ENCHANTED !
( hp-narnia &&& edmund pevensie x reader )

CHAPTER TWO : the great escape, the prison break

YOURS, RON'S, AND THE TWINS' NAMES escaped Harry's lips breathlessly. Reaching for his glasses, he crept to the window and pushed it up so you could talk through the bars. He called out to you, "How did you — What the —?"

You couldn't contain your chuckle as your friend was hit at full impact by the astonishment of the scene before him. There truly was something humorous to it from this perspective, you supposed, leaning out of the back window and exchanging the same grins Ron and his brothers had earlier that night.

"All right, Harry?" asked George, though you could tell he wasn't if the bars on his window weren't enough of a dead giveaway.

"What's been going on?" Ron was quick to follow. "Why haven't you been answering our letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles—"

"It wasn't me — and how did he know?"

"He works for the Ministry," says Ron. "You know we're not supposed to do spells outside school—"

"You should talk," mutters Harry in a deadpan manner, staring at the floating car.

"Ronald is quite the hypocrite isn't he—"

"Shove off," the redhead grumbled, a pink tint spreading his freckled cheeks. "First off, stop calling me that."

He ignored the way your cheeky smile grew.

"Second, this doesn't count." Ron returned his gaze to Harry, "We're only borrowing this. It's Dad's, we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with—"

"I told you, I didn't—" the bespectacled boy turned from Ron to you, silently pleading you believe him, which you did. After all the unusual roots of trouble the previous year, you came to trust your friends no matter how ridiculous their stories appeared. (Although, you did have to remain cautious with Fred and George's whispers and tales. The pair of them, more often than not, told truths that bent slightly away from their original courses—if not to make them seem more humorous, then to riddle you with pranks.) With a small shrug, you turned to the stubborn Weasley, "I dunno about you, but this isn't the most ridiculous thing that's happened to him so far. Best we just get on with it and bust his arse out."

"What—? But you can't magic me out—"

"We don't need to," grinned Ron, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning. "You forget who we've got with us."

"Tie that around the bars," said Fred, throwing the end of a rope to Harry.

"If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," Harry, although weary, tied the rope tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car.

"Don't you worry 'bout that. We've got Bowie here to deal 'em some damage, don't we, Bowie?" you grinned down at the creature perched on your shoulder, who chittered and bounced in vehement agreement.

Harry wasn't one to misplace his trust in you, but he certainly had his doubts with that little bowtruckle of yours.

"Don't worry," an amused Fred called out, "And stand back!"

You watched, oblivious to your friend's dubious gaze on the restless Bowie as Harry backed into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed to have realized how important this was and kept still and silent.

A sky blue hue spread from the roots of your locks as the car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in the air. Back pressed against your seat and air knocked clean out of your lungs, you found within yourself the urge to look back, eyes catching the bars dangling a good few feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. Harry listened anxiously, but there was no sound from the Dursleys' bedroom.

When the bars were safely in the back seat between you and Ron, Fred reversed as close as possible to Harry's window.

"Get in," Ron said as you gestured him inside.

"But all my Hogwarts stuff — my wand — my broomstick —"

"Well, where are they?"

"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can't get out of this room—"

Your friends hadn't taken into account that Harry's relatives may have been antagonistic enough (perhaps even fearful, you thought) against magic to have confiscated his belongings. Nevertheless, it wasn't too big of an issue as you and the twins exchanged a short, gleaming glance.

"No problem," said George from the front passenger seat. "Out of the way, Harry."

Fred, George, and yourself climbed catlike through the window into Harry's room.

"Watch and learn," you couldn't contain your pride as your little bean sprout hopped from your extended hand onto the door, picking the lock with his long, sharp fingers. "Before Bowie, I had to settle for picking locks the old-fashioned way. But now. . ."

There was a small click and the door swung open.

"I have my own personal felon," you grinned as Bowie climbed back onto your palm, chittering with glee as you rewarded him with a few woodlice in exchange for his willing assistance.

"Meanwhile, we have to make do with the old-fashioned way," George sighed in faux despair, fishing out the ordinary hairpin from his pocket. "The trees by our place aren't good enough to house bowtruckles, and it doesn't help that Mum's not overly fond of the idea of us having our own — as if she even stopped to consider all the bright sides to having one, or better yet, two!"

"More like she doesn't trust you lot to care for one," Ron interjected.

"So — we'll get your trunk — you grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron," whispered George, who paid his younger brother's words no mind.

"Watch out for the bottom stair — it creaks," Harry muttered back as you stayed back and watched the twins disappear into the dark landing.

Quickly, you and Harry dashed around his room, collecting his things and passing them out of the window to Ron. As if the thought of you in his room wasn't enough, once or twice, your hands brushed against one another's, eliciting a fierce blush to spread the ravenette's cheeks, ever thankful for the dark that hid away his reaction.

"Anything else you've forgotten?" you asked, glancing around and toward your empty spot in the backseat.

"No, you go on ahead," he replied before going to help Fred and George heave his trunk up the stairs.

Making your way over, and lightly shoving Ron to the side, you momentarily stilled hearing a rough cough from one of the neighboring rooms. It was that Vernon tosser, you thought, glancing over your shoulder to see your three friends had made it to the landing, panting.

Situating yourself properly, you readied yourself as they carried the trunk through Harry's room to the open window. You pulled with Ron, and Harry and the twins pushed from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window.

The Vernon bloke coughed again.

"A bit more," panted Fred, who was pushing from the bedroom side. "One good push—"

The three of them threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car; you and Ron maneuvered it to fit into the trunk.

"Okay, let's go," George whispered as he and Fred climbed into their seats up front.

But as you and Ron made space for your friend, as Harry climbed onto the windowsill, there came a sudden loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of Uncle Vernon's voice.

"THAT RUDDY OWL!" your eyes widen as your panicked expression meets his, "I've forgotten Hedwig!"

Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked on — he snatched up Hedwig's cage, dashed to the window, and passed it out to the pair of you who sat there. He was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door and it crashed open.

For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle.
You, Ron, Fred, and George seized Harry's arms and pulled as hard as you could; you couldn't help but worry that he'd snap like a twig. The boy was undeniably scrawny, and over the summer, it appeared he'd become slightly malnourished (more than he already was, that is).

"Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon. "He's getting away! HE'S GETTING AWAY!"

But the Weasleys (plus yourself) gave a gigantic tug and Harry's leg slid out of Uncle Vernon's grasp — Harry fell into the car — he'd slammed the door shut.

"Put your bloody foot down, Fred!" you found yourself yelling, and the car shot suddenly toward the moon.

Harry couldn't believe it — he was free. He rolled down the window at your command, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were all hanging, dumbstruck, out of Harry's window.

"See you next summer!" Harry yelled.

The car was filled with laughter and Harry settled back in his seat, gazing at your joyous expression, grinning from ear to ear.

"Can you let Hedwig out?" he asked you after a moment of silent admiration, glancing back at his owl. "She can fly behind us. She hasn't had a chance to stretch her wings for ages."

Wordlessly nodding, you extend your arm toward her cage. Although slightly hesitant, Bowie creeps toward it, tinkering with the lock and, a moment later, Hedwig soared joyfully out of the window to glide alongside the car like a ghost.

"So — what's the story, Harry?" said Ron impatiently. "What's been happening?"

Harry told you all about Dobby, the warning he'd given Harry, and the fiasco of the violet pudding. There was a long, shocked silence when he had finished.

"Very fishy," said Fred finally.

"Definitely dodgy," agreed George. "So he wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"

"I don't think he could," said Harry. "I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall."

He finally took notice of how quiet you had been, a pensive expression across your features. "What, d'you think he was lying to me?"

To this, you blinked away your stupor, gnawing on your bottom lip in contemplation.

"Well," you replied, looking at Fred and George who had exchanged a glance, "see it like this — house-elves have got very powerful magic of their own, but they can't use it without their master's permission. A drawback, or a condition, per se, for being powerful as they are."

"I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you from coming back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?" Fred continued

"Yes," said you, Harry, and Ron together, instantly.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry explained. "He hates me."

"Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"The one and only," You hummed in amusement.

"I've heard Dad talking about him," said George. "He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who."

"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, craning around to look at Harry, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung — Dad reckons he was right in You-Know-Who's inner circle."

Everyone, even a newcomer such as Harry had heard these rumors about the Malfoys, and they didn't surprise the lot of them at all. Draco Malfoy made Dudley Dursley, Harry's cousin and childhood bully, look like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive boy.

"I don't know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf," said Harry thoughtfully.

"Oh, they definitely do," you chimed in distractedly; Bowie's supply of woodlice had run low for the trip, and he was getting quite antsy. "The Malfoys, whether they deserve it or not, are one of the most influential families in all of the British Wizarding World."

"They're a dynasty of politicians and upper-class prats who clearly in-breed to keep their bloodlines pure as they come."

"You can't really talk—" Your sharp glare shut Fred up, but not swiftly enough, as Harry's curiosity had already been piqued. He wished to ask you what Fred meant, to gain more answers than questions — but upon catching your tense expression, he instead turned to Ron, who gave him a convincing shrug.

Unlike Harry, Ron was well aware of the webs of complexity behind your surname. He, much like the majority of your school's population, had known all too well the prominence that came with the Black family name — there was pride, and wealth, and it was reputable, for both right and wrong reasons.

Truth be told, that alone had made him hesitant with the mere thought of acquainting himself with you. But when push came to shove, you charmed your way into becoming one of his closest friends — another sister of sorts. No matter how annoying or exhausting, he was to protect you as you did all three of them during the previous year's escapades.

Fred cleared his throat, regaining composition.  "Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and they'll be rich,"

"Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing," said George. "But all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that; you wouldn't catch one in our house . . ."

At the sudden silence, you looked up. Harry seemed deep in thought, reflecting on Draco Malfoy and his family's apparent wealth. If he knew of your own family lines, what would he think of you, you wondered. But based on your friend's expression, you found yourself unprepared to receive an answer just yet.

"I'm glad we came to get you, anyway," said Ron, thankfully shifting the topic away. "I was getting really worried when you didn't answer any of my letters. I thought it was Errol's fault at first—"

"Who's Errol?"

"Our owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes—"

"Your owl?" Harry turned to you, wondering why his friend would need to borrow yours in particular.

"No, the owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect," said Fred from the front. Harry released a small breath of relief.

"But Percy wouldn't lend him to me," continued Ron. "Said he needed him."

Now, that raises your curiosity.

"Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," said George, frowning. "And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room. . . I mean, there's only so many times you can polish a prefect badge. . . You're driving too far west, Fred," he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Your curiosity peaked. Fred twiddled the steering wheel.

"Maybe he's been exchanging letters with someone?" you proposed with a suggestive, teasing tone. "A lover of sorts maybe?"

"Do not say lover," the twins immediately shut you down. "Never, ever use that word in the same sentence, or even existence as Perce again."

"Percy and a girl?" Ron followed, scoffing and rolling his eyes at you in amusement, "Don't make me laugh."

"The bloke wouldn't know a thing about romancing a lady, and I doubt any lady would be romanced by the likes of him!"

"Perhaps she's a masochist?" — "Only right answer, Fred, if there is a woman at all."

"I just mean to say," You shrugged half-heartedly, "it wouldn't be impossible. It just so happens that there's a. . . certain appeal to the likes of your brother."

They all grew silent.

The Weasleys were repulsed at the mere thought, meanwhile, Harry blinked at the side of your head. Did you fancy Percy, he thought, frowning slightly.

"Have you lost your bloody mind?" Ron was the first to recover (though not fully). "Wood and Diggory, maybe I could try to understand your past fixations, but bloody Percy?"

Only then did you understand their extreme concern. They believed you were sweet on their uptight older brother? Seven rings of bloody hell not.

"I don't like Percy!" you were incredulous; Bowie grew restless, your hand being the lone force holding him back from scratching the four idiots' eyes out. "I'm just saying that some people actually find him rather attractive!"

"Walls talk, you know! And it just so happens that the girls' lavatory has rather echoey ones."

The twins and Ron were only left to shake their heads and mutter their disagreements. But you know the truth. And that truth was a relatively more. . . delicate topic. Certainly not something to bring up when your lives would be on the line given Fred was driving.

Harry, uncomfortable with the topic, speaks up. "So, does your dad know you've got the car?"

"Er, no," said Ron, "he had to work tonight. Hopefully we'll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it."

Bloody right idiots, they were. Bowie shared your sentiments, burrowing himself into your pocket.

"What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?"

"He works in the most boring department," said Ron. "The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office."

"The what?"

"It's all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare — Dad was working overtime for weeks."

"What happened?"

"The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic — it's only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office — and they had to do Memory Charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up—"

"But your dad — this car —"

"Ironic, isn't it?" you muttered as Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he'd have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad."

"That's the main road," said George, peering down through the windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes. . . Just as well, it's getting light . . ."

A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east. The rise of the sun was a simple, yet wonderful pleasure. It was the sort of moment you often wished would last forever — a moment of stillness and quiet, of tranquillity and ease. It was a moment when two worlds aligned, the day rising and the night falling back. It was in moments like this that they coexist and shimmer in the flickering presence of the other. It was a moment you would often think back to, the image tattooed on the back of your mind. This was a moment you, at the time, could only dream of one day gazing upon with someone of the utmost significance in your life — unaware that this person, your future person, too, was looking up at the very sight from his windowsill back in Finchley, albeit with more melancholy.

LONG STORY SHORT !

fun fact: when i say the tea in the girls' lavatory is a delicate topic, i mean it is DELICATE, especially for the innocent ears of the four of them. lol.

bonus headcanon: what if edmund & mc were the reincarnations of this other fanfic i once had up on my old account?

it was one of zatz and mc (you) from maya and the three, and was meant to have a book of life sequel. what if, just what if — they were actually your past life? thus, born is my love and constant desire of using the sun & moon as means of illustration for the story jdjwjdjd

anyhow, happy new year!! this is a late holiday gift from me, I suppose. . .

i truly wish you all a great 2024!! thank you all for taking the time to support the story, and i do hope you enjoyed! lmk your thoughts and any lingering ideas or opinions you have on it so far ^^

love you all sm!! drink water, rest well, and i hope you enjoyed!! <3

xx, celine