Sarah's Summer Extravaganza
A door slammed shut, rattling the walls of Sarah’s bedroom. She turned another page in her book, unbothered by the sound of Dudley destroying his room. A silencing charm would be nice, but it was summer and magic was forbidden. That it was illegal didn’t bother Sarah, but someone from the Ministry would come to snap her wand. Maybe Dumbledore would step in and put a stop to it—she was the Girl Who Lived, after all—but she didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust anyone would show up between the Ministry arriving and Uncle Vernon beating her to death.
Upon arriving at Privet Drive, Sarah hadn’t made any of her own threats. It had been a trying year for the Dursleys, legally and financially. Aunt Marge was still in prison, but her sentence was almost up. This had reflected poorly on Uncle Vernon, and he was on thin ice with Grunnings. He had lost several big-name clients, and came close to losing his job entirely, but the drill company could not use Aunt Marge’s arrest in that manner. At least, that’s what Sarah gleaned from Aunt Petunia’s rushed explanation.
Dudley’s year at Stonewall High hadn’t gone much better. He was on probation for setting Ripper on her, and the judge hadn’t ordered that his name stay out of the papers. Dudley was a known criminal. Given how the Dursleys had spent her entire life telling everyone she was a delinquent, Sarah found this hilarious.
Several hundred hours of community punishment and a curfew.
Dudley was too bad at maths to do his service at a charity shop, so he was picking up rubbish at parks. Dudley hated picking up after himself, it was perfect. It didn’t matter how much Dudley cried. He still had to do it, even on his birthday.
And what a birthday it was for Dudley. He had gained a considerable amount of weight over the school year, in spite of being forced to spend his weekends litter picking. Sarah had nicked Dudley’s end-of-year report to find out what was going on, taking the opportunity to show the Dursleys her prosthesis. It oozed magic and was covered in all sorts of sparkly arcane symbols that terrified them. If Uncle Vernon touched her she would kick him through the fucking wall.
Violent thoughts aside, Sarah discovered that Dudley had received the typical low marks. It was either legitimate stupidity or laziness, or some unholy combination of the two. Uncle Vernon couldn’t grease palms at Stonewall like he could at Smeltings. Sarah never cared about Dudley’s size, other than how it could be used against her, but knew other children at their primary school had mocked Dudley for it when he was out of earshot. The Dursleys were a physically big family, but for Dudley it was getting to a point where it looked painful for him to move around.
The matron at Stonewall had noticed it too and sent a note home with Dudley’s marks. His uniform no longer fit, he had a hard time getting to classes on the upper floors of the school building, he was too young to be developing breathing and joint problems. Moreover, his fellow students at Stonewall had taken to open bullying. Dudley didn’t have his gang there to back him up.
Sarah hated Dudley. From the very bottom of her soul, she hated him and it was with no small glee that she had snuck downstairs to watch Aunt Petunia present the abomination that was Dudley’s birthday cake. A mound of carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, broccoli, radishes, cauliflower, with stalks of celery sticking up like candles. There wasn’t even any sauce or cheese, just a pile of vegetables. Dudley threw it at the wall.
It was smart of Aunt Petunia not to start with the presents. Those would have gone through the wall too.
“You need new clothes,” said Aunt Petunia.
Sarah looked up from her half of grapefruit. Uncle Vernon’s blood pressure had skyrocketed, and the medication he was on spared him from this particular breakfast. Uncle Vernon got scrambled egg whites. The egg whites came out of a carton that declared its contents heart-healthy.
“The girl doesn’t,” began Uncle Vernon. Aunt Petunia silenced him with a look.
Sarah had no idea what had transpired between them, but loyalties in the Dursley household were strange. Uncle Vernon blamed Sarah for being attacked, her mere existence goading Aunt Marge and Dudley. Dudley blamed her for pressing charges. Aunt Petunia was more complicated. She always sided with her husband and her son, but she disliked Aunt Marge and had been disgusted by Ripper. There was also the fact that Sarah had lost her entire leg, and had gained the whole of Privet Drive’s sympathy. The story went that she had been in an occupational therapy facility for the past year, learning how to walk again.
Sarah was a brave young girl. Wasn’t she always a quiet girl, and well-mannered too, helping her aunt around the house, the poor dear, her parents died in a car crash, what a tragedy.
And so on.
What will the neighbors think? was the perennial question in the Dursley household. And what the neighbors thought was based in fact and reality. Sarah had been attacked by a violent dog. The law decided in her favor. It was in the news. Every time they saw Dudley picking up cigarette butts at the playground they were reminded of why he was doing it. Reminded of how he had set a vicious dog on his younger cousin, a quiet girl whose only crime was existing.
“My sister,” said Aunt Petunia, “was a tall woman. As for her husband…”
Sarah glanced at Aunt Petunia, who was rather taller than Uncle Vernon. Aunt Petunia bore some resemblance to Sarah’s mum, who was very beautiful in Sarah’s opinion. She would have thought her mum was beautiful no matter what, even if she was a hag.
“The girl has grown nearly half a foot,” continued Aunt Petunia. “Her clothes are…are indecent!”
Uncle Vernon went red as the grapefruit Dudley was struggling to eat.
Sarah could afford her own clothes. She could even go shopping on her own. However, watching Uncle Vernon have an internal battle with his crippled niece being dressed like a trollop—a skirt above the knee was out of the question, especially with that freakish leg of hers—and spending money on her.
“What about me?” said Dudley, still unable to work out how to eat a grapefruit. Sarah jabbed a spoon into hers and twisted, detaching a ruby chunk of flesh. Dudley glowered at her.
Aunt Petunia’s lip completely vanished. “Dudley,” she said gently. “We would have to go to a specialty shop—”
“You’re too fat,” said Sarah, digging out more grapefruit. “You need to lose weight to fit into the clothes you already have.”
“Shut up!” shrieked Dudley, accidentally crushing his grapefruit.
“I know a fast way for you to lose some weight,” said Sarah, looking directly at Uncle Vernon. “Why don’t you cut off a leg? That’s got to be at least five stone right there.”
She was fairly certain Uncle Vernon would have a heart attack if she pissed him off enough.
“I know a werewolf who could help,” she said lightly.
“Sarah,” said Aunt Petunia sharply. “That’s enough!”
“Out!” growled Uncle Vernon. “I want you out!” It wasn’t loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
“Then talk to Dumbledore,” said Sarah, not moving from her seat. “It’s his fault I’m here. If it was my choice, I’d be in Fiji with my fugitive godfather.”
Working that out had been terribly easy. Sirius had sent a letter to let her know he was safe, delivered by a brilliantly plumaged bird with a crown of distinctive, dark purple feathers. Sarah had gone to the library to look up the bird, something called a collared lory, and learned that they only lived in Fiji.
Why Sirius was in Fiji, or how he had got there, Sarah had no idea. She certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone.
That Fiji was far away didn’t matter. Sarah had told the Dursleys about apparition, something which Aunt Petunia admitted to having heard of. Specifically, that Sarah’s mum had bragged about getting her license.
“Finish your breakfast,” said Aunt Petunia tightly. “I will not have it being said that we are not properly dressing you!”
Sarah shrugged and continued eating her grapefruit. She quite liked it.
A letter from Lupin came on the wings of a nondescript owl.
Barn owls lived all over the world and migrated. Every continent except Antarctica. They had barn owls in Fiji. They were called lulu in Fijian.
It was smart of Lupin to use such a bird, and annoying since Sarah couldn’t work out whether he was close or far from Sirius. She didn’t think Lupin would hurt Sirius, or make him do anything he didn’t want to, but Azkaban had messed Sirius up. He deserved to be free.
Sarah took the letter reluctantly. The barn owl didn’t wait for a reply, taking off once the delivery was complete. Sarah narrowed her eyes, watching it fly over the dull rooftops of Privet Drive.
Usually, owls and other delivery birds rested after a long flight. Perhaps the owl had been instructed to rest elsewhere, but it was suspicious. Sarah looked around for Hedwig and spotted her diving at the hedge. Hedwig rose into the air, carrying off another one of Mrs. Figg’s cats. They were incorrigible. Sarah was convinced the cats were all half-kneazles and part of Mrs. Figg’s spy network. Who knew what other creatures she bent to her will, all in the name of neighborhood gossip? It did raise questions about who, or possibly what, Mrs. Figg was. A muggle wouldn’t have so many half-kneazles.
Dismissing Mrs. Figg and her cats, Sarah opened the envelope to see what Lupin had to say for himself.
Dear Sarah,
I hope your summer is going well.
I will be briefly returning to Britain in the coming weeks. Would you like to go somewhere for your birthday? Please let me know so that I can make arrangements with your aunt and uncle.
Warm regards,
Remus
“You look like a clown.”
Sarah looked up from the letter and saw Dudley stomping out of the house and into the back garden. Aunt Petunia had caught him smuggling chocolates and chips into his room and taken away his video games and computer as punishment. The sweets had been bought for Dudley by Piers Polkiss.
Dudley siccing Ripper on her had made him more popular in some crowds. They thought it was wicked.
“You look like a pig in a wig,” replied Sarah, stuffing the letter back into the envelope.
Dudley balled his hands into fists and took a step toward her. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” she said. “You’re pathetic, Pudley. If you don’t want me commenting on your whale-like stature, don’t talk about my appearance.”
“What?” said Dudley moronically.
“If you make fun of me,” said Sarah slowly. “I’m going to make fun of you. Is that simple enough for that tapioca you call a brain?”
Dudley trembled ineffectually for a moment, then turned and hurried back inside. “I’m telling mum!”
“Idiot,” muttered Sarah, looking at the letter again.
Sarah didn’t want to go anywhere for her birthday, but she also didn’t want to be at Privet Drive. The moon would be waxing on her birthday, a few days after a new moon, so there was no risk of Lupin turning. That was a shame as he was quite frightening in his werewolf form, she imagined, and Sarah wanted to strike the fear of god into the Dursleys’ hearts. Better yet, the fear of her.
A window opened.
“Sarah,” called Aunt Petunia from the house. “Please stop—”
Sarah took off her leg.
The window shut again.
The only part of Number Four, Privet Drive, that Sarah liked was her room. Aunt Petunia had been unable to get through the door while she was away, and while Uncle Vernon had suggested either chopping or shooting his way through, that idea had been vetoed. Sarah’s room was exactly how she had left it.
Sarah sat in the middle of her runic alphabet circle, enjoying the fact that she had a space that was truly her own. The impenetrable black walls that made the room feel as vast as space, the shelves lined with all manner of potions ingredients, animal parts, herbs, and crystals. A potion was brewing in one corner, not the Laxative Potion that caused the violent expulsion of the bowels—it would be fatal to the Dursleys—but a less aggressive diuretic that would make Dudley wet his bed. Aunt Petunia would have to get the plastic sheets back out. It had taken ages for Dudley’s room to stop smelling. At fourteen years old, it would be devastating to Dudley.
He deserved worse for what he had done to her.
One thing Sarah did not do was find some way to soundproof her room. She needed to hear the Dursleys moving around. Even though the enchanted lock on her door prevented them from entering her room, it didn’t stop them from setting up an ambush. She also wanted them to hear what she was doing, to constantly wonder what she was up to, what hellish consequence would rain down on them if they pushed her too far.
A knock on the door disrupted Sarah’s daydreams. No matter how much she hated the Dursleys, how much she wanted to hurt them for hurting her, Dumbledore claimed she needed them. Or maybe just her aunt. If she could get Aunt Petunia to divorce Uncle Vernon—
There was another knock. “Sarah?”
Annoyed, Sarah got to her feet and opened her door. She only opened it a crack, not letting Aunt Petunia see everything inside. Just a glimpse of the Entrail-Expelling Curse poster was enough to curdle her aunt’s expression.
“Marge is being released today,” said Aunt Petunia. “We are going to pick her up.”
“Are you bringing her here?” asked Sarah.
“No,” said Aunt Petunia. “She’s not allowed near you or Dudley. Colonel Fubster has agreed to put her up.”
Sarah frowned. “The pensioner who drowned a puppy?”
“Yes,” said Aunt Petunia, her mouth twisting in distaste. “They’ve been…corresponding.”
“That’s grim,” said Sarah.
“Yes, well,” said Aunt Petunia brusquely. “We’ll be leaving you and Dudley to your own devices. There is a salad in the refrigerator. I’m certain Vernon and I will be eating out tonight,” she added in a mutter.
“I’ll make Dudley eat it,” promised Sarah.
Aunt Petunia winced. No doubt she was recalling the many, many tantrums and the mass destruction of her pristine home. “I would…appreciate it if you could be gentle.”
Sarah shut her door without responding, then went back to lying on the floor. Hedwig hooted from her perch and shuffled in agitation.
She was forced to live with people who hurt her, and who would hurt her again if they thought they would get away with it. Dumbledore forced her to live with them. If she had somewhere else to go, she would, but it was illegal for her to use magic outside of school and the Dursleys were a known danger. Anywhere in the magical world was out of the question, she was too recognizable, and even in the muggle world there were witches and wizards and other magical people blending in with the muggles. Half the time she went shopping with Aunt Petunia someone in a ridiculous outfit bowed to her. And if Mrs. Figg and her cats were spies, she would notice Sarah was gone. She had no idea who Mrs. Figg worked for. The Ministry, Voldemort, Dumbledore, some fourth option she didn’t know about. The point was someone would notice her missing, and someone would be sent to take her back to the Dursley.
Even Aunt Petunia would say something if she up and left. Sarah wasn’t even fourteen yet, the world was a dangerous place for a girl and her owl. While she imagined caving in Piers Polkiss’ chest with a well-placed kick whenever he looked at her, Sarah couldn’t kick her way out of every situation. Unfortunately.
Annoyed, Sarah got a runic workbook and sat at her desk to solve some problems. She heard Uncle Vernon’s company car start up—a different model as they had downgraded him, another blow to his reputation—checked the time until dinner, and went back to work.
By the time dinner came around, Sarah had only got through two problems. There was a lot of wordplay and metaphors and references in the lines she was translating, things that would have made more sense to someone who lived five hundred years earlier. That the runes themselves represent things added another layer of complexity. Some of the words didn’t have a modern meaning, which was frustrating.
Sarah left her wand with Hedwig. If Dudley panicked, he might try to take her wand and break it in the process. Instead, she had several potions in her pockets. She pressed her ear against her door. The television downstairs was blaring—the one in Dudley’s room had been removed due to his bad behavior—but she was still cautious. Dudley was, deep down, a coward, but it was possible Uncle Vernon had put him up to something.
Checking the bathroom and Dudley’s bedroom, Sarah concluded he was either downstairs or had snuck out to run around with the other boys in the neighborhood. They were all back from their fancy boarding schools for the summer holidays.
“Hocus pocus,” said Sarah loudly.
There was a crash from the living room.
Smiling to herself, Sarah went downstairs. She found Dudley hiding behind the couch, holding the remote control out as if it would be effective against her.
“Oogie boogie,” she said nonsensically.
“Stop it!” whined Dudley.
“Fine, you inspiden creature,” said Sarah, walking past him into the kitchen. “It’s time for dinner. Your mum made a salad.”
“I—I don’t want salad.”
“Either you eat it willingly or I will shove it into your gob,” said Sarah blandly. She wasn’t going to be blamed for Dudley not eating, though it might do him some good to know what actual starvation was like.
As she took the salad bowl from the fridge, Dudley shuffled into the kitchen.
“I hate salad,” said Dudley.
“I don’t care,” said Sarah, dividing the salad among two plates. She would make Dudley do it, but he’d mess it up somehow.
Sarah didn’t have to eat with Dudley, she had food in her room, but watching him suffer through his diet was delightful. She set the plates down on the kitchen table and pushed one to Dudley.
“Why do you have so much?” asked Dudley.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” asked Sarah, sitting down and picking up her fork. “We have the same amount.”
“But you don’t eat that much!” protested Dudley.
Sarah stared at him, and Dudley leaned away.
“I don’t eat that much,” she said, “because your parents never gave me much to eat. It wasn’t a choice. And you were always trying to steal my food.” She stabbed her fork into her salad, puncturing the leaves. “You know better than to do that now, don’t you, Dudley?”
Dudley closed his eyes and several tears trickled out. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Apology not accepted,” she said. “Eat.”
Dudley jerked, then picked up his fork. “Do you really know a werewolf?” he asked nervously.
“He was friends with my parents,” said Sarah. “That letter I got the other day was from him. He’s going to visit soon.”
Sarah watched him for a bit, then went back to her own food. Aunt Marge always said a good thrashing was needed for the hopeless cases. Sarah didn’t like it, but she knew for people like the Dursleys it was true. They wouldn’t stop out of the goodness of their own shriveled hearts.
They would never put her back in that cupboard.
Sarah’s birthday was a void of a day. She looked forward to it as it marked a year closer to being an adult, to having control over her own life, but the day itself was something she wished would pass her by.
It was with some trepidation that Sarah opened her bedroom window, letting in three birds. One was a positively ancient grey owl, the other was a tawny owl from Hogwarts, and the third looked like a pigeon, except it was orange with a dark green head.
Hedwig chirped at the intruders. The grey owl collapsed on top of the package he carried. The tawny owl dropped her package and flew right back. The orange bird carried a letter in his beak, and a small package tied to his leg.
Sarah took care of the elderly owl first, settling him in Hedwig’s cage with some water. It turned out the owl, named Errol, was from the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley had sent her a card, signed by all of the Weasleys, and a large treacle tart. She had even used dough to make an owl design on top of it. Sarah was momentarily overawed. No one had ever baked her a birthday cake before.
Then Sarah remembered that Hagrid had brought a cake to that shack on the sea. A cake he had sat on. So that made two.
Setting aside the tart for later, Sarah turned to the package the tawny owl had left. It was from Hagrid, and Sarah was stunned to find a hank of unicorn hair. Hagrid had scrawled a birthday card too, one with an owl drawn on it—why did everyone think she was obsessed with owls?—letting her know that the hair could be used for embroidering runes, like the runes she had sewn onto her boots. There was also a pile of rock cakes, studded with currants.
The orange pigeon was obviously from Sirius, and Sarah had saved it for last. She opened the letter and was struck with a refreshing, lemony smell. Curious, she pulled out the letter, and with it came a long, slender leaf that rippled like a wave.
Happy Birthday, Sarah!
There were some words scratched out. Sarah pretended they weren’t there.
I’m on the move again. I can mix with the street dogs here, but even so I stand out.
The leaf is from the uci plant. The people around here use it to ward off spirits. I think both you and I could use that. I’ve got a necklace made of the stuff.
Sarah twirled the leaf between her fingers. The scent made her feel lighter. Was it a magical plant?
The second gift I’m less certain of, but I saw it and thought you might like it. If not, I’m sure you’ll find some use for it in your rune carving.
I wish I could be there with you to celebrate. I miss you very much, and every day I regret that—
I’ve received owls from both Remus and Dumbledore, but I can’t—
I can’t wait to hear back from—-
More words were scratched out. Sarah huddled over the letter, feeling overwhelmed.
I hope you get a chance to fly this summer.
Love,
Sirius
Sarah wiped her eyes, surprised she was crying. The orange pigeon cooed at her, and she smiled. She didn’t know how she felt about Sirius, but he was important to her. Someone who could have raised her. Maybe things would…
Firmly pushing away her thoughts, Sarah carefully untied the small package from the pigeon’s leg. It was less of a package and more of some twisted up paper. Sarah unfolded it and gasped.
Inside were several lustrous pearls, each a pale lilac that shimmered blue where the light hit them, like the colors on the edge of a sunrise caught in pillowy clouds. Sarah had seen pearls before—Aunt Petunia had several pearl necklaces—but they were dull and common in comparison to these.
She had no idea what she was going to do with the pearls, but they were very pretty to look at and she adored them.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Sarah!”
Sarah, who had been trying to tempt the orange pigeon with different foods, got up and went to her door.
“Someone is here for you!” shouted Aunt Petunia.
“Oh, shit,” muttered Sarah, grabbing her wand and hurrying out of her room. Hedwig flew after her. She had completely forgotten.
Standing on the doorstep, blocked by a tense Aunt Petunia, was Remus Lupin.
“Happy birthday, Sarah,” said Lupin, smiling kindly at her.
“This man,” said Aunt Petunia, “claims he is taking you somewhere for the day?”
Sarah nodded. Hedwig settled on her shoulder and began grooming one of her plaits.
“He was a teacher at that school of yours?” asked Aunt Petunia. “And was at your parents’ wedding? Working for…Dumbledore?”
Sarah nodded again. She had shown Aunt Petunia a wedding photograph as proof.
“Very well,” said Aunt Petunia. “You will return before dark, or I shall alert the authorities.”
“No harm will come to Sarah when she is with me,” said Lupin. “Need I remind you that I am—”
“Unnecessary,” snapped Aunt Petunia. She turned away from Lupin and gave Sarah a hard look. “Are you wearing that?”
Sarah looked down at her outfit. It seemed normal to her.
Aunt Petunia sighed. “Where are you taking my niece?”
“Puzzlewood,” said Lupin.
Sarah perked up. She was worried he’d tried to take her to Diagon Alley or somewhere awful. She had no idea what Puzzlewood was, but it sounded interesting.
Aunt Petunia frowned. “Is that one of…of your places?”
“It’s in the Forest of Dean,” said Lupin. “My mother was a muggle, if that puts you at ease.”
“It does not,” said Aunt Petunia with a sniff. She turned to Sarah. “Back before dark.” She lowered her voice. “You may use that if you need to.”
Sarah nodded. She trusted Lupin more than she trusted the Dursleys, but if he tried anything she would turn him into a human party popper.
“Ready, Sarah?” asked Lupin.
She stepped around Aunt Petunia and joined him on the doorstep.
“We’ll take the Knight Bus,” said Lupin, walking down to the street. Sarah glanced back at the house, where Aunt Petunia still had the door open. She quickly shut it. “You’re too young to apparate, and I doubt your owl would appreciate the sensation.”
Sarah furrowed her brow. She had read about the Knight Bus.
Lupin came to a stop on the pavement and held out his wand.
An explosion of smoke, noise, and headlights startled a screech from Hedwig. Sarah glared at Lupin, who smiled in chagrin.
An immense, purple, triple-decker bus skidded to a halt in front of them.
Sarah crossed her arms, unmoved.
The doors slammed open and revealed a gangly, spotty young man in a purple uniform.
“Ladies first,” said Lupin.
Sarah rolled her eyes and got on the bus.
This is the third most interesting thing to happen on my birthday, Sarah wrote in the notepad Lupin had bought for her.
“Oh?” said Lupin. “What are the other two?”
Hagrid hunting me across the sea and telling me I was a witch, Sarah wrote. Then a house-elf showing up in my bedroom.
Lupin laughed. “I heard about that.”
Puzzlewood was really cool. The trees were so ancient she could feel it, and there were all sorts of secret paths and hidden caves, swaying rope bridges, winding staircases, moss and ferns, strange statues of fairies and woodland spirits. Part of it was accessible to muggles and was a normal forest, but there was another part, a magical part.
A dragon reserve.
After a day of exploring with Hedwig, during which Lupin kept back, only making sure Sarah didn’t run out of sight or get hurt, they were sitting on a log near a rocky enclosure where a baby Common Welsh Green and its mother sang to each other. Sarah had never seen or heard anything like it.
“They typically live in the mountains,” explained Lupin. “They were relocated here as the baby hatched with shrunken wings. It can’t fly.”
Sarah nodded and went back to eating the sausage roll Lupin had given her. Keeping dragons in a forest sounded like a bad idea, what with the fire-breathing and all, but without the ability to fly she couldn’t see how the baby dragon would survive in the mountains.
“What’s that?” said Lupin suddenly, partially standing up.
Sarah followed his gaze, and Hedwig took the opportunity to steal a bit of sausage. A small flying creature was approaching them, weaving through the trees, occasionally dropping lower as it was weighed down by a package.
“Is that an owl?”
Sarah nodded. She recognized the owl, and as it completely missed her Sarah’s hand darted out and seized the little bird.
Balthazar hooted happily at her, still battling with the weight of his package. Sarah quickly sat down and untied it.
“You could be a seeker with those reflexes,” said Lupin. Sarah shrugged. “Do you recognize it?”
She nodded, took another bite from her sausage roll, then ceded the rest for Hedwig and Balthazar to peck at. She found her notepad again, pulled a quill from her hair, and wrote, It’s from Ronald Weasley.
“Your friend,” said Lupin with a smile.
Sarah scowled. Acquaintance.
Lupin laughed again. Sarah ignored him and unstuck the note that had been spell-o-taped to the messily wrapped package.
Ron’s handwriting was terrible.
Happy birthday, Sarah!!!!!!
I know you don’t like quidditch, but this is my favorite book. I must’ve read it a hundred times! I think you’ll like the flying in it, there are loads of pictures!
Mum and dad said you can come round to our house if you want. We’ve got a big orchard that me and my brothers practice over. You can borrow one of our brooms.
Have you heard about the Quidditch World Cup? Britain’s hosting it for the first time in decades! It’s going to be Ireland and Bulgaria. You should see the Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum. He’s an absolute Madman! Sometimes dad can get tickets. Would you want to come?
I don’t know what else to write.
Bye!
Ron
Sarah folded up the odd letter and picked up the package. She did miss flying, but the thought of going to the Weasleys’ house made her anxious.
Opening the package, she found a bright, well-used orange book titled Flying with the Cannons. Sarah opened it and was blinded by a moving picture of the team’s keeper colliding with a hoop. A quaffle sailed past her.
“They’re the worst team in the league,” Lupin told her. “That’s very thoughtful of your acquaintance.”
Sarah nodded absently. She didn’t know what to do about Ron Weasley. Sarah knew he fancied her, but the thought of having a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or anyone … How would that even work when she wanted to be alone? She wasn’t interested in having friends, much less anything more.
Closing the book, Sarah leaned back and watched Hedwig and Balthazar squabble over the remains of the sausage rolls. The dragons continued singing, indifferent to the affairs of humans and owls.
“Do you want to visit him?” asked Lupin.
Sarah shrugged. She didn't know what she wanted.
“Well, you have time to think it over,” said Lupin. “It is getting late. I ought to get you back to your aunt and uncle.”
Sarah nodded and began packing up.
As she unstuck Balthazar’s beak, she wished that her life wasn’t so bloody complicated.