Insert standard disclaimer: I don't own and have never claimed to own Sailormoon or Harry Potter. Never have, never will.

Welcome all, to the second chapter of this fic. This chapter begins introducing the Harry Potter references, although most of the characters don't appear until chapters three and four. Enjoy!

Notes 6/14: Hi all! As you might have gathered from the previous chapter, I am in the process of revising this story. There should not be any major plot-related changes, but I am feeling the need to change the way I've written this, so that I'll be better satisfied. Let me know what you think!


2. Owl Post



The morning is cool, as wisps of fog still cling to the ground. Towering over a lake stands a tall stone castle. One might even call it a fairy-tale castle, as it seems too fantastical to be anything firmly based in the real world. At some hidden signal, this dream castle suddenly explodes into action. People, young people, rush all over the place, of all ages and colors, a rainbow display. The only uniting factor, it seems, is their attire, for each is dressed in a long black robe. Many wear matching pointed hats, though there are equally as many that choose other, brighter headgear or wear nothing at all on their heads.

This is a place seen only by those who know that its fairy-tale visage is reality, for reality is, in many ways, similar to a fairy tale. Even over the space of a few minutes, the castle shifts, subtly, growing a new protuberance here, shrinking a little there. In a room, a simple room and one of many, a woman sits.

Unlike the students, her long robe is of a deep emerald green. In front of her sits a large book, and she mutters to herself as she writes on a piece of parchment with a quill pen, occasionally looking at the book as if verifying the information she writes. She finishes the letter and seals it, placing it on top of a stack, and stands up and stretches. She surreptitiously rubs her eyes, for it has been a long night-turned-morning, but a tired smile adorns her face as she looks upon the stack of letters--somewhere around forty or fifty in all--for she has finished her self-appointed task at last.

Once again outside the castle, one might witness a quite incongruous sight; somewhere between forty and fifty owls taking flight from the roof. Looking closer, it is seen that each owl carries in its claws a letter, one of the letters the woman has written. They fly off in entirely different directions, with the exception of a clump of nine, or perhaps ten, larger and with more stamina than the average owl used in this business, that arrows straight east . . . for now.

That time has come again, the time of invitations to this place of magic and learning. Soon, a new group of eleven- and twelve-year-olds will grace these halls with their presence, as they always have, through the millennia in which the outside world grew and changed but the castle stayed, for the most part, the same. Deep within the castle, a dark presence stirs and smiles. This will be a good year, for this is the eleventh year of the life of its nemesis. Soon . . . soon, its nemesis will come here . . . and at last be within its reach once more.

Soon . . .

* * *

In the kitchen, Michiru's mother cooked breakfast before she went off to work; Michiru's father had already left. Michiru and I sat at the table, waiting patiently. Or as patiently as we could--we tried not to bounce up and down too much or too noticeably. Michiru's mother raised her head briefly. Ah, the mail's here. Would you get it, Haruka, Michiru?

We chorused, happy to be doing something useful. After collecting the mail we wandered back into the kitchen, sifting through the mail as we went.

Bill, bill, advertisement, letter from Kaiou Shiriko-san, advertisement, letter for you, Michiru . . .

Advertisement, bill, college mailing, advertisement, letter for you, Haruka . . . strange, they look almost identical . . . Depositing the rest of the mail at the center of the table, we switched letters. I looked at mine for a moment before opening it. Parchment, green ink, and an actual honest-to-goodness wax seal.

I shook my head as I slit open the envelope and drew out the two sheets of paper within. Were these people, whoever they were, still living in the seventeen hundreds or something? Hadn't they ever heard of computers or at least typewriters?

The letter inside was in English and I groaned silently. Although I am fairly good with foreign languages, I am far from fluent. I know barely enough English to get by with passable grades in class and ask the way to the bathroom and the race track at races I attended in English-speaking countries. Still, I was determined not to ask Michiru's mother for help--heck, when it came to that, I had no idea whether or not she even knew English.

Dear Miss Ten'ou, I read, skipping over the elaborate header. Headers tend to be something of a waste of space and I felt like I was straining my knowledge of English as it was. I certainly did not want to read any more than I absolutely had to. We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at . . . Hogwarts? . . . School of-- I looked up. How can that be? I haven't applied to any school, much less a place with such a silly name.

I heard a small gasp from behind me in the kitchen, but my eyes were on Michiru who, brow furrowed, was mouthing her way through her own letter. I glanced back down at mine. School of--oh, phooie. I don't recognize that word.

Witchcraft and Wizardry, Michiru supplied softly. We locked eyes, and I could see the same thoughts drifting through her head as were whirling through my own. It must be a trick of some kind. I mean . . . magic? Real magic?

It is no trick. Michiru's mother came over and set down our breakfasts gently. Although I admit, I had never expected either of you to receive a letter. She smiled wryly at her daughter. Aki and I had pretty much figured you for entirely a Muggle, as nothing at all magical ever happened around you. So we were doubly proud when you found a way to protect people even as a Muggle. She beamed. And now, for some reason, you are being invited after all . . . it's like a dream come true. We had always kind of hoped that you would follow us through Hogwarts . . . but we had regretfully given up on that dream when it seemed that you had inherited no magic from either of us.

She looked at me. I know your father felt the same way, but he is very proud of you despite that, Haruka. He always has been.

I stood violently, not caring that I had knocked over the chair as I immersed myself in the red haze that covered my vision. I gently placed the letter on the table and turned, throwing my words over my shoulder like the darts I felt they should be. Poisonous darts. I cannot believe my father is capable of pride, much less in me. And even if he was . . . why should I care what he thinks?

Not trusting myself to say any more without degenerating into fouler language than I had felt like using in quite a while, I turned on my heel and left.

* * *

What was that all about? Kaiou Sachiko murmured, eyes wide, as the girl she had come to think of as a second daughter stalked out of the room.

You shouldn't have said that about her father. Michiru said quietly, as she put a comforting hand on her mother's arm. Again, Sachiko found herself quietly amazed at the maturity of this version of her daughter, a maturity at odds with her small size. You couldn't have known . . . but her family is a very sensitive subject to Haruka. From what I've been able to learn, she ran away from home at twelve, was shuffled through several foster families, and finally struck out on her own when she was sixteen, shortly before I met her.

She twirled a lock of hair around her finger absently. Even now, more than five years after she cut herself off from her family, she is unwilling to say much on the subject . . . even to me.

But . . . I know Hiroshi. Sachiko protested weakly. Sure, he got involved in the wrong crowd there for a while, but he's a basically good man. And I could tell that he loved Haruka very much. He can't have changed that much. She began to turn. That's right . . . I really ought to have called him before this, to let him know Haruka is okay. I can't believe I forgot!

The hand on her arm tightened. Mother, tell me. Which would hurt this man more--not knowing whether Haruka is even alive . . . or knowing for sure that she is alive, but that she hates him with a passion she displays toward no others, not even the worst of our enemies, and would never willingly come within ten miles of him?

But . . . why? Sachiko asked, sadly, as Michiru's logic penetrated. Her daughter was right, much as she hated to admit it. Hiroshi was better off this way.

Michiru shook her head. Hiroshi, that sounded subtly wrong to her, but she couldn't tell why. I'm sorry, mom, I truly don't know. This part of Haruka, she hides . . . even from herself, at times, I think. But . . . if Hiroshi, this Hiroshi, truly is as you say, Haruka will figure it out for herself eventually. And she has to figure it out for herself, or she'll never truly believe.

She looked up. Before we got sidetracked, you mentioned Muggles. Who're they?

* * *

You really don't have to decide whether or not you want to go until the end of July. Michiru's mother reminded us. That will still leave us plenty of time to collect the supplies you'll need before fall term begins. I should know--I remember it took me until July 29 to decide to go there instead of the smaller school here, right outside of Tokyo. She smiled supportively. Besides, wherever you decide to go, we can always owl each other. It's not too far away.

Michiru and I exchanged glances. Before she mentioned it, we hadn't even known there were any wizarding schools' in Japan, much less one so close by. But then, to us, close by wasn't necessarily a good thing. I think both of us would rather be . . . elsewhere for a while. Michiru said softly, and I nodded my agreement.

The memories here . . . they're still too sharp, and there are too many reminders--especially of the bad ones. Perhaps it is an indication of our relationship with the Inner Senshi that I cannot recall any truly happy memories involving them. All of those involved Michiru and myself alone, or . . . I winced, and my mood sank to a new low as it always did when I thought of them. I smiled wryly. And at this point, even most of the good memories are painful . . . possibly more painful than all but the worst of the bad ones.

Michiru's mother nodded. I can see that. Alright, if you think that's what you really want . . . I'll go ahead and send an owl in reply to Minerva. And maybe we can go shopping sometime soon. Perhaps I'll take you to Diagon Alley--that's the wizarding supply street in London, and one of the largest and most comprehensive in the world.

That sounds like fun. Michiru smiled shyly. I, on the other hand, would dearly love to have groaned. Shopping. Like many members of the gender that I emulated so often, I detested the occasion. But perhaps . . . with something new and different such as magical supplies . . . it might not be so bad after all.

Plus, as I admitted to myself yet again . . . I'd do almost anything if it made Michiru smile. Still, a logical objection came to mind. It's been a while since I've studied English seriously . . . I'm not sure I'd be able to talk my way out of a paper bag, much less buy such esoteric supplies as they are asking for.

Michiru's mother smiled. Well, you're further along than I was. I didn't know a word of English when I decided I wanted to go to Hogwarts. Fortunately, there is a magical solution to that. She drew a wand out of . . . somewhere, perhaps the same place we keep our henshin pens? . . . and pointed it at the two of us. Anglicus Linguisticus Veritas!

As I collapsed to the floor, head splitting into at least a dozen parts, I could hear her voice, as if from afar. Oh yeah . . . I forgot to mention . . . it'll hurt.

As soon as the pounding in my head receded enough for me to at least think semi-coherently, I levered myself onto my elbows, still squinting through the pain. Naw . . . I said, with as much sarcasm as I could muster. . . . ya think?

* * *

And here I thought all those stories about witches and such were so much rot. Michiru muttered as we pored over the list of supplies--far easier to read, now that we were truly fluent in the language.

I knew what she was referring to immediately, of course. The long black robes and the tall, pointy black hats. I always though, even if there were such a thing as witches and wizards, surely they'd have enough common sense to wear ordinary clothes and blend in instead of parading around so noticeably. Especially if their existence is supposed to be some sort of secret.

Witches and wizards are a lot like Muggles that way. A sardonic voice commented, and we both looked up at Michiru's father, who grinned before he went on. One thing in far shorter supply than you'd expect it to be is common sense. Although the people who actually live and work in the real world' dress accordingly. It's mostly those that live off in their own little dream world or who never have any contact with Muggles that dress that way consistently.

But why? Michiru asked, frustrated. Robes make no sense.

Stylistic reasons, originally, perhaps. Her father shrugged. Now . . . in my opinion, it's just plain tradition more than anything else.

Michiru showed her opinion--shared by me, by the way--of tradition just for the sake of tradition. Seeing that her father wasn't leaving yet, she shrugged and turned back to the list.

We skimmed over the books; the titles indicated a wide array of what would possibly be very intriguing subjects, but neither they nor any of the authors rang a bell. Then, we saw the second item on the list of Other Equipment'--a cauldron. I couldn't help it. On top of the black robes and the pointy hats, it was just too much. I burst out laughing.

Only a moment later, Michiru caught on, and she too began to laugh, as her father looked on quizzically and her mother came wandering up, probably wondering what had provoked such sudden hilarity. I was suddenly reminded of a line from Shakespeare's play Macbeth--a reading assignment in English class that, although we did not finish it for class, I went on to finish on my own. Double, double toil and trouble. I wheezed out, finally gaining control of my laughter.

Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Michiru completed the thought, her giggles also beginning to slow and stop. But then we made the mistake of looking at each other, which set us off completely again.

This time, however, we were not alone. Our laughter slowed to a stop as we watched both Michiru's parents laugh almost to the point of crying, laugh until they clung to each other for the support to remain standing.

Ah . . . Michiru began hesitantly, . . . it wasn't quite that funny . . . I don't think . . .

Michiru's mother wiped her eyes, pressing her lips together in a fashion that made me suspect she was only barely suppressing yet further laughter. It was just . . . our Potions instructor was such a dried up old stick, and he hated every one of us . . . I can't imagine what would have happened had we been cheeky enough to actually do that while mixing up one of those boring old potions we had to learn. Potions is where you'll probably be getting the most use out of your cauldrons, by the way. She added absently, before returning to snickering.

Michiru's father shook his head. He probably would have docked our Houses fifty points. At least.

I asked. I got the feeling that he was not talking about a building in which one dwells--or at least, not solely.

He nodded. All Hogwarts students are divided into four houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. Each student earns or loses points for his house, and at the end of the year, the house with the most points wins the house cup and is honored at the end of the year banquet.

What're the differences between the houses? Michiru asked.

Her parents exchanged an . . . I would almost have said uncomfortable look. The four houses tend to attract different sorts of people. I won't give any specifics. Her father finally replied.

We don't want to unduly prejudice you against any one house. Her mother added, most likely in response to our slightly outraged Why not?!' looks. We want you to be happy with whichever house you end up in.

And I knew and Michiru knew that that was all we would get out of them on that subject. So we exchanged a glance as I, at least, sighed inwardly, and turned back to our lists.

* * *

By common unspoken consent, we put off the trip to Diagon Alley. Neither I nor Michiru were quite willing yet, I think, to leave this haven we had so luckily and unexpectedly found. A few days after our abrupt language lesson, cured of the lingering headache, I sat outside, reveling in the feel of the wind dancing through my hair, slapping random tendrils into my face that I did not even bother to brush away. It was about time for me to cut it again, I realized, now that the back had gotten long enough to where it could be blown into my face.

But then . . . sitting outside on that beautiful day and thinking pseudo-deep thoughts, I asked myself . . . why cut it? I like my hair short, but I've also always rather missed having it long, missed the feel of it blowing against my face and lying against my neck. The real reason I cut it originally, shortly after I disassociated' myself from my family, was as a statement. A slap in the face to my father, promising without words that I would be a better man than he had ever been. Then, subtly . . . the masquerade became so much a part of my life, that I almost began to forget what it had been like to be a girl. I enjoyed being a man, racing cars and bikes and having the most beautiful and wonderful girlfriend in the world.

Oh, Michiru knew I was a girl from the very beginning. She met me in her search to find Sailor Uranus, after all, although I'd like to think she would have noticed anyway. That's how perceptive she is. Or perhaps it's just my love for her talking, I don't really know. But my masquerade gave our relationship the semblance of normality to passing strangers, in a world that as a whole merely tolerates relationships like ours--at best. It even allowed her the momentary approval of her original parents--momentary only because, unlike to the world at large, we actually showed her parents the truth.

And now . . . returned to eleven years old, I no longer have anything to prove, haven't really for quite a while. Especially now that I have Michiru's parents, I could care less what mine think. Not that I ever did, after I no longer had to. As for our relationship . . . I sincerely doubt that it will become physical for quite a while--we are only eleven after all, even if our minds are those of seventeen-year-olds--and even when it does, Michiru will be happy, her parents will be happy (the only set of parents I really care about), I'll be happy, and I find now that I care even less about what the rest of the world thinks than I used to. And I really do miss the feel of long hair . . . so perhaps I will let it grow out for a while, before I resume the masquerade--if I ever choose to.

* * *

A few weeks later, when my hair had grown long enough to where it was noticeable, when it was obvious I had made no move to cut it and had begun wearing it in a (incredibly short!) ponytail, Michiru just smiled at me. So, you've decided to become a girl again. She stated, and I could see it in her eyes that she was proud of me, for beginning to come out of the shell it had taken me so long to create. Good, now we have to go shopping.

I've never been that much of a girl! I wanted to protest, but the look in her eyes stopped me, and her smile. She doesn't smile like that much anymore, ever since Galaxia. Neither do I, so every smile counts more these days, and if it makes Michiru happy to take me shopping, I won't complain. Besides, I figured out a long time ago that nothing is that bad, as long as she's with me. I've caught myself thinking many times before that if, when I die, I have to choose between a Heaven without her or a Hell by her side, Heaven wouldn't stand a chance. As long as Michiru is with me, nothing can take me down, not permanently.

Not even shopping. Although I think she made that trip especially torturous, as if to test my resolve. Surely going into that many stores isn't actually necessary! But I survived, because she was there with me.

Regardless of my longer hair, I still don't particularly like dresses, and I continue to wear pants most of the time. But every now and then I wear a dress, and she smiles at me, and the feelings of silliness and discomfort are instantly made worth it. Although I think she's finally coming to appreciate the value of pants, since she's decided to see if she can peek into my world, as I am peeking into hers.

I smile more too and, though I doubt I'll ever figure out why, my smiles seem to have a similar effect on her that hers have on me. Just a side effect of loving someone so deeply, so all-encompassingly, that you would do anything for them, and they would do anything for you in return, I suppose.

The reversion to eleven has made me more philosophical and introspective, and although I still enjoy running like nothing else (and can't wait until I can get my hands on a race car, or at least a motorbike, again), I begin to see the depth to Michiru's music and her art where before I only knew its beauty. I've thought a lot about the past, especially that short time after I met Michiru when it was more than just me--and her. I'd have done anything for our princess; my loyalty to her ran nearly as deeply as my love for Michiru.

We made the wrong decision when we decided to attempt to double-cross Galaxia, I'll admit that freely now. Yet, in doing so we did what we thought was right. That's what sets us apart from the other senshi. The Inners and Hotaru and, of course, the princess, they follow their hearts in fighting, secure in the knowledge that they will win because they have goodness and friendship on their sides. A depressingly optimistic view of life, in my opinion, doomed to failure eventually.

Yet, although their philosophy of life is so flawed, by following that philosophy they've managed to win every time. Hotaru, I think, sees the flaws as clearly as Michiru and I, but she doesn't put her faith in that philosophy so much as she puts her faith in the princess. And Hotaru has always had more blind faith than either of us combined--we're both too cynical by nature.

Setsuna, I've always thought, is buried in the flows of Time, helpless to interfere with events most of the time. Regardless of the power that accompanies it, I don't think I'd ever be willing or able to take on her job, forced to stand by and watch events pass you by, knowing you could help, yet also knowing that you were forbidden to interfere. Knowing that, if you attempted to help, even if you could, that aid might bring about the very future you were trying to prevent.

She has the hardest time of any of us, yet she is ever able to present us with that mask of calm that reassures us that everything is alright. I caught her drunk once. I don't think I was supposed to have seen, she had hidden in her room so as to be less likely to be disturbed. She was crying, and the things she whispered to herself, never knowing that I too was listening . . . no one can live through that much solitude, all those millennia of loneliness with only the Gates of Time for company, and remain sane. No one . . . except her.

In accepting Galaxia's offer, Michiru and I did the unthinkable to anyone else on the team. We took our fate into our own hands instead of blindly trusting in our princess, and tried our hardest to destroy her evil ourselves. The only problem--other than the fact that Galaxia had no star seed for us to take and our plan was thus doomed from the start--is that in taking our own fates into our hands, we also took the fates of others. Regardless of what the other senshi think, we never meant for our plan to hurt anyone but ourselves. Thankfully, I don't remember the interlude in which we actually did the deed--it was wiped away by those bracelets, leaving only the memory of tainted power. If I could actually remember the look on poor Hotaru's face when I killed her . . . or maybe it was Setsuna I killed . . . I don't think I would ever be able to live with myself, much less proceed as if life was, more or less, normal.

And pretend that Michiru and her parents fill the hole left in my heart where my bond with the other senshi used to reside; until we snapped that bond as if it were nothing, never realizing until we lost it how wonderful and special that bond had been. Now the situation has been simplified until, once again, it is just Michiru and I, locked away from the rest of the world by the barriers within our own hearts.



End Note: I have no idea how J.K.Rowling makes up spells. So, for the literary translation spell, I took Anglicus for the language, English (Anglican or Angles being the first good word I could think of, at which I added the -cus to make is sound more like a mystical spell word) Linguisticus (again, I took the word linguistic or perhaps linguist and added the -cus, because it felt like it fit) and Veritas, which made up the actual intent of the spell--veritas means, I believe, 'truth' in Latin. Linguistic truth from English.

Oh well, I don't suppose it has to make sense. That's the way my standard translation spell stands for now--but if you can think of a better one (or better yet, a canon one!) please let me know.


7/21/2001
6/14/2002