So, this is our first story, and it's basically something I thought of at one in the morning and wrote up.
You mean, you woke me up at one in the morning so I would write it up for you.
You say potayto, I say potarto. Same difference.
So anyway, this is the warped child of my sister's imagination, too little sleep and another story idea we've been working on.
It's a oneshot, but if enough people like it, we'll post a sequel.
And since J.K. Rowling is not, as far as I know, cursed with an irritating twin sister, it's safe to assume that we are merely young minions messing around in her vast sandpit.
In other words, we don't own Harry Potter.
You may also want to note, this is a very slight PJO crossover. There's one or two references - if you blink, you'll miss them.
Virtual cookies to anyone who spots them!
The Howler
It was near the end of Harry's second year at Hogwarts, and Hermione and the other victims had recovered. Said victims included, unfortunately, Lestrange, who, earlier in the year, had been arrested for being the heir of Slytherin due to his distant relations to the founder, which Harry could say with utmost certainty was not true, as the rest of the school had found out after he was found petrified in the library, a look of abject terror on his face.
Speak of the devil...
Lestrange walked into the great hall just then, beside Malfoy, followed by the rest of the second year Slytherins.
They took their seats at the centre at the Slytherin table, and Harry noticed that Lestrange looked unusually gaunt and pale. A side affect of Azkaban, he supposed.
He looked up a second later as Dumbledore stood up and the hall fell silent.
"Yet another year gone," Dumbledore said brightly. "And I must interrupt you with an old wizard's random ramblings before we sink our teeth into this delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are a little fuller then they were at the beginning of the year... you'll have the whole summer to get them nice and empty... Now, as I understand it, the house cup needs to be awarded..."
Harry listened excitedly as Dumbledore went through the houses in ascending order, then declared that Gryffindor had won the house cup. He cheered along with the rest of his house then, and then the hall was spelled red and gold and the feast begun.
It was roughly halfway through the feast when things went wrong.
It started when a glossy black raven flew into the hall and begun to circle above the Slytherin table.
The low hum of murmurs surrounding the Slytherin table stopped abruptly. Looks of blatant awe were upon the usually aloof students' faces. The staff table fell silent too, and their expressions were mixtures of shock and fear.
Then the raven tucked in its wings and dropped, spreading them an inch above the table and gliding gently down to come to rest in front of Lestrange.
The raven cawed and held out a bright red envelope.
Lestrange gulped and took it slowly, handling it like it might burn him. He slid his fingers under the seal as the rest of the great hall fell to pin-drop silence around him, staring at the red envelope. The seal broke, and the Howler slid out.
It leapt into the air, forming a pair of red lips. They opened, and in front of them, Lestrange groaned.
"ARIES CORVUS ANTIOCH LESTRANGE!" the Howler shrieked in a distinctly feminine voice.
"Whatever it is, it wasn't me!" Lestrange protested. "Go and take it up with Roland or something!"
The Howler broke into raucous laughter, noticeably male this time. The Howler shuddered, and emerald started spreading over the red letter.
"Holy Hecate, kiddo, you're easier to fool than you were when you were three! Did you think it was a Howler? A Screamer even?" More manic laughter. "Nah, this is just your godfather, sending a little message to his godson. How many detentions have you got so far, then? Siri bets you'll take at least till third year before you beat his record, but I reckon you've done it already, no?"
Lestrange groaned, loud in the silence, slamming his face into his hands.
"You've got to be joking!"
"No, only coughing," the Howler said cheerfully. Then its papery brow furrowed into what could only be called a frown. "Doesn't it go the other way round?"
"Can you shut up?" Lestrange pleaded. "Please?"
"No can do, sugarcube," the Howler declared in an approximation of sterness. "Why would you want that? Do you not want to talk to your dear old godfather?"
"No, I don't," Lestrange told the letter. "Your ridiculous note exploded in the middle of the great hall. On the End Of Year Feast."
"Right on time then," the Howler beamed. "Told you I could do it, Bell!"
For a beat, nobody said anything. And then -
"Unbelievable," Lestrange said, shaking his head.
"It's my job, kiddo."
"You're unemployed."
"I'm in Azkaban, of course I'm unemployed!"
"You're in Azkaban? Really? I would have thought you'd be in Asphodel right now. Or maybe Punishment... because you really deserve it."
"Now that's just rude."
"I try."
"Who are you and what did you do to my innocent baby godson?" the letter sobbed, fake tears springing from the creases it used for eyes.
"Innocent? Really?"
"I blame you for this, Snape!" The letter shouted, turning to the Head table. "You've corrupted my little baby! He's using sarcasm!"
Snape cleared his throat, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
"Mr Lestrange, would you shut your godfather up, if you please."
"Immunity to silencing charms," Lestrange groaned into his hands. "Unbelievable. How did you even get Howler paper in Azkaban?"
"A good wizard never reveals his secrets."
"It's "a magician never reveals his secrets"," Lestrange told the Howler.
"Whatever," the Howler mumbled. "So who have you pranked so far this year? I remember one time me and Reggie snuck into the Gryffindor dorms and charmed everything green and silver, replaced the Fat Lady with a cobra and added a charm that would make it stay like that until the Marauders admitted out loud, in public, that Slytherins were supreme. Then, when they didn't, we enlisted Severus's help to turn their skin green and hair silver for a month. And then there was that time in fifth year that we turned all the Gryffindors' ties into snakes at Halloween. That was hilarious."
"That was you?" Professor Flitwick asked curiously. "Did you transfigure them or charm them?"
"I spelled them myself, to be honest," the letter boasted. "Invented the spell and everything."
"Corvus!" Snape rebuked.
"Okay, maybe I had a little help."
"A little?"
"Was it a glamour, then? Your spell, I mean."
"Filius," Dumbledore whispered, "you're consorting with a convicted criminal."
"Nonsense," Flitwick squeaked. "I'm simply asking a renowned Spellsmith about one of his early creations."
"A renowned Spellsmith, renowned for turning his own brother into a Squib!"
"He deserved it," the letter complained. "So, has Audric recovered yet? Is he still in a coma? Does he have his magic back yet? If he's conscious, you can tell him that I'm gonna turn his daddy into a tree. What kind do you think, Severus? Oak or Maple? Maybe Beech?"
Snape just shook his head.
"Anyway, it was sort of a mix. I had to change the colour first. I then half-transfigured the scarves, then charmed them to hiss frequently, and glamoured them to look like real snakes. Then I bound the three spells together with a runic circle, merged them with a little magic and multiplied them by the number of Lions and applied the spell in the dead of night."
"Fascinating. Tell me more. How do you merge a spell?"
"He's a Death Eater, Filius!" Dumbledore hissed.
"Yeah, so?" said the letter. "I still have feelings, you know. And that? That stung!"
"No sanity left?" Snape asked.
"No sanity left," Lestrange confirmed.
"Immune to fire, water and ripping?" Snape asked.
"Oh, absolutely. You know what this means, right? I get to talk for hours about how adorable you were as a baby!"
"Gods, do you have to?"
"Yes, I do."
Lestrange slammed his head on the table. "I can't believe I have to wait a whole two years before it's legal to give you a Dementor's Kiss!"
Thanks for reading!
Don't forget to review to tell us if you caught the references!