Tap, tap.

I open my window, allowing two owls and a gentle evening breeze into my room. The first owl drops its letter on my bed and swoops back out the window. The second is Ben's owl, a little one named Primrose. I offer her a couple treats before she, too, flies away.

I open the letter from Ben first. My friends and I have been writing to each other since summer began, but I haven't told them about Jacob's gravestone yet. I'm waiting until we see each other in person.

Mum gave Primrose a treat today. I think she's getting over her fear, Ben's letter says. It took Ben almost a year to convince his mum to let him get an owl. I was worried that she would be too afraid after all and make Ben give up Primrose. I'm glad to see that my fears were unfounded.

The end of the letter asks if I want to meet him in Diagon Alley on August thirteenth, the same day as last year. I've already written to everyone else, he adds. Maybe Penny will even come this time.

I write a quick reply, saying that I'll see him on August thirteenth. I know my parents will agree.

The second letter is my supply list. This year, there are two papers. The first is a list of the books I need;

Third year students will require;

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3 by Miranda Goshawk

Intermediate Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

A Riveting Guide to the Dark Arts by Romeo Kami

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

Spellman's Syllabary by Dagrun Hendrix

Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky

The last three books are for my new classes, Ancient Runes, Divination, and Care of Magical Creatures. I already have several of the others; they've been required every year.

I set aside the supply list and look at the second page of the letter. I know before I read it what it must be. The page contains only a few sentences, a reminder that third year students can visit Hogsmeade and an instruction to sign the empty line below.

I frown at the permission slip. I've been avoiding speaking to my parents all summer. They think it's because I'm grieving for Jacob, but I no longer have anything to say to them. I'll ask Mum to sign it at breakfast tomorrow.

It's getting late. I turn off my light, but it's a long time before I fall asleep. My thoughts are filled with Jacob and the second vault. I try to guess what curse I might face this year- maybe something fire related?

I dream that I'm standing on the lawn outside my house. The grass is cool and damp, but smoke pours from the chimney. I think nothing of it until I see the fire. Flames form on the ground floor. At first, they are small. But as they feed on the walls, they grow, arching upwards until the entire house is consumed in a blaze of red and orange.

Suddenly, I spot a face pressed against a second-floor window. I can barely make it out through the flickering flames. Dark hair, brown skin, rectangular glasses.. Mouth open in a scream. My stomach lurches. Rowan.

I spot another glitter higher up. I crane my neck, feeling horror fill me when I see Ben's terrified face pressed against the glass. Every window I can see is occupied by a familiar face. Alana. Bill. Skye. Nola. My parents. Jacob. Everyone I care about is trapped and burning alive.

When the burning house collapses in on itself, I feel only relief that it brought an end to their pain.

I wake, sweating and panting. For once, I haven't strayed from my bed. My blanket is in a heap on the floor, thrown off by my thrashing.

For a minute, I am still, listening to the sounds of my labored breathing, and feeling the rapid beating of my heart. When I've calmed down, my thoughts return to my dream. I can still see the collapsing building in my mind. In my first year, I had a vision of Hogwarts vanishing under the cursed ice. Is this another prophetic dream? A sign that Hogwarts will soon be consumed by flames?

You were just thinking about fire, and so it's natural you had a nightmare about it, I tell myself. It's nothing special. You have nightmares all the time.

My breathing slows a bit, but panic refuses to release its hold on me. I try to calm myself again, listing specific reasons why my dream was nothing special. One: it didn't feel as vivid as my dreams of the ice. Two: I saw a random building, and not Hogwarts.

Finally, my heartbeat slows and my breathing evens. I lean over the edge of my bed to retrieve my blanket. It's patterned in blue and green, my favorite colors. Both colors are light, different shades than the Ravenclaw and Slytherin colors. I pull the blanket up and curl up on my side. My eyes close, but sleep doesn't come.

With a sigh, I sit up and push back my blanket. The sky outside is still dark, but I can make out a faint glow on the horizon. The sun will rise soon.

The knob on my lamp makes a soft click as I turn it, filling my room with light. I won't get back to sleep now. I might as well get something done.

I search through my trunk, pushing aside layers of books and clothes, my wand and cauldron, and other supplies. Finally, at the bottom, I find what I'm looking for. A black bag is tucked underneath my robes, where my parents will never look, if they happen to be in my room.

I take the bag back to my bed and place the contents on the covers. This is where I keep what we found in the Cursed Vault, Jacob's broken wand and journal.

I pick up a piece of the wand, examining the pale maple wood. Near the tip, the wood is still polished and smooth, but at the other end, it's jagged and splintered. I can see the pink of the dragon heartstring through the wood. The Ministry broke it when Jacob was expelled. How did it get into the vault?

Frowning, I set the pieces of the wand aside and pick up the book, a small leather-bound journal that can be bought almost anywhere.

The journal is full of hasty drawings and scribbled phrases. Normally, my brother's handwriting is neat, but here, it's messy. The ink has blotted and soaked through the pages, making some parts illegible. The pages themselves have ripped in several places and are starting to separate from the spine.

I flip through the pages. On one, I find a crude drawing of the ice knight we dueled. On another, he wrote forest at night. The last page is the one I find the most unsettling. There are two hastily drawn stick figures. One is labeled with my name. The other has only a dark scribble above it's head. Written below is the word RUN, underlined three times. The last line trails off the page, as if someone pulled Jacob away before he could finish his warning to me.

Who is it? I ask silently. Who do I need to run from?

Jacob doesn't answer. As far as voices in my head go, he's been pretty useless. I push the wand and book back into their bag and stow the whole thing in the trunk again. I can't make head nor tail of Jacob's scribbles. Maybe I'll find out their meaning later… when they're too late to be of help, just like the one about the ice knight.

Is there any chance that I'll succeed in finding Jacob? Or will I meet the same sticky end as him?

August 13th is a hot and damp day. There is no rain, but the sky promises that it will come soon. I give the clouds a nervous look, hoping that we'll have enough time to shop before the rain falls.

Mum shares my thoughts. "I don't like the look of that sky," she frets, joining me at the window. "Are you sure you don't want to wait until later?"

"There are only two weeks before we go back to school," I remind her. "Besides, I said I would meet my friends today."

Mum sighs and hands me a small bag. "There's enough money in there for your supplies, and you ought to get some new robes- you've grown. And there's a little extra for you to get something for yourself."

"Thanks, Mum," I say. I managed to convince her to let me meet my friends alone today. She gave in easily enough, but now she seems to be having second thoughts. I'd better leave before she changes her mind.

I take a pinch of Floo Powder from the mantelpiece and throw it into the fire. The flames turn emerald green and flare up. "The Leaky Cauldron!" I say, stepping into the flames.

I shudder when I land in the Leaky Cauldron. I had hoped that I would be able to stomach Floo travel better as I got older, but so far, that hasn't been the case. I stumble over to a nearby armchair, waiting for my nausea to pass.

"Hi, Celena!" I look to the side. Rowan is sitting next to me. These are the same chairs we sat in when we first met.

"Hi, Rowan," I say. "Floo travel doesn't agree with you yet, either?"

Rowan shakes her head with a smile. "Fortunately, we're here early. We have some time before we have to meet the others."

I start to say something, but the flames turn green again and one of our classmates, Skye, steps out. Right after she sees us, a man I assume must be her father steps out.

Before I can greet Skye, a crowd of reporters descends on her and her father. I find it odd that there are so many here today. Did they know when the Parkins would be coming? Or are they here for some other reason?

I crane my neck to see Skye behind the reporters. Ethan has his arm around her and is talking animatedly in response to a question. Skye looks uncomfortable. I wave to her, and then point to the back exit of the Leaky Cauldron, hoping she'll understand.

Skye elbows her father and says something to him. He looks unhappy, but he takes his arm off of her.

Skye shoves through the reporters and joins me and Rowan. "Come on," I say. "Let's get out of here."

Rowan leads the way to Flourish and Blotts. I walk next to Skye. "Thanks for getting me out of there," Skye says. "I don't know how Da can stand it. Reporters follow him everywhere, like flies."

I smile at her description of the reporters. "Are there usually so many?"

"No. I wonder if there's some other reason…" Skye trails off as she looks farther down the alley. A crowd has gathered at the end.

"Should we take a look?" Rowan says. The others haven't arrived yet, so we have some time.

"Why not?" The three of us start walking again. As we get closer, I spot Penny's blond hair in the crowd. Right next to her, I see Bill's ginger. Maybe we aren't as early as we thought.

"What's going on?" I whisper to Penny as we join them. Up close, I can see that a small wooden platform has been erected. On the stage is a man in fancy dress robes. They're light blue and frilly, and he has a matching hat.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the greatest show in the entirety of magical Britain!" The man's voice is deep and booming. He sweeps his arms outwards, although I can't tell what he's gesturing towards. "I am Romeo Kami, and I present to you one of our best plays. A very famous play… 'The Werewolf'."

"Never heard of it," I whisper to Penny. The name is so generic that there must be several plays with the same name, but none are particularly well-known. I recognize Romeo Kami as the author of our Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. The realization fills me with dread for the coming year. I had hoped to finally have a good Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

The crowd quiets as a woman in a wolf costume joins Romeo Kami onstage. The costume isn't very good, just a furry gray suit and a pair of pointed ears. The woman snarls and swipes at Romeo's arm. He leaps backwards and lets out a shrill scream. I have to admit, it's realistic, even if the werewolf attack was not. I watch in amusement as the werewolf leaves the stage while Romeo runs in circles, screaming, "Help! Help!'

A third actor appears onstage with a sudden crack. They're dressed in a long black cloak that trails on the ground. A hood is pulled over their head, leaving their face in shadow.

"What seems to be the problem, sir?' The figure says in an odd, rasping voice.

Romeo stops running. "I was attacked-" He pauses and slashes at the air with his hands, miming the attack, "-by a… a werewolf."

"Oh no," the figure rasps. "How terrible. But I may be able to-" They break off into a coughing fit. I wonder if their fake voice hurts their throat. Soon, their coughs subside and they continue; "As I was saying, I may be able to assist you, sir." Here there's another pause, though whether it's for dramatic effect or because the actor can't remember their next line, I don't know. "You see, I happen to be an experienced werewolf hunter."

"Oh my, what a happy coincidence!" Romeo seizes the werewolf hunter's hand and gives it an enthusiastic shake. "How strange that on the very day I am in need of assistance from a werewolf hunter, you should appear!"

"Let's go," Rowan says, disgusted. I turn away from the comically bad play, bumping into someone as I do so.

"Sorry," I say. I stop when I realize that I recognize the girl I bumped into. "Hi, Chiara."

Chiara Lobosca has pale skin and silver hair that comes to her chin. Her eyes are blue, and she always wears a moonstone pendant around her neck. We haven't spoken much, except for a few times when she was my partner in Herbology, but she's always been quiet and reserved. Now, though, there's an expression of anger on her normally peaceful face. She's glaring at the stage with her hands balled into fits.

Chiara looks away from the stage, her posture relaxing slightly. "Hi, Celena."

"You don't like the play?" I ask. I thought it was bad, but it didn't distress me like Chiara.

Chiara glances back at the stage. "I just... people are so prejudiced, you know? Blood status, werewolves, anything that isn't human," she finally replies.

"I know." How could I not? I was ten when the war ended, old enough to remember the articles in the newspaper. It seemed as if there was a new murder every day. My mum's sister was an Auror, and she was killed when I was eight. That was the first time I really understood that my family was not immune to danger, and how lucky we were to survive. Of course, seven months later, Jacob went missing, and I realized that I had counted my blessings too soon.

I blink and realize that Chiara is gone. I spot her silver hair a few shops down, but I don't follow her. Instead, I search for my friends.

I find them inside Flourish and Blotts, where we had agreed to meet. For the first time, the books we need are different, since some of them are determined by our new classes. I'm the only one who takes a copy of Unfogging the Future. I'm not looking forward to being alone in Divination. We pay for our books and wander through the Alley, purchasing our other supplies. We all need to refill our potions kits- especially Penny. Hers is almost empty. Most of us need to be fitted for new robes as well.

"I've hardly grown since we started at Hogwarts," Alana complains. We were the same height when we met, but I'm a few inches taller than her now.

When the rest of us have gotten our new robes, we meet her at the pet store where Ben bought Primrose last year. "I'm thinking of trying out for the Frog Choir this year, so I need a toad," she explains.

"I've never heard you sing," I say, surprised and a little guilty. I feel like I've barely gotten to know my friends, since I've been so caught up with finding the first vault.

Alana giggles. "I don't sing much outside of the shower and to get my cousins to sleep."

"Why do you need a toad if it's called the Frog Choir?" Ben asks.

Alana shrugs. "I don't know. We can't have frogs as pets anyway."

Alana finds a toad named Hopscotch. We walk outside again just as the clouds finally carry out their threat of rain. Within seconds, we're drenched from head to toe. I break into a run, heading for the Leaky Cauldron. Fortunately, it isn't too far away.

I sprint out of the rain into the warmth of the pub. The chairs around the fireplace are already crowded with soaked shoppers. I sigh and find the smaller fireplace set aside for Floo Travel. I can always get a hot cup of tea at home.

I toss a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace and recite my address. When I get home, I'm still wet. Floo travel can't even dry me off.

I spend the rest of the day curled up under a blanket, drying off. I page through the new Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. It would be nice to have a competent professor for once, but I'm not optimistic. Most likely, my friends and I will learn from the textbook ourselves.

The next morning only confirms my pessimistic thoughts when I see that our new professor is none other than Romeo Kami himself, the "renowned actor and newly-published author" to quote the Daily Prophet. I snort. Maybe Romeo Kami's classes will be better than his play. And maybe I'm Merula Snyde's long-lost sister. Anything is possible, I suppose.