In the name of Helga

Hazel Whinlatter

Owl Post

A letter landed on the doormat of 12, Kensington Avenue just as the sun was rising in the London sky. For eleven year old Justin Finch-Fletchley, and indeed any other small boy, this wasn't a new occurrence – but still he jumped out of bed in his blue and white striped pyjamas and ran out onto the landing, eager to see if this morning the postman had brought him something.

Justin, you see, was the son of a rich and influential couple called Michael and Juliana Finch-Fletchley. In his own school days, Justin's father had been educated at Eton – the famous boys' boarding school – and any day now he expected his son to receive a letter saying that he too had been accepted. It wouldn't be a big surprise if he was. After all, his name had been down since he was born.

Even stood in the doorway of his bedroom, he could see it. Whilst his stomach felt like it was doing somersaults, his legs carried him down the stairs faster than seemed humanly possible for a boy of his age, and upon reaching the hallway, his hands grabbed the letter. The envelope seemed to be made of some kind of thick, yellowing parchment, which puzzled Justin, as his older brother James' had been a normal white one. What puzzled him even more was the writing. It said his name, certainly, and the address was correct; but instead of being in small, neat computer type, it was in hand-written emerald green.

"Strange…" he thought. Turning the letter over, his insides tightened – and he called out to his father. "Dad! I've got a letter!"

Michael Finch-Fletchley – who had been waiting in the kitchen – joined Justin in sitting behind the door. "Well? Is it from Eton?" he said, putting his arm around his son.

"No, Dad" he replied. "Look what it says on the back!" Being careful not to damage the delicate paper, he handed it over and pointed to the name on the back.

The flap of the envelope bore a coat of arms. But this was no ordinary coat of arms – it was in purple wax.

Equally puzzled, father and son looked at each other.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

Whilst the Finch-Fletchley family sat around the kitchen table in bemusement, miles away in the Kentish countryside another family anxiously awaited the arrival of a school letter. This time, however, they knew exactly what to expect.

The Bones family were one of the most renowned Wizard families in Europe.

For centuries back, the Bones' had lived in their little farmhouse – each successive generation hiding their family secret from their non-Wizarding (Muggle) neighbours. To the outside world, they were normal members of the farming community who had built up enough of a nest-egg to send their children away to "some boarding school in Scotland." Of course, they never told anyone the name of this school, because no Muggle knew about Hogwarts' existence. It would be just their luck, after all they had been through, to be discovered and looked upon as freaks by the community with whom they had so much mutual respect.

That was why Margaret Bones was giving her father a telling-off. "Stop pacing up and down!" she said. "You're making Susan even more nervous than she needs to be!" This was true enough. While her mother, grandfather and aunt tried to stay calm; eleven year old Susan Bones was lying in a foetal position on the living room sofa, and hiding behind a curtain of thick red hair. She had never been more nervous in her short life. Unlike her friends at the Muggle Primary School she had previously attended, the man and two women she called "family" were three of the country's most powerful wizards. Her grandfather, Albert, had been an Auror before his retirement – one of the Ministry's finest. Now he was living the simple life, looking after the farm, but wasn't averse to using the odd spell or two to improve the harvest. Her mother, Margaret, had worked as an investigator into magical crime before the death of her husband, and her aunt Beth ran a magical-tutoring business from a store in Diagon Alley.

Coming after so many generations of gifted witches and wizards, Susan was terrified that she'd turn out to be a Squib and ruin her family's expectations. And of course, her own.

So when a small tawny owl fluttered down outside the open window and landed on the sill, a yellowy-coloured envelope in his beak, Susan jumped with excitement higher than any of her family could manage. For yet another generation, a Bones was going to Hogwarts!

At the same time as Susan was celebrating her entry into the world's finest school of magic, Julian Fortescue was still waiting. Unlike Susan, however, he didn't have time to be nervous – his parents, who owned the ice cream parlour on Diagon Alley, had decided that working that morning would be good for him. How wrong they were.

Julian wanted to get into Hogwarts more than anything in the entire world, and he thought about the school as he swept the dust away from the shop front. His older brother, Alan, already went there. It was quite strange, actually – his parents (he had an American mother, Chrissie, and an Italian father, Florean) had met there as exchange students, and had both been sorted into Hufflepuff. Yet for reasons no-one in the family could fathom, Alan had become a Gryffindor. It was Julian's suspicion that his headstrong older brother had wanted to break with tradition and told the hat to put him in another house. But where would the hat put him? He didn't think he would fit in anywhere.

By now, the sun had already risen fully over the rooftops of Diagon Alley, and the morning owl post was late. That is, if it was going to come at all. Julian, who was eleven like Susan and Justin, sighed heavily and sank down into one of the wicker chairs on the shop's terrace. He desperately hoped that he wasn't going to be a squib. "How much worse could things be?" he muttered to himself, as he opened the shop's front entrance. The shop's morning customers began to come in, in dribs and drabs for a morning coffee to start off a day's shopping. One of them was an old man called Dedalus Diggle, who himself had grandchildren at Hogwarts who were all in Ravenclaw. Mr Diggle took off his heavy black coat and helped himself to a chair next to Julian, who was still looking miserable.

"Waiting for your Hogwarts letter, boy?"

Julian nodded. "Doesn't look good though" he sighed, looking up at the morning sky with a wistful look on his face. "Still no sign of the owl coming through". Julian's head sank low onto his knees, and he tried to hide the sadness on his face from Mr Diggle. "At this rate, I'm going to be the first and only Fortescue Squib". This last word, he spat out with such venom that the old man had to lean backwards in order to avoid getting spittle on his shirt.

"You need to be more patient, dear Julian! Look!" said Dedalus, a grin spread wide across his face as he pointed upwards. "Go and get your father!"

"Go and get me for what, Dedalus?" Florean asked, wiping his hands on his apron has he walked out into the sunlight of the Alley. "Mama mia! CHRISSIE! ALAN!" he yelled in his Italian lilt. "It's the Owl Post!"

Julian's heart-rate rocketed skywards once he had seen what Dedalus had been pointing at. A beautiful white snowy owl, with honey coloured eyes and speckles of jet black fluttered down from his perch on a shop umbrella and came to rest at his side. It cocked its head and looked pointedly at him, as if to ask "What are you waiting for?". Every member of the Fortescue family, not to mention the ten or so customers in the shop, held their breath as Julian carefully opened the parchment envelope and hungrily took in the words in emerald green. Finally, he looked up into fourteen pairs of expectant eyes.

The smile escaped him before he knew it. "I'm in!" he shouted. Emerging from the scrum-like hug that engulfed him, courtesy of his parents, Alan and Dedalus, he looked at the owl who had made his dreams come true.

"Somebody get her an ice cream!" he said, before pausing. "Wait…can owls eat ice cream?"

Obviously, one of the worries in any magical family at this time of year is that the son or daughter in question won't be a witch or wizard at all. This worry can be significantly increased if the family is part Muggle, and this was the case for the Abbott family, who lived a long way from Justin, Susan and Julian, in Cornwall on England's southern edge.

The Abbotts had one child, a daughter called Hannah. She wasn't quite yet eleven, but had shown some signs of magic from an early age. At one point during her youth, she had trouble explaining herself when her teacher had told her off for talking in class – the teacher's wig set itself on fire, and danced across the classroom, astonishing the class before jumping into the bowl of the class' pet fish. Her wizard father, Anton, had always thought that this proved her witch status – although her Muggle mother, Sarah, suggested that mass hallucinations were common in children who wanted to believe something.

The very fact that Sarah Abbott had no magic in her whatsoever was the family's main worry. Although she had proved to fit into the magical world very well, there was still the possibility that Hannah could have taken after her, and not her father. This was why, on that fateful August morning a few days before Hannah's birthday, she and her parents did the same as the Bones' and gathered in the living room to wait. Hannah passed the time by plaiting and unplaiting her golden blonde pigtails – much to the consternation of her mother.

"Hannah, behave."

"Sorry mum." The tiny girl paused. "Dad?"

"Yes, love?"

"They did say it'd be today…you know, if I'm…"

"Yes Hannah, they did." Anton Abbott sighed and stroked his daughter's hair. He wondered if telling her about Hogwarts and his time there – he had been a Hufflepuff as well – had been a mistake. If there was a chance she would remain Muggle, like her mother, he didn't want her to be too disappointed. Not that there was anything wrong with being Muggle – Sarah herself was a fine woman, and in his own days at Hogwarts, Anton and his best friends, Florean Fortescue and Amos Diggory, had always been friends with the Muggle boys that they knew.

"Dad?"

"What is it now, Hannah?"

Hannah looked out of the window and paused. "What kind of owls do they use at Hogwarts?"

Anton leaned back in his chair and reminisced for a moment. "All sorts. When I was there they had tawny owls, snowy owls, screech owls…"

"What about barn owls?" Hannah interrupted suddenly. "Did they have barn owls at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, they did actually" Mr Abbott mused. "Why do you ask?

"Because…" Hannah gasped as she leapt from the chair, "There's one flying over the roof of our house! And I think it's just landed!"

Hannah was right. As she spoke, something flew down the chimney. It made a dint in the soot as it fell, making a gentle "oompf" that caused the family to rush over to the fireplace. Even though she'd been wanting this for her whole life, Hannah was still in shock. Her arms trembled as she leaned over to pick up the envelope. Holding the heavy parchment at its corner, she slid her fingers beneath the wax seal and broke it open. Like the letters of Justin, Susan and Julian before her, the emerald green ink shone before her eyes –

Dear Miss Abbott,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry…

"YES!!"

Hannah felt like crying with delight. Putting the letter aside for a moment, she felt herself being gathered into a huge bear hug by her parents and told them that she didn't want to read the rest of the letter yet. Well, she didn't have to – she'd found out what her heart desperately wanted to know.

She, Hannah Abbott, was a witch!

Mr and Mrs Michael Nott, who lived in the northern city of Manchester, were a first generation Wizard family, and very proud of it too, because they had achieved a lot for Muggle borns. They had both attended Hogwarts as children, and indeed had been two of the school's best students – Mr Nott had captained the Ravenclaw Quidditch team – for whom he had been a Beater – and Mrs Nott had been a Ravenclaw prefect. They were quite possibly the last magical family that you'd expect to have a Muggle for a son.

In fact, the Notts did have a son – David, who was eleven and a half – but Michael and Lucinda Nott didn't expect that he had anything but Wizard blood. David, however, considered this expectation to be nothing short of a burden. Today was the day that Hogwarts sent out acceptance letters, and it was business as usual in his house. His dad was humming to himself as he read a copy of the "Daily Prophet", and was just about to head off to work at the Manchester branch of Gringotts Wizard Bank, recently opened 'for the convenience of the northern Wizard community'. His mum was watching the Muggle news and feeding his baby sister Theresa, who had just knocked over a jar of baby food and was attempting to use David for target practice with a spoon. The whole family was so confident that he'd won a place that they hadn't seen fit to change their daily routine around him – an idea that David couldn't decide whether he liked or hated.

He just hoped his family was right.

Michael Nott had a particular fondness for fraternising with the Muggle community, and for this reason they lived amongst non-Wizarding families in a rather smart suburb of the city. It was also the reason the family employed a Muggle gardener. After all, a professional herbologist wearing a lime green cloak and carrying a wand would probably look a tad conspicuous. It was this Muggle gardener, a man in his late fifties called Bob Catchpole, who came walking down the driveway that morning– and for some reason, was eyeing the envelope in his hand with a look that suggested it had just bitten him. In order to let Bob through to the back garden, David rushed to the front door and opened it, calling to him – "Good morning, Bob!"

Bob answered him without taking his eyes from the letter. "Mornin' lad. Letter for you 'ere, dunno how it got there, like." Handing it to David, he walked into the back yard muttering something about never having seen an owl in daytime before, never mind one that had dropped a letter on his head. Turning his head to make sure that Mr Catchpole was a safe enough distance away, David ripped open the envelope eagerly – and had to stop himself from cheering too loud.

"Thank Merlin! I've done it."

Talk about a sigh of relief!

Like the Notts, the Fawcett family were first generation Wizards, and like the Notts, they lived in a northern city – this time, Leeds. What made the families different, however, was that while David's family were relatively calm and laid back, Rebecca Fawcett's household was in complete chaos. To the Muggle eye, their home wasn't much different to that of any of their neighbours'. It was a red brick, two storey tall terraced building with a neatly trimmed lawn at the front – but if a Wizard walked past, they would see a house with what looked like several garden sheds protruding from various points on the roof in place of added rooms, and a garden so wild that comparisons to a jungle would not be unreasonable.

Within the house, there was even more commotion. Mrs Fawcett – a tall, broad woman with hair the colour of burnt copper – was attempting to get all of her children (she had five) to sit down on the same sofa. There was no problem in this, but she was having trouble getting them to do it at the same time. On that crazy July morning, one child had climbed on top of the kitchen side-board, another had hid herself under the coffee table in the living room and was refusing to come out, and a third was throwing crumpled balls of paper at his sister – who was holding onto Mrs Fawcett's leg and refusing to let go. The only person in the house who was sitting quietly was Rebecca, the eldest. Absent-mindedly watching her siblings at play, she was sitting on a rug in front of the fireplace, clasping her hands together in her lap. She was so nervous that she had awoken at 6 am – far earlier than usual – and had earlier been pacing up and down the living room floor, behaviour which had been mirrored by her mother.

Everything in the house had been made ready for the arrival of a possible acceptance. The fireplace, which was normally boarded up in favour of an electric fire, had been opened up and temporarily attached to the Floo network, the curtains had been tied back to give the earliest possible indication of an owl's arrival, and Rebecca herself was presented impeccably. Her shiny bronze curls were pulled back into a ponytail, and to pass the time, she stretched out pieces of hair, winding and unwinding them around her little finger as the stared at the clock.

Just when she least expected it, ten-year-old Rebecca heard something whizzing down the chimney behind her. "Funny" she thought. "The Floo isn't meant to be working till eleven." The noise, however, was nothing to do with Floo powder. Before she had time to realise it, a rectangular-shaped object shot out of the fireplace like a bullet and had hit her right in the back of the head. Rubbing the sore spot with annoyance, she whirled round to look for the offending object – and there it lay. A thick, heavy envelope made of yellowing parchment, with an address in emerald green ink. There was even a purple wax seal on the back – definitely what she'd been told to expect.

Deciding that she'd better get the reading over and done with rather than waiting for her family to settle – which could take an eternity – Rebecca yanked open the envelope and quickly flipped the letter open. Quickly scanning her eyes over its contents, she released a huge breath that she hadn't realised she'd been holding, and held her hands above her head, as if in prayer –

"Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou!" she whispered, "for releasing me from this madhouse!"

The next youngster to receive a letter was another un-expecting Muggle-born, Sally-Anne Perks. As a treat for the holidays, her mum had agreed to take her on a trip from their home in Newcastle to their holiday house in Scotland, where Sally's step-dad worked with animals at the sea-side. Sally loved animals and was terribly excited, so she hardly noticed a scrabbling noise at the window of the kitchen where she and her mother were eating breakfast. Her mother, however, did notice.

"Sal? Can you hear something?" she asked, craning her neck to look but seeing nothing except her reflection in the glass.

"Hear what, mam?"

Mrs Perks sighed and shook her head. "Nothing, love. I'm just imagining things, that's all." Yes, she thought. Imaging things – that was probably it.

Ten minutes later, Sally-Anne – who still couldn't believe her luck – was sitting in the passenger seat of her mother's battered Ford Fiesta, going on holiday for the first time in her life. Her parents hadn't been able to afford to go before, because her mum was too ill to work and her step-dad's job was rewarding but not very well paid. They hadn't driven very far down the motorway when the scrabbling noise began again – this time, on the roof of the car, and Sally heard it too. She suddenly sat upright in her seat and grabbed hold of the arm-rests.

"Mam! Did you hear that?"

The scrabbling noise continued, this time getting louder and louder until it was accompanied by something stranger.

Sally could have sworn she heard hooting.

"Mam! Stop the car, something's trying to get in!"

"Sally, I can't stop – we're on the motorway!"

"Pull over, the emergency lane or something!"

By now, the scrabbling and hooting had become such a distraction that Mrs Perks had no choice but to do so. Quickly flicking on the indicators and moving over to the hard shoulder, the little Fiesta came to a stop, its engine spluttering to a halt before finally giving in. Muttering under her breath, she got out of the car to see what was wrong, while Sally turned to look at the open window that was letting air flow onto the back seat. Her jaw dropped as she noticed the cause of the problem.

A tawny owl was attempting to perch on the lowered window. Not only that, it had a letter in its beak.

Without taking her eyes from it, Sally-Anne leaned out of the car and tugged on her mother's shirtsleeve. "Mam…" she whispered. "Look…"

The pair of them watched in awe as the owl gave up with trying to perch. Instead, she dropped the envelope through the gap in the window as if the car were a giant post-box – and before flying away, turned to look at Sally and Mrs Perks and hooted indignantly. As quickly as she'd been noticed, the owl flew away in a clatter of wings, scattering feathers over the surrounding area.

"What on earth was that about?" gasped Sally-Anne's mystified mother.

"I don't know" replied her daughter, "but this letter's on about some kind of magic school…."

As things tuned out, Sally-Anne wasn't the only one who'd had an unusual encounter with an owl that morning.

Nearly a full year had passed since the half-blood Antony Whitley had been told that his mother was a witch. It had been quite a shock. Antony could only remember looking into those crystal blue eyes of hers before passing out. Later, he'd asked – "surely witches and witches only happen in fairy tales?" and wondered if it was all some kind of joke. It wasn't.

His parents had decided that it was about time he knew about his heritage. "the longer we put off telling him", they said, "the more betrayed he'll feel when he does find out". And if he got into Hogwarts, well, they didn't want to scare him by telling him too late.

This was why he was lying in the back garden and cushioning himself in the soft grass. Just in case he DID get an owl from the school, his parents had decided to have breakfast out there, to be easy to find. The Whitleys, who lived in the Surrey Wizard village of Little Groaning, had just taken delivery of a new table. It was very long and made of solid oak – and while they waited for news, Lizzie and David Whitley were laying out the dining things. It was Antony's job to ensure that his seven-year-old brother Kevin didn't eat any of the food while their parents weren't looking. So much to his relief, Mrs Whitley was quick to call her sons over.

A few minutes later, Antony was in the middle of lifting a bacon sandwich to his mouth when his attention was caught by an un-impressed looking eagle owl gliding through the air, carrying what looked like a letter. Flapping its huge wings, the owl swooped down and dropped its load in the table's middle. It nearly knocked over a large jug of orange juice, which a surprised Antony had to catch quickly. On looking up again, he noticed that the owl had gone – leaving a strange looking envelope sitting in front of him.

Whilst Kevin gawked at him, Antony picked up the envelope and felt the rough parchment between his fingertips. "Is this it?" he asked hopefully, and looked at his witch mum for approval.

"Open it and see" she replied softly. Naturally, she knew exactly what words would be written in that emerald green handwriting, because she had experienced the same feeling of trepidation twenty two years earlier – she just didn't want to spoil her son's surprise.

Antony felt like he was living in a dream (albeit a very good one) as he pulled the envelope open and quickly unfolded the letter within. It began –

Dear Mr Whitley,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at HogwartsSchool of Witchcraft and Wizardry…

"Well" he thought, folding the letter shut again, "that bit's good enough for me". Wearing an inane grin on his face, he looked up and said –

"I'm a Wizard!"

Rachel Bagshot and Ernie McMillan, both aged eleven, had lived next-door to each other ever since they had both started at the same primary school six years before. It was a Muggle primary school, of course, because this was somewhat a tradition where they grew up. Rachel was a pretty girl, with long dark hair that was the envy of her friends, and a small scattering of freckles on her cheeks. Ernie was already quite strongly-built for an eleven year old boy, and had tufty blond hair that made every passing woman tell his mother what a heartbreaker he'd grow up to be.

With their families, it was pretty much a certainty that they would both turn out to have magic in their blood. The Bagshots were known for their academic ability – several of the Hogwarts set texts had been written by Rachel's great-aunt Bathilda – and her mother had recently toured Wizard Schools in America to lecture on Magical History. As for the McMillans, Quidditch was their speciality. Ernie's grand-dad had played for England, and secretly Ernie hoped to follow in his footsteps. Another thing the families had in common was their upbringing – each and every family member in the past had attended Hogwarts, and each and everyone was a former Hufflepuff. Hardly surprisingly, the two families were great friends and had decided to await the Owl Post together that morning.

Unfortunately, this caused a small logistical problem. The Bagshot family consisted of two parents, an elderly grandparent, three grandchildren and a great aunt. The McMillan family had five children, two parents, an uncle, grandfather and a rottweiler called Boris. Without drawing attention to themselves by using magic, it was difficult to squeeze everyone into the McMillan living room – and matters weren't exactly made easier when Ernie's uncle Dan made a ten galleon bet with great-aunt Bathilda that Ernie's owl would get there first. A heated row was starting to erupt between the two, but luckily, Rachel spotted something that prevented hexes being exchanged.

"Look!" She cried. "Over there!"

Sixteen people (and a dog) ran over to the window and strained their eyes into the light where Rachel had been pointing – and they saw what she meant.

Gliding effortlessly over the horizon, with the sun casting long shadows on the pavement, two owls soared side by side into view. Each one was carrying a letter in its claws.

The cheers and celebrations that this prompted could have been heard all the way down the street, but were promptly stopped by Rachel and Ernie desperately clamouring for their families to keep quiet. "Sssh! You don't want to get the whole street looking up, do you?" Rachel hissed quietly, still keeping one eye on the approaching birds.

"She's right" muttered Ernie, "Besides, what if Hogwarts send out rejection letters as well as acceptance ones? Bet you hadn't thought of that, had you?"

This last remark was met with a stunned silence. "Well, we wouldn't know" said Uncle Dan thoughtfully. "No-one in either of these families has ever been rejected from Hogwarts."

Rachel rolled her eyes to the ceiling at the same time as Ernie groaned. "Thanks a LOT, Dan" he smiled. "Makes us feel a whole lot better, that does. Wait, get out of the way!" he yelled, "they're trying to fly in through the window!"

Everyone ducked just at the right moment, as a pale barn owl accompanied a huge snowy through the gap in the crowd. They were a mis-matched pair – a bit like the friends whose letters they were delivering. Having circled the room once, the snowy left a letter for Ernie, closely followed by the barn owl, who dropped an envelope right into Rachel's outstretched hands before following her companion back out into the street.

" That was weird" Ernie muttered, before having several family members pouncing on him. Rachel's own family were just as excited – her younger brother and sister started a "get – it – open" chant that was soon picked up by Uncle Dan. Doing their best to open the envelopes without ripping them, the two youngsters pulled out the letters and read them simultaneously – and had grins plastered over their faces within seconds. They had made it into Hogwarts.

"Thank Merlin!" Rachel said, as she slowly sank into Ernie's congratulatory hug to the sounds of laughter and applause from their exuberant families. With her head on his shoulder, she looked over at his back at the unbroken seal on the parchment. A lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake, all surrounding a large letter 'H' and embedded into purple wax. It was an image that would be burned into her mind's eye forever.

She could have sworn the badger had winked.

THE END

A/N: PHEWWWW! Talk about exhausting! That chapter was really difficult to write but I did enjoy it so I hope you all did too. I'm going to try and write alternate chapters of this and "The Magic of the Night", so hopefully both should carry on nicely.

So who did you like best so far? I quite like David, and Ernie and Rachel too. But I would love a house like Rebecca's ;)

Seeing as I have a soft spot for the Hufflepuffs, I figured I'd try and write something that reflected that feeling. Hopefully it worked. Next chapter won't be anywhere near as long – this one was 5,004 words, people! – I just made this one nice and long, considering I wanted to introduce all my characters and this was essentially all about the same thing anyway.

Major props to JKR for creating my main characters, heh heh, and for inspiring me in the first place. Also thanks to KAT HALLOWELL, my new chum, for giving me a proverbial kick in the teeth to get me started on this. She doesn't know it but some of our mad conversations have given me plenty of ideas on where to go with this fic!

Kisses, hugs, and tea in mugs (perhaps even a choice of fondant fancy for the first reviewer),

Hazel Whinlatter

(PS- if you haven't, please give "The Magic of the Night" a glance through! It's mah baby!)