The First Order Series

Side blog | Posts about The First Order series

[thefirstorderseries]

The First Order Series

Mostly for my own benefit, I've decided to set up a side-blog that deals with all the posts from The First Order series.

The first chapter will be posted on Aug 27th, and in the lead-up, I'll be posting scenes from the first chapter on this blog.

[thefirstorderseries]

I love a bit of protective Sirius

(…) ‘Are you lost, Potter?’ asked Severus, dragging Lily back from her thoughts.

Potter stared at him for a moment.

‘No…’ he said slowly, ‘I think I am in the library, unless I am very much mistaken. Sirius?’

‘Books,’ said Black, pointing at them. ‘Bookshelves. Ugly librarian. Desks, chairs.’

‘Library,’ repeated Potter firmly.

‘Quite,’ said Severus, ‘only, you have to be able to read to make use of this space.’

‘Evidently not,’ drawled Black, ‘since you are here.’

At this, Potter snorted.

Lily looked down, concentrating on her essay. Though Black’s comment was cruel, she couldn’t help the feeling that this time it was her friend who had started it.

Even with her gaze fixed on her parchment, however, she could practically feel Severus’ flushed cheeks.

‘Right, Jim, we’ve got better things to do than talk to slime.’

‘Like catching up on school work,’ said Severus, and Lily noticed how his voice had gone silky smooth.

Both boys snorted. She, however, sensed danger.

‘What’s that —’ Black began.

‘You missed nearly a week of school, didn’t you Potter? Tell me, do blood traitors’ funerals differ from—’

Lily looked up, appalled.

The amusement vanished from Black’s face. His wand was in his hand so fast Lily barely had time to notice him drawing it, and he stepped threateningly towards Severus. Potter had frozen behind him.

‘Finish that sentence,’ snarled Black.

His voice was low. There was none of his usual taunting in it now, nothing smug or playful. He looked furious.

[thefirstorderseries]

Ch1, S3: James Potter

‘This one’s for you, love.’ 

Euphemia Potter held out a thick envelope with his name written in green ink on the front with a meaningful look. James snatched it from her. Then, catching himself, he asked: ‘Which owl?’

There were currently three owls sitting at the kitchen counter. He recognised the paper-owl by the small leather pouch, and knew that one was there to deliver the daily prophet to his parents. To its right sat a long-eared owl, it’s fierce orange eyes surveying the kitchen sternly, and to its left was a barn owl, it’s dark eyes and heart-shaped face making it look more curious than its two colleagues.

His mother pointed to the long-eared owl.

‘Thank you,’ James addressed the Hogwarts delivery owl solemnly.

It gave him a short, approving stare before ruffling its feathers importantly. A moment after, it took off through the window, followed by the two others. 

But James’ attention was already on the two thick, heavy, yellowish pieces of parchment inside the envelope, his heart hammering in his chest. This was it! This was his Hogwarts letter. He could barely believe his own eyes. 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) Dear Mr Potter,  We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.  Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress

‘Mum, can I have some parchment!’

‘Not right now, love. You need to eat your breakfast.’

Euphemia pointed to the plate of eggs and bacon that he had barely started when the owls had arrived. But James didn’t feel the least bit hungry.

‘But we have to write back to confirm my place!’

‘Hm, yes, indeed.’ His father was bending over him to read the letter, squinting at the handwriting. James passed him the parchment, knowing Fleamont’s eyesight had been getting worse of late. ‘I forgot it is the 31st of July today. Quick, wife, or we will be stuck with Jim forever.’

‘Haha,’ said James dryly. He knew they still had a week and a half to write a response, but what if they forgot? 

Fleamont gave a satisfied hum before grabbing the newspaper the paper owl had brought, unfolding it next to his own plate of breakfast. Adjusting his glasses, he disappeared in the black and white sheets of news, appearing entirely unbothered by James’ nerves.

‘Tell you what, darling. Why don’t I get some parchment ready to write a reply as soon as you’ve finished breakfast?’ offered his mother.

James agreed. Deciding to get breakfast over with quickly, he stuffed his mouth full of egg and toast. This he immediately regretted as no sooner had his mother left to find some parchment before the door to the kitchen opened again, and his grandfather, Henry Potter, emerged from the doorway. 

Trying to swallow his mouthful of breakfast as quickly as possible, he nearly choked. 

‘Grandpa!’ James called as soon as he could breathe normally, jumping out of his chair once more. ‘I’ve got my letter!’

‘What letter?’ 

‘THE letter!’ James waved his letter in front of his grandfather. ‘My Hogwarts letter.’ 

‘No… that’s not right. You have to be eleven to start Hogwarts.’

There was a look of mischief behind his grandfather’s round spectacles. James knew it was a joke. He knew he shouldn’t rise to it. Yet it was impossible not to.

‘I am eleven! I’ve been eleven for ages.’

‘No,’ repeated Henry, ‘I distinctly recall that you’re only nine and I get to keep you here by my side for another two years.’

‘Whereas I am pleased to inform you that I’ve kept strict count of my son’s birthdays, Harry,’ came Fleamont’s voice, ‘and he is indeed eleven and finally ready to be taken off my hands.’

‘Hllarious, the both of you,’ grumbled James, crossing his arms as he sat down again.

His grandfather took a seat next to him and was soon given a plate of breakfast from Euphemia, who had returned. 

It was only this year that his grandfather had moved in with him and his parents, after he’d had a bout of flu that the pepper-up potion had been unable to cure as quickly as had been expected. James loved having him around, and as eager as he was to go to Hogwarts, his father and grandfather had made a good point. Going to school inevitably meant saying goodbye to them, and that made James’ stomach tighten painfully.

He didn’t have long to consider this, because a moment later the door to the kitchen opened once more, and Carl Potter, James’ cousin of sorts, bounced in. 

‘Carl!’ James raced over to his cousin. ‘Look!’

He practically threw the letter into Carl’s hands.

‘Rob said he thought it’d come today.’ 

Robert McGonagall was a younger brother of Hogwarts’ Deputy Headmistress, and one of Carl’s best friends. This explained, he guessed, why Carl had decided to drop in this morning. Looking over James’ head, Carl continued: 

‘Freedom at last, then, uncle Monty?’

‘Aren’t you a bit late for work?’ asked Euphemia.

‘Just come off a nightshift,’ explained Carl brightly. 

Having seen Caradoc Dearborn and Anwen McGonagall, Robert’s wife, often enough after a nightshift, James knew Carl was rather strange in appearing completely unaffected by the odd working hours he kept at St Mungo’s. Though he did usually sleep most of the day following said shifts, so it made little difference to James whether Carl worked day or night—he didn’t get to see his cousin much those days, either way.

‘Ah, then I suppose some breakfast would be just the thing?’ Fleamont made to get up, folding his newspaper, but Euphemia waved her hand. ‘I’ve got it. So egg, bacon, beans, toast and a steaming mug of tea, how does that sound?’

‘Like all my dreams have come true at once,’ grinned Carl, pulling out a chair. 

James hadn’t really been listening. Skimming the second piece of parchment, he got an idea: ‘Can we go to Diagon Alley today? I could get my wand and everything!’ 

‘I don’t see why not,’ agreed Euphemia as she handed Carl a plate. Then, looking at James’ half-finished one, she frowned: ‘assuming you finish your breakfast soon, young man.’

‘And we write a reply to Hogwarts,’ James reminded her. ‘Can grandpa come?’

‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world,’ his grandfather promised.

‘And Carl?’

‘I suppose I could make time for it,’ sighed Carl, assuming a look of suffering that fooled absolutely no one.

‘I hope I am welcome too?’ came a soft female voice.

James’ cousin on his mother’s side, Sarah Shafiq, was now entering the increasingly crowded kitchen. 

‘SARAH! I got my letter!’ 

‘She has eyes, Jamie,’ muttered Carl after swallowing a mouthful of egg and beans. 

‘I’d be a pretty rubbish Keeper otherwise,’ agreed Sarah. 

‘“Otherwise,” she says… as if she’s any good.’ 

Carl rolled his eyes. 

‘You’re the one to talk,’ she observed dryly before turning back to James. ‘I can’t believe you’re off to Hogwarts so soon.’

While she did offer him a smile, James noticed that it didn’t quite meet her dark eyes. If anything, he thought she looked a little sad.

It wasn’t Carl’s comment that had upset Sarah; James knew that much. As Captain and Keeper of the Holyhead Harpies, and the Keeper of the English National Quidditch Team, Sarah was indisputably a very talented Quidditch player. In any case, she and Carl always ribbed one another. Although not related—Carl being a relation of James on his father’s side, and Sarah was Euphemia’s sister’s daughter—they were the same age. They had grown up together, making them practically siblings as far as James was concerned. 

Just then, Carl reached out a hand and squeezed Sarah’s arm: ‘I know… They grow up too quickly, don’t they?’

James wrinkled his nose. Adults could be so weird, sometimes.

[thefirstorderseries]

A little bit of mischief

I was in the mood for a little bit of mischief, so I thought I'd share this random scene from chapter 11: secrets and hidden treasures, since I've already shared an extract from it ages back. Baby!Marauders on their first ever adventure <3

Peter couldn’t believe he and Remus had been invited to explore a secret passageway with no other than James Potter and Sirius Black. Watching Sirius and James work was awe-inspiring. Somehow, they had figured out that there was a passageway behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy in the corridor of the East wing on the fifth floor. 

‘Why, Mr Smarmy,’ said James with an exaggerated pompous tone as he bowed before the statue, ‘you look simply exquisite this morning.’

‘Your invention of the Unctuous Unction is still the most groundbreaking within potions, and may it continue to be so,’ drawled Sirius.

The statue smirked, as though flattered, before it stepped aside, revealing a narrow spiral staircase. 

‘We’ve done this first part already,’ explained James as they started descending the stairs. ‘But the tunnel goes on for ages, so we figured it leads somewhere outside of the school grounds.’

Even the staircase seemed to go down forever. Round and round they spiralled, the air growing colder with every turn, until Peter was convinced they must be somewhere beneath the dungeons. 

At last, the steps ended in a low stone passageway. It was wide enough for two to walk abreast, though had they been taller, their shoulders might have brushed the walls. 

The tunnel stretched away into the darkness, disappearing around a gentle curve. Its walls were made of the same grey stone as the castle, though darker here with damp. Every so often, droplets of water trickled down the walls and collected in shallow puddles on the floor.

At first, Peter listened eagerly as James and Sirius speculated about where the tunnel might emerge. After a while, however, he started growing weary, the soles of his feet hurting. 

The tunnel curved steadily onwards as they kept walking. And walking. And walking. Every time Peter rounded a bend, he expected to see daylight or a door or something. Instead, there was only more tunnel waiting for them.

'How long is this tunnel?' he asked eventually.

'That's what we're trying to find out,' said Sirius, turning his face just enough for Peter to see his arched eyebrows. Right.

Then, finally, the tunnel started to rise. At first, Peter wondered if he imagined it, but then, Sirius stopped, grabbed James’ arm and pointed at the ground.

The boys picked up speed after that, and before they knew it, they were standing by:

‘Hogsmeade station,’ groaned Sirius. ‘Really?’

‘It is rather anti-climactic,’ concurred Remus.

‘We must have walked around the lake,’ said Sirius, still surveying the grounds, ‘and I’d bet anything it was the long way around, under the road to Hogsmeade.’

James, however, was not to be dissuaded that quickly.

‘But we can walk that way overground now, and get to the village.’

‘There must be better options,’ argued Sirius.

‘Sure,’ agreed James, ‘but we don’t know those “better options” yet, do we?’

His gaze travelled over the trees on the other side of the station.

‘And we can explore the forest here too.’

‘Yeah, because we’re bound to find lots of interesting stuff,’ said Sirius sarcastically.

James just grinned and started walking towards the small bridge that would take them over to the other side of the tracks. Sirius shrugged and followed. Peter and Remus exchanged a look, before hurrying after them.

The station was deserted. The platform where they had first arrived at Hogwarts a little over a month ago stood empty beneath a blanket of grey clouds. 

Crossing the bridge, Peter looked back once. From here, Hogwarts was hidden by the slope of the land and the trees surrounding the lake. It gave him a strange feeling. For the first time since September, he was standing somewhere that wasn’t part of the castle or its grounds.

On the far side of the tracks, James led them towards the trees.

Peter had expected something more dramatic. The Forbidden Forest, viewed from the castle, always looked impossibly dark and mysterious. The edge of this forest, however, looked much like any other woodland. Tall oaks and beeches stretched overhead, their branches half-bare. Damp leaves carpeted the ground beneath their feet, and every now and then a gust of wind made the treetops creak softly.

After a few minutes, the station and tracks disappeared from view behind the trees. The light seemed dimmer here. The sounds of the wind faded too, leaving only the squashing sound of rotting leaves beneath their shoes. 

Peter found himself glancing between the trees. It’s just an ordinary forest, he reminded himself. Yet he couldn’t dispel a feeling that they were being watched. Then:

'Nosey little brats.'

Peter froze. The voice had come from somewhere ahead.

'Poking about.'

'Stupid brats.'

'Ugly brats.'

The remarks seemed to be coming from all directions at once. 

James' face lit up. 'Did you hear that?'

A rustling sounded in a patch of bracken to their left. Something long and dark darted between the ferns.

'There!' cried Peter.

They spun around. For a split second, Peter caught sight of a creature about the size of a ferret. It had black fur, bright eyes and a surprisingly human expression.

'Oafs,' it announced.

It vanished, but not before another voice behind them uttered:

‘Blind oafs.’

Four heads turned. A second creature was perched atop a fallen log.

'Nasty hair,' the creature said.

'Tiny brain,' this came from their left.

‘Pea brain.’ This from their right. Then:

‘Pea brain!’

‘Pea brain!’

‘Pea brain!’

From all around them. 

‘Jarvey,’ observed Sirius, his eyes shining bright. 

‘What?’ asked Peter who felt increasingly stressed out by the creatures moving around and shouting insults at them.

‘They’re talking ferrets, basically,’ explained James happily.

Once they’d all grown tired of the endless insults (James and Sirius seemed to find being insulted quite interesting), they continued onwards.

‘Those Jarveys could really give Peeves a run for his money,’ mused James, whereas Sirius saw things in an entirely different light. He was wearing a dreamy far-off look as he said: ‘Imagine bringing Snivellus here.’

They walked for another ten or so minutes. Peter, whose feet had already grown tired in the secret passageway, hoped they’d stop soon. Keeping his eyes on the ground, he kept imagining what it would be like, back in the common room, in a comfortable squashy armchair. 

Something moved. On the ground. A fallen branch. But branches didn’t slither forward.

A snake.

His breath caught in his throat. 

It was enormous. Thick as his arm, its scales dark and wet-looking amongst the dead leaves. Peter couldn't move. He hated snakes. Even working with their skin and fangs in Potions made his skin crawl.

The snake lifted its head. Its eyes fixed on him. Finally, Peter managed to take a step back. 

‘S-s-s-,’ he stuttered. 

'Peter?' asked Remus.

The snake moved again.

'Snake!' yelped Peter.

He stumbled backwards so quickly that he nearly tripped over a tree root. Remus ran forward as the two others spun around too.

Crack! 

The snake disappeared. Peter scanned the ground frantically.

‘Turn around,’ said Remus, voice suddenly oddly commanding. ‘It’s a boggart.’

‘D’you know how to get rid of it?’ asked James, who, like Sirius and Peter had followed Remus’ instructions.

Only Remus faced towards the boggart, his face closed. 

‘No,’ he said slowly, ‘it’s best if we run for it, I think. They’re not dangerous, but…’

Better safe than sorry.

Peter turned and bolted.

Dead leaves flew up beneath their feet as all four of them crashed through the trees. Before him, he could see Sirius and James crashing through the undergrowth, James in the lead.

No one looked back.

Lungs now burning, his feet seemed determined to catch on every root and fallen branch in the forest. Twice he stumbled. The third time he went down completely, pitching forwards onto his hands and knees.

For one horrible second he was convinced that if he looked over his shoulder, he would see the snake. Instead, a hand seized the back of his robes. Remus helped him up to his feet.

‘Are you okay?’

Peter nodded as they kept running. The trees began to thin. Grey daylight filtered through the branches ahead.

'Hogsmeade station!' shouted James who was far ahead of the others by now.

The sight of the platform a few seconds later gave Peter a burst of energy. They raced across the open ground, shoes thudding on the wooden bridge, before plunging into the concealed entrance of the passageway.

Only once the stone door had swung shut behind them did they stop. Breathing hard, Peter leaned against the damp wall of the tunnel.

‘Snakes, Pete?’ asked Sirius once he’d gotten his breath back. 

James shuddered. ‘Did you even see it? It was enormous!’

Sirius rolled his eyes.

‘How did you know it was a Boggart?’ asked James, turning to Remus. 

‘My dad’s an expert in them.’

‘I know that.’ James waved a hand. The others looked faintly surprised at this. ‘But still, how did you know?’

‘Well, I guess he saw his greatest fear.’ 

Sirius arched his eyebrows.

‘Yeah, but so did Peter,’ pushed James, ‘and it could just have been a snake.’

‘You know,’ said Remus, starting to walk, ‘that’s how mum and dad met.’

‘A boggart?’ asked James, who seemed to forget his previous line of enquiry and hurried to follow. 

‘Precisely. Mum ran into one in a forest, and dad… Well, I guess he didn’t actually save her as she was never in any danger, but he helped her.’

Peter sighed as he followed them and Sirius. Walking… again. At least they were returning to the castle.

[neverenoughmarauders]

On babies during the war

I've completely changed my view on what drives parents to have children in a (fictional) war (or at least this fictional war).

In my long fic, for almost every single OC that I introduce, I know if, and if so, when and how the character dies. This might tie-in with their birthday (because I am sadistic) or how I introduce them (again, because I am sadistic) etc.

The concept of killing a lot of the OCs that I create has less to do with sadism and more to do with the purpose of this long fic, which is to build a (hopefully) rich wizarding world, just to tear it down. Not because I want to, but because that's my understanding of what happened during the war. It's to watch our heroes carry on while losing classmates, teammates, friends, family, colleagues, and order members. Characters that I have nurtured for hundreds of thousands of words, and that you may have seen grow up and develop over 7-10 years.

But as I'm sitting there, plotting these devastating deaths, my mind naturally wanders to the aftermath of these deaths, the conversations that my characters have in processing that yet another person has died.

Here's the thing: these characters are going to continue fighting no matter what, and the losses that they experience don't stop them from finding reasons to fight (unless they're called Peter). If anything, it keeps adding to the list. But the reasons to live on after the war do shrink dramatically as the story progresses.

Harry and Neville are essential. Not just for the parents, but for everyone in the Order and everyone around them, to remind people that there is a life after the war. And it might be hard to see what that future looks like, as everyone keeps dying, but that's where the children are especially magical. There is this promise in the fact that no matter who falls, there will always be new reasons to fight and new reasons to love, even if no one knows the outlines of precisely what--or who--that will look like.

I view Harry and Neville less as accidents than I used to, and more like the choices of adults who have to keep their gaze forward, because the past is full of ghosts, and the present full of corpses.

[thefirstorderseries]

I was just mapping out my posting schedule, out of curiosity. So my second chapter, September 1st, is published on purpose on September 1st. From then onwards, the plan is to post one chapter a week, on Thursdays, starting September 10th.

So I checked where that would get my by Christmas. And what do you know? If I manage to stick to that schedule, chapter 18: Christmas Riddles will be posted on Christmas Eve. I mean, that's pretty fun, right?!

[thefirstorderseries]

Ch1, S2: Frank Longbottom

Standing with the red and gold Head Boy badge in hand, Frank Longbottom was trying to decide whether he was surprised at the appointment—or not. As a Prefect, the chances had always been higher than for a regular student, but both Richard Bones and Ralph Davies had been diligent in their Prefect duties. Even Magnus Bulstrode hadn’t been too awful, for a Slytherin. 

No, he really had to stop that way of thinking. It was bad enough for a Prefect to hold onto house grudges, but as Head Boy, it was downright destructive. 

‘Is that the school list, dear?’ 

Frank startled. Turning around, his mother was already standing by the kettle. He’d not even heard her enter. She could be unnerving that way.

‘Tea?’

There was something expectant in her eyes.

‘Yes, erm…’ 

‘Yes, please,’ his mother corrected, as if he were five.

‘I am Head Boy.’

The words left him almost against his will, breathless and uncertain. 

‘Naturally.’

There wasn’t a trace of surprise to be found in the face of his formidable mother. 

‘Augusta, my darling wife, you could try to act a bit surprised—or if that’s too much to ask, a fraction of pride wouldn’t go amiss?’

His father was standing in the doorway, beaming. He was not much taller than his wife, with large protruding ears, thinning hair, “and a winning smile” as his uncle Algie sometimes said. Always with a rather mocking undertone, but Jack always chose to ignore his brother. 

‘I am plenty proud,’ huffed Augusta as she passed Frank a mug of steaming tea. She placed her hands on his shoulders and guided him to a chair. ‘But I am not surprised. A man like Albus Dumbledore would never have failed to recognise how brilliant our son is.’

Now Frank wanted to disappear. He never knew what was worse: his mother’s praise or the lack of it.

‘Still,’ his father took a seat across from him, ‘plenty of work has gone into earning that badge. I say a large congratulations… and perhaps a small celebration… is in order.’ 

‘We can celebrate when he’s got his N.E.W.Ts and his job at the Auror office.’ Augusta put a second mug of tea in front of her husband, before she took her own porcelain cup and headed for the door. ‘Excuse me, I have some letters to write.’

‘To brag about our most extraordinary son,’ suggested Jack with a wink, but only after Augusta had left them. ‘We’re both so very proud of you.’

Frank decided to focus on his tea and his new list of school supplies for this year. His final year. 

As there wasn’t much to keep his attention in the letter, however, he turned his thoughts back to the note from Dumbledore, which he had skimmed earlier. It seemed Sandra Morgan—a Ravenclaw muggle-born Prefect—was to be his partner as the newly appointed Head Girl. He felt rather good about that. Sandra was kind, clever and diligent. 

‘Tell you what, Frankie.’ His father’s voice cut through his thoughts. ‘Why don’t we buy you an owl? It’s about time you got your own.’

An owl. One that was his alone. So far, his parents… well, his mother, really… had rejected the idea. What was the point, she’d argued, when they had a perfectly healthy family owl, and a whole army of free school ones, should Fay be unavailable? 

‘That would be great,’ he said, his mouth dry. ‘Thank you, dad.’

‘Nonsense,’ Jack waved his hand, ‘this is all you, son. It’s your work that’s earned you that badge. And don’t you forget it.’ 

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added quietly: ‘Fran was Head Girl in her time, she’d be so very proud too.’

It seemed pointless to argue that his aunt had died long before he was born, and thus could not possibly have any feelings to offer on the matter of his achievements in life. Instead, he gave his father the only thing he could: a sympathetic smile.

[neverenoughmarauders]

WIP Snippet Time

Because I am bored. This is the first scene of the I Solemnly Swear re-write. Summer 1971:

Rapid footsteps sounded as young feet sprinted across one narrow, cobbled street, then another. A blur of red and yellow—like fire spreading through dry grass—practically flew past the rows and rows of dilapidated brick houses, before the figure, a girl with auburn hair and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes, wearing a bright yellow dress and a white cardigan, paused in front of a home in a run-down street by the name of Spinner’s End. If the street was a little neglected, that was nothing compared to the two-floor, dark and narrow terraced house the girl appeared to contemplate. 

After a moment’s consideration, it appeared the girl had made up her mind. Ignoring the front door with its once white, now dust-covered, flaking, paint, she made her way to the right side of the house. There she held her hand over three pebbles, a look of concentration coming over her. The small stones started to levitate, as if held up by invisible strings. They travelled up, past the girl, hitting one of the first-floor windows. A few minutes passed, during which the young sorceress waited seemingly patiently for someone to appear. Though her feet betrayed her, her purple loafers tapping urgently against the dry earth. 

‘Lily?’ A boy, who had to be around the same age as the girl—about eleven years old—sallow and stringy, with dirty, black, overlong hair, dressed in an odd smocklike shirt, had opened the window. ‘What are you—?’

The boy appeared unsure whether to be pleased or annoyed at Lily’s seemingly unexpected arrival. 

‘Sev, they came!’

‘Who came?’

‘A teacher from Hogwarts! Professor Flitwich, I think he was called. He came to see mum and dad.’ 

This new information did not dispel the boy’s look of confusion. 

‘So?’

‘So,’ Lily stamped her right foot into the ground. ‘They know now! They know about magic. They know I am a witch!’

When the boy offered nothing in reply, the excitement that had been radiating from the girl appeared to dim somewhat: ‘I thought… Well, I thought you’d like to know.’

‘I do!’ The boy’s eyes widened, and he gripped the sill so he could lean out of the window. ‘I just didn’t think it — never mind, can you meet me in our spot in an hour? Now’s not — well, you know…’ 

A dull flush of colour mounted the sallow cheeks, and he looked away.

‘Mum and dad,’ he muttered eventually.

‘An hour,’ agreed the girl with a determined nod. ‘And Sev… we’re going to Diagon Alley this Thursday to get all my stuff… to get my wand. Do you think you can come?’

The boy hesitated for one moment, then a look of fierce determination came over the small face. 

‘Of course,’ he promised.