The summer heat was horrid, making Number Four Privet Drive absolutely unbearable. Arabella Dursley (Potter to others) despised the summers, as the swelteringly humid air only caused everyone who experienced it utter discomfort. She couldn't wait for autumn to roll around and especially couldn't wait for school to start up once more. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was one of her favorite places on earth, and her heart longed to return as summer crawled by.

Her sister, Lyla, refused to leave the house unless it was absolutely necessary, preferring the cool air conditioning to that of the boiling heat.

"I always feel like I'm getting roasted in stew or something," she'd tell their mother. "I am not leaving, you'll have to drag me out by my legs if you so desire."

"So dramatic," mumbled Dudley, sharing an exasperated glance with Arabella. "You'd think by how she's acting, Mum really was asking her to jump into a pot of stew."

Today's morning was like any other, that being hot, sunny, and unbearably slow. As there wasn't much to do due to the horrible weather outside, Arabella opted to focus her attention on something worthwhile, which actually wasn't worthwhile in the slightest. She lay on the living room floor, flat on her stomach, reading through a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot). She moved the tip of her eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning as she desperately looked for something that would help make her essay plausible. The topic was 'Why Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless.' The quill paused at the top of a lengthy-looking paragraph that went into some fascinating details.

Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than forty-seven times in various disguises.

Arabella put her quill between her teeth and reached underneath for an ink bottle, and then a piece of parchment she'd been scribbling notes into. She pulled out a fresh sheet and smoothed it out, and slowly began to write, pausing every now and then to tickle her chin with the feather end of her quill to think.

Her father, Vernon Dursley, sat in his typical armchair reading the paper, clicking his tongue on occasion as he read through. She could hear her mother tinkering somewhere inside the kitchen, while the television could be heard coming from the sunroom. Lyla and Dudley were currently watching something, and every now and then, they'd comment or snort with laughter. Whatever they were watching sounded interesting enough, but Arabella had been falling behind in her summer school work and had promised her parents that she would improve her schedule in the coming weeks. She was particularly keen to avoid trouble with them as much as she could, as she knew the topic of magic was still sensitive. Try as they might, Vernon and Petunia still had issues with their daughters when it came to that subject, despite the three years they'd had to get familiar with it. But being the loving parents they tried to project, they no longer shouted at owls swooping into the kitchen or conversations that mentioned the various magical activities. Even now, she could feel her father's gaze on her from time to time as she played with her quill absentmindedly.

She was momentarily distracted as the telephone rang, causing her to look up. Who would be calling this early on a Sunday morning?

"Petunia Dursley speaking," their mother said, setting down whatever she'd been doing and rushing over to press the receiver to her ear.

What happened next was very unexpected.

"HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME?" shouted the familiar voice of Daphne Greengrass. "I— WOULD— LIKE— TO — TALK — TO — ARABELLA—AND— LYLA — POTTER!"

Her friend was yelling so loudly that their mother jumped and held the receiver a foot away from her ear, staring at it with an expression of confusion and alarm. Her gaze met Arabella's with shock.

"W-WHO IS THIS!?" she roared in the direction of the mouthpiece, ignoring her daughter's gestures and staring at the receiver like it was a cockroach. "WHO ARE YOU?!"

"DAPHNE— GREENGRASS!" Daphne bellowed back, as though she and Petunia were speaking from opposite ends of a park

"I'M— A— FRIEND—FROM — SCHOOL—"

Arabella's mother blinked a few times, clearly rattled. It was now or never. As quickly as she could, Arabella leaped forward and yanked the telephone out of her mother's clammy grasp.

"You don't need to yell, Daph," she laughed, shooting her mother an apologetic glance. "Just talk like we're standing in front of each other."

"ARE— YOU— SURE—?"

"YES," said Arabella loudly, "anyways, what's up? This is a pleasant surprise, but very unexpected."

"Oh, sorry about that," Daphne said bashfully, clearing her throat. "Um, okay, this is really weird. This— this thing— how on earth did Muggles make it?"

Lyla and Dudley made an appearance then, both looking very curious.

"Beats me," said Arabella with a shrug. "How are your summer holidays going?"

"Oh, they've been lovely! We've only just now returned from vacationing for three months in Paris and Berlin. The European air there makes Mama feel so much better, you know. Before she got married, she'd always go to the French countryside— had a great aunt or something who lived there— and she's always been wanting to go, and now—"

Lyla, who had gestured that Arabella put the headset on the table, beamed brightly.

"— Oh, but I'm just rambling on, aren't I? Forgive me, but the reason I called you all in the first place was because I wanted to know if you had heard from Ron recently."

"Ron?" asked Lyla. "No, I don't think we have, not since the start of summer anyways."

"Oh? So you haven't seen it yet?"

"Seen what?" asked the sisters in unison.

"Do you not read the daily prophet?" asked Daphne aghast. "It's only just been published!"

Truthfully speaking, the sisters hadn't subscribed to the paper, as when they were at school, all their wizarding friends already had copies they let them borrow.

"No?" answered Arabella.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to tell you then! Oh! It's only just the most wonderful thing ever! Papa was telling me about it weeks ago because a few of his colleagues had made bets on who would win— And the papers have only just released the winner!"

"Winners of what?" asked Dudley, his brows pressed together. "Who won what exactly?"

"Is that Dudley?" Daphne asked curiously. "Hello! Ah, I'm getting ahead of myself here… It's the Daily Prophet Draw, an annual contest where anyone can participate as long as they purchase tickets."

"So, like The National Lottery?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing," cut in Lyla, "please, continue."

"Well… guess who won the Daily Prophet Draw Grand Prize?!"

"Who?" asked Arabella.

"Mr. Weasley, of course! Seven hundred galleons!"

"Wow!" gasped Lyla, grinning widely.

"I know, right?! And it looks like they've already decided on how they want to spend it. They're going to Egypt! Yes, it says it all right here, 'Bill Weasley, oldest of the Weasley clan children, is a curse breaker working for Gringotts,' and the families only just left today to go visit! Isn't that exciting!?"

"Brilliant," said Arabella with a huge grin, "I bet they're going to have a great time."

"Oh! I also had another reason for calling!" chirped Daphne excitedly. "As of five hours ago, I guess papa and some of his brothers cleared away a patch of land for us to go camping high in the mountains. It's a beautiful location, and it's always wonderful to get away from the summer heat. I was wondering if you'd like to come and join us. Your parents and brother are, of course, invited, as well."

"For how long?" asked Arabella, excitement swelling inside her chest.

"Uncle Jan was thinking something along the lines of maybe a month at most—? two weeks minimum, I think."

The excitement disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"Oh Daph, we'd really love to join you and your family, but our Aunt Marge is coming in a week to celebrate our birthdays…"

"Oooh, but of course, she would," sighed Daphne with a slight dip of embarrassment. "I mean, that sounds wonderful! Of course, she would!"

"You're repeating yourself," laughed Lyla. "We really wish we could join you, love, but family plans are something you stick to in the Dursley household."

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