Chapter 3
Just as quickly as Harry Potter had entered her life, he was gone. They had spent the remainder of the summer together, a little apprehensive about what Harry going to Hogwarts would mean for their friendship. Anya could tell that Harry was very happy to be away from the Dursleys ten months out of the year, but a part of him dearly would miss Anya and her family.
“Do you know anything about this school of his, Anya?” Mama asked her, over a breakfast that her Father had prepared for them. “Mr. Dursley is telling everyone that he’s going to a school for Criminal Boys… St. Brutus’, I think it’s called.
“No, that’s not true.” Anya said. “It’s an… um… exclusive private school that his parents signed him up for.”
Harry had not been allowed to tell Anya anything about Hogwarts. She only knew about it due to her telepathy. Harry had been unable to think of anything else for the entire summer, and as a result she knew just as much about the school as he did.
Hagrid had come by to tell her parents that the school had Harry’s best interests at heart and promised that they would take very good care of him. Loid did not seem entirely assured, pressuring Hagrid on several key points until he was forced to excuse himself, but Yor had bought the story wholesale.
‘You will write him, won’t you?” Yor asked.
“If he writes me, first.” Anya said. “I don’t know the address.”
“I’m sure you won’t have to wait long.” Loid said, as he set his glass down on the table. “I’m sure he misses you.”
She received her first letter that very night. A beautiful, snow white owl came gliding into her window like a ghost. Anya nervously pulled the letter tied to her leg, gave the bird a tentative pat, and asked that it stay while she drafted a response. The Owl hooted, and stood by as Anya read a note from Harry. How he had met a boy named Ron Weasley on the train, how he had been sorted into Gryffindor House, and how he was now living in a castle. She read the letter, wondering just how much of the letter was true. There was no mention of magic or wizards, which she knew must exist. Harry wasn’t being entirely forthcoming about what was happening in his life, but since he wasn’t here talking about it in person, she was not able to read his mind and get the full story.
The thought kind of annoyed her. She hated things being kept from her. Growing up with telepathic powers had really given her a sense that she deserved to know about everything around her. If she couldn’t read Harry’s mind, she would need to be a little bit more creative when it came to getting her answers.
Dear Harry,
My new school doesn’t send nearly as interesting as yours. I wish I could go to school in a great big castle. Even Eden Academy wasn’t quite a Castle, and that was the premier educational facility in Ostania.
I’m doing well. I’m going back to private school now, and I must say I HATE how strict they are. If I got into a fight here, I would probably be kicked out.
You need to tell me all about the Castle, the Houses, the students, all of it.
She added a few more questions about the castle, said hello to Harry’s new friend Ron, and told him that she thought the owl was beautiful. She sealed the letter and stood up, turning back to Hedwig.
“Thank you for waiting.”
The owl hooted, and held out her leg. Anya tied the letter to her, gave her one last stroke, and then watched her fly off into the night. She felt a strange pang of jealously: A part of her wished SHE could have had magical powers.
But when she thought about her parents just downstairs, her dog, and everything she had in her life, she immediately discarded the idea. She wouldn’t trade places with Harry Potter for the world.
They continued to exchange letters throughout the year. Hedwig would come flying in, and sit on a perch on the windowsill as Anya quickly drafted out responses. Harry was very eager to tell her about his day to day school life: His friendship with Ron, his dislike of Gryffindor’s rival house Slytherin and one Draco Malfoy in particular, and what some of his teachers were like. But he tended to avoid topics discussing what he was actually learning.
It was amusing, seeing him try and avoid discussing magic with her. When he returned, she would have to tell him that she had always known about the magical world so that he wouldn’t be so evasive. For now, though, she kept writing as she always had.
One day, about a week before Christmas, Hedwig came in through the window. Anya fed her an owl treat that Harry had sent her and took the letter. She read the letter, eyes narrowed. Harry was asking her if she had ever heard of a man named Nicholas Flamel.
The name did not sound familiar. And although Harry seemed to be unwilling to divulge any real details, she had the impression that it was something very important.
And so she decided to ask her father about it over dinner that evening.
“Have you ever heard of a man named Nicholas Flamel?”
Loid looked up sharply at her. “What brought this on?”
“Harry sent me a letter and asked if I knew who that was.” Anya said. “I think he’s researching him for school, or something.”
“Hm.” Loid said. The gears in his head were already turning, and as Anya had expected, he did know.
There is an English Legend about a man who conquered death by creating something called the Philosopher’s Stone… it has some cultural significance. Perhaps…?
“The only Nicholas Flamel I can think of is a myth.” Loid answered. “Do you know if this a real person, or simply a story?”
“Harry wasn’t sure, which is why he asked.”
“Hm.” Loid said. “Well, if he really wants to know….”
Within an hour he had managed to procure a number of books regarding the subject of Nicholas Flamel and handed them off to her. She went up back to her room, found Hedwig, and asked if she would be able to carry a book back.
Hedwig looked offended that she even asked. She held out her leg, and Anya found herself struggling to figure out how to properly safely prepare the book for delivery, wrapping it in Christmas Paper she had lying around.
“Wish Harry a Merry Christmas for me.” She whispered, as she sent Hedwig off.
The following week she received a jubilant response from Harry, praising Anya’s diligence. “My friend Hermione thinks your dad is a genius!”
“Well, she’s not wrong about that.” Anya said, chuckling, as she stroked Hedwig’s head. She couldn’t wait for Harry to return that summer.
…
When Harry finally did return, he seemed almost like a completely different person. He was taller, happier, and looked all around healthier than Anya had ever seen him. She was glad. The very first day he returned they sat up all night in her room, talking. When she asked him about Nicholas Flamel, he went very red and started stuttering about how it was all a great secret.
“Harry, I know you’re a wizard.” She said dryly. “You can tell me anything.”
Relief flooded across his face and soon she found herself lost in his vivid descriptions of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. How he, Ron, and Hermione had realized that the Philosopher’s Stone was being kept under the school. How they had felt that one of their teachers had stolen it. And the many twists and turns that they had undergone to try and protect it.
She had never felt herself so taken aback in awe and surprise by a story in her life. When Harry began to tell her what was under Professor Quirrel’s turban an image of Lord Voldemort appeared in his mind, and she had to stop herself from throwing up.
“That’s incredible.” She whispered. “So the stone is destroyed?”
“According to Dumbledore, yeah.”
‘And Voldemort…”
“Hasn’t come back.” Harry finished.
They fell silent. The candles that Anya had lit flickered vibrantly in the dark, casting the room in a cozy, warm glow.
“But he will try again, won’t he?” Anya asked, her voice nervous. “And… do you in?” She had seen her parents do other people in all the time, and had traditionally thought nothing of it. But the thought of Harry being done in by someone else was an oddly terrifying thought.
“Yeah.” Harry said. “I think so.”
They fell silent again in the dark.
“Harry.” Anya said. “We’re here for you. The whole family. You can rely on us for anything.”
She took his hand and squeezed it.
“And I’m sure Ron and Hermione feel the same way.” She said. “You’re not alone. You will never be alone.”
….
Harry spent a lot of that summer locked in his room. Anya found herself often dropping by requesting to see him. Petunia Dursley got into the habit of turning her away at the door, before she started bringing her own mother as support. Yor, who could be very forceful when she wanted to be, was very successful at getting Harry out of Number Four, and as a result Harry and Anya spent a lot of that summer playing out in the street and going on trips with Anya’s parents.
One day, however, Petunia surprised them both by asking that Harry spend the evening over at their house.
“We’re having an important dinner party, and would like him to spend the evening with you.” She asked stiffly, as if it was a very uncomfortable thing for her to ask. A thrilled Harry Potter found himself having his own private dinner party at the Forger’s as the Dursley entertained their guests, Mr. and Mrs. Mason.
Harry and Anya were taking a walk through the garden, gossiping idly about the chances of Uncle Vernon getting his deal, when Anya suddenly picked up an unusual train of thought.
I must speak to Harry Potter alone.
She stopped in her tracks as she looked around, puzzled. Harry stopped as well, frowning.
“What is it?”
I must warn him about the Chamber of Secrets! He must not go back to Hogwarts this year!
The wheels in her head were already turning. Someone, or something, wanted to speak to Harry alone.
“I forgot something.” She told Harry, idly. “I’ll be back in a ‘mo.”
She turned and dashed back into the house. Rather than head on up to her room, however, she closed the door and pressed herself against it. She couldn’t hear from this distance, and with a barrier in the way… but her telepathy had a greater range than her ears.
Dobby mustn’t tell Harry Potter about Master Malfoy’s plot! He will be punished!
Malfoy? She thought to herself. Harry’s school bully? Was this creature a servant of his? Puzzled, she strained her powers as she tried to make out the conversation between them.
Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts!
She could tell that Harry was getting increasingly annoyed with the creature, and thinking it was time to step in, she opened the door and walked back out. There was a loud CRACK, and Harry was suddenly alone.
“Hiya Harry.” She said brightly. “Who were you talking to?”
He whirled on her, seemingly at a complete loss for words.
“There was a…. thing here just now.” He said. “But now it’s… gone.”
“Yeah, I saw it.” Anya said, thinking it best to reassure him that he wasn’t insane. “What did it want?”
“It wanted… me not to go back to school this year.”
“Why?”
“It didn’t say!”
Anya bit her tongue, wondering how best to tell Harry about what she had picked up from the creature about Malfoy. She would either have to blurt it out now, as an out of nowhere suggestion, or sit on the knowledge until she better understood the situation.
“Are you going to?”
“No.” Harry said. “Of course not. Hogwarts is… one of the only places I can call home.”
She smiled at him.
“Well that settles it.” She said. “You’re going back no matter what.”