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So far... On his seventh birthday, Harry Potter was inspired to never stop asking for help. Thanks to Mrs Figg, he learned about magic, and found good support from Mercy Fuller who ran an advice bureau off Diagon Alley. With his funding, she set up a junior academy primarily to provide Muggle-raised children with a good preparatory education. But will they come? Now read on...
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Chapter 2
Starting School
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The First Student
Soon after September began, so did Harry's formal lessons. Classes were predominantly of life skills: reading, writing, and arithmetic; how to interact socially, and knowledge of the magical and Muggle communities. Mercy provided Harry with a junior wand to complement his Squib stick, and began teaching him common practical spells with the admonition that he must only use it under her supervision or within the confines of the academy – except when danger threatened.
But Harry's thoughts under Mercy's protection were now far from every kind of peril. He was thrilled to be free of the Dursleys, eager that Christmas was approaching, and excited that Mercy had promised him two special surprises when the big day arrived.
And arrive it eventually did. Not far from the hearth – where a great log fire was roaring sparks up the chimney – a festive tree adorned the Academy's front window on Diagon Alley. Several glittery streamers and a Joyful Yuletide to ALL! message decorated the fogged-up glass. With both sleeve and fingers, Harry wiped condensation away in big circles so he could sit gazing contentedly out at the passersby. There were fewer of them than he'd expected for such a special day, but then again, it was barely past eight o'clock and only just becoming light. A few night lanterns still glowed, and as he looked up to admire their colours, a fluttering caught his attention.
"It's here!" The boy raced to the door watched by a smiling Mercy.
He let the owl into the warm but most of his attention was on the little package attached to its leg. He frowned at the shape of the brown paper wrapping, then quickly hid his disappointment. "A book? Is it stories? Or spells? Or...?"
Madam Fuller fed a scrap to the bird while Harry tore open the package. He could not hide his frown this time. "A picture frame?" He held it up questioningly, then remembered his manners. "Thank you so much, Mercy! I can use it for– oh! There's a dark wall painted; I thought it was blank."
"Can you not guess what it might be, Harry?" She was smiling encouragement.
He desperately wanted to show gratitude, but could think of no purpose in having a little picture of only a grimy stone wall. "Is there a secret to it?"
"Lord Darkwith!" cried Mercy, "may we speak with you?"
Harry's eyes widened as the generous, broad-shouldered figure of a man squeezed into view within the frame. "Certainly, Madam – ah! and this must be the famous Harry Potter!"
"Pleased to meet you, sir," Harry said softly, still recovering from his surprise, "but how–"
–Mercy answered: "The friend I spoke of, remember? She's quite adept at painting magically, and her daughter's tiny enough to squeeze through the tower window. The two of them produced a suitable background to enable Lord Darkwith to flit between."
"Not so much of a flit as a flattening," smiled the rotund gentleman, pulling in his elbows a little more. "But cosy, I'll admit." He turned to Harry. "I wish now to express my heartfelt thankyous, young man, for the unlimited young lives you saved when that dark curse rebounded from–" He paused, then murmured thoughtfully, "I thought your scar would be much more marked..."
"The hospital made me better when–" He broke off, unsure whether he should relate the story of how Mrs Figg had called an ambulance for him last winter.
"Hospital?" said Mercy. "You mean a Muggle hospital?"
"I was poorly. The amb'lance man said I died of hyper firmer and I saw my mum in heaven with angels weeping and–"
"–Hypothermia?" cried Mercy. "They resuscitated you?"
"No, Dudley brought me back as a angel ... I think."
Mercy and Darkwith exchanged glances. "Confused, I think..." whispered the portrait of–
–The doorbell tinkled – several times as a delighted little girl swung the door back and forth through the escaping steam.
"Luna!" cried Mercy. "Do come into the warm, and you too, Pandora!"
"Daddy will Floo later, but we wanted to walk up the Alley first," explained Luna. "He's rushing out The Christmas Quibbler to make everyone merry!"
"Harry, this is Mrs Pandora Lovegood and her daughter Luna," said Mercy.
Gawking with delight, Harry could barely speak amidst all the greetings. Luna's straggly blonde hair flew about as she hopped and skipped over to the tree beside the mantel. Her cheeks, pinched white from the cold street, now glowed redly from the cheery flames. She stopped and pointed, a question in her excited eyes.
"My puddle steamer!" said Harry. "Look you can pull it along with a string or it can float in ponds but Mercy needs to chant it but we tried it in the bath and it swishes along but one day we might sail it on the Thames!"
The little girl clapped her hands. "Never saw a boat with wheels before! I'm six and three-quarters. How much are you?"
"Seven!" Harry pushed out his chest.
The adults watched with amusement. and Darkwith's eyes wrinkled up with silent laughter.
Pandora murmured, "Must we really wait until March for Luna to join your school?"
Mercy smiled. "I'm sure we can make an exception for such a bright child."
The portrait had dipped his head sideways to listen for the Quill scratching in the Book at Hogwarts.
"Have you Muggle-borns for me, Lord Darkwith?" said Mercy.
"We can only go on those magical children with Muggle addresses to suggest they have been Muggle-raised. I prefer not to speak their names aloud, Madam, but young Luna was kind enough to draw me a scrapbook."
He held up a large soft-covered book scrawled with matchstick creatures, and opened it, face outwards. Mercy summoned her notebook and began copying down the names and addresses she saw there. "I'd hoped for more..."
"And there are more, Madam Fuller, but I cannot read them until the Quill makes a new entry on their page for me to read."
Mercy nodded. "Thank you, Lord Darkwith."
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Pass Us By
The next morning there were far more people shopping in Diagon Alley. Harry waved through the window at the families passing by, but most of the children were of the wrong age for the junior academy. However, a significant number still often clustered around for a minute or two looking puzzled. "Academy? What for?" – "It'll never be the equal of Hogwarts!" and "Whatever are they thinking of!" were commonly expressed as they hurried off.
"Why don't they like us?" said Harry.
"They're set in their ways and don't think about children not raised in the magical community," said Mercy, putting an arm around Harry's shoulder. "We need to be patient and wait for replies to the letters I'll be sending out today."
She ruffled his hair, and Harry grinned up at her, but when his face turned away, it darkened with misgivings. Suppose nobody wanted their help?
Never stop offering help! In the days that followed, Harry took to standing at the door in case anyone asked for assistance. Mercy called him Ben in public and had changed his hair to light brown. He was dressed in thick clothes with a woollen cap pulled low. Nobody in the busy street would have dreamt he was the famous Boy Who Lived.
A young couple smiled at him yet carried on up the road arm-in-arm, eyes once more only for each other. An elderly lady wasted only a single glance Harry's way, then shook her head at the big sign above the entrance. A tall, pompous wizard strode swiftly past without even looking to his side. A fair-haired boy with a round face dodged out of the man's way just in time and grabbed the sleeve of the elderly lady. A large, officious-looking owl swooped down, skilfully avoiding the ebb and flow of shoppers...
"Mercy! There's a reply!" cried Harry, as the brown owl alighted on his shoulder.
The other boy was asking the lady what the sign meant. Mercy hurried to the threshold but Harry had already removed the letter from the owl's leg, and the bird flew up over the rooftops without waiting.
"Not from a student, Ben," said Mercy, noting the Ministry embossment on the envelope.
The old lady was telling the fair-headed boy, "It's a school for young children who show magical ability." His attention drooped to focus on his feet.
Mercy's eyes lit up. "The guardianship papers! Oh, Harry–Ben!" – The old lady's head jerked in her direction, then to the front of Harry's woolly cap – "Arroben, they're signed and settled, Arroben!"
Harry caught on immediately. "So I'm Arroben Fuller now?"
"But that's fluxweed," whimpered the other boy nervously, pointing at the wheelbarrow in the window.
"No, this is not adoption uuh... you're still Arroben Higgins."
"But..." Harry gulped, oblivious now of the old lady's stare, and whispered nervously, "but... would it be alright anyway if I called you ... Mum? Only I've never... nobody's ever looked after me like..." He sniffled a little, rubbed his nose and looked awkward suddenly.
Mercy swallowed hard, her eyes shining with emotion.
The round-faced boy whispered, "Could you ask if they–"
"–Hush!" The old woman was gazing casually at what might have been a shopping list, but her attention was vibrantly alive to the exchange between the younger woman and the boy she'd called Arroben.
"Of course you can call me your mother, darling," said Mercy, and she crouched down to hug Harry as tears finally broke free and rolled down her cheeks.
Harry had never experienced anything like this before that he could remember. He was loved! The warmth of being cared for without reservation flowed through him like a physical wave. It was extraordinary. His eyes were now opened to what other children must have always known: there was someone to watch over him – not just for gold but for his own sake! With it came a tremendous sense of freedom, a release as if from an oppressive burden of fear that had always been pressing upon him.
The other boy tugged once more on the old lady's sleeve. "But it says–"
"–yes but only those who can do magic!"
Mercy stood up, rubbing the smears on her face, and choked up with emotion as she was, tried to clear her throat. "Madam, I teach all subjects suitable for seven to eleven-year-olds; students do not need to perform magic until they are ready."
"Humph! Don't see what you can teach him that I can't!"
"As well as essential reading and writing skills, there's an extensive introduction to Potions, History, Charms, Herbology and other subjects so he'll be well prepared for Hogwarts and, more importantly, I might be able to draw out his magic safely – perhaps in only a few months."
"There's nothing to draw out – don't you think we've tried?" She turned away. "Come along, Neville."
"There are no fees so nothing to lose by exploring one more avenue, is there?"
But the elderly lady had taken the boy's arm and was moving off.
"Please, Gran?"
Never stop! "He's asking, Mercy," murmured Harry, and unexpectedly ran out into the street to pursue.
"Please let us try," cried Harry. "Our school truly wants to help anyone who asks."
Mercy could hear the woman sigh ten paces away.
"Then start by telling me your true name," she said.
Harry bit his lip, but someone asking for help seemed to him more important than safety. "I'm Harry Potter – but I need to be careful on the street."
Neville's breath steamed in the cold air as he gasped in astonishment, but the woman nodded as if she'd already guessed. "Very well then." She turned to her boy. "Understand that I can't bring you every day, Neville. You'd have to board – and must look after yourself without me?"
He nodded vigorously, his eyes gleaming with both delight and hope.
"Just into the new year then while I visit your uncle Algie. After that... we'll have to see."
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An Astonishing Invitation
Anne Granger read the letter she'd just opened with growing amazement:
I run an academy for gifted children with unusual abilities and have received information that your daughter is especially talented. Uncontrolled, these skills sometimes produce effects that may seem inexplicable and baffling. However, with guidance, they can become most useful in later life to the advancement of the child's career and the benefit of all.
Established in central London, my preparatory school accepts youngsters aged seven to eleven (at which time they will have an opportunity for further advancement.) Suitable general education is provided as well, and students may attend daily or board as desired. This institution is entirely supported by a private trust fund so there are no charges whatsoever, and all supplies, books, and related items are provided.
If you wish to know more, I can visit to answer questions on any day at your convenience. A guided tour of the school can also be arranged. I await your reply in due course.
Yours sincerely,
Professor M. Fuller
"Whatever's the matter, dear?" cried Anne's husband from the breakfast table. "You've gone white as a sheet."
She handed him the letter. "Hermione, tell me truthfully..." Mrs Granger hesitated. "That cracked saucer last year. ... How did you... find a replacement?"
Hermione Granger dabbed milky cornflakes away from her mouth with a tissue and glared at her mother. "I told you, I didn't! It just... fixed itself!"
"And Gertie's hamster?"
"She got better."
"In those few seconds? Her limp disappeared that quickly? What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything, Mum!"
"You were on your knees sobbing, Hermione!"
"Scamps was in pain!"
"What were you muttering?"
Hermione shook her thick bushy hair. "Nothing. I just... I think... 'Please get better' was all. 'Please get better.' And..."
"Ahem! 'Inexplicable and baffling', it says here," said Mr Granger, tapping the letter with the back of his hand. "Telekinesis or somesuch triggered by emotional trauma."
"Oh, Edward!"
"I'm not saying I agree with the theory but I'm curious to know what this Fuller woman..." – he waved Mercy's invitation in the air – "has to explain away this paranormal nonsense."
"Sunday morning then?" said Mrs Granger. "The only day we normally have free and Hermione is at home."
"Me? Is the letter about me?" cried Hermione, clutching her cereal spoon even tighter as she strained forward.
The little girl's father pushed the message across the table towards his daughter who snatched it up and read greedily. Her eyes bulged. "Books!" she cried. "They provide free books, Mummy! Just think!"
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The Croneometer
Mercy's raincoat was dripping when Mrs Granger answered the door.
"Professor Fuller? Come in out of the wet."
Well, at least she looks respectable, thought Anne, as the visitor hung up her coat to reveal a sensible long skirt and knitted top in conservative tones matching her case bag.
"Shall we?" Mrs Granger guided Mercy to a seat in the lounge. "My husband, Edward, and this is Hermione."
"Pleased to meet you all and let's get straight to the point. Hermione, in our school you would develop your skills, for instance..." From her bag she pulled out and pressed flat upon the coffee table a small round brass device much like a clock but with a single hand that was swinging slightly over its dial in Mercy's direction.
"A compass?" said Mr Granger. "But it's not pointing north."
"A Croneometer."
Mr Granger smirked. "You mean a chronometer."
"No, a Croneometer. Its needle is influenced by a certain ability. Notice it has singled me out but if I push it towards Hermione..."
The pointer swung to the young girl who frowned down at it thoughtfully for a few moments before standing up and swerving quickly to one side. The needle turned to keep pointing at her.
Edward raised an eyebrow. "Nice trick, but–"
"–It's ultra sensitive. See if you can turn it, Hermione ..." said Mercy, taking out a clipboard and ballpoint pen.
Hermione's hand shot out towards the device but Mercy quickly added, "...without touching it."
"How?" frowned Hermione. She wafted her hands over the dial then clapped to see if it would react to sound.
"It's really important that you don't fail this test, Hermione," Mercy said quietly. "Really important." Then finished with a whispered, "Otherwise you might become a serious hazard."
Mercy slowly marked a zero on the top line of her clipboard sheet, making sure that Hermione could not fail to notice. The young girl snapped upright, her face paling with anxiety as the seconds passed by, and Mercy marked another zero. Hermione nervously chewed her bottom lip, then growled irritably, clapping her hands even louder and blowing hard at the glass dial as near as she dared. "It's impossible!" she blazed defiantly. "How am I supposed to move it without touching?"
"Like this..." said Mercy, and with one wave of her arm the needle pointer spun several times before resting to aim once more at Hermione.
"Humph!" Hermione glared at Mercy, then her face relaxed into a crafty smile as she realised what was in Mercy's hand. "May I borrow your pen, please, Professor Fuller?"
"Certainly." Mercy handed it over.
With a triumphant smirk, Hermione waved the pen around and around the gauge. The pointer... spun!
Mr Granger clapped his hands very, very slowly. "Well ... done! It's really, really difficult to imagine how that was achieved! Let me see now..."
"Edward, please!" cried his wife, who recognised the steely sarcasm in his tone.
"But now you know how to do it," said Mercy, who ignored the couple and addressed herself entirely to the little girl, "do it without the pen."
"What!" said Hermione.
"There's nothing in the pen but ink. You spun the pointer because you were so charged with the emotional certainty that you could. Seize that feeling, Hermione! You've already done it so you know you can."
Hermione's frown could have ploughed several fields and dug up a couple of back gardens. Her face puffed red with exertion... "MOVE!" she cried, banging the tabletop with her fist.
They all stared at the gauge.
"I DID IT!" crowed Hermione "I FELT IT!"
"Stop this! Stop this nonsense right now!" bellowed Mr Granger. "Stop messing with my daughter's emotions, Fuller! It's obvious you have a remote control for this... this..."
He tailed off because the Croneometer had lifted into the air and the entire device spun wildly before shooting around the room then coming back to rest on the table and transforming into a furious wildcat, spitting and snarling.
"Oh, jeez – oh shit!" Edward knocked his chair over backwards jumping up in fright as the beast leapt for his throat.
A vicious roar was all that remained as Mercy gestured swiftly and the creature vanished.
"OUT! OUT!" Mr Granger pointed angrily towards the door. "You're not performing any more of your trickery in this house!"
Mercy sighed, and her pen leapt to one hand as she rose to leave. "Hermione, I'd hoped to present the facts more gently to acclimatise everyone gradually, but don't give up hope. Someone else will come for you when you're eleven."
"I'm sorry, Daddy!" wailed the poor girl. "I didn't mean it!"
"I'll let myself out," said Mercy as she headed into the hallway followed by a confused Mrs Granger.
"You did that, Hermione?" said Mr Granger. "That... beast?"
"Not on purpose!" she howled. "I lost control because I was angry! Now I can only b–be a s–serious hazard forever!"
"STOP!" shouted Edward. "Stop that woman leaving, Anne!"
But the front door had closed. Mr Granger dashed forward and pulled it open. Mercy Fuller was standing there waiting for him. "I forgot my Croneometer," she smiled.
Edward Granger shook his head and murmured, "Somehow I doubt you ever forget anything Ms Fuller."
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Persuading the Grangers
The Grangers looked nervously around the Academy's foyer. Mercy had shown them many strange sights as she'd led them into and through Diagon Alley, but the note she handed them made no sense:
The entrance to Fuller's Academy is behind the reception desk at number one, Margin Alley.
The three of them returned to staring at the back wall. Apart from a gas lamp on a wooden pillar, the wall was a plain pastel green with no sign of the brickwork they'd seen open up at the back of The Leaky Cauldron.
"Ponder the words more carefully," said Mercy.
Hermione gasped. The pillar had divided into two posts which were moving out sideways to reveal a wide doorway. Only moments later her parents saw it too.
Mercy vanished the piece of paper with her wand tip. "Come through with me. Our other students are, I believe, exploring the roof garden."
She led them by two small classrooms, up stairs and along a corridor, past dormitories and bathrooms, until finally they emerged into a jungle of exotic plants. On all sides, the familiar London skyline was visible, but to their left was the contrasting Diagon Alley and other streets of the magical community. Tendrils of mist were drifting up around the fenced edges of the garden. "That's where my warming charm meets the cold air outside; it protects the plants through the winter. There's lots more to do of course. Managing this rather overgrown garden will be an interesting project for the students as an introduction to Herbology."
Mercy clapped her hands. Inquisitive little faces began to sprout amongst the tall gangly shrubs. "Come along, children, meet Hermione Granger who is considering joining us."
Out they bounced, beaming and curious and... with rather grubby hands.
"This is Justin Finch-Fletchley, Neville Longbottom, Thomas Dean, Hannah Abbot, Luna Lovegood, uuh... where's Harry and...?"
"He's showing Megan the library," said Thomas.
Mercy saw Hermione's eyes light up, so she made a show of studying her watch and shook her head doubtfully. "Mmm... I wonder if we'll have time to go down there today..."
She smiled at the eagerness in Hermione's pleading gaze, and laughed as she ruffled up the little girl's bushy hair. "Of course we'll make time for books. Come along then–"
"–Is that safety fence secure?" said Mr Granger as he went over to shake the rusty iron railings and look down into the shabby side alley; he counted four floors to the dirt track below.
"Protected by an invisible wind shield charm so they cannot collapse," said Mercy, "and the children couldn't climb over even they wanted to. This garden is still a work in progress and eventually the railings will be replaced."
The Academy's library was positioned next to Mercy's office and extended from the first to the second upper floor where a mezzanine provided lighter reading: gazettes, storybooks, and Muggle comics. The more serious, heavier tomes were grumbling on the back shelves of the floor below where they couldn't bother anybody too much.
As the Grangers entered, several ledgers and a novel, which had been dusting each other on a side table, snapped to attention, but the rest of the books were already proudly stacked along the tall shelves. Harry waved from an alley and came forward, followed by Megan Jones.
Mercy introduced them and showed the Grangers the huge leather-bound directory which instantly drew Hermione's attention. "So every book can be located from this index?" she asked.
"Located and summoned," said Mercy. "Try it."
Hermione's finger moved down a page in the middle... Magic by Accident ... Magic by Merlin ... then she jabbed at one called Magic by Numbers, but nothing happened.
"Well ask it then, Hermione," smiled Mercy, "or it might think you're still looking."
"Ask it?" The child rolled her eyes in disbelief. "You mean like... uumm... Oh, excuse me, erm... index, but could I read this one uuh... please?"
Mr Granger jeered loudly. That merriment ended abruptly when a book came whizzing past his head and into Hermione's hands.
"That's totally brilliant!" cried the girl. "Did you see that, Daddy!"
"Saw it, dodged it, almost bought it," sighed Mr Granger, brushing his hair back into place.
Harry cried, "Come and see the library step, Hermione, so you can browse the higher shelves."
She trotted after him. "'Steps' you mean. It's plural so there's an 's' on the end. Yes, I know, we have them at our local library."
"Not like this one," grinned Harry as he came to a stop and pointed.
"But it is only one step! It scarcely needs that handrail. And..." – she bent over to peer more closely – "it has no wheels! All library steps must have wheels so you can push them along; don't they know that? And lots more steps so you can reach books on higher shelves. That's what library steps are for, Harry. But even with steps, it's not a lot of use without wheels, is it? You can't drag it along, now can you? Especially if you were standing on it. Anyway, it would mark the floor very badly, wouldn't it?"
Harry winked at Megan who had followed them. "It's not touching the floor, Hermione."
Hermione bristled. "Oh for goodness sake!" She dropped to her knees to examine the underside of the platform. Her eyes bulged when she saw Harry was right.
He chuckled at her expression. "Takes two at a pinch – get on and I'll show you. Megan's already had a go!"
Astonished, Hermione tentatively prodded the step with her foot then placed herself half on to see if it would hold her weight. "That's... impossible! It's like a... hover board without a motor!"
Hermione lifted her other foot off the floor. There was only the tiniest wobble of the step – more of a quiver really.
Harry squeezed on beside her and, using only fingertip pressure along the edges of the bookshelves, pulled them both gently and weightlessly upwards and sideways. "Professor Fuller – we have to call her that in class time – says it's only broomstick magic she 'justed."
Hermione looked to the heavens and sighed. "You mean 'adjusted', Harry; 'justed' is not a real dictionary word is it? Or if it is then it's probably an archaic form of 'jousted', I suppose. We could look it up if you like," said Hermione, breathlessly clinging to the handrail as they swerved round a corner twenty feet above little Megan who was running excitedly after them waving.
Harry lowered the step to floor level and they both got off. "You can go back now if you like," he said.
"But... but I wanted to–"
"–Sorry, I was talking to the step. Hey, Megan! Show Hermione that spell you learned yesterday."
Megan pulled something from her pocket. "The sparks or the–?"
"–You've got a magic wand!" cried Hermione. "Does everyone get a wand?"
"Yeah, but it's only a junior wand till we're eleven," said Harry. "Do the tickling spell, Megan, then let Hermione have a try."
The Grangers watched their daughter squealing with laughter along with her two companions. "I've never seen her so happy since... well, since we bought her very first picture book," Anne said to her husband with a knowing look.
He nodded. "Nor watched her trying so hard to make friends..."
Harry was on the floor, squirming with a fit of the giggles and clutching his sides.
"I did it, Mummy!" shrieked Hermione, waving Megan's wand over the helplessly-wriggling boy. "My first proper spell on purpose!"
"Where do we sign, Mercy?" said Mr Granger.
"Step into my office," smiled the Headmistress who, unseen by them, winked back at Harry and gave him the thumbs up.
Twenty minutes later, with the formalities completed, Mercy presented Hermione with a care package crammed full of books, charmed objects, magical confectionery, a Squib wand, and her very own junior wand. The little girl face lit up and she was jumping with joy.
"I must repeat, Hermione, do NOT let any non-magicals other than your parents see you perform magic. The Squib wand – or safety wand as we prefer to call it – only performs set domestic tasks like brushing your teeth, but no special skill is needed as those functions are already charmed into it. The junior wand is less limited but you have to master each spell. Study the instructions and give special attention to reading my book, An Introduction to Magic which has a complete section on secrecy."
"I will, I promise!" said Hermione, clutching her precious gift pack tightly.
"Thank you, Mercy," cried the Grangers as they were being shown out.
"See you tomorrow, Hermione!" called Harry and Megan.
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—oOo—
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Author's Notes
Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)
– Hippothestrowl
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