Thanks as usual for the reviews of the last chapter! I'll be revising Ch. 2 soon, changing the part about how Colin finds out about Hogwarts. Thanks again for that interview reference, Cecelle! Tania: I'm also excited about getting to the parts with Harry! The chapters are running parallel to the chapters in GoF, so there are a few more before we actually get to Hogwarts. But we'll be hearing about the QWC and its aftermath in the next few chapters.

I'm hoping for some advice about Ch. 1. I had my mom read it, and she told me it was a bit confusing. Actually, she said it was like a Star Trek episode that starts on the holodeck—I come from a family of nerds. So, does anyone have any suggestions for how to make it clearer? Like, making it more obvious that it's a dream... or something.

Chapter 4: Back to Waiting

By noon the next day, Colin had checked through his knapsack for the fifth time, making sure he'd packed everything for the trip to Diagon Alley. He had. This was a bit of a problem, as they weren't leaving until the following morning. It was really rather amazing how slowly time could pass. Colin caught himself looking at the clock about once every thirty seconds. He was much too restless to work on his homework, even though normally he enjoyed anything, even essays, that reminded him of the wizarding world. But somehow, the uselessness of fourteenth-century witch-burning couldn't quite hold his interest at the moment. Besides, he wouldn't have been able to concentrate for long anyway, since Dennis had finished packing also and was jumping around the room, on and off the furniture.

Colin paced down the hall, through the kitchen and the family room, and back to the bedroom. For about the twentieth time. Dennis now appeared to be literally bouncing off the walls. Colin sighed and headed back into the family room. Dad, reading the newspaper on the couch, looked up at him with a sympathetic grin.

"Bit restless, Col?" he asked.

At that point, a noise came from the bedroom that sounded distinctly like shattering glass.

"Oh, bugger..." Dennis's voice floated down the hall.

Dad sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Alright," he said firmly, standing up, "enough." He took Colin and a now very anxious-looking Dennis by the hand, led them out the back door, and kicked the football to them.

"It's not as good as Quidditch, I know, but you two are about to go mad." And with another sympathetic smile, he went back inside.

Colin and Dennis looked at the football and looked at each other. It had been very hot the past few days, so they hadn't played football in a while. And it wasn't quite like Quidditch, but still...

Both of them ran for the ball at once.

A few minutes later, neither brother had scored yet. Colin had to keep reminding himself to concentrate on getting the ball past Dennis, not on how different football was from flying. Some of his friends from wizarding families were probably practicing Quidditch this very moment. And then there was Tommy, who'd be watching the Quidditch World Cup tomorrow night. Too bad Tommy's mum couldn't have gotten an extra ticket—

"Ha! I scored on you, Colin!" Dennis had kicked the ball right between Colin's feet and gotten past him. Well, that certainly wouldn't do. He couldn't let his little brother beat him at football just because he was distracted thinking about Quidditch.

"All right, you're asking for it now!" Colin shouted as he began taking the ball back across the yard. Dennis tried to steal, but Colin kept the ball as Dennis nearly tripped. But he recovered quickly as Colin kicked the ball just a bit too hard—it was right in front of him but Dennis was racing for it too—both boys' feet connected at the same time—

"Whoops..."

"Oh, bugger..."

The ball shot up at an angle—not a good angle. Both brothers ran to intercept it, but it was already out of reach. It arced gracefully over Mrs. Twitmyer's perfect hedge and landed in—

"The new flower bed!" whispered Dennis as the boys peered through the hedge. "But I don't think it hurt anything—"

"Yes it did, look, it smashed that funny red plant," Colin whispered back.

"Ooh..." breathed Dennis. "What're we going to do, Colin?"

"We've got to get the ball back! Then maybe the Twit won't know it was us!"

"D'you see her? Is she home?"

"I don't know, Dennis, but we'd better hurry!" Colin bit his lower lip, staring at the football in the flower bed. "Ok, one of us needs to go through the hedge and grab the ball."

"I'll go, Colin! I'm smaller and I can fit through the hedge better," Dennis said, clenching his fists and bracing himself. A moment later, he was worming his way through the least impassable part of Mrs. Twitmyer's greenery.

Colin peered through the leaves and held his breath as Dennis pulled himself out of the hedge on Mrs. Twitmyer's side and began creeping towards the flower bed. It looked like he was going to reach the football without any trouble—except—

"Oh no!" Colin whispered. "Dennis! Look out! It's Muffin!" But it was too late. The massive dog bowled Dennis over on top of a clump of primroses. Colin frantically worked through the hedge. Muffin was growling and snapping at Dennis's face now.

"Bad dog!" shouted Colin, throwing a stick at Muffin's hindquarters. It missed, but Muffin didn't seem to notice this. He leaped at Colin, uprooting a young azalea plant. Now Colin was on his back with Muffin growling and drooling over him. He tried to keep the dog's teeth away from his face, but this was difficult without getting his fingers caught in the massive jaws.

"Get away! Get away, stupid dog!" he could hear Dennis shouting. The younger boy had jumped up and was running towards Colin and Muffin, heedlessly crushing pansies underfoot.

"Creevey!" It was the all-too-familiar screech of Mrs. Twitmyer. The only good effect it had was that Muffin promptly stopped trying to take Colin's head off and bounded eagerly to his mistress. "Yes, yes, such a good dog," she crooned. "Were the nasty boys frightening you?" She fixed her beady gaze on Colin and Dennis, who were scooting backwards as fast as possible toward the hedge.

"Don't you try to get away, you dirty little brats! You've frightened Muffin, torn up my new flowers—"

"We're sorry—"

"Didn't mean to—"

"We'll fix it—"

"Too right you'll fix it!" she shrieked. "You'll do more than that if I have my way!" She was advancing on them, backing them against the hedge, shaking her finger in their faces. "Terrorizing the neighborhood—property damage—reform school in my opinion—not some posh private school—how your father affords it I don't know—selling drugs on his milk rounds—"

At that point, the hedge exploded.