Chapter 8
The staffroom at Hogwarts was buzzing like a hive of particularly anxious bees. With the new school year just two weeks away, you’d expect the usual chatter about lesson plans and student placements. Instead, the conversation had taken a sharp turn into the territory of “shock and disbelief,” courtesy of the latest edition of the Daily Prophet.
Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House and Deputy Headmistress, was in charge of reigning in the chaos. Her usual no-nonsense demeanor was cranked up a notch, and she addressed the room with a tone that suggested she was about to deliver an important, yet slightly unsettling, news bulletin. “I assume you’ve all seen today’s article,” she began, her expression set in what could only be described as ‘seriously unimpressed.’
Professor Flitwick, the Charms professor who always seemed to be perpetually cheerful (or at least as cheerful as a tiny wizard could be), nodded solemnly. “Yes, Minerva. It’s quite a shocker, isn’t it? Sirius Black, innocent all along... Who would’ve thought?”
Professor Sprout, the Herbology professor whose love for plants rivaled her concern for students, chimed in with a frown that suggested she’d just discovered her favorite plant was, in fact, a weed. “And the accusations against Dumbledore… I mean, it’s deeply troubling. Imagine the ramifications of such negligence!”
Professor Snape, ever the enigmatic Potions master, sat in his usual brooding silence. His dark eyes scanned the article with the kind of interest usually reserved for brewing a particularly challenging potion. His disdainful sneer was a clear indicator of his feelings about the situation—or perhaps just his general mood.
Hagrid, the friendly giant with a heart as big as his frame, rumbled in a voice tinged with remorse that could’ve filled an entire cave. “Blimey, I can’t help but feel like I’ve mucked up somewhere in all this. Droppin’ Harry off with the Dursleys that night... If only I’d done things different.”
Professor McGonagall’s face softened with an expression of shared guilt. “I should’ve put my foot down,” she admitted, her Scottish accent thick with regret. “I did warn Dumbledore about those Dursleys, but I didn’t press the matter. I should’ve insisted on better.”
The air in the staffroom felt like it was thick with collective guilt. Every professor seemed to be grappling with their own version of “What if?” But amidst the regret and self-reproach, there was a shared resolve. They might’ve made mistakes, but the goal was clear: learn from them and strive to do better for their students and the legacy of Hogwarts.
As the conversation moved on, it was clear that while the staffroom might’ve been a haven of guilt and second-guessing, it was also a place where the will to improve and protect their students shone through. Hogwarts was about to face a new year, and its staff was ready to meet the challenge, no matter how unexpected it might be.
—
When Dumbledore strolled into the staffroom, it was like he had his own theme music playing in the background—a mix of solemn notes and an air of mystique. His presence immediately commanded attention, though it wasn’t quite the heroic entrance he might have hoped for. The professors, gathered around like a team of disgruntled superheroes, looked up from their newspapers with varying degrees of dread.
“I see the article has stirred quite the commotion,” Dumbledore remarked, his voice a blend of gentle authority and “I’ve-just-got-off-a-broomstick” calm. “It’s a sobering reminder of the consequences of our choices and the importance of vigilance in protecting those under our care.”
McGonagall, the no-nonsense Head of Gryffindor House, looked like she’d just swallowed a lemon. “Headmaster, we trusted you to do what was right,” she said, her usually stern tone softened by a hefty dose of regret. “But we missed the truth, and now Harry’s suffered because of it.”
Hagrid, ever the giant of heart (and not just in stature), rumbled his displeasure. “I should’ve known better,” he grumbled, looking like he was about to start a new career as a professional guilt-tripper. “I trusted you, Professor, but I should’ve questioned you too.”
Dumbledore took it all in with a grave expression, like someone who’d accidentally set the Forbidden Forest on fire. “You have my deepest apologies,” he said, the weight of his words as heavy as a Hippogriff’s saddlebags. “I will bear the weight of my mistakes, but let us learn from them and strive to do better in the future.”
Snape, who looked like he’d been marinating in bitterness for a good while, was having none of it. “Apologies are meaningless without action,” he snapped, his voice dripping with disdain like melted chocolate on a hot day. “You assured me Lily’s son would be safe. Instead, you left him with Petunia Evans, of all people.”
His anger was like a dragon that had been poked too many times. “You played us all for fools, Albus,” Snape continued, his eyes flashing like lightning. “Your grand plans and supposed wisdom have led us into a mess of deception and folly. Now we’re stuck with the fallout.”
The room went silent, the kind of silence that’s heavy enough to crush your eardrums. Snape’s outburst was a rare crack in his usual stoic facade, and it was clear that the Potions master’s patience was wearing thin.
Flitwick, who usually looked like he’d just won a prize for most cheerful professor, now appeared deeply shaken. “Severus, my dear boy,” he began, his voice quavering like a leaf in a gale. “Surely, there must be some misunderstanding. Albus has always acted in what he believed to be the best interests of all.”
Sprout, the Herbology professor who normally exuded a warm, earthy vibe, was now on the verge of tears. “Oh, Severus,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “To think we were so blind... We trusted him, we believed in him. And now...”
Her voice trailed off, as though she had no words left to describe the disillusionment. It was clear that the room was grappling with the realization that their revered headmaster was not the infallible sage they had thought.
Dumbledore, ever the epitome of calm (or at least he tried to be), responded with a hint of defensiveness. “Severus, I understand your frustration, but you must realize that the decisions I made were done with the utmost care,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “I believed that placing Harry with family would ensure his safety, protected by Lily’s blood.”
He paused, looking as though he was trying to recall his best lines from a tragic play. “Mistakes were made, yes, but they were made with the best intentions. I hope we can learn from these errors and move forward together, committed to protecting our students and the wizarding world.”
Snape wasn’t buying it. “Intentions, Albus? Intentions don’t absolve one of responsibility,” he retorted, his voice dripping with venom. “Your arrogance has endangered countless lives. Now you expect us to just forgive and forget?”
He took a step closer, his fury almost tangible. “You speak of trust and protection, yet you fail to acknowledge the betrayal that has festered beneath the surface,” Snape continued, his voice rising. “You’ve fooled us all with your facade of wisdom. I see you for what you truly are: a manipulative puppeteer.”
McGonagall, who’d been listening with an ironclad resolve, added her voice to the chorus of condemnation. “Severus is right, Albus,” she said, her tone cutting through the tension. “We trusted you to make the best decisions for our students, and you failed us. You failed Harry.”
Her gaze was unwavering as she met Dumbledore’s eyes. “We cannot undo the mistakes of the past, but we can learn from them,” McGonagall continued. “It’s time for accountability, Albus. It’s time for change.”
As Dumbledore looked around at his assembled professors, it was clear that the man who had always been a symbol of wisdom and infallibility was now facing the harsh reality of his own shortcomings. The room was heavy with the gravity of the moment, a turning point that demanded honesty and change.
And as the silence stretched, it was evident that Dumbledore’s usual ability to talk his way out of trouble was not going to save him this time.
—
The room buzzed with excitement, like a cauldron of bees on a sugar high. Sirius and Remus were practically vibrating with energy as they pitched the idea of throwing Harry a belated birthday party. Honestly, you'd think they'd just discovered a hidden vault of treasure instead of a simple birthday bash.
Sirius was grinning from ear to ear, eyes twinkling like he'd just chugged a gallon of pumpkin juice. "Come on, Harry, it'll be brilliant!" he said, practically bouncing on his toes. "Cake, games, presents—it’ll be the kind of celebration you’ll never forget!"
Remus, the ever-cool counterbalance to Sirius’s hyperactivity, gave a warm, inviting smile. "And it's a chance for us to show you just how much you mean to us, Harry. You’re part of our family now, and we want to celebrate that."
Susan, who seemed to have an endless supply of support and optimism, chimed in with sparkling eyes. "I think it’s a wonderful idea, Harry. You deserve to be celebrated, especially after everything you’ve been through."
Mipsy, the ever-energetic house-elf, zipped around the room like a caffeinated firefly. "Mipsy agrees! Master Harry must have a party, a grand one!"
Harry, caught in the crossfire of enthusiasm, felt a twinge of uncertainty. He opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by Drakor’s voice in his mind.
"Hey, Harry," Drakor's mental tone was like an over-caffeinated dragon in a candy store. "You know, a party could be just what you need. It's a chance to show off your friends and enjoy a bit of normalcy. Plus, I get to enjoy the festivities vicariously. Think of the fun I could have with that ice cream!"
Harry took a mental step back, considering Drakor’s exuberant suggestion. The symbiote dragon’s playful nature was hard to ignore. With a resigned smile, he nodded. "Okay, Drakor. A small gathering with friends does sound nice."
Sirius, catching Harry’s grin, thumped him on the back with a force that nearly toppled him over. "That’s the spirit, Harry!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm bordering on the contagious. "It’s going to be a blast, I promise."
Remus offered a reassuring smile, adding, "We’ll keep it simple and intimate. Just us, your friends, and plenty of good food and laughter."
Susan, ever the go-getter, stepped forward with a determined grin. "I’ll make sure everything’s perfect, Harry. You deserve a wonderful celebration."
Sirius leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eye. "How about we have the party this weekend at Fortescue's?" he proposed, clearly reveling in the idea. "We can treat everyone to some of the finest ice cream in Diagon Alley!"
Harry’s face lit up like a firework at the thought. "That sounds amazing!" he said, excitement bubbling up. "But how will we invite everyone?"
Remus, looking like he was ready to tackle the task with the precision of a Quidditch Seeker, suggested, "We could have you write a letter, Harry. Sirius and I can use a duplication charm to make copies and send them out via Owl."
The idea was met with enthusiastic nods all around. "Brilliant plan," Sirius agreed, his eyes practically glowing with glee. "We’ll make sure everything’s set up at Fortescue's for the party."
Harry turned to Susan, gratitude shining in his eyes. "Thank you, Susan. I couldn’t ask for a better friend."
Susan smiled warmly, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "It’s my pleasure, Harry. Now, let’s get those invitations sent out and make this party one to remember!"
Meanwhile, Drakor was having a mental party of his own. "Oh, this is going to be fun," the symbiote dragon thought with glee. "I get to crash a birthday party without even leaving Harry’s mind. What a time to be a Klyntar!"
As the planning continued, Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit more excited. After all, who knew that a birthday party could be such an epic adventure, complete with cake, friends, and Drakor’s mental antics?
—
Susan and Harry were huddled at the kitchen table like secret agents working on a top-secret mission. The table was covered in parchment, quills, and inkpots, a serious setup for what was, let’s face it, an incredibly fun job—drafting invitations for a birthday party at Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor.
Susan, who had taken on the role of scribe with an air of impressive seriousness, turned to Harry with a determined look. "Alright, Harry," she said, her voice brimming with focus. "Let’s make sure this invitation is perfect. We want everyone to feel as excited as we are."
Harry nodded, trying not to let his nervousness show. He was super grateful for Susan’s help. The last thing he wanted was to mess up a chance to make his friends feel truly appreciated.
Drakor, meanwhile, was bouncing around in Harry’s mind like a hyperactive dragon on a sugar rush. “Ooh, invitations! My favorite!” Drakor’s mental voice practically twirled with enthusiasm. “This is going to be epic. I bet they’ll all get here and go wild for that ice cream. I’m so ready for this!”
Susan dipped her quill in ink and started writing with the precision of a wizard crafting a spell. Her handwriting was neat and precise, each letter flowing like a well-rehearsed incantation. She was clearly in her element.
Harry watched with a smile, trying to keep his thoughts from drifting too far into his own head. “Thanks, Susan. I really appreciate you taking the time to help with this. I’m not the best at this sort of thing.”
Drakor’s mental voice cut in with a playful tone. “Well, look at you, Mr. Humble! Who knew the Boy Who Lived was so modest about his party-planning skills? Don’t worry, Harry. We’ve got this. Besides, who doesn’t love a good ice cream party?”
Susan glanced up, catching Harry’s eye. “Okay, here we go.” She began to read aloud what she’d written, her voice warm and inviting.
—
Dear _____,
I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to take a moment to express my sincere gratitude for your kind words and friendship. It means the world to me. I would like to invite you to join me for a small gathering this weekend at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor in Diagon Alley. It would mean a lot to me to celebrate with you and enjoy some delicious ice cream together. I hope you can make it.
Your friend,
Harry James Potter
As they worked on the letter, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement building within him. With Susan's help, he was able to reach out to each of his new friends, inviting them to share in a special moment of joy and friendship.
—
With the letter finalized, Sirius and Remus sprang into action like a duo of magical event planners. Their wands danced through the air, casting a Duplication Charm with such finesse that even a Quidditch Snitch would be envious. Each flick and swish produced identical copies of the parchment, and soon enough, Harry’s invitation was multiplying like rabbits on a honeymoon.
Susan, ever the meticulous helper, hovered nearby, adding the names of Harry’s friends with a steady hand. Her precision was impressive, turning the task of addressing invitations into an art form. Harry couldn’t help but marvel at how smoothly everything was going.
Drakor, Harry’s ever-chatty Klyntar symbiote dragon, was practically bouncing in excitement. “Ooh, look at those letters go!” Drakor’s voice was a mental whirl of energy. “It’s like watching a magical assembly line. Soon, your friends will be so excited, they’ll be practically skipping to Fortescue’s!”
As the stack of parchment grew, Harry’s anticipation bubbled up like a cauldron of bubbling excitement. Each letter was a ticket to a night of laughter and camaraderie, and he couldn’t wait for his friends to get their hands on them.
Sirius, looking every bit the proud ringmaster of this magical circus, summoned a flock of owls from the Owlery of the Bones Family Estate. The owls perched on the windowsills, their feathers ruffled but their eyes bright with purpose.
With the precision of a maestro conducting an owl symphony, Sirius attached a letter to each owl’s leg. “Alright, feathered friends,” he said with a grin, “time to deliver some party invitations.”
Drakor’s inner monologue was on a roll. “And off they go, soaring into the great blue yonder! I swear, these owls have the coolest job ever. It’s like delivering VIP passes to a top-secret magical party!”
Sirius gave a dramatic flick of his wrist, sending the owls flapping into the sky. They took off, their wings beating rhythmically as they disappeared into the distance. Harry watched, a grin spreading across his face as the last of the owls vanished from sight.
Drakor’s voice buzzed with excitement. “Look at them go! It’s like they’re off to save the world with your invitations. I bet they’ll be back with rsvp’s faster than you can say ‘ice cream’!”
As Harry stood there, the sense of anticipation was almost tangible. He knew his friends would soon receive their invitations, and the thought of them all coming together for a celebration filled him with a warm sense of satisfaction.
With the owls on their way and the party plans set in motion, Harry could hardly wait for the day when Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor would be the setting for a celebration to remember.
—
At the Burrow, the morning chaos was in full swing. Molly Weasley was stirring a bubbling pot on the stove while the kids darted around like a herd of over-caffeinated Nifflers. The tranquility of breakfast was abruptly interrupted when a squadron of owls made a dramatic entrance through the open kitchen window, each landing with a precise, almost military flair.
Molly’s eyes widened as the owls perched on the kitchen table, their talons scraping the wood as they delivered their parcels. “Looks like we’ve got mail!” she called out, her voice laced with a mix of curiosity and surprise.
Fred, never one to miss a chance for mischief, reached out to untie a letter from one of the owls. “Well, well, well,” he said with a grin that could have outshone a hundred-watt bulb. “And here I thought we’d run out of surprises for today.”
George, never one to let his twin hog the spotlight, followed suit with another owl. “Seems like it’s not even our birthdays, and we’re still getting presents,” he added, his tone dripping with exaggerated anticipation.
Ron, his curiosity piqued by the commotion, craned his neck to see what was going on. “Who’s it from?” he asked, his eyes glued to his brothers.
Fred and George shared one of their signature twin glances—a look that could only be described as synchronized mischief. They simultaneously tore open their letters, their cheers ringing through the kitchen. “It’s from Harry!”
Ginny, who had been eavesdropping with the enthusiasm of a Quidditch fan at the World Cup, sprang from her seat. “Harry? What does it say?” she demanded, her excitement practically vibrating through her words.
Fred handed Ginny one of the letters with an exaggerated flourish, while George did the same for Ron. Percy, ever the stickler for formality, received his letter straight from one of the owls, who seemed to be giving him a judging look until he unfastened it.
Ginny’s eyes sparkled as she scanned her letter. “It’s a birthday invitation!” she squealed. “Harry’s throwing a party this weekend at Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour in Diagon Alley. He wants us all to come!”
Ron’s grin widened to epic proportions. “Brilliant! Harry’s birthday bash at Fortescue’s? This is going to be legendary!”
Percy, who had been diligently reading his own letter, looked up with a nod of approval. “It’s very considerate of Harry to include us. We’ll need to get him a proper gift.”
Fred and George exchanged their trademark mischievous glances. “Perhaps something from our latest collection?” Fred suggested with a mischievous grin.
“Yeah,” George chimed in, “a sneak preview of our latest and greatest inventions. What could possibly go wrong?”
Molly, wiping her hands on her apron, gave them a warm smile. “It’s wonderful that Harry is making friends and having a celebration. We’ll make sure you’re all set for the party.”
Arthur Weasley, who had just walked in, caught the tail end of the conversation. “What’s this about Harry and a party?”
Ron passed him one of the invitations with an eager look. “Harry’s having a birthday party at Fortescue’s this weekend. Can we go, Dad?”
Arthur read the invitation and beamed. “Of course, we’ll make sure you’re all there. Harry deserves a grand celebration, especially with everything he’s been through.”
The Weasley kids exchanged excited glances, already envisioning a weekend of ice cream, fun, and celebrating one of their own. The anticipation was so thick you could almost cut it with a butter knife.
—
In the Lovegood household, which resembled a whimsical gingerbread house crossed with a magical chess piece, Luna Lovegood was immersed in the artistic creation of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Her workspace, a chaotic blend of glitter, feathers, and curious trinkets, reflected her dreamy disposition and distinct fashion sense—today, she was sporting a bright yellow dress adorned with tiny, sparkling stars that danced as she moved.
Pandora Lovegood, who was busy preparing tea in a pot that seemed to hum with enchantment, cast a warm smile toward her daughter. Xenophilius, her husband, was absorbed in The Quibbler, his trademark mismatched socks peeking out from beneath his robe.
Suddenly, a series of enthusiastic taps at the window interrupted their cozy morning. Luna’s head snapped up, her eyes widening with the excitement of someone who might have just seen a unicorn prancing by. “Oh, a visitor!” she chirped, floating toward the window in a swirl of yellow fabric.
The owl perched on the windowsill, its demeanor as dignified as a royal herald. Luna extended her hand, and the owl obediently offered its leg, as though it were bearing news of the most fantastical sort. Luna eagerly untied the letter, her fingers trembling with anticipation as she read the invitation.
“It’s an invitation!” Luna’s voice carried the kind of wonder that suggested she’d just been handed a ticket to an alternate dimension.
Pandora paused her tea-making, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “An invitation? How delightful! Who is it from?”
“It’s from Harry Potter!” Luna exclaimed, her voice filled with a dreamy excitement. “He’s inviting me to his birthday party at Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour in Diagon Alley this weekend!”
Xenophilius glanced up from his paper, his interest piqued. “Harry Potter, you say? That’s quite a delightful turn of events. The Boy Who Lived inviting you to his celebration is positively splendid!”
Pandora’s gaze softened with maternal warmth. “That’s wonderful news, Luna. We should make sure you have something special to bring. After all, Harry deserves a unique gift.”
Luna’s mind immediately began to whirl with imaginative possibilities. “I think I’ll get him something truly extraordinary, like a subscription to The Quibbler. He might enjoy reading about all the magical creatures and the hidden truths of the universe.”
Xenophilius chuckled, his laughter echoing the tone of someone who finds joy in the quirks of life. “A splendid idea, Luna. Harry will surely appreciate such a thoughtful and imaginative gift.”
With a dreamy smile, Luna carefully folded the invitation and tucked it into the pocket of her starry dress. She felt a flutter of excitement, like she’d just discovered a portal to another world. The thought of attending Harry’s party and sharing in his special day made her heart flutter with anticipation. The Lovegoods, with their unique blend of whimsy and wonder, were more than ready to embrace the magic of the occasion and add their own touch of enchantment to Harry’s celebration.
---
In the quaint village of Godric’s Hollow, the Abbott family was enjoying a tranquil morning that looked like it had been plucked straight out of a storybook. Hannah Abbott, with her sunny disposition and a book about magical creatures open on her lap, was nestled in the garden. Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Abbott, were busy turning their garden into what seemed like a miniature botanical paradise.
But tranquility is often just a setup for the dramatic entrance of owls. In a flurry of wings and feathers, an owl swooped in, landing with a flair that could have belonged to a stage magician. Hannah blinked, her book nearly forgotten as she turned her attention to the feathered messenger. With practiced ease, she untied the letter from its leg, and the owl, having delivered its message with the grace of a seasoned professional, hooted softly and took off again.
“Who could that be from?” Mrs. Abbott asked, momentarily pausing her gardening to look at the scene unfolding before her.
Hannah tore open the letter, her curiosity bubbling like a potion gone awry. Her eyes darted across the parchment, and then, as if struck by a particularly pleasant spell, her face lit up in a grin that could only be described as radiant. “It’s from Harry Potter!” she announced, her voice practically singing with excitement. “He’s inviting me to his birthday party at Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour in Diagon Alley this weekend!”
Her parents exchanged looks of both surprise and delight. “Harry Potter?” Mr. Abbott echoed, his eyebrows arching in astonishment. “Well, that’s rather special, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Abbott’s eyes twinkled as she looked at Hannah with pride. “He must be quite remarkable to extend such an invitation. This is a wonderful opportunity to meet him and celebrate.”
Hannah’s smile was now a full-blown beam. “Susan’s written so much about him in her letters. She says he’s brave and kind. I can’t wait to meet him and show him how welcoming Godric’s Hollow can be.”
Mrs. Abbott rested a comforting hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful friend, dear. Now, let’s think about what you might bring as a gift. Something memorable and from the heart.”
Hannah pondered this for a moment, her imagination running wild like a Hippogriff on a sugar high. “How about something from Godric’s Hollow? Something that will remind him of where he’s from. It should be meaningful.”
Mr. Abbott nodded in approval. “That’s a splendid idea. We’ll help you pick out something truly special.”
With the invitation clutched in her hand, Hannah felt a bubbling excitement that seemed to match the morning sun. She couldn’t wait for the weekend, for the chance to meet Harry, mingle with other magical folk, and celebrate. It promised to be a day filled with laughter, friendship, and ice cream—a day that would definitely be one for the memory books.
---
In a charming countryside home, Neville Longbottom was sitting by the window, absorbed in thoughts about his upcoming school year. His grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, was outside, attempting to wrestle her garden into submission. It was the usual scene: Augusta’s garden was thriving, and Neville’s mind was wandering, when a soft hoot snapped him back to reality.
A sleek owl had decided to grace him with its presence, clutching a letter as if it were the crown jewels. Neville, with his usual grace (or lack thereof), fumbled with the window, nearly dropping the letter in the process. He managed to get it open and tugged the letter free with a flourish that was distinctly un-Neville-like.
“Gran!” he shouted, his voice a mix of excitement and sheer disbelief. “I’ve got a letter from Harry Potter!”
Augusta looked up from her battle with a particularly stubborn rosebush, her stern face relaxing into a rare smile. “Harry Potter? What on earth does he want with you, Neville?”
As Neville unfolded the letter, his eyes widened, and a grin spread across his face that could rival the sun in its brilliance. “Gran, you won’t believe this! Harry’s inviting me to his birthday party! He actually wants to meet me!”
Augusta’s eyes twinkled with a mix of pride and curiosity. “Well, that’s just marvelous. Harry Potter is a fine young man. You must go and seize this chance with both hands.”
Neville nodded vigorously, his excitement spilling over. “I will, Gran! I’m thinking of bringing him something special—a plant from our garden, maybe.”
Augusta’s approval was evident in her warm smile. “A plant is an excellent idea. Let’s pick the most impressive one. After all, you’ll want to make a good impression on Mr. Potter.”
As Neville and his grandmother began their search for the perfect plant, Neville’s mind buzzed with a blend of nervous energy and determination. Despite his tendency to lose, forget, or occasionally break things, and the way he sometimes felt like he was in the shadow of his more confident peers, Neville had proven time and again that he was more than just a clumsy student. Beneath the shyness and the occasional mishaps was a heart full of Gryffindor bravery.
His keen interest in Herbology was just the surface of his true potential. With the right guidance and a lot of grit, Neville had shown that he was anything but unintelligent. As he prepared for the weekend’s adventure, he knew he’d be walking into Harry’s party not just as a fan, but as a fellow Gryffindor ready to make a memorable impression.
---
In the drawing room of Greengrass Manor, where every corner screamed “old money,” Daphne Greengrass lounged by the window, engrossed in a book that was undoubtedly something like Advanced Potion Making for the Elite. The peace of the room was disrupted by the arrival of an owl that looked like it had just stepped off a royal carriage. With a flap of its majestic wings, it landed on her chair, presenting its leg with the precision of a butler offering a silver tray.
Daphne raised an eyebrow and untied the letter. As she unfolded it, her lips curled into a faint, amused smile. “Well, isn’t this a surprise,” she said dryly. “Harry Potter’s invited me to his belated birthday party at Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour in Diagon Alley.”
From the doorway, her younger sister, Astoria, peered in with all the subtlety of a kid waiting for Christmas. “Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived? Can I come with you, Daphne? Please?”
Daphne’s eyes flickered with a hint of amusement. She regarded Astoria’s eager expression with the kind of detachment that only years of exclusive schooling can provide. “Oh, I suppose you could,” she said, her tone as deadpan as ever. “I’ll just send an owl back to Harry and see if he’s up for a surprise guest.”
Astoria’s face lit up like a holiday display. “Thank you, Daphne! I’m so excited! I can’t wait to meet Harry and all his friends!”
Daphne managed a slightly more genuine smile. “Yes, well, it should be quite the spectacle. Now, let’s inform the parental units about our little outing. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to know their youngest is tagging along.”
Astoria practically bounced out of the room, and Daphne, shaking her head with a smirk, began drafting her response. She couldn’t help but admire Harry’s knack for throwing parties that even someone like her couldn’t entirely dismiss. Once she’d sent the owl off with her RSVP, she pondered what to wear. Maybe something that said, “I’m here to enjoy the party, but I might subtly outshine everyone just by being my usual charming self.”
Because, really, despite her occasional aloofness and her tendency to see everything through a slightly jaded lens, Daphne knew that Harry’s party would be one of those events where even she might find something to enjoy. And if not, she could always use the opportunity to brush up on her Legilimency skills.
---
In a sunlit room that smelled like a mix of incense and fresh-baked cookies, Padma and Parvati Patil were each doing their own thing. Padma, the ever-serious bookworm, was buried in a tome that probably contained enough magical theory to make your head spin. Meanwhile, Parvati was sprawled out on a fluffy cushion, flipping through a fashion magazine and offering commentary on the latest wizarding trends like she was a Muggle fashion critic.
Their tranquil afternoon was abruptly interrupted by a soft tapping sound at the window. Both girls looked up to see a rather impressive owl perched outside, as if it were auditioning for an owl ad in Wizards’ Weekly. Parvati sprang up from her seat like someone had just announced free Butterbeer, and flung open the window.
“It’s a letter for both of us!” she exclaimed, her voice full of excitement. She untied the letter with the precision of a Quidditch Seeker and handed it to Padma, who wasted no time in tearing it open.
As Padma read the letter, her eyes widened, and a genuine smile spread across her face. “You’re not going to believe this. It’s an invitation from Harry Potter!”
Parvati’s squeal of excitement could probably be heard all the way to Diagon Alley. “I knew he was nice from his letters! This party is going to be epic! We have to find the perfect outfits and make sure we look absolutely fabulous.”
Padma chuckled, shaking her head at her sister’s enthusiasm. “I’m sure it will be a blast. It’ll be nice to hang out with everyone and catch up before school starts.”
The twins dashed off to tell their parents about the invitation, practically vibrating with excitement. The house buzzed with energy as they chattered about the upcoming party. It was going to be a weekend to remember, and they couldn’t wait to get started on their party preparations.