AN: This is a story that's been rolling around in my head after I learned about the "missing wizards and witches". Please review with any feedback or questions you have. I really do hope you enjoy.
(disclaimer: i do not own any of the harry potter franchise etc. etc.)
[SMALL CABIN IN DEAN FOREST.]
A very curly head of brown hair is bent over a wooden desk, frantically writing, nearly upsetting one of the three inkwells perched on top.
"Damn," the curly head says, putting down her quill and shaking her hand out. The woman whistles, and a small owl flew over to her, winging its way through the erratically placed furniture.
"Thanks, Pig," Hermione Granger whispers. She ties a brown envelope onto the owl's leg. "Be fast."
[APARTMENT IN LONDON. JULY 31.]
BAM
Harry Potter looks up right as the owl hits his rain-soaked window. Startled, he leaps out of his chair and climbs over his desk to get to the owl before it kills itself trying to get through. The owl clings to his arm, pathetically drenched in water.
"Aw, Pig," Harry says, noticing the letter attached to his leg. "You crash into that window every single time." Carefully, he carries the owl to his desk. He plops himself down there as well.
"Well, let's see what we have here," he says, hurriedly untying the light brown envelope.
The address on it is scrawled with a frenzied hand, almost unable to be made out. Distinctly, Harry recognises it as a letter written by his best friend, Hermione Granger.
Growing wary, Harry opens it, sliding the paper out slowly and reads:
"Harry - remember back when Voldemort took over M.o.M.? Just discovered that he had all the muggle-born wizard and witch records for that year destroyed. Completely. Except I found a copy of the list at old Holden's work cabin. Harry, there are still wizards and witches out there who haven't received their letters. Some are 16 already. We need to do something now. - Hermione"
Harry feels a massive headache coming over him. He pushes his hand through his black hair and closes his eyes behind his glasses.
"Dear lord," he mutters.
[MINISTRY OF MAGIC PRESS ROOM. AUGUST 2.]
Hermione Granger walks into the room, standing a bit uncomfortably in front of a podium with the light brown Ministry of Magic flag hanging off of it.
She clears her throat, clasping her hands around the podium edges and squinting past all the light shining on her. "Witches and wizards of Great Britain, I am standing before you today to remind you of an instance that occurred many years ago. We have done our best to forget that it ever happened, but truthfully there is still residue left behind from this wizard and his following."
Cameras flash and pop.
"Yes, you all are aware of whom I speak of. Voldemort." At this, a collective shudder passes through the crowd of reporters.
"Many years ago, when many of us were in our seventh year of Hogwarts, Voldemort and his followers took over control of our beloved ministry. During this time, as the days grew darker, followers of Voldemort wiped out records of the muggle-born witches and wizards born that year.
"However, two days ago, I uncovered a surviving copy of those records. The witches and wizards whose names are on it have not received their letters. All 41 of them.
"As we speak, the ministry is forming plans as to how to move forth. We are treating this situation with utmost caution. These unknown magic-welders are living out Muggle lives, under the notion that they are just freak shows. They are most likely confused and afraid when they have outbursts of magic and have been trying to suppress those spontaneous moments. Some of these adolescents have already turned sixteen."
As Hermione pauses, questions are thrown at her.
"Minister, why haven't you tried to excavate these records earlier?"
"OVER HERE OVER HERE, MINISTER GRANGER- "
"- Excuse me, Miss Granger, by clause 21 shouldn't we have been notified of the missing records for the general public's well-being? Why haven't we discovered them earlier?"
"Is this directly related to the Muggle reported accidents occurring at secondary schools?"
Hermione walks out of the press room, declining questions. The crowd of journalists and cameramen are right on her Gucci heels.
One man turns to a reporter running next to him. "So where are they now?"
[BIRMINGHAM.]
It is raining. A lot.
Only a few houses still have lit windows.
Inside one of them, Georgie Park sits at her desk, working on her school project for the physics class. She groans, throwing her head back over her swivel chair, as she realises that she is still left with her maths homework and history essay.
It wasn't her fault the physics teacher, Mr Brimley didn't like her. That explosion in the physics lab wasn't caused by her, right? Surely it was only a coincidence, that right when Georgie wished that test would disappear, her table caught on fire and destroyed half the classroom - wasn't it? The table wasn't even supposed to catch on fire, according to the label on it. "Fire-proof & classroom ready" it read.
Cursing stern Mr Brimley and his infamous amount of homework, she pushes on stubbornly, ignorant of the fact that it is getting later and later.
[CAMBRIDGE.]
Elphias Abbot and his fluffy white cat lay curled up on the sofa, basking in the heat of the fire. He is re-reading his favourite book, "The Lord of the Rings", for what it seems like the thousandth time. Yet it never gets old.
He scratches his blonde head, sighing blissfully, as he wishes deep in his heart that he could have adventures just like Frodo and Sam.
The fire behind him crackles loudly, as if in response.
Extremely loudly.
[COVENTRY.]
"Go, Dirk!"
"Yeah! That's my son!"
"Woohoo!"
The people watching go wild as Dirk Twycross makes the winning goal into the soccer net. Grinning madly, he flashes a thumbs-up at his parents sitting in the stands as his teammates start to crowd around him.
Dirk's coach isn't happy though.
"Dirk, there were four interceptions that were right in front of you, and two open shots that you missed," his coach says, fuming.
"But, sir," Dirk replies hesitantly, wiping his sweaty face with his jersey. "We won."
"Don't get me started on the five passes that you could've made," retorts his coach. He continues more softly when Dirk's face falls. "What's wrong, Dirk? You just weren't playing as well today."
"Well, I haven't been getting that much sleep lately."
"Why the bloody hell not?"
"I, uh," Dirk rubs the back of his neck, thinking of an excuse. "I've been staying up reading."
"Oh, really?" Dirk's coach raises his eyebrows. "Alright then. Just make sure you catch up on that sleep. You need it!"
Nodding in response, Dirk watches as his coach turns his attention to other team matters. But Dirk's mind is still occupied on their previous conversation. The truth was, he had woken up floating in the air above his bed last night.
And the night before that.
And the night before that one.
[APARTMENT IN LONDON.]
"Harry, we should notify them through something more than a letter," Hermione is saying. She is resting her legs on a coffee table, the rest of her body tucked under a blanket on an armchair. Exhaustion is written all over her face.
"Right," Harry responds. He finishes sarcastically, "Why don't we send a stranger to a random house that they've never been before and see if they're invited inside. I'm sure they'll be believable."
Hermione rolls her eyes. "The magic words, Harry, are 'gifted and talented child'." She adds after forethought, "No pun intended."
"If someone had knocked on the Burrow door and told us that Fred was a 'gifted and talented child', I would let them right in," Ron Weasley adds from his chair.
"Shush, Ron," Hermione snaps. "This is an important conversation."
"I'm important too, lovely one!"
Harry claps his hands together. "We can't just sit around all week arguing." The bickering pair turns expectantly towards him. "Let's just send a letter to each of them for now. We'll explain what we need to explain in the letter, and give them a choice."
"They should have a choice," Harry says when Ron opens his mouth.
"That's not what I was going to say," says Ron. " I was going to say that I still like the idea of sending someone to their houses a lot better."
"No, I agree with Harry, Ron. Now that I think about it, the chance that we'll be dismissed as a joke is vast," Hermione replies. "When you're eleven, it's easier to believe. But when you're sixteen... "
"Alright, Minister," Ron says, throwing up his hands and knocking over Hermione's half-full latte drink in the process. "You know best."
"Oh, Ron," Hermione responds, looking sadly at the remains of her latte.
"Sorry."
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall (Order of Merlin, International Confed. of Witches, Console to Ministry of Magic, Chief Advisor to Minister for Magic)
Dear Mr. Aberforthy,
You have been experiencing many cases of "odd" incidents that cannot be explained by the average man or woman. These can only be explained by one thing: magic.
Although your parents are both non-magic, you have been gifted with the power of witchcraft and wizardry. Yes, you are a wizard.
We understand that this may come as an extreme shock to you and we sincerely hope that you choose to believe us. Accepting our offer of acceptance at our prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will make life easier for you and teach you to control your magic.
Please consider wisely.
Term begins on September 1. We await your response, mailed to the following address, by no later than August 14th.
"MoM
Whitehall"
(The postmen will know what to do to get it to us. Do not worry about the remainder of the address.)
Yours sincerely,
Hermione Granger,
Minister for Magic
The teenager looks at the paper he holds in his hand with disgust and tosses it into the nearest trash can.
"Bloody pranks are only escalating these days," he mutters.
Little does he know that forty other teenagers had received a copy of that very same letter that very same day.
[BIRMINGHAM.]
... Yours sincerely,
Hermione Granger,
Minister for Magic
Georgie stares at the letter. It doesn't make any sense, and yet it does. It certainly answers all her questions about the freakish accidents happening lately.
She puts down the letter on her desk next to the ripped envelope with the red seal that it had come in. Looking into the mirror next to her desk, she scrutinized herself in it sedulously.
Could she really be magic?
"Blimey," she whispers. Then she yelps as golden sparks ignite over her bed.
[CAMBRIDGE.]
"No. Way."
Elphias collapses onto his bed, clutching the letter over his skinny chest. He squeals, then abruptly stops and looks around, making sure his mother isn't standing at the door like that one time when he was re-enacting a scene from "The Lord of the Rings".
She's not there, thankfully.
Sighing with relief, Elphias scans over the letter's content once more, his heart beating rapidly.
"Magic," he whispers to himself, over and over again, grinning stupidly. "Magic."
[COVENTRY.]
Running into the men's bathroom at his school, Dirk slams the stall door and drops himself onto the lidded toilet. He stares open-mouthed at the letter once more.
"Of all the bloody... magic?" Dirk exclaims to himself. How the letter had reached his school was beyond his imagination. It was waiting for him at the front desk when he had arrived that morning.
He re-reads the letter and pinches himself to make sure he isn't dreaming. Immediately he thinks of the nights interrupted as he woke up floating seven feet in the air at night.
Dirk ruffles his honey brown hair nervously, and leans backwards, propping his elbows on the white back of the toilet.
"Damn. I guess I'm special after all," he says resolutely. He laughs - a little bit hysterically.
"You alright in there, mate?" A boy standing outside washing his hands asks.
[HOUSE IN LONDON. AUGUST 15.]
"Well, that's that, mate," Ron says, dropping three envelopes onto Harry's lap as he walks into Hermione's home office. "Only three."
Harry picks them up incredulously. "Only three?"
Ron sits cross-legged on the carpet near Harry, holding a bowl in one hand and rapidly forking some pasta into his mouth with the other, while Hermione, sitting at her desk, looks at him in amused disgust. His next sentence comes out jumbled. "Yesh, owny dree."
"Bloody hell," Harry replies. "I suppose -"
"- No, Harry, we mustn't. If they won't listen to the letter, then I don't want to send witches and wizards out and risk getting exposed. That won't help our mess at all," interjects Hermione. "We'll just do our best teaching the children that have responded." She walks over and begins to read through the letters over Harry's shoulder.
"They're not children! They're bloody sixteen!" Ron exclaims, having finished his pasta in record-breaking time.
"I believe your mother referred to you as a child until twenty years of age, Ronald Weasley," responds Hermione flatly. Harry grins at Ron, shaking his head.
Ron clears his throat bashfully. "Right, well... "
Hermione rubs her chin thoughtfully while Ron tries to grab the letters from Harry, Harry teasingly pulling them back repeatedly. "So, Dirk Twycross, Georgiana Park, and Elphias Abbot, huh?" She snatches the letters out of Ron's hands as he finally begins to read them.
"HEY!"
Ignoring Ron's protests, Hermione copies the addresses of the three letters onto separate envelopes, pre-written letters already inside them.
Pig flies overhead to her, holding his leg out. "Not this time, Pig," Hermione says, gently pushing the owl away. "I'm sending these by regular post." Disappointed, Pig wings his way to Ron, where he finds solace in preening the red-head's hair.
"What's in that envelope?" Ron asks.
"Another letter telling them that they'll need to come to Diagon Alley on a certain day. I'm sending Neville to meet them there."
"Neville?"
"Yes, Ron," Hermione says. "Neville Longbottom. Now a professor at Hogwarts. You know."
"Why Neville?"
"Because he's nice, Ron."
[OUTSIDE THE LEAKY CAULDRON. AUGUST 25TH.]
Neville Longbottom nervously wiggles his fingers as he waits for the three muggle-borns to arrive. He fidgets with his Muggle attire, pulling at the tighter-than-expected jeans he was told to wear. Oh, if only Luna was there with him. She always made him feel better.
"Stop thinking about her!" He chastises himself. He makes a face as his light brown hair tousles in the cold wind, and he zips up his light grey jacket. Neville takes a long glance at his black watch and almost misses the blonde-haired teenager approaching him cautiously.
"Excuse me, sir," the boy says. "Are you..." Here, he consults the paper that he has gripped in his pale hand. "Are you Professor Longbottom, sir?"
"That's me," Neville replies. He smiles. "And you are?"
"Oh! I'm Elphias Abbot, sir," the kid says.
Why does the kid keep calling him sir? Neville uncomfortably shifts from one foot to another. He was never quite good at meeting new people. And this darn kid won't stop staring at him! The two awkwardly avoid eye contact with one another, both being rather shy.
A tall teenager lopes across the street, jaywalking to get to the odd pair. As he dodges between the cars, they honk at him, and he waves merrily at them.
"You from the, ah, ministry, then?" He asks, stopping in front of them to tilt his head and size up the two.
"I am," Neville says. "Although I'm really more of a professor at Hogwarts."
"Cool," the boy says. "You must be Mr Longbottom then. I'm Dirk. Dirk Twycross." He extends his hand towards Neville and they shake. Dirk and Elphias shake hands with one another as well. The two stand together, bracing themselves against the air buffeting against their backs, one lanky, one skinny.
"I'm Elphias."
"Well isn't that an oldish name," says Dirk, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "I think I'll call you Elphie."
"Oh, no," Elphias responds, flushing slightly. "I don't really like nicknames." He instantly remembers last week at school when Hortensia Green had called him 'Elf Butt' after she saw him reading "The Lord of the Rings" in the cafeteria. That name had caught like wildfire.
The brown-haired teen standing in front of him interrupts his horrid reminiscing. "Nah, don't worry, Elphie," he says, flashing a genuine grin. Elphias grimaces, but a small smile escapes his lips, being rather pleased to have made a friend so quickly.
"Oh, look," Neville exclaims, pointing to a girl running down the sidewalk. "I think that's the other one." Her eyes seem to be fixed on the Leaky Cauldron, and her black hair flies in the wind. She is a little short for her age, but it isn't any matter to her because she is jogging rather faster than most. True to the statement, she is bypassing most of the strangers on the street, getting closer and closer to the trio.
"How do you know, sir?" Elphias asks, interested.
"Well, she can see the pub we're standing in front of," responds Neville. The two teens whirl around to stare at the beat up looking black doors labelled "The Leaky Cauldron".
"What do you mean?" Dirk asks.
Neville gestures silently at the muggles walking down the street. Their eyes seem to slide from the bookstore on the left of the pub, right onto the record store on the right of it, glossing completely over the Leaky Cauldron as if the space isn't there.
"They can't see it," Elphias says slowly. "They're not like us."
"Whoa..."
The teenage girl has now caught up to them. She screeches to a stop, wiping sweaty palms on her black jeans. "Am I late?" she huffs out, with her hands resting on her knees, glancing up at them.
"No, not at all," Neville answers. "Just on time."
Looking them over, she pants out, "Well - pant - I should hope so. Pant - because I just ran - pant pant - here. So - pant - you're Professor - pant - Longbottom. And I'm guessing you fellows - pant - are the other blokes?"
"Yup, I'm Elphias Abbot."
"Dirk Twycross. Nice to meet ya."
Neville nods warmly at her. "Are you Georgiana Park?"
"Yes," the girl says, now having fully caught her breath. "But please call me Georgie. It's much preferred over the other."
The four embrace an awkward silence, where they all stare at each other, trying not to do so inconspicuously.
"Right," Neville says. "Let's get started. This is - like mentioned - the Leaky Cauldron, and the entrance to Diagon Alley. I'll show you around, and we can pick up your supplies. So, if we could all just step inside... " The tall man opens the door and steps through, holding it open for Elphias to come in.
Dirk and Georgie, on the other hand, end up stepping in at the same time and get stuck in between the door frame. Their shoulders shove against each other and they push to get inside the dimly lit pub.
"Blimey - "
" - sorry - "
" - If you could just - "
" - Ouch - "
The two untangle themselves finally and stare awed at the peculiar crowd of witches and wizards having drinks and chatting over copies of "The Daily Prophet", immediately forgetting the soreness just earned from the struggle. "MUGGLE FIASCO SOLVED", the headlines on the newspapers scream. A moving picture of a bushy-haired woman is pasted under the headlines, with a caption that reads "Hermione Granger, Minister for Magic." The name rings familiar in Dirk's mind, but he can't quite place it.
"Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron!" an old man standing at the bar shouts over the bustle.