The next morning arrived with all the grace of a stampede.
I was halfway through a bite of toast at the Granger kitchen table when the window banged open like it owed someone rent. A large tawny owl barreled through the gap and dive-bombed the table, skidding through a bowl of fruit and landing squarely in front of me with a disgruntled hoot.
Hermione jumped. Dan dropped his fork. Emma yelped. I calmly wiped a bit of banana off my sleeve.
"Ministry owl," I muttered. "And by the aggression, I'm guessing it's not a wedding invite."
Hermione leaned in as I untied the thick envelope from the owl's leg.
"That seal's from the Improper Use of Magic Office," she said.
"Of course it is," I sighed.
I opened the envelope and pulled out a crisply worded letter with enough bureaucratic tone to strip paint.
To Mr. Harry James Potter,
This letter serves as official notification that magic has been detected at your place of residence on the night of July 29th. As a minor, you are not permitted to perform magic outside of school. Further violations may result in expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
I read it aloud in my best Ministry-robot voice, then folded it back up.
"Lovely way to start the day," I said. "Threats, fruit trauma, and bureaucratic incompetence."
"You're not going to let that stand, are you?" Hermione asked.
"Absolutely not."
I sat down in the lounge with a clean sheet of parchment, uncapped my finest ink, and began drafting my reply.
To Whom It May Mildly Concern,
Regarding the magical incident cited in your previous correspondence: The magic in question was not performed by Mr. Potter, but rather by a contracted house-elf currently in my employment. Said elf acted without prior authorization and has since been disciplined in accordance with both magical labor statutes and biscuit withholding protocols.
Furthermore, the location in question has recently undergone a legally documented shift in residency arrangements. Should you require documentation, please refer to attached witness statements, Muggle contract filings, and one notarized agreement signed under the oversight of a Notary of Her Majesty's Kingdom.
If you choose to pursue disciplinary action, please prepare a formal hearing date, and note that Mr. Potter will be represented. By me.
Warmest lack of regards, Sky Kingston
"You're enjoying this too much," Hermione said, peering over my shoulder.
"I haven't even started the footnotes," I replied.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the countryside, things were going exactly as wrong as they always did.
Ron Weasley stood in the Burrow's kitchen, pacing furiously while Fred and George packed sandwiches like they were loading up for a military raid.
"We can't just leave him there!" Ron hissed. "He's probably starving or locked in a basement!"
"Or both," George added helpfully.
"The Ministry won't care," Fred said. "We know how the Muggles treat him."
"We're doing it. Tonight. We take Dad's car."
"Are you insane?"
"Only slightly. Now help me find the keys."
The sky was dark when the car lifted off. Fred gripped the wheel like he was flying a dragon, while Ron clutched the dashboard with wide eyes.
"Straight to Little Whinging," he muttered. "In. Out. No problem."
It was, in fact, a problem.
It was nearly one in the morning when they soared above the quiet, moonlit town. The houses below were dark, the streets silent. They glided unnoticed at first, circling toward Number Four Privet Drive.
Fred maneuvered the car up to what they thought was Harry's bedroom window.
"Right there," Ron whispered, pointing. "That's his room. I think."
Fred blinked the headlights twice.
Nothing.
He blinked them again. Still nothing.
Ron leaned halfway out the window and began tapping lightly on the glass with his knuckles. "Harry! Harry, it's us! Come on!"
The light in the room stayed dark.
After nearly half an hour of knocking, whisper-shouting, and flashing lights, they finally noticed something odd—several brief flashes from the yard across the street.
George turned his head slowly. "Um... is that... a camera?"
Fred followed his gaze. A Muggle in striped pajamas was standing at his own bedroom window with a camera in hand, snapping photos furiously.
"We've been spotted!" Fred shouted.
They swerved, dipped, and barely avoided hitting a chimney before vanishing into the clouds.
"Go, go, go!" Fred shouted. "We've been spotted!"
The next morning, Arthur Weasley walked into work humming a tune and left with a suspension notice and a minor stroke.
"Unauthorized magical flight. Muggle exposure. Tabloid headlines."
"It was a misunderstanding!"
"It was a Ford Anglia in the Evening Prophet!"
"Technically it was a silhouette."
The Head of Department was not amused.
Back at the Burrow, Ron returned to find a snowy owl sitting on his windowsill, smug as ever.
He tore open the envelope.
Ron,
Sorry I haven't written back. The Dursleys locked up Hedwig and took all my things. Sky showed up and sorted everything out. I'm okay now. He's arranged for me to spend half the holidays with him. Hope everything's fine your end. Let me know when you're going to Diagon Alley.
–Harry
Ron stared at the letter.
Then walked back inside.
Then hit his head against the wall three times.
Fred and George did the same.
Molly found them like that and didn't even ask.