Harry Potter paced the length of his small bedroom at number four, Privet Drive. In his hand he carried a pair of letters, and he was waiting impatiently for his owl, Hedwig, to return from her nightly hunt so that she could deliver them for him. He checked his watch: it was 1:45 in the morning, only five minutes later than the last time he had checked. It felt like it had been hours. Finally, just as he was beginning to despair of being able to send his letters in secret, the large snowy owl swooped in through the open window. She landed on top of her cage and looked questioningly at Harry as she swallowed the fat mouse she had been carrying in her beak.
“I’ve got some work for you, Hedwig,” Harry told the owl. “I need you to deliver these two letters, but you can’t let anybody see this one.” He held up the smaller of the two letters, which simply said Tyler on the outside. “I’m not sure where he is now that the summer holidays have started, but I hope you can find him.”
Hedwig looked slightly offended at the insinuation that she might not be able to find Tyler, and hooted indignantly.
“Okay,” Harry said with a laugh, “sorry. The other letter is for Ginny. If you could, I don’t know, hide Tyler’s letter when you deliver Ginny’s, and then go get it and take it to him, that would probably be best. Sound okay?”
Hedwig fluffed up her feathers importantly and held out her leg. Harry tied Ginny’s letter to it, and then gently placed Tyler’s letter in the owl’s beak.
“Good luck, Hedwig,” he said, stepping aside to give her a clear path to the window.
She shot him a look that clearly said, “As if I need luck,” and launched herself out into the night.
Finally succumbing to the exhaustion brought on by his first day back at Privet Drive, Harry collapsed onto his bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
A woman’s terrified scream jerked Harry out of his peaceful slumber. He sat up with a start, looking around wildly. It was light outside, and a quick glance at his clock told him that it was nearly eight o’clock in the morning. Another scream echoed through the house, and this time Harry recognized the voice as belonging to his Aunt Petunia. He grabbed his wand and raced for the stairs, wondering if the house might be under attack by dark wizards.
When Harry arrived in the living room, he had to struggle to keep from laughing outright at the sight before him. Aunt Petunia was pressed into the corner of the room as far as she could go, while three teacups with spindly arms and legs tap-danced on the floor in front of her. George Weasley - Harry could tell it was George because he wore a large nametag that said GEORGE - was lounging on the sofa and wearing an expression of utmost unconcern as he hummed softly and directed the dancing teacups with his wand.
“You!” shrieked Aunt Petunia, spotting Harry in the doorway. “Undo this, this instant! I will not be treated this way in my own house.”
“Sorry, Aunt Petunia,” Harry began while stifling a laugh. “I don’t remember any Transfiguration. I could blow them up if you like, but I have no idea how to get rid of the arms and legs.”
Aunt Petunia gritted her teeth and glared menacingly at Harry.
“Temper, temper Mrs. Dursley,” George said in a singsong voice. “We’ll play nice if you do.” He began directing the teacups to dance closer and closer to her feet.
“Stop it!” she shrieked. “What do you want?”
The tap-dancing stopped, but the teacups retained their arms and legs. George grinned at her and answered, “Breakfast.”
Aunt Petunia nodded curtly and made to step toward the door, but George was too quick for her and the teacups were instantly dancing again. Her apparent fear of them prevented her from escaping.
“It’s only polite to ask us what we’d like,” said George, sounding like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He glanced toward the door and winked at Harry.
“What would you like?” Aunt Petunia asked desperately. Once again, the teacups stopped dancing.
George stroked his chin as though this was a question that required careful deliberation. “Whatever you’ve been feeding that son of yours that made him so gigantic. And not the rubbish you’ve been giving him to help him slim down, either. Anything else, Harry?”
Harry grinned at him. “That sounds great to me.”
“Well, that’s settled then,” said George. With a quick flick of his wand, the teacups’ arms and legs vanished. Aunt Petunia scooped them up and hurried toward the kitchen, scowling all the while.
As soon as she had left, Harry sank into a soft armchair. “Are you sure that was the best approach?” he asked, trying unsuccessfully to suppress his laughter.
“What’re you talking about?” George asked. “Dumbledore said, and I quote, ‘You have my permission to frighten them just enough to keep them civil.’ Between you and me, Harry, no amount of magic is ever going to make this lot civil, so that pretty much leaves everything wide open.”
Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “Why do I get the feeling that this is going to be the most fun I’ve ever had on Privet Drive?”
George mimed doing a bow without actually getting up from his reclining position. “The Weasley Twins, at your service. Guaranteed to be the life of any party, and to make a party out of any life.”
Harry laughed again and shook his head. It felt good to laugh, and Fred and George Weasley seemed to be experts at getting him to do it. “When’s Fred coming?” he asked after a moment.
“He should be along any time now. I just hope your aunt hurries up with breakfast so I can grab a bite before I have to leave.”
“Where do you have to be, anyway?”
“Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes - that’s our joke shop. Blimey, Harry, I almost forgot you didn’t remember all that. You were our original financial backer - gave us loads of gold to get started.”
Harry’s eyes widened in shock. “Where’d I get a load of gold?” It didn’t make sense that he could have given away loads of gold when he’d never had any money of his own in his entire life.
“Well, this particular gold was the prize money from a tournament you won, but-” he paused for a moment, as though trying to decide if he ought to be telling this to Harry or not, but finally continued, “Let’s just say it was a drop in the cauldron for you.”
Harry scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘a drop in the cauldron’?”
George laughed before lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I mean you’re one of the richest wizards alive, Harry. You’ve got a vault at Gringotts - that’s the Wizarding bank - that’s full of gold and silver that your mum and dad left you. Plus, when Sirius died, he left you a pretty serious chunk of his family fortune too.”
Harry gaped at him. This couldn’t be true. Mrs. Weasley and Ron had both told him that the twins had a reputation for being pranksters, but surely George wouldn’t joke about something like this.
“Between you and me, though, don’t mention it to Ron,” George added. “Mum and Dad don’t exactly have a lot of money, and it bothers Ron more than the rest of us. He can be right jealous sometimes, but I think he’s finally starting to grow out of it.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Harry choked, still unsure whether George was stringing him along. He didn’t have time to wonder any more about it, however, because at that moment, a scowling Aunt Petunia entered the room and informed them that breakfast was ready.
Just as Harry and George were finishing their delicious breakfast of half a dozen eggs and a pound of sausage each, there was a knock at the door.
“That’ll be Fred,” said George, standing up to leave. Harry heard him open the front door and greet his twin before heading off to the joke shop. A few seconds later, Fred entered the kitchen, greeted Harry, and began polishing off the leftovers.
Excusing himself from the table, Harry headed upstairs to his room. It was nice to have the twins here to torture the Dursleys with their antics, but he wanted to see if either of his letters had been answered. His question was answered immediately upon entering his bedroom, as his head was attacked by a fluffy little owl about the size of a tennis ball.
“Hey there, Pig,” Harry said with a grin. His hand shot out and easily caught the twittering little owl, and he carefully untied the folded bit of parchment from his tiny leg. After releasing Pig, Harry sat on his bed, unfolded the letter, and began to read.
Dear Harry,
I was soooo glad to get your letter. The fact that you sent it so soon after getting there proves that you’ve gotten smarter during the past year. Two summers ago, you probably would have just scowled and refused to write anyone. I’m glad you’ve decided to lighten up.
Things at the Burrow are pretty normal - Right now, Ron’s getting yelled at for trying to sneak off and practice Quidditch instead of doing his chores. It still feels weird that we’re the only two kids left at home, but that’s the way it goes, I guess. And anyway, it’s not like things are dull around here or anything. Case in point: I just got a Howler from Hermione.
I made the mistake of writing and telling her that you had almost asked me out, but we both agreed that it would be better to hold off until your memory comes back, and she sent me a bloody Howler calling me an idiot for not jumping at the chance. I had no idea that that girl could yell so loud! It was really funny, actually, although now everybody knows all about our little talk out in the garden. I wish they’d just leave everything to you and me, but you know how meddling people can be sometimes - especially when they want to “help.” Gag.
Anyway, let me know how things are going with Fred and George. If they test out any of their inventions on you, I swear I’ll hex them so badly that it will take St. Mungo’s a month to sort them out.
I’ve got to go - Mum’s calling me, and it’s never a good idea to ignore her.
Ginny
P.S. This is stupid. I don’t even know how I should close a letter to you. Bye.
Harry laughed as he finished reading the letter. The postscript at the end did quite a lot to lift his spirits. Ginny hadn’t signed her letter Love, Ginny or anything, but the fact that she didn’t know what to write seemed to suggest that she was at least thinking about it.
A light knock on the bedroom door caused Harry to look up sharply and shove the letter into his pocket. Fred Weasley stood in the doorway.
“And what is so extremely secret that it must be hidden the moment I enter the room?” Fred asked in an amused voice.
“Er- nothing,” Harry said quickly. “I wanted to ask you about something,” he added, hoping to discourage Fred from pressing him about the letter.
“Ask away,” said Fred as he conjured himself a small armchair and settled comfortably into it.
Harry pulled open the lid of his school trunk and took out Peter Pettigrew’s damaged broomstick. It was still caked with dried mud, and the tail twigs were singed and uneven - the unfortunate result of the Severing Charm he had used to remove a portion of the tail that had caught fire.
“Could you teach me a spell to clean this up?” Harry asked.
“Ah, but you’re underage,” said Fred.
“Who’s going to report me? You?” Harry asked in amusement as he leveled his gaze at Fred.
“Point taken,” Fred replied with a grin. “I’m not much for cleaning spells, but I think Scourgify ought to work.”
Harry picked up his wand, waved it at the broomstick, and said, “Scourgify.” The dried mud vanished, revealing a polished handle with the name NIMBUS 2001 embossed on the side.
Fred let out a low whistle. “That’s a nice broom, Harry. Nothing compared to your Firebolt, of course, but I bet it’s about the next best thing. That was Pettigrew’s?”
Harry nodded.
“Must have gotten it from Lucius Malfoy.”
“Malfoy?” Harry asked. “I recognize that name. Ron said he was about the foulest git at Hogwarts.”
“That’ll be Draco Malfoy Ron’s talking about,” said Fred. “I’m talking about Lucius Malfoy, Draco’s father. He’s a Death Eater - a dark wizard, I mean - but back in your second year, he bought Nimbus 2001s for the entire Slytherin Quidditch team. That’s how dear old Draco made it onto the team in the first place. Anyway, I doubt Pettigrew could’ve afforded one, so his broom probably came from Malfoy, too.”
Harry began closely examining the broom’s tail twigs. “Is there any way to repair it?”
Fred leaned forward in his chair to examine the twigs as well. “What happened?” he asked after a moment’s inspection.
“I, er, sort of cut it off,” Harry said, embarrassed. “It was on fire, and I didn’t know any spells for putting out fires, so....”
Fred laughed, and Harry felt himself beginning to smile as well. “Well, I guess that was quick thinking on your part. Still, it can’t be too terribly damaged if you managed to fly it halfway across the country, right? Tell you what; I’ll have a look around Diagon Alley when I switch back with George, and I’ll let you know what I find.”
While Fred was still speaking, Hedwig swooped in through the window, a torn scrap of paper clutched in her beak. She dropped it into Harry’s lap, and immediately began hooting urgently. Frowning, Harry picked up the scrap of paper and began to read, while Fred moved around behind him so as to be able to read over his shoulder.
Harry-
It’s Tyler. I’m so glad you wrote - I didn’t know how to contact you. Some strange blokes have been following me for a while now. I’ve given them the slip a bunch of times, but they just keep coming back. I don’t seem to be able to lose them. Anyway, from what I’ve seen I’m pretty sure they’re dark wizards like the ones you escaped from that night you left school. I saw one of them using magic to torture a shop owner into telling him where I was sleeping at night. I don’t know where to go. If you can get me out of here in any way, please help. I’m in London
The letter ended abruptly.
“Who’s-” Fred began.
“I’ve got to go,” Harry choked out. He dropped the letter and threw open his trunk, pulling out his Firebolt and heading for the window.
Fred grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “You’re not going anywhere,” he insisted. “Besides, you don’t even know where to go, other than London. It’s not as if London’s a little place.”
“Well I can’t just sit here!” Harry shouted. “Tyler’s my friend; I can’t abandon him like that.”
“Let me go contact Dumbledore; if anybody can handle it, he can,” said Fred. Harry suddenly realized that this was the first time he had ever seen Fred being completely serious. It was unnerving. “First, though, I need you to tell me about this Tyler. Everything you remember.”
“Well, er-” Harry faltered, remembering his efforts to keep Tyler’s knowledge of magic a secret. On the other hand, if he didn’t tell Fred something, Tyler was as good as dead - there was no way he’d be able to avoid the dark wizards forever. He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “His name is Tyler Stevens. He’s short and thin with light brown hair and beady black eyes. He looks nervous most of the time - his eyes are constantly darting about - and he’s, er, a pretty good pickpocket.”
“Where’d you meet him?” Fred asked. “Is he a wizard?”
Harry hesitated a moment before saying, “No. I met him at school last year.”
“Well, he certainly seems to know about magic; must be a Squib, then,” Fred mused.
“A what?” Harry asked.
“A Squib. Squibs are basically Muggles with at least one magical parent.”
“Oh, er, yeah,” Harry agreed, deciding that this was as good a reason as any for Tyler to know about magic.
“I’ll be back in a trice, Harry; don’t go running off.” Fred bounded down the stairs and out the front door. When he heard a distant crack, Harry knew he was gone.
Once again, Harry headed for the window with his Firebolt in hand. He was about to mount the broom when he suddenly remembered that he still had no idea where Tyler was. Cursing under his breath, he returned the Firebolt to his trunk and threw himself onto his bed. All he could do was wait for word to arrive.
Fred returned half an hour later, but he didn’t have any new information. All he could tell Harry was that Dumbledore was working on it, and they should know by the next day if he succeeded in finding Tyler.
Harry couldn’t remember ever having felt so powerless. Of course, he couldn’t remember anything at all from five years of his life, so he supposed that perhaps he had felt this way before. Since he couldn’t remember it, though, he figured it didn’t count. He ran his fingers through his hair and growled in frustration.
“Is there anything we can do so I’m not just sitting here waiting for something to happen?” Harry asked.
Fred shrugged. “We could always try feeding magical sweets to your cousin. If he doesn’t want any, we can force-feed him. I think I’ve got some Fainting Fancies with me.” He began searching his pockets.
Harry shook his head. “I want to do something... useful.”
Fred shot him a disgusted look. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been spending too much time with Granger,” he said. “What happened to the Harry who told George and me that we all need to take time out to have a few laughs?”
“Why don’t you ask Umbridge?” Harry asked sourly. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to have a good time, but I can’t just pretend there’s nothing wrong while my friend’s out there being hunted.”
Fred pulled a sweet from his pocket and threw it at Harry, narrowly missing his head. “You’re being stupid, you know that? It’s a good thing the rest of us don’t think the same way you do, or none of us would have smiled for the past year because you were missing. Is that what you want?” Harry was shocked to see Fred arguing with him so vehemently. Then again, one of the first things he had learned about the twins was their passion for laughter, so it shouldn’t be surprising that Fred was trying so hard to get him to lighten up.
“No,” Harry said quietly, deflating. “You know that. I just wish I could help.”
“You can help by cheering up,” said Fred. “And I’ve got just the thing. Here, watch this.” He pulled an ordinary-looking custard cream from his pocket, and popped it into his mouth. No sooner did he swallow it than he transformed into a giant yellow canary. A few moments later, he molted, leaving enormous yellow feathers all over Harry’s bedroom floor. “Tada!” he exclaimed.
Harry couldn’t help it; the scene before him was so ridiculous that he had to laugh.
“That’s better,” said Fred. “Now it’s your turn.” He held out another custard cream.
“What are these, exactly?” Harry asked as he took it.
“Canary Creams,” Fred said proudly. “One of the first Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products.”
“I heard Dumbledore talking about these,” Harry said suddenly, as he remembered visiting the dingy pub with his Headmaster.
“Really? What did he say?”
Harry hesitated. “Just the name. He wasn’t exactly talking about them; it was more like he was using the name ‘Canary Cream’ as a password or a signal.”
Fred responded with an insane grin. “Wait ‘til I tell George. He’ll go nuts! But first, you eat.”
Harry nervously popped the cream into his mouth and promptly turned into a giant-sized canary just as his cousin, Dudley, walked past the open door. Dudley stopped short, staring wide-eyed at the giant bird. And then the spell wore off, and Harry was once again standing in his bedroom, although now there were twice as many yellow feathers covering the floor. Dudley let out a terrified gurgling noise at the sight of a giant bird suddenly molting and transforming into his cousin, and ran to his own bedroom.
“Excellent timing, Harry,” Fred laughed. Harry couldn’t help smiling back at him.
Around dinnertime that evening, Errol, the Weasley family’s ancient owl, arrived with a letter for Harry. In it, Mrs. Weasley explained that Professor Dumbledore, along with several of his “associates,” as she put it, had found Tyler in London and brought him to the Burrow. Apparently, the Weasleys felt that any friend of Harry’s was a friend of theirs and they had opened their home to him without question, despite the fact that they knew Harry had met him at a school for delinquents. Harry felt an odd warmth well up inside of him as he realized just how deeply his friends trusted his judgment.
After he finished eating, Harry bade Fred goodnight and retired to his bedroom, the exhaustion of spending all day alternating between worrying about Tyler and pranking the Dursleys with Fred finally catching up with him. As he lay down on his bed and closed his eyes, he couldn’t help feeling that, if one day at Privet Drive had taken this long, the two weeks he would be spending there would go by much slower than he cared to think about.