THE WORDS WE SHARE
*
That which you create has a voice. Listen
~ Unknown
*
Hadrian shouldered open the door to the Rune workshop, the door swinging on well oiled hinges silently. He fixed the loose parchment under his arm and quickly crossed the space to his workbench. He stopped, noticing the lack of footsteps behind him. He turned and found his three friends hovering at the door, eyeing the room.
"Guys, come on." He gestured impatiently. "It's not going to bite."
Padma was the first to cross the threshold, her steps dainty and deliberate, as if the floor would dissolve under her. When she didn't spontaneously combust, Hermione followed, her gaze quickly latching onto the walls etched with runes. Neville shuffled in last, clutching the strap of his bag tightly, his shoulders hunched. The three second years took in the room – the high ceilings, arched windows and alcoves full of books and tools.
"Are you sure we are allowed in here?" Hermione asked, her voice hushed, almost reverential.
"Yes." Hadrian nodded. "I cleared it with professor Babbling. Just don't make a mess and we will be fine."
Hermione acknowledged his word with a distracted nod, too busy with the wall – her hand hovered above the stone, tracing the intricate runic script that covered it. The closer her fingers got, the more it tingled, her magic brushing against the rooms magic.
"These aren't just decorative, are they?" Hermione whispered, but in the quiet Hadrian had no trouble hearing her.
"They are protective." Hadrian sighed, dumping his bag and loose parchment onto his workbench. A chisel clattered, making Neville jump. He bumped into a shelf and it rattled. The boy panicked and thrust his hands forward, catching a tarnished engraving tool. He quickly put it back in its place and backed away from the shelf.
"Real smooth, Longbottom." Padma chuckled, sliding into the seat beside Hadrian. Her laughter bounced along the walls, softening the rooms austere edges.
"This place is pretty cool." Padma murmured, tilting her head at the vaulted ceiling; her braid tumbled like a coiled silk down her back. She could feel the subtle hum of magic in the background.
"I didn't think I would get to see this place till third year." Hermione admitted, eyeing a shelf of leather-bound books with a concerning amount of hunger.
"Yea well, only fourth year and above are actually allowed in here." Hadrian pointed out.
"Except you." Padma sing-songed, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled.
Hadrian's cheeks warmed. "Yeah, well. Whatever."
"So lucky." Hermione muttered, a sour look on her face, as she settled across Hadrian.
Padma's foot nudged Hermione's under the table – a silent plea. "We came to do our assignments remember?" she said brightly, her eyes lingering on Hermione.
"Right!" Neville blurted, pulling out his charms essay with unnecessary vigour. The other followed his example, parchment rustling and inkpots uncorking. The workbench was large enough to accommodate them all and their tools. Stilted conversation floated between them.
"So Dumbledore, really gave you permission to sell your Books?" Hermione asked abruptly, leaning forward. Her chair scrapped the floor.
Hadrian groaned, slouching in his seat. "For the millionth time – yes with conditions." Hadrian said tiredly. "I have to pay rent for using the Workshop now, plus a percentage of the profits have to go to the school and some other stuff."
Hermione opened her mouth, several questions on the tip of her tongue, but Neville's foot collided with hers beneath the table. She shot him a glare, then faltered at his pointed glance towards Hadrian's tightening fists. Hermione's cheeks warmed and she snapped her mouth shut.
Padma giggled, shooting Neville an appreciative look. She patted the other girl's knee reassuringly; "You have to admit, it is a bit unexpected – having your MailBooks be a school sanctioned product."
"Won't it cause a bit of a stink?" Neville ventured, uncharacteristically bold. The others turned, looking at him in, and he shrank slightly before rallying.
"Think about it, who else is allowed to sell things at Hogwarts?" Neville asked leadingly.
"People sell each other all sorts of things – sweets, enchanted bobs and ends." Hermione answered. Her face took on a pinched expression before she added, "The Weasley twins sell 'joke' products."
"No wait," Padma shook her head, understanding what Neville had been driving at. "None of that is sanctioned though. It is tolerated but it's not..." Padma frowned, thinking of the right turn of phrase.
"Its not officially recognised." Neville finished for her. Padma gave him a thumbs up and he flushed. "It's why you have to meet the Weasley twins in the corner." Neville added.
Hermione's brow furrowed, the gears in her head turning. Padma eyed her knowingly, feeling her emotions churning.
"Do you think people will have problems with it?" Hermione hedged.
"Why though?" Hadrian finally asked sitting up.
"You really don't notice do you?" Padma asked unable to keep her amusement at bay.
"People talk Hadrian." Neville said, glancing around warily, seemingly expecting someone to jump out at any minute. Never mind that they were alone in the workshop. His voice dropped, prompting the others to lean in closer.
"I've heard people – when they don't think I'm listening, say that you only got into the Runes class cause your godmother is Professor McGonagall." Neville whispered.
Hadrian stiffened, his lips pulled back in a sneer. "It was discussed by the administration and aunt Minnie excused herself from the meeting actually." Hadrian folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in his seat.
"People don't know that; they just see the deputy head's godson getting into an advanced class for no reason." Padma pointed out.
Hermione and Hadrian looked at her, their faces clearly showing how offended they were. Padma raised her hands; "They aren't my words, jeez." she pouted.
"You all know why I got put in the class." Hadrian said.
"Yes." Hermione nodded. "It's cause you dabbled in runes." She said with a straight face. Padma snorted and quickly brought a hand to her mouth to quiet her giggles.
Hadrian rolled his eyes and stared between the two giggling girls; "I can't believe you told her I said that." He accused his fellow ravenclaw.
"You never said to keep it a secret." Padma grinned unrepentant. "Plus you have to admit; bringing down a lightning storm in the lavatory." She mimed an explosion with her hands. "All because you dabble in runes. Sounds mental."
"Rude." Hadrian muttered, flicking crumpled parchment at her. Padma battle it away and she stuck out her tongue out at him.
"He can be pretty dense, sometimes." Hermione conceded, a smile tugging at her mouth.
"You know what, how about we talk about something else!" Hadrian threw his hands up, exasperated.
"Quidditch!" Neville interjected. "First match is this Saturday Ravenclaw vs Hufflepuff. How has practice been?"
Neville was right, the first game was this weekend – Ravenclaw against Hufflepuff. Hadrian had joined the training sessions and they had been a mixed bag. Roger had had the brilliant idea of splitting the team and having them go against each other. It was a sound tactic to bring up the newbies to speed and give the reserves some experience. It had meant that Hadrian had gone up against Cho Chang again. He hadn't enjoyed that all that much; the subtle loaded looks the girl gave him, not the flying; he loved flying.
"It's going alright, I think." Hadrian deflected, playing with his quill. "Roger's got us scrimmaging – reserves against starters."
"I thought you would be more excited." Hermione pointed out, her eyes considering him.
"Well I'm just a reserve," Hadrian shrugged, affecting a relaxed tone. "The chances of me playing aren't high."
"Well that's reassuring." Hermione said a little too quickly, satisfaction shining in her eyes.
"You could still play though, accidents happen." Neville murmured, then paled as Hermione's head whipped toward him.
"Now, you've jinxed it Neville." Hermione hissed.
"I haven't!" Neville protested, waving his hands. "It's just statistics. People get injured in the games, or the brooms get damaged; they may need a sub."
Padma snorted, amused. "Seekers don't get subbed often though." She waved her quill at Hermione.
"Well yea, but they can be asked to play as chasers sometimes." Neville countered confidently.
"This is all speculation. Plus you're not playing against Slytherin." Hermione bit her lip worriedly.
"True, Hufflepuff runs a clean game." Neville nodded, relieved the girl wasn't breathing down his neck anymore.
That seemed to be the end of it as the four went back to working on their assignments. Neville shuffled closer to Hadrian; squinting at his parchment. Hadrian rolled his eyes and moved his parchment closer to Neville. The other boy smiled, relieved and flashed Hadrian a smile.
With Neville referencing his homework, Hadrian felt restless. He got up abruptly, his chair scrapping the floor in protest. He crossed the room to the back , where a row of lockers were. He quickly tapped his wand against one of the metal doors and it swung open silently. The other three watched him as he pulled out a stack of vellum, jars of ink, strips of cloth and other materials.
"What're you doing?" Hermione blurted out as he returned setting down his supplies.
Hadrian looked up, almost surprised to see them. "I'm making a MailBook." He said simply. He set down a bone folder and a pot of resin, that smelled sharply of pine. For a few moments they watched as he examined the materials; he shook his jars of ink and peered into their depths as the liquid inside churned.
"Right now?" Padma looked at him and then at the clock on the wall.
"Yea, we have time." He frowned at them. "You guys don't mind do you?"
The three shook their heads. They were of the same mind actually; they had always wondered how Hadrian made his devices.
"Great." Hadrian said before he went back to examining his materials.
The leaned in to watch, quiet and with keen interest. Hadrian measured out the paper, putting the rest aside. He reached for a vial of some dark yellow resin. With a deft hand he emptied the contents into a shallow bowl. He dipped a brush into it and then started applying a light coating on the outer edges of the papers. He pressed the paper together before putting a large book on top to weigh it down.
Next he pulled out a piece of cloth and rigid paper, he measured out a length of each and applied the same resin before joining them. Then, carefully he pressed it against the glued papers, blocking off one end of what was becoming recognisable as a book. With quick hands he measured out more of the rigid paper and glued it to the paper. There were two folds each and he pressed them tight, holding them in place for a few moments.
The three watched as he pulled out an inkwell and a different brush, its handle long and dark, the bristles soft, its tip tapered – a calligraphy brush. He pulled back the sleeves of his robes. Hadrian dipped the brush into the ink and held it above the outer page. He took a deep breath and the air around him changed; something settled across his shoulders, like an invisible weight.
He brought the brush to the endpapers; gliding across the paper. Symbols followed in his wake, lines rich of indigo snaking along the paper like a living thing, their lines precise and clear. Magic hummed around him and focused into his brush and the ink glowed a soft blue as it shimmered. The rune matrix twisted along the page and with a deft movement Hadrian had the book upright, his brush not stopping as he wrote the runes onto the spine and then went to tackle the other side.
His friends watched him, caught in the rhythm of his movements and the quiet hum of the magic around him. Each stroke was measured, each line the same thickness, checked over by critical eyes. It was beautiful.
Hadrian sighed, setting aside the brush, careful not to let any errant ink spill. He picked up his bone folder again and pressed the cover into shape, folding the hard paper and using a small hammer to shape it. He spun the book around his hands, eyes looking over each inch of it. Satisfied he set it on the table.
Hermione made to say something, but a slim hand grabbed her own. Hermione shocked turned to look at Padma, who had grabbed her so roughly. Padma had her eyes trained her on Hadrian but she shook her head, her meaning clear; Be quiet.
Hadrian pulled out his wand, the dark wood gleaming in his hands. Slowly, he pressed the tip lightly onto the open book. For a moment nothing happened – then they felt magic prickle against their skin, buzzing in their ears. The wand pulsed, magical energy shining at its tip – there was a sound, like leaves rushing in the wind. The book glowed, its pages fluttering caught in a gale – magical energy flowed into the paths laid out by the matrix. The energy reached a crescendo and stilled, silent, calm, waiting.
"Bind." Hadrian whispered, and the magic snapped into place – the light blinked out abruptly.
Where before the runes had been a curving but still rigid matrix of runes, now it had distorted, its arms branching and looping into a familiar filigree; it was beautiful.
Silence.
"Wow." Neville breathed out.
Hadrian offered them a wan smile, leaning back into his seat, his face was beaded with a small sheen of sweat. Padma frowned, her hand snapping up to hover near his arm.
"You okay?" she asked concerned. Hadrian felt a thread of her magic touch his own, slowly, hesitant. Taut, uneven blue-gray, Concern.
"Yea, I just need a few minutes." Hadrian waved her concern aside, an easy smile on his face.
"Is it always so involving?" Hermione spoke, voice uncharacteristically soft. She was eyeing the newly enchanted MailBook. She could feel the subtle magic now bound to the book.
"Well, not always." Hadrian groaned as he stretched his arms. "I'm just a bit out of practice though." He rubbed the back of his sore neck, soothing the sore muscles.
"I never knew enchanting was so..." Hermione stopped, words failing her.
"Tiresome?" Hadrian offered, a wry smile on his lips. Hermione frowned and shook her head.
"Beautiful actually." Padma said, honey gold eyes leaving his face to stare at the book. She reached out, her fingers hovering over the charged matrix.
"Your magic – if felt like... like standing in a thunderstorm." Padma breathed out, her tone odd.
Hadrian blinked, as if seeing something for the first time. "Oh. I... didn't know."
"You guys felt it right?" Padma asked the other two and Neville nodded.
"It was intense..." Neville said, his voice cracking.
Hermione nodded her lips pursed. "There was this hum." she shook her head frustrated at her inability to describe it.
Hadrian made a non committal sound but said nothing else. The other three picked up the MailBook, looking at it with new eyes. It felt no different from their own and yet, the experience had left an impression. There was a few more moments of silence as the other three digested what they had seen. Padma was happy to see that colour had returned to Hadrian's face and his breathing had evened out.
"So what price have you settled on?" Hermione asked suddenly asked.
"What?" The other three looked up at her strangely; confusion shining in their eyes.
"The MailBooks." Hermione said, elaborating.
"Oh." Hadrian perked up. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly choosing his words carefully. "I haven't really crunched the numbers yet."
Padma sighed, almost exasperated. "You're procrastinating." she pointed out.
"That's a big word." Hadrian deflected, smirking.
"Oh clever." Padma rolled her eyes. "I know what you're doing."
"Do you?" Hadrian leaned forward, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Children, stop." Hermione said sternly.
"Really Hermione, you would sink to that?" Hadrian said mildly offended.
"Well she is the oldest." Padma pointed out, "She's practically ancient." the Ravenclaw witch grinned.
Hermione huffed, not rising to the bait; Padma pouted and Hermione nodded to herself satisfied. She turned to Hadrian, her hands clasped together, her posture determined.
"Maybe we could help you with that?" Hermione suggested to Hadrian.
"Well, I don't know." Hadrian his eyes glancing away from her quickly. His fingers started to tap on the table.
Hermione frowned before turning to look at Padma. The Indian girl quirked an eyebrow. Hadrian watched as a whole conversation passed between them. Padma nodded slightly before turning to Hadrian. The black-haired boy found himself straightening up in his seat as the weight of Padma's honey gold eyes settled on him.
"You're clearly reluctant." Padma said softly.
Hadrian swallowed, he could feel her threads mingling with his own being, resting on him, reassuring, knowing. Pulsing silver-blue, Trust.
"A little bit, yea." He admitted.
"So let us help with that." Padma gestured to Hermione, Neville and herself.
"You know Hermione is good with numbers; Neville's family sells plants, and my Abba taught me a little about commerce." Padma continued. "We can help."
Hadrian eyed the three; Hermione looked plain excited, and Neville gave him a solid nod. He didn't need to look at Padma; feeling her magic pulse alongside his own.
"Are you sure?" Hadrian finally asked.
"Yes." the three answered all at once, as if they had practiced it.
"Alright then." Hadrian offered them a small smile, his gaze trailing down to the plain MailBook between them.
*
*
Upon the cursed moon, in the forsaken silk-choked wilds
The beasts had lain in wait.
Our guide, whose name I have abandoned hope of pronouncing, had grown uncharacteristically silent as dusk fell. He no longer uttered his customary grumblings nor muttered his crude jests at our expense. His countenance was set, his gaze flitting ever upwards. I would wager he had endured such nights before, and it soured my mood to think he had not warned us sooner.
"We must make haste," said he in his queer tongue. "Or we shall not leave these woods whole."
A warning unheeded, as all good warnings are.
The moon hid her face from us, yet we pressed on, for the spoor of the great spiders was thick upon the trees, their vile silk draped like mourning shrouds o'er every branch. The torches cast flickering shadows upon them, and it seemed to me the very forest was ensnared, caught in some vast and suffocating web. My thoughts had turned grim when Davies, the drunk fool, lurched forward and caught his boot upon a strand of silk.
A single strand.
It twanged, its taut length vibrating like an ominous harp.
The hush that followed was so absolute I scarce dared breathe.
Then, the forest exhaled.
A sound, soft at first—like the shifting of leaves in a windless night. But it swelled, the rustling rising to a chittering chorus, a noise unnatural and wretched. Then the trees did spill forth their brood.
Black, a black cloud. They fell upon us like the rains of a summer tempest, limbs unfurling in ghastly silence, eyes gleaming like polished onyx. The first landed before me, its bulk so great it set the earth to trembling. A second came behind. A third to the left. Then the rest came skittering forth, bursting from the boughs, and we were surrounded.
The beasts chittered and heaved, yet did not attack. Instead the mass of limbs watched, a multitude of eyes measured us, weighed our worth.
Our guide breathed a single word, so low I scarce caught it. A prayer? A curse? I knew not. But his knuckles were white upon the haft of his spear. "Hold," he murmured, though it was unclear to whom he spoke.
Rhys, ever the brave fool, obeyed not. His blade came forth in a gleaming arc, swift and sure, and he struck the foremost of the fiends, hewing clean through its limb. The beast shrieked—a sound so vile and grating that my very teeth ached. The beast reared back, fangs gleaming in dim light – swift and beastly it lunged. Rhys, sure of foot shifted, so did it. It adjusted. Anticipated – fang striking where his throat would have been had I not cast my magic forth. The head severed clean, the body dropping, bleeding thick putrid ichor.
A cry went up among the beasts. A cry to freeze the blood. A cry to shatter the heart. Then the true ambush began.
Flames roared, steel sang, and the cries of men and beasts alike filled the night. Davies roared, heaving, as muscled arms spun, battering black bodies away. Davies did swing his axe true, cleaving deep into a beast's carapace – yet lo, with fell swiftness it rose, striking him in kind, barbing him through. Sloan was ensnared, his form yanked from the ground, flailing in a cocoon of silk. Rhys cut him free, but the damage was done—his leg was ruined.
I drew Sloan to me and bade my magic protect him. The dragon within my wand awoke and spewed flames. Fire I found worked best, sending the foul creatures tittering back, their form aflame, lighting the dark night. Yet the damp earth did not catch fire easily and fire cared not for friend or foe. Spells to rend and cut, to pierce and skewer those could go through the hard carapace. Yet such spells take skill to do quickly.
Through the carnage, our guide fought, his spear tip flashing with purpose, every motion deliberate, each strike placed with calculated precision. "Do not chase them," he bade me. "They lead us where they will."
He spoke truth.
The creatures did not strike wildly, nor did they fight to the last as mindless beasts do. They tested. They feinted. I saw their eyes glimmering in the dark, reflecting the torchlight, shifting, waiting. There, upon a high branch, loomed one larger than the rest. It did not move. It watched, its many eyes locked upon mine.
And I understood.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun—the assault ceased. The shadows swallowed them whole, leaving only the sound of our laboured breath and the acrid scent of burning silk.
Our guide spoke first, voice low and certain. "They are not beasts," said he. "You see it now."
And verily, I did.
Even as I cut away Sloan's breeches and saw his gruesome disfigurement. I understood.
This was no mindless culling. This was war. And we were not the only ones who understood it.
Reginald "the Blackwood" Potter
*
Hadrian trudged along, following Hagrid's deep footsteps. The half giant moved aside bush and thicket, the tangled wood of the forest not a hindrance to his solid frame, once more two deer carcasses hung from his shoulders. The antlered heads swung, clacking together every other step.
His three friends had told him to make himself scarce as they had important matters to discuss. He knew it involved his MailBooks and he had gladly left them to it. It wasn't that Hadrian thought what they were doing was unimportant; it was, just that he had never set out to sell his creation.
They had been a gift for his friends, a way to mend bridges between him and Padma. He had been glad that they had loved them. But perhaps he had done too good a job. Now everyone thought they would sell well – even Aunt Minnie had said it was a viable plan. He wasn't completely sold on the idea, but he would go along with it. He shook his head and quickened his steps as he tried not to let Hagrid get far ahead.
His eyes were drawn to the dark depths of the woods and the words of his so many great uncle came to the fore; the forsaken silk covered woods. A shudder passed through him as he recalled the nightmarish battle his ancestor had fought – and he was supposed to believe that his family had somehow brokered a deal with the acromantula, he couldn't see how. But he supposed he would have to keep reading to find out.
"Hagrid." Hadrian finally called.
"Hmm..." The half giant turned, eyebrows raised. Hadrian noted that his face showed no sign of exertion from his load.
"You're pretty good with magical creatures right?" Hadrian ventured.
"Well I like ta think so, you know." Hagrid puffed up his chest before he looked around furtively and dropped his voice low.
"I'm gonna take the creature handler exam at the ministry, get m'self certified soon." He said nervously.
Hadrian stopped, looking up at his friend with wide eyes. "Really? That's brilliant Hagrid." Hadrian grinned widely as the large man flushed in embarrassment.
Hagrid chuckled lowly, "You really think so?"
"Definitely." Hadrian nodded his head vigorously, "You know I bet you could teach the Care of Creatures class, what with all the stuff you know, you've been brilliant with Fluffy."
"Ha ha, there's a thought." Hagrid said, a strange look passing over his face. "So what was it you wanted to know?"
Hadrian pursed his lips, wondering how to phrase his question. Before he just blurted out; "Acromantula."
Hagrid stumbled, he cursed as the carcasses moved to one side and he quickly adjusted.
"You okay Hagrid?" Hadrian looked up at his friend in concern.
"Yes, yes." Hagrid waved him off, his voice hurried. He coughed, straightening up. "Just slipped on some mud."
"Okay." Hadrian said slowly, looking at the hard packed dirt. Hagrid was acting strange – well stranger than usual.
"So, my question," Hadrian began again, glancing sidelong at Hagrid, "Acromantulas—are they, you know… different?"
Hagrid cleared his throat loudly. "Well they are mighty big; compared ta other spiders."
"No, no." Hadrian shook his head, "Well yes, they are big but...they live in groups right – colonies?"
Hagrid harrumphed. "Aye that they do." Hagrid said slowly, his dark eyes growing distant. Hadrian pressed on, wondering, "So they work together right? Cooperate. They are smart?"
"Smart? Aye, well… they've got instincts, same as most creatures." Hagrid's stride lengthened, just a fraction, but Hadrian caught it. "Why'd you ask?"
Hadrian shrugged, kicking a stray root from his path. "I was just wondering. You hear things, you know? About them."
Hagrid made a noise in his throat—something between a grunt and a cough. "Aye, people say all sorts 'bout creatures they don't understand." He adjusted the deer carcasses on his shoulders, but his eyes were forward, not looking at Hadrian. "Spiders get a bad rap, they do. Creepy crawlies an' all that."
Hadrian hummed, letting the silence stretch before he spoke again. "But Acromantulas—"
"Big spiders, yeah."
"—build."
Hagrid's step faltered again, but he recovered quick. "Aye, well, that's just colony behavior, innit? Like wolves in a pack, birds in a flock, ants in a hill."
"Most magical creatures don't, right?" Hadrian tilted his head. He watched Hagrid carefully, noting the stiff set of his shoulders.
Hagrid was quiet for a long moment, long enough that Hadrian thought he might not answer. Then, at last, the half-giant exhaled through his nose. "Most creatures are smarter than we give 'em credit for," he muttered. "People think just 'cause a thing doesn't talk like we do, it's stupid. But that's not how it works. You'd be surprised if you met one." the last words were muttered so low, Hadrian wasn't sure if he had heard right.
Hadrian studied him. "So, Acromantulas are intelligent?"
"I'm just sayin'," Hagrid said, too quickly, "that people misunderstand 'em. Misjudge 'em. Fear makes folk see monsters where maybe there ain't any." a shadow passed over Hagrid's face and for a moment the visage of a kindly half giant ripped away and Hadrian saw something raw flit across Hagrid's face. Then the moment passed and Hagrid started walking once more.
Hadrian frowned. "You're being awfully defensive, Hagrid."
Hagrid gave a forced chuckle. "Me? Nah, just don't like how people talk about creatures they don't know nothin' about." He waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway, where'd all this come from, eh? Professor Lockhart giving a lesson on 'orrible beasts or summat?"
Hadrian hesitated. He could tell Hagrid was dodging the question, but he wasn't sure if pushing would get him anywhere. Instead, he settled for shaking his head. "No, just something I read."
Hagrid made a noncommittal noise, but his grip on the carcasses was just a bit tighter.
They walked on in silence for a time, the trees closing in around them, and Hadrian, ever thoughtful, let his mind drift back to the journal in his trunk—to the silk-choked wilds, to the gleaming black eyes in the dark.
A familiar mark in the trees pulled him away from rainforests choked with silk, to the colder looming trees of the Forbidden forest. They had reached Fluffy's enclosure – the familiar buzz at the back of his ears telling that they had crossed the threshold of the first set of wards.
Hadrian would have loved to examine the wards that had been setup but he was pretty sure he could get in trouble for tampering with a professor's work.
Woof!
The bark was like a thunderclap, echoing and meshing together the sound of three throats. The cerberus came bounding towards them – a normally frightening sight, and even though Hadrian was now used to the massive canine, he still took a half step back bracing himself.
"Ah c'mere you fat lug." Hagrid shrugged off the carcasses and spread his arms. The massive dog bowled him over and he roared, laughing, his massive hands looking uncharacteristically small as her rubbed and scratched behind all three pairs of ears.
The three headed dog looked better, Hadrian saw – the patches in its fur were gone, the hairs gleaming and the muscles underneath rippling with strength. One head turned to Hadrian, ears perked up. With a small breath Hadrian stepped closer, his hand splayed out in front of him. He gently pat his hand against the warmth of Fluffy's head.
"Hey boy." Hadrian grinned as he felt more than saw the massive tail thump the ground. "How have you been?'
Hagrid soon got out from under the dog, no worse for wear. He hefted the dear carcasses and suddenly the cerberus stood stock still, attention solely on its meal. Hagrid threw the first carcass and three jaws snapped up, tearing it to pieces. Hagrid cheered and Hadrian turned away, his stomach churning at the sight. Instead he explored more of the clearing, walking a lap around the perimeter.
There was a massive mound to one side – Hadrian felt callijg it a small hill would have been more appropriate. He assumed this was where Fluffy liked to sleep. There was a small stream that bubbled past, cutting through the clearing and winding past the trees and roots. There was not much else to see, not that Hadrian was surprised. Did a cerberus need more than this? He wondered. There was enough space for the dog to move around its massive bulk.
A shadow drifted above him and he looked up. Dark eyes, red and gold plumage observed him from above. The phoenix crooned, tilting its head, as if surprised to see him. Hadrian almost snorted; he wasn't going to believe that.
"You've been following us." Hadrian folded his arms across his chest and stared at Fawkes. The phoenix hopped from leg to leg, before with a powefrul flap of its wings it was in the air gliding toward him.
Hadrian adjusted, instinct taking over, his arm snapping out and bracing. Fawkes alighted onto the offered perch and Hadrian was surprised at how light the bird was. Hedwig is smaller than him but heavier. A chill went through his spine and he quickly looked around for his familiar. Seeing no sign of white feathers or frost anywhere, he relaxed. Note to self, never call Hedwig fat.
Fawkes bumped his bulk against Hadrian's head. Feelings of impatience lanced through him and an unfamiliar hunger cause his stomach to rumble. Hadrian gave the bird an incredulous look.
"Honestly, all you birds are gluttons." He rolled his eyes but reached into his pocket, the arm going all the way to his elebow.
"You better not tell Hedwig I gave you some of her food, we both won't survive that." he said and pulled out a handful of seeds and dry fruit.
Fawkes let out a pleased trill and started pecking at the offered food. Once done the bird let out a satisfied hum and shook itself and settled down, content.
Hadrian took the chance to run his hands through the bird's plumage. The feathers were soft and warm, shimmering as they caught the light, sparking like embers. Fawkes definitely had a lot to be vain about.
"He won't let anyone near him, yet you have him making you his perch." Hagrid's voice pulled Hadrian from his musing.
"I think its the bird feed I'm always carrying around." Hadrian grinned. "Its a surprise this one can fly, with how much he puts away." He quickly titted his head away as Fawkes' wing feathers brushed past his nose. Hagrid merely shook his head in disbelief.
Hagrid chuckled, "Phoenixes can be as heavy or as light as they want. They can even carry many times their weight." Hagrid offered.
"That's pretty cool actually." Hadrian admitted and Fawkes hummed, smugness radiating from his frame. He looked over at Fluffy who seemed to be one with his meal.
"Is it music time?" Hadrian asked, stepping towards the massive canine that was looking quite content.
Hagrid in lieu of an answer pulled out his flute and started playing. Hadrian settled down, leaning against the warm frame of the cerberus. He made sure not to jostle Fawkes too much. The notes from Hagrid's flute drifted on the wind, twisting around their form and teasing their ears as they drifted away.
Hadrian felt Fawkes shift – the bird swaying side to side as it followed the rhythm. Hadrian felt the bird's body grow warm, heat ebbing and flowing, tingling against his skin. The tide of warmth grew and grew and then there was something more; the swell spilling over into him and he realised Fawkes was singing; notes high and ethereal. The melody grew, haunting yet hopeful, it spiralled softly around his heart and tugged at his magic.
A gasp escaped him, and his eyes snapped open and stared at his hand – the wand he had holstered, now grasped tight in his hand. The wood warmed and pulsed, in time to his heartbeat. He watched, as if from distance, as his hand rose and his magic swelled within, rising with birdsong. A ribbon of light, entwined fire and gold erupted out of his wand and Fawkes took flight and his hand, his wand, followed his movement.
Embers sparked as Fawkes beat his wings, trailing after him and the ribbon, Hadrian's ribbon, coiled around him. Fawkes rose and rose, song and magic rising with him until with a crescendo, one final clear note, the ribbon burst into a shower of light and sparks. Hadrian was breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his ears and his jaw slack. Particles of light fell all around him, passing through like warm ghosts through his skin.
"Hagrid..." Hadrian turned to the half giant, breathless and wide eyed.
"That was phoenix song." Hagrid spoke reverently, his face flushed and tears streaming down his cheeks. Hadrian would have been worried had the man not had the largest smile he had ever seen on his face.
"It was beautiful." Hadrian whispered, almost afraid of disturbing whatever threads of magic had been woven by the phoenix. The clearing seemed brighter, warmer, as if some measure of summer had returned, even momentarily to it. Fawkes drifted down and alighted in front of Hadrian; his large wings spread out in all their majesty. The bird looked at him, his form oozing smugness.
Hadrian shook his head and leaned forward, a laugh bursting out of him, "Fine. I admit – you are pretty cool."
*
The three of them were gathered in a quiet corner of the library. The shelves rose around them, offering a modicum of privacy. The table was a chaotic sprawl of books, parchment, and ink bottles. The low murmur of students filled the library, the occasional whisper of turning pages blending into the steady scratch of Hermione's quill as she jotted down numbers.
She had been adding, subtracting, and converting for the past ten minutes, muttering under her breath. Finally, she stopped, stared at her parchment, back at the open ledger before her, then let out a sharp breath.
"Oh Merlin," she whispered.
Padma looked up from the book she was leafing through. "What?"
Hermione pressed her lips together, then, without a word, turned the ledger around. A list of materials – potion treated parchment, powdered lapis lazuli, Erumpent hide – each item more expensive than the last.
Hermione pressed her hands against her cheeks. "Hadrian spent hundreds of galleons on our MailBooks. Almost a thousand pounds each."
Neville nearly knocked over his ink bottle. "What—what?!"
Padma blinked, then leaned in to double-check the numbers herself. The silence stretched as she did the same mental calculations. Then she let out a low whistle. "Oh."
Neville ran a hand through his hair. "That's—That's insane."
"I knew he was using expensive materials," Hermione said, rubbing her temples, "but I thought maybe it was just a few special additions, not... this." she glared accusingly at the ledger.
Neville looked down at his MailBook as if it had suddenly turned into a dragon egg. The dark maroon cover stared back at him solidly. "I've been tossing this thing into my bag like it's nothing."
Padma snorted. "Yeah, you do that with everything, Longbottom."
Neville shot her a look but didn't deny it.
Hermione shook her head. "Alright. We need to figure out a fair price for the standard books. Hadrian's not going to make everything this fancy for customers, is he?"
Padma tapped her quill against her parchment, considering. "No, he wouldn't. The materials alone would make them way too expensive for the average student."
"Okay, then we start from the basics," Hermione nodded tapping her quill against her parchment. "How much do books with moving text usually cost? Like, the ones from Flourish and Blotts?"
Padma waved a hand, the bangles on her wrist jangling. "That's not a good comparison. Those are just charmed books."
Hermione frowned. "And that means…?"
Padma gave her a look, her golden eyes flashing, she pushed aside her book to explain properly. "Alright, listen. Charmed items are exactly what they sound like—ordinary objects with a spell slapped on top of them. The magic doesn't belong to the object; it's just sitting on the surface, like a layer of paint."
She picked up her quill and flicked her wand at it. "Wingardium Leviosa." The quill rose into the air, wobbling slightly.
"See? That's a charm. If I stop focusing on it, or if something disrupts it, the spell fades." She let the quill drop back to the table. "It's not part of the quill. It's just on it."
Neville nodded. "And that's how a lot of magical objects work. Like self-stirring cauldrons, Ever-Inking quills—those just have one or two spells cast on them. They don't last forever."
Padma picked up the explanation again. "Enchanted objects, though? That's completely different. Enchantment isn't just sticking magic onto something—it's weaving it into the object's structure. The magic becomes part of what it is."
Padma looked away for a moment before her eyes lit up. "The distinguished weavers back home – they sing the magic into every thread, as they spin and weave the cloth."
She gestured toward Neville. "Take brooms for example. You can't just stick a Hover Charm on a twig and call it a broomstick. A real broom has enchantments built into the wood, the bristles, the handle—it's all layered, connected. That's what makes them last." Padma paused, biting her lip for a moment, before her voice dipped. "You saw how Hadrian made that MailBook the other day."
"Hard to forget to be honest." Hermione whispered back, her tone having notes of awe. She remembered the way Hadrian's magic had surged and tingled against their skin, before it had funnelled into the MailBook.
"Yea and all he used was runes." Neville murmured catching their attention. "I've been reading, using mostly runes is harder." Neville nodded toward his MailBook. "And that's what Hadrian did here. It's not just a charmed book—it's enchanted. The ink sets perfectly, the pages don't tear, the covers don't wear down… The magic is part of it."
Hermione absorbed this, fingers drumming against the table. "Alright," she murmured, processing. "So, a charmed book would be like those self-writing notebooks that wear off in a year, and an enchanted book would be something built to last."
Padma grinned. "Exactly. Something more."
"Then Hadrian's books are definitely in the enchanted category." Hermione frowned at her parchment, then quickly crossed out some notes. "Which means we need to price them like enchanted objects, not just magical books."
Neville leaned over to peek at her notes. "So… what's the range?"
Hermione sighed, rubbing her forehead. "The base materials alone—without factoring in labor—already cost multiple Galleons. And we know Hadrian doesn't cut corners."
Padma smirked. "That's an understatement."
Neville frowned. "So, what, fifteen Galleons?"
Hermione gave him a flat look. "That barely covers the materials."
"…Twenty?"
Padma shook her head. "Too low. An enchanted quill can go for fifteen, and these are way more complex."
Hermione chewed on her lip. "Thirty?"
Padma and Neville exchanged glances.
"It's fair," Padma said finally. "Not overpriced, but not too low. And if someone wants something customized—better materials, personal touches—that's extra."
Neville leaned back. "So, thirty for a standard, extra for special orders?"
Hermione nodded, finalizing the numbers.
Silence fell between them again.
"…Still can't believe Hadrian spent nearly a thousand pounds on us," Neville muttered.
Hermione swallowed, looking down at her book. "Me neither."
Padma exhaled, shaking her head. "That idiot."
Neville snorted. "A rich idiot."
They all chuckled, but there was something softer beneath it—something warm.
"…We'll make sure this works," Hermione said finally.
Padma nodded. Neville smiled.
And with that, they got to work.
*
It begun with a whispered word, a curious eye. There was something new on the notice boards. A crisp, navy piece of paper that drew the eye. Curious and intrigued, people stopped, they read – some left laughing, some ever curiouser and some left to spread the news.
Breakfast, in the great hall, was its usual affair of noise and contained chaos. Dishes passed hands, parchment was pushed across tables, trying to finish the last bit of homework before class. Then came the owls; another routine; a flurry of feathers, soaring from the rafters and landing on tables to deliver letters, packages and newspapers.
The fanfare of owls as usual drew the eye, and several eyes turned upwards and noticed something different; among the birds flew sheets of loose paper, navy and crisp. They fluttered and twirled down, landing among the long tables. Some pointed, curious and some smiled knowingly. A deft hand plicked a flyer before it could land and bold letters greeted them; it read:
Hadrian Potter presents: The MailBook
A smarter way to stay in touch—straight from your bag.
What is it? (Only the most brilliant thing)
An enchanted notebook that lets you write to your friends, and they see it in their own MailBook—instantly. Just write. That's it.
Whatever for? (You ask)
Talk to your friends anytime, anywhere (except class—no cheating!).
Private messages or group chats, your choice.
Perfect for homework help, Quidditch chatter, sharing notes, or… just chatting.
Compact. Quiet. Personal. Magical.
Need one? (Of course you do)
Find us (Hadrian) opposite the RuneWorkshop (Tuesdays and Thurdays after class).
Get yours while stocks last. Come with your purses.
"Written by Padma P. (Because Hadrian wouldn't.)"
*
*
"Potter's gone mad!" Terry exclaimed waving the ad in his hand.
"Give me that!" Morag snatched the ad from his hand, her eyes quickly scanning through the paper, "Hadrian Potter presents the MailBook..." She read in bemusement.
"Is that what those four have been working on the past couple of weeks?" Anthony leaned forward whispering to his friends.
All around the Great Hall, there was a buzz as people discussed the ad. Anthony looked around and noticed that Padma and Hadrian were curiously absent.
"I don't see Granger or Longbottom either." Micheal muttered having followed Anthony's train of thought. The group turned to look at the gryffindor table and saw the distinct lack of bushy hair madness.
"Hey Su, do you know anything about this?" Morag asked the smallest Ravenclaw girl.
"Well I have seen Padma with a notebook; its yellow and has silver threaded through it." Su tapped her chin in thought.
"You're right; I've seen her write in it." Mandy snapped her fingers in realisation. "Come to think of it, I've seen Granger with one too, hers is purple I think."
Over at the Slytherin table a similar conversation was happening. Pansy Parkinson had her face screwed in a scowl, clearly unimpressed.
"This is ridiculous." She threw the paper aside. It smacked into Blaise, sitting next to her. He rolled his eyes and peeled the paper from his shoulder and gave it a perusal.
"Why is it ridiculous?" Daphne asked, tilting her head to the side, observing the dark haired girl.
Pansy folded her arms across her chest and raised her chin, "How would Potter even go about making something like this? I bet it doesn't work as advertised."
"Potter, a second year, is taking Runes with fifth years." Tracey cut in, waving her spoon at Pansy. "You've heard the upperclassmen grumbling about it."
"How did he get permission though?" Pansy pressed. "You couldn't do this without permission." She gestured to the flyers around the hall.
Daphne rolled her eyes at the girl. She fixed a bored look on her face and spoke slowly, "Potter got called to the staffroom a few weeks ago. Any guesses on what it was about." She looked around the table daring anyone to say something stupid. Tracey hid a grin behind her cup.
"Plus you forget who his godmother is." Blaise said casually. A few of them followed his gaze to the staff table. Professor McGonagall had a flyer in her hand and seemed to be immersed in a conversation with Flitwick.
Pansy scowled; and turned to Draco and Nott who had been quiet during the whole ordeal.
"You two always have an opinion, spit it out." Pansy said. Draco looked at her his eyes drawn together into not quite a glare, while Nott snorted.
"We already knew about this, we convinced Potter to sell." Nott said smugly putting his elbows on the table.
"You mean when you put your foot in your mouth and had to hide away?" Tracey blurted out.
Nott turned on her, his eyes fierce and lips drawn back. Tracey didnt falter though and merely shrugged. Nott turned his glare to Daphne who had the grace to jab Tracey in the side.
"That aside," Draco finally cut in, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Potter's been working on this thing, we talked and I'm glad he's willing to sell." He shrugged and looked around the hall noting Hadrian's absence.
"His marketing is pretty cool, gotta admit." Tracey grinned as she waved the paper around.
"Oh that's all Patil." Daphne pointed to the bottom of the flyer.
Over at the Gryffindor table, everyone had decided to congregate around the second years, and in the absence of either Hermione and Neville, Ron found himself the centre of attention – he wasn't sure he was enjoying his moment in the spotlight.
"Oi Ron, what's this all about?"
"How would I bloody know?" Ron pushed back.
"You're friends with Potter aren't ya?'
"Well yea." Ron's ears burned crimson. "Look I don't know, just read the damn flier."
"Oi shove off, leave Ronnikins alone." George pushed a few people away and sat next to Ron.
"You know, this is mighty unfair," Fred muttered, plopping down on Ron's left.
"What?" Ron asked confused.
"We've been making all sorts of stuff and we get busted." George said.
"But here comes Potter and he is advertising to the whole school." Fred looked at Ron, eyes uncharacteristically clear and piercing.
"Look, I don't know anything. He has been busy – he had some big detention from when he got called to the staffroom." Ron said quickly.
"I daresay, nepotism is at work here." George muttered.
*
Hadrian was tapping his foot, the action sending a steady staccato across the room. He shifted, causing his chair to squeak. Padma looked up from across the desk they were sharing. They were in a room, opposite the Workshop. It had been a storeroom for the Runes class but professor Babbling had graciously modified it for Hadrian's use.
Large windows let in plenty of natural light and shelves, with knicknacks and tools lined the walls and a sandpit was in one corner – for testing out and drawing concept matrixes. Three large work benches were spread out across the room. It was cozy.
"Hey," she reached out for him and Hadrian readily accepted her offered hand. Soothing warmth passed between his fingers and calmed his heart.
"You're nervous." she stated. She turned his hand around, palm up and started tracing patterns on the sole of his hand.
Hadrian watched her fingers, his eyes following the digits to the palm of her hand, then wrist, arm, past her shoulder and met her eyes. He offered her a smile, but it came out weak and brittle.
"That obvious huh?" he muttered.
She hummed, not saying anything for a moment. "It'll go great – don't worry."
"You said that already."
"I know. It doesn't make it any less true." she flashed a smile.
"What if people don't show up?" he asked.
"What if they do?" she countered.
"Padma," he huffed, roling his eys. "Don't do that."
"Okay." she nodded. She gestured for his other hand and he obliged. Hadrian always wondered why Padma liked holding hands like this. He knew she was not really a tactile person, not with most people. Perhaps it was because she was comfotable around him and touch helped her project her powers better.
"Your mind is drifting." she tugged his arms gently, bringning him back to the now.
He blinked and noticed her face clouded with worry, "I was thinking." he squeezed her hands and was glad to see her face clear.
"You're concentrating on all the bad that could happen." she began, her hands tightening their hold on his. "But what if, people get curious and show up; if even five people place orders – that's a win."
"You're pretty confident." Hadrian grinned.
"Well I made a killer flyer." She puffed up her chest.
Hadrian chortled, shaking his head. "It was cheesy – Hadrian Potter presents..." he grinned back at her, his smile warm. "Made me sound like I'm selling some exotic broom polish."
"It got the buzz going." she pulled away and reached for some paper in her bag. Hadrian felt a little lost without her warm hands.
"These - " she slid a paper between them. "Is a list of orders."
Hadrian looked at the list then back at her, she was grinning, that smug smile that said she was right and there was nothing he could do about it. She had let him worry and brood, but she had known, people had made orders. He tried to glare at her, but she merely laughed and pushed the list closer to him. He let out abreath and took in the list, he could make out about a dozen names. He noticed that Draco's name was near the top and had two orders attached.
"Why does Draco need two?" he wondered aloud.
"I think he plans to send one to his mother." Padma said slowly.
"Oh, how did you figure that?' Hadrian set the paper down and looked at her.
She smiled, a bit sheepishly. "He was projecting, really loudly." She shrugged. "I couldn't not pick it up."
"Ah, makes sense." Hadrian chuckled. He imagined Draco must want to keep in touch with his family. The idea, had its appeal to Hadrian; maybe he should send one back home. He wondered if Hedwig wouldn't mind not making the weekly trip to the Dursley household.
The door to the classroom opened abruptly and in walked Hermione. The young Gryffindor stopped and stared at their joined hands. She frowned and bit her lip.
"Am I interrupting something?" she blurted out.
Padma shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her. "No Mione, Hadrian was brooding."
"Oh, okay then." Hermione nodded and placed her bag on the table.
"Argh!" Hadrian rocked back. "I was not brooding. I don't brood." he folded his arms arm across his chest.
"Now you're pouting." Hermione giggled. Hadrian quickly straightened out and tried to smooth over his expression.
"I don't know why I put up with you guys. Neville is the only one who makes sense." Hadrian waved the giggling girls away.
"Who would make your flyers for you?" Padma rolled her eyes.
"Oh right, that was a pretty good design." Hermione grinned at Hadrian's grumpy face. "I for one am glad you took over that part." Hermione gave Padma an exaggerated pat on the shoulder. Padma threw Hadrian a self satisfied smile.
"Yes." He threw his arms up. "I admit it – you did a good job."
"Was that so hard to admit?" Padma sing-songed.
"You don't have to be so smug about it you know." Hadrian dropped his head to the table and promptly decided to ignore the two girls.
Hermione gave Hadrian a fond pat, mussing his hair before she turned to Padma.
"I have another few orders." She began pulling out a notebook. Before she bit her lip, a slight frown marring her face. "Though a few people are asking if they can pay in instalments. I said yes – hope I didn't overstep?" She turned to Hadrian.
The dark haired boy merely waved his hand, not bothering to look up. "It's fine, don't worry about it."
"You could act like you care a bit more you know." Padma poked him in the side. "It's your business."
Hadrian got up, swatting her hand aside "Fine." He made a motion with his hands and Hermione handed over her list.
"Those paying in instalments will have to wait to get their MailBook." He stated, his lips curling in thought. "These are a lot of orders."
"Will you manage?" Hermione wondered. "Can we help?"
"I wish you could but..." he shook his head, not finishing the thought.
"We don't have the skill." Padma finished for him. Hermione frowned, displeased but she could not dispute it.
"Don't worry about it." Hadrian waved their concern aside. "I made a couple of Text Blocks, so I have a buffer and I can pretty much write the matrix in my sleep at this point." He grinned, and the two girls smiled back remembering his process. "I'll manage this first batch."
Hermione nodded, but the frown never left her face, she bit her lip, wondering. Padma nudged her, a knowing look on her face.
"Say it Mione." Padma encouraged.
Hermione took a breath, as if bracing, "At some point, you're going to need help, if this gets big I mean." She said in a rush.
"When this gets big." Padma insisted and Hermione nodded.
Hadrian leaned back, looking at the two girls. His eyes were piercing and dark with thought.
"You've been talking about this." He said eventually. The two girls shared a look before looking back at him, unapologetic. Hermione nodded to confirm.
Hadrian let out a breath, and looked away, his fingers started drumming a rhythm on the table.
"I will think about it." He said eventually.
Hermione opened her mouth, clearly wanting to continue the conversation but Padma stopped her – a gentle but firm hand on her knee drawing her attention. Padma shook her head, Don't push, she mouthed. Hermione hesitated and then backed off, trusting the other girl.
"So whose order would you like to start on?" Padma said, her voice bright. "May I suggest our favourite Slytherin."
Hadrian snorted. "How insistent was he?"
"Quite." Padma laughed. "If he could, he would have made me make a vow."
Hadrian shook his head, and got up, stretching. He waved his hand at one shelf – a few blank Text Blocks floated over to the table. He went to the shelf and got his other tools, dumping them on the table.
"You don't mind do you?" He asked almost as an afterthought.
Padma who had been watching him arrange his tools in all their little spots grinned amused. "Go ahead, we don't mind watching."
*
The Puffapods were behaving today—a small miracle in itself.
Neville crouched behind a bed of flutterleaf ferns, coaxing the roots gently apart when his MailBook chimed. He wiped his hands on his robes and flipped it open on the low stone bench.
The notification rune was glowing. He tapped it with his wand and the book flipped to a new page. Neat, round handwriting bloomed across the page.
Hannah A.: Do you think the flobberworms will be on the quiz tomorrow?
Neville grinned and scribbled back.
Neville L.: Probably. Sprout keeps reminding us about their diet.
Hannah A.: Right. Lettuce, and other leafy greens, not potatoes. I wrote potatoes by mistake.
Neville L.: It's okay. I fed mine dandelions last week. It made them gassy.
Neville's quill hovered over his book and he stared. Why had he written that? Now Hannah would think he was strange. Why couldn't he erase what he wrote? He was definitely talking to Hadrian about this.
There was a long pause, and Neville continued to agonise over his blunder. Then Hannah's words appeared again.
Hannah A.: Funny. I would almost believe you if you weren't so great at Herbology.
Neville stared at the words, a flush creeping up his neck. What was he supposed to say to that. His decision was taken from him as more words ghosted over his page.
Hannah A.: Do you think Professor Sprout can sense when we mess up?
Neville L.: She probably has a sixth sense for bad compost.
A doodle appeared on his page, a small flobberworm in the corner of the page. It had a speech bubble that read "No potatoes, pls."
Neville laughed out loud, startling the Puffapod. He wrote quickly:
Neville L.: Best drawing of the day. 10 points to Hufflepuff.
Hannah A.: You can't give points, Longbottom.
Neville L.: I just did.
*
The houses all had mandatory study time, and Slytherin was no exception, they had a standard to maintain after all. It was the responsibility of the prefects on duty to oversee the study sessions of the younger years.
Today's prefect was particularly grumpy and had cast a monitoring charm that blanketed one side of the Slytherin common room, stifling all spoken words. Daphne sat two tables away from Tracey, surrounded by History of Magic textbooks and a half-finished essay. Her MailBook, a soft green thing, was tucked between a textbook and her arm. Needing a distraction, she opened it and quickly jot down a message.
Daphne G.: Please tell me you remembered Avery changed the essay topic.
It took a moment for Tracey's reply to ripple across the page.
Tracey D.: Changed when? I just wrote 14 inches on the Goblin Rebellions.
Daphne G.: She wants it on the decline of the Wizarding Council. 1635 to 1707.
Tracey D.: Merlin's mouldy socks. You're joking.
Daphne G.: I wish I was.
Tracey D.: She can't just do that.
Daphne G.: She can and she did. She is the professor, remember?
Tracey D.: If I fake an owl bite, think I can get an extension?
A soft snort escaped Daphne's nose. The prefect glared. She smiled innocently and lowered her quill. The prefect held their stare for a few moments and then huffed, looking away. Daphne quickly jotted down one last thing.
Daphne G.: Only if it draws blood.
*
Oliver Wood's bed was covered in a battlefield of parchment. He tapped his quill on his MailBook, eyes darting between old match notes and fresh Ravenclaw observations.
Oliver W.: The Ravenclaw keeper favours the left post. Saw it twice during practice.
Angelina J.: We're playing Slytherin next, Oliver.
Alicia S.: Ravenclaw isn't until after we deal with Flint's murderous elbows.
Katie B.: I'm still limping from last year's match.
Oliver W.: It's called forward planning.
Angelina J.: It's called overthinking.
Oliver W.: I call it strategy.
Alicia S.: I call it a headache.
Katie B.: I call it Tuesday and I have homework.
Oliver sighed and rubbed at his eyes. His teammates lacked dedication. That left it all to him, it was a thankless job. Still, he jotted down a note about Ravenclaw's Seeker speed. He looked at the notes, frowned, then added what he had observed about their reserve Seeker as well. Just in case.
*
The owl glided into the parlour on silent wings, it was sleek and elegant, the kind Narcissa favoured. She quirked a well sculpted brow as she noticed the parcel attached to the owl. Setting aside her teacup she freed the package and turned it around in her graceful hands. The fine wrapping and subtle silver wax seal confirmed who it was from. Inside: a dark leather book, monogrammed N.M., and a folded note.
Draco's handwriting – as expected:
Open the book. I'll explain. —Draco
She opened it. There was a glowing symbol, a rune, that pulsed with a steady light. The page shimmered. Then:
Draco M.: Hello Mother. Can you read this?
Narcissa nearly dropped the book as the words appeared, from the ghostly hand. Yet the words were undoubtedly in her son's script.
Draco M.: I know you're there mother. It's your son, Draco, please write back.
Narcissa took a breath, her pale eyes taking in the words. She reached for her quill.
Narcissa M.: I am here. What have you sent me?
Draco M.: It's called a MailBook. I write in mine—it appears in yours. You write in yours and it appears in mine.
Fascinating – Narcissa traced a hand delicately along the edges of the book. She felt something – magic, brush against her.
Narcissa M.: Who made it?
Draco M.: Hadrian Potter.
She paused.
Narcissa M.: The very same Hadrian Potter, in Ravenclaw?
Draco M.: There's only the one mother.
Narcissa M.: Watch your cheek.
Draco M.: Sorry mother.
Narcissa M.: I'm impressed. It's beautifully crafted. Where did he get it?
Draco M.: He built it himself.
Her quill hovered as she reread what her son had written. She leaned back, looking at the book, the MailBook, with new eyes. She knew Draco was not lying, not to her. So she had to believe that this was the creation of a boy, the same age as her son. As proud of her son as she was, she knew that this sort of magic, this sort of skill was beyond him, beyond most students and dare she say it most adult wizards. This was something to take note of – she knew Lucius would be interested, certainly, he had been curious about the Boy-Who-Lived and had subtly asked their son about him.
She shook her head. Those where thoughts for another time though. Draco would surely be getting impatient by her silence.
Narcissa M.: Hm. You were thoughtful to send me one.
Draco M.: I wanted us to talk more. Properly.
Narcissa M.: We will. Just not about your grades.
Draco M.: ...Yes, Mother.
*
"Okay," Hadrian said, crouched in the sun-drenched courtyard. "Tap the corner—once—then write something."
Colin Creevey tapped it like he was detonating fireworks. "The symbol is glowing!"
Hadrian rubbed his temple. "Yes Colin – it's called a rune. That means it's working."
Luna held hers delicately. "Mine's humming." She turned wide silver eyes to him. "Can it sing?"
"It doesn't sing," Hadrian said, turning hers right-side up again. "You get a chime or it vibrates. I'll show you how to choose."
Padma and Hermione sat nearby on a low stone bench, watching with matching grins.
"Ten minutes," Hermione whispered, "before he completely loses it."
"Five," Padma countered, smiling.
"You're on." Hermione grinned, firmly shaking Padma's hand. Hadrian shot them a look over his shoulder and the two girls quickly schooled their features.
Hadrian huffed and showed the two first years how to write in the MailBook.
Colin wrote "Hello Luna!!" in huge block letters. Luna's book chimed, the words appearing in Colin's hand and she scribbled back.
Luna L.: Hello Colin. I think your book likes me.
Colin C.: It does! I knew it had feelings!
Hadrian pinched the bridge of his nose. "The books aren't sentient." He ignored the giggles coming from behind him.
Not far from the circle, hidden behind the low courtyard arch, Ginny Weasley stood watching. She clutched her bag tight, her knuckles turning white. Her eyes followed Luna's quill as it glided across the book, the ease with which Colin laughed. She didn't blink.
Her mouth twisted—not in anger, not quite. Just… longing.
Then, quietly, she turned away.
Padma blinked, her smile fading just a fraction. A low pulse of emotion—jagged and raw—brushed the edge of her awareness. Hot and fiery, then quickly stamped on, buried and held, yet smouldering. Her eyes flicked toward the arch just in time to see freckles and red hair vanish beyond the wall.
She said nothing. Not yet. But her hand closed gently around her own MailBook, holding the moment close.
Back in the courtyard, Luna had started drawing a badger in the margins, and Colin had pulled out his camera.
"Gah!" Hadrian flailed as the flash blinded him. "Dammit Colin, I told you to get rid of that hazard." he rubbed his eyes trying to get rid of the spots.
He turned as he heard giggles from behind him; this time, the girls didn't stop when he glared at them.
*
Ginny rushed into the first year girl's dorm, door banging shut behind her. Her small form was trembling and she quickly clutched her bedpost, her nails digging into the wood. It's not fair, she raged, her eyes prickling with unsheathed tears. She felt suffocated, a tight ball of tangled vicious emotion sitting heavy on her chest.
She pulled the strap of her bag away, throwing the bag to the floor and paid no attention to all the contents that spilled onto the carpeted floor.
She pressed the pads of her hands against her eyes and willed herself not to scream. She heaved, gulping down big shuddering breaths.
"I'm so stupid." She whispered and sunk to the floor. Why was she jealous? It wasn't the first time Luna had something she didn't. Luna, the quirky girl who had never made a big deal out of the frayed edges of Ginny's dresses or her too small slippers. Luna who had sneakily left her new slippers last summer. They were friends, the only friend she had had growing up.
He smiled at her, her thoughts whispered. They are close, she's closer than you are. The voice whispered. Ginny shuddered, wiping away her tears.
"Of course they talk more, they are in the same house." She reassured herself. "He sometimes says hello." She snorted, not believing a word she said.
She let out a sigh and looked at her discarded bag. It was a miracle the thing hadn't split at the seams. She frowned as she saw the mess of books, quill and parchment on the floor. Thankfully, no ink had been spilled.
With a sniff she started to pick up her stationery, her hand brushed against something and she stopped.
The book wasn't there yesterday. It hadn't been there this morning.
Ginny was sure of it—she always knew what was in her bag. She had to, a habit from always having little, she hoarded and guarded what was hers – but this was unfamiliar to her. This black, leather-bound book. Unmarked. Unclaimed.
She stared at it for a long moment before reaching out.
Her fingers tingled when they touched the cover. Was this a MailBook? She wondered. Her heart thudded, and hope rose up to her throat. It looked like the MailBooks she'd seen her friends use—soft leather, smooth paper, the faint hum of magic.
Yet there were differences. Hadrian's creations were always inscribed with initials on the spine. This one was plain. Quiet. Unassuming.
But maybe that was the point.
Ginny looked around the empty dormitory. Her roommates were at lunch, they wouldn't be back for a while. Her stomach fluttered—not with hunger.
She cracked the cover open.
Blank pages. Crisp. Untouched.
Her throat felt dry. She thought of all the times she'd watched others writing in their MailBooks, their faces glowing with secret jokes and swirling gossip. Maybe…
Maybe this was her turn.
She scrambled up, and reached into her bedside drawer, where she kept her inkpot. She dipped her quill into ink and hesitated, heart pounding.
Someone must've left it. Maybe by accident. Maybe on purpose.
Maybe he had. Hadrian.
Ginny bit her lip. Then she wrote:
Ginny: Hello?
She waited.
The words sat there, staring back at her. For a moment, her heart sank—maybe it wasn't linked. Maybe it was just a plain old book, someone's forgotten journal—
And then the ink faded. Letter by letter, like a whisper being swallowed.
Ginny sat frozen, eyes wide.
New words bled across the page in a slow, steady hand:
??: Hello.
Her pulse thudded in her ears.
Ginny: I didn't think anyone would answer.
Who is this?
The reply came after a moment, as if the writer were thoughtful—gentle.
??: Someone who's glad you said hello.
Heat rushed to her face and her heart sped up. She couldn't help the small smile that crept onto her face.
Ginny: Did you mean to give me this?
There was a pause. A longer one. Ginny couldn't breathe. Her hand curled tight around her quill.
?? :Let's just say I hoped you'd find it.
I've been waiting a while.
Ginny: Are you… a second-year?
The words sat on the page and Ginny waited, her heart fluttering and her stomach in knots – hoping, waiting.
?? :Not exactly. But I know Hogwarts. I know what it's like.
Ginny stared down at the ink, wondering if it was someone older. A student she hadn't met. Someone watching her from afar. She hesitated – were they dangerous? They didn't sound so.
Ginny: What's your name?
??: Tom.
Simple. Unassuming. Normal.
Ginny: I'm Ginny.
Tom: I know.
She blinked.
Ginny: How?
Tom: You told me. A while ago. You just don't remember. That's okay. Memory is strange sometimes.
She didn't remember telling anyone named Tom anything. But the book was warm in her hands. Safe. Kind.
She swallowed. She brought her quill back to the book and shakily wrote;
Ginny: You're not making fun of me, are you?
Tom: Never.
I'm just someone who listens. You can talk to me, Ginny. I don't mind.
Ginny: Even if I ramble?
Tom: Especially if you ramble. I've always liked that about you.
Her cheeks flushed pink, but not with embarrassment. It felt… good. Like being seen. Like the way she'd imagined it might feel if Hadrian ever looked at her just a second longer.
Ginny: Okay, she wrote.
I guess I could write for a little.
Tom: I'd like that.
She didn't stop for hours.
*
AN: So it begins
Edited 11/04/2025
The MailBooks are live! Finally.
Its weird knowing where you want to get, to be and then having to carve out that path as you write. Some characters are their own people and refused to listen to anything I thought would work. But I'm glad I can now get into the meat of second year, the groundwork has been laid out as well as I could manage.
So many things happening in this one. My hope is that I have handled each well enough to make sense. There were parts of this that I agonised over, deleted and rewrote a couple of times. Right now I've just finished a round of editing and I think I will post as is.
Read, Enjoy and Review.
