't reliable, because it kept lighting up at dinner last night. But he didn't realize Fred and George had put beetles in his soup.
Bye—
Ron
Y/N put the Pocket Sneakoscope on Harry's bedside table, where it stood quite still—to Harry's amazement, unbeknownst to her—balanced on its point, reflecting the luminous hands of his clock. Harry put his beside hers, and they both looked at them happily for a few seconds before picking up the packages Hades and Hedwig had brought.
Inside these, too, there were wrapped presents, a card and a letter each, this time from Hermione.
Harry's read:
Dear Harry,
Ron wrote to me and told me about his phone call to your Uncle Vernon. I do hope you and Y/N are all right.
Also, I do feel like I have to mention this. I don't mean to pressure you, Harry, but I do believe you have to tell Y/N how you feel sometime soon.
Harry swore he felt his cheeks flame up at that.
That's all I'm going to say about that for now.
I'm on holiday in France at the moment and I didn't know how I was going to send these to you—what if they'd opened them at customs?—but then Hedwig and Hades showed up! I think they wanted to make sure you got something for your birthdays for a change. I bought your presents by owl-order; there was an advertisement in the Daily Prophet (I've been getting it delivered; it's so good to keep up with what's going on in the wizarding world). Did you see that picture of Ron and his family a week ago? I bet he's learning loads. I'm really jealous—the ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating.
There's some interesting local history of witchcraft here, too. I've rewritten my whole History of Magic essay to include some of the things I've found out. I hope it's not too long—it's two rolls of parchment more than Professor Binns asked for.
Ron says he's going to be in London in the last week of the holidays. Can you both make it? Will your aunt and uncle allow you both to come? I really hope you can. If not, I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express on September 1st!
Love from
Hermione
P.S. Ron says Percy's Head Boy. I'll bet Percy's really pleased. Ron doesn't seem to happy about it.
Harry laughed as he and Y/N put Hermione's letters aside and picked up her presents. His was very heavy, and considering that Y/N's was about the same size as his, he assumed it was also very heavy. Knowing Hermione, he was sure they would be large books full of very difficult spells—but they weren't. Their hearts gave huge bounds as they ripped back the paper and saw sleek black leather cases, with silver words stamped across them, reading Broomstick Servicing Kit each.
"Wow, Hermione!" Y/N whispered as she and Harry unzipped their cases to look inside.
There were large jars of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish, pairs of gleaming silver Tail-Twig Clippers, tiny brass compasses to clip on your broom for long journeys, and A Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare.
Apart from their friends, the thing that they both missed mist about Hogwarts was Quidditch, the most popular sport in the magical world—highly dangerous, very exciting, and played on broomsticks. Harry and Y/N both happened to be very good Quidditch players; they had been the youngest people in a century to be picked for one of the Hogwarts House teams. One of their most prized possessions were their Nimbus Two Thousand racing brooms.
They put their leather cases aside and picked up their last parcels. They recognized the untidy scrawls on the brown paper at once: These were from Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper. They tore off the top layer of paper and glimpsed something green and leathery, but before they could unwrap them properly, the parcels gave strange quivers, and whatever was inside it snapped loudly—as though they had jaws.
Harry and Y/N froze. Both of them knew that Hagrid would never send them anything dangerous on purpose, but then again, Hagrid didn't have a normal person's view of what was dangerous. Hagrid had been known to befriend giant spiders, buy vicious, three-headed dogs from men in pubs, and sneak illegal dragon eggs into his cabin. They both knew this from experience—in their first year, Hagrid had snuck an illegal dragon egg into his cabin and managed to buy Fluffy, a three-headed dog, while in their second year, Y/N, Harry, and Ron had ventured into the Forbidden Forest to speak to Aragog (a giant spider whom Hagrid had taken care of since he had been at Hogwarts and been expelled for), where they'd nearly met their demise.
Y/N poked her parcel nervously. It snapped loudly again. Harry reached for the lamp on the bedside table, gripped it firmly in one hand, and raised it over his head, ready to strike. Then Y/N seized the rest of the wrapping paper and pulled as Harry did the same with his other hand.
And out fell—two books. They both jus thad time to register their handsome green covers, emblazoned with the golden title The Monster Book of Monsters each before they flipped onto their edge and scuttled sideways along the bed like some weird crab.
"Uh-oh," Harry muttered.
The books toppled off the bed with loud clunks and shuffled rapidly across the room. Y/N and Harry followed it stealthily. The books were hiding in the dark space under Y/N's desk. Praying that the Dursleys were still fast asleep, Y/N got down on her hands and knees and reached toward them.
"Ouch!"
The books snapped shut on her hands and then flapped past her, still scuttling on their covers. Harry and Y/N threw themselves forwards, managing to flatten them. Uncle Vernon gave a loud, sleepy grunt in the room next door.
Hedwig, Hades, and Errol watched interestedly as the two teenagers clamped their struggling books in their arms, hurried to their chest of drawers, and pulled out two belts, which they buckled tightly around them. The Monster Books shuddered angrily, but could no longer flap and snap, so Harry and Y/N threw them down on the bed and reached for Hagrid's cards.
Dear Harry and Y/N,
Happy birthday!
Think you might find these useful for next year. Won't say no more here. Tell you when I see you. Hope the Muggles are treating you both right.
All the best,
Hagrid
It struck them both as ominous that Hagrid thought biting books would come in useful, but they put Hagrid's cards up next to Ron's and Hermione's, both of them grinning more broadly than ever. Now there were only the letters from Hogwarts left.
Y/N slit open the envelope, noticing that it was rather thicker than usual. She pulled out the first page of parchment within and read:
Dear Ms. Black,
Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King's Cross station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o' clock.
Third years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade on certain weekends. Please give the enclosed permission form to your parent or guardian to sign.
A list of your books for next year is enclosed.
Yours sincerely,
Professor M. McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Y/N pulled out the Hogsmeade permission form and looked at it, no longer grinning. It would be wonderful to visit Hogsmeade on weekends; she knew it was an entirely wizarding village, and she had never set foot there. But how on earth were she and Harry going to persuade Vernon or Petunia to sign the form?
She looked over at the alarm clock. It was now two o' clock in the morning.
Deciding she would worry about the Hogsmeade form when she woke up, Y/N crossed off another day on the chart she and Harry had made for themselves, counting down the days left until their return to Hogwarts before getting into her bed and turning to face their new birthday cards, Harry doing the same.
Extremely unusual though they were, at that moment Harry Potter and Y/N Black felt just like everyone else—glad, for the first time in their lives—that it was their birthday.