For the past few days I have had this idea to write a story based on the Harry Potter saga. The idea came to me, in all honesty, in a dream.
I don’t know how good what I have so far actually is, but I see no harm in sharing it with the world. It’s more of a passion project than any serious attempt at literature.
So here it is…
The letter arrived with a thud.
Not a heavy thud, at least not right away. The weight it bore wouldn’t be known for weeks, but heavy it would be.
No, it landed with a thud because it was so unexpected. The post had come hours before, and Harry wasn’t expecting anything else on that Friday afternoon. But here was this letter falling through the slot in the door that no one used.
The owls always came to the window in the kitchen, always before noon.
It had been a relaxing Friday. Harry had taken the day off, tired from what had become tedious drudgery. Chasing rogue Death Eaters had been exciting in his early days of being an Auror in the aftermath of the Tom Riddle’s death. But after the last were hunted down two years ago, Harry’s days were filled with paperwork to process the arrests and prosecutions.
So a day off was welcome, even though he knew what awaited him when he would return to the office.
In fact, the prospect of more hours of paperwork had on at least one occasion given rise to the thought of resigning from the Auror office. Riddle was gone. His followers were all locked up or dead. Why did Harry need to continue being an Auror?
If it wasn’t that the work wasn’t yet done, he would have walked away. He was 22. He had spent more than a decade of his life fighting Riddle in one form or another.
He had done his duty and service to the magical world. No one would begrudge him his desire to simply walk away and enjoy some peace and quiet.
But that wasn’t Harry. He had committed to the job; he was going to see it through.
And if he wanted to take some time away to simply clear his head, he was going to take it and no one was going to stop him.
Who would? He was The Boy Who Lived. He had hunted down and destroyed most of Riddle’s Horcruxes.
If there was one person who could get away with anything, it was Harry.
That was what was going through Harry’s mind when there was a rattle at the front door and the letter slid through the slot and fell on the floor.
It was Ginny who picked the letter off the floor. Ginny, several months pregnant and starting to show, had recently taken leave from the Holyhead Harpies.
Not as struck with malaise at where her life had taken her as her husband, she too was at a loss for much motivation that afternoon. A week away from Quidditch, when that had been her all-consuming focus the past three years, had made her start to wonder how to fill the time.
So for Ginny, this letter was a break in that afternoon’s quiet tedium. It was even a bit of a mystery, because in the three years she and Harry had lived in their home, not once had anything come through that slot.
Not once had they received anything through the Muggle post.
Ginny and Harry had chosen to move into a Muggle neighbourhood to get away from it all when they were home. It was a choice they didn’t have to think too much about. Sure, they still received owl post, and the Daily Prophet was always read at breakfast. But neighbours who didn’t know who they were was a welcome respite.
There had been some questions, unspoken to the Potters, about the owls. But other than that, the Potters were simply that nice, young couple next door.
All the envelope said on it was ‘Harry Potter,’ and the couple’s address. No other markings were present. It was entirely unremarkable, save for the silver of the paper.
Ginny took the letter to Harry—it was addressed to him, after all—and sat across from him as he opened it.
At first, Harry’s expression was of surprise. But as he read what was inside, his eyes widened.
Ginny wouldn’t have said it was shock that registered on her husband’s face, but the expression still worried her.
“What’s it say?” she asked.
Harry didn’t answer right away. He read the letter again, taking in every word written in an elegant handwriting, the green ink shining in the afternoon sun.
When he put it down, the disbelief in his eyes was evident.
“It’s from Draco Malfoy,” he whispered. “He wants to see me.”
So that’s that. Thoughts?