AS OCTOBER ARRIVED, HARPER FINALLY found herself being able to write a reply to Sirius Black. She didn't know whether he was telling the truth or not, but something inside of her told her there was more going on than she initially thought. When she looked at the photos in the photo book, it was clear that he loved her father. They were inseparable, just like you'd expect from brothers.

Dipping her quill into the ink, Harper started writing.

Sirius,

Thank you for your reply. Harry and I are good. We're happy to be at Hogwarts once more.

Hogwarts is okay, though we have an imbecile as teacher. Maybe you've heard of him? Gilderoy Lockhart? World's fakest man? As you can probably read, I'm not very fond of the man himself.

Anyway, you probably don't know but Harry and I are on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team! We got in on our first year after first flying lesson. We are the youngest players in the century! I'm not boosting around, I swear.

Now, to get to the point. Why did Peter do it? I mean, wasn't he a friend of you?

Stay well.

Harper

She then reread her letter, not wanting to give away too much personal stuff, and put it in an envelope. Tying it to Dale's leg, she said, "This one's for Sirius Black, buddy."

• ✧ •

     OLIVER'S ENTHUSIASM FOR REGULAR training sessions was not dampened, which is why Harper and Harry were to be found one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.

Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn't been a happy practice session. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of this new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They reported that the Slytherin team were no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like jump-jets.

As Harry and Harper squelched along the deserted corridor, they came across somebody who looked as preoccupied as they were.

Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath.

" . . . don't fulfill their requirements . . . half an inch, if that . . ."

"Hello, Nick," Harry greeted the ghost.

"Hello, hello," Nearly Headless Nick said startled, as he looked around. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke and Harper could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.

"You look troubled, young Potters, the both of you," Nick said, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.

"So do you," Harper pointed out.

"Ah," Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance . . . it's not as though I really wanted to join . . . thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements'."

In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.

"But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"

"Oh—yes," Harry replied quickly, while Harper merely nodded.

"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However . . ." Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously.

"We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore."

Fuming, Nick stuffed the letter away.

"Half and inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry, Harper! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."

Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So—whats bothering the two of you? Anything I can do?"

"No," Harper replied. "Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Slytherin . . ."

The rest of her sentence was frowned by a high pitches mewing from somewhere near her ankles.

As Harper looked down, Mrs Norris was gazing up at her with her yellow eyes.

Oh, I hated that cat.

"You'd better get out of here, Harry, Harper," Nick said quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood. He's got the flu and some third-years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five; he's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees the two of you dripping mud all over the place . . ."

"Right," Harry said, grabbing Harper's hand and backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs Norris, but not quickly enough.

Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to their right, wheezing and looking wildly around. There was a thick scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple.

"Filth!" he shouted as he saw us. He pointed at the muddy puddle that had dropped from their Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potters!"

Harry and Harper waved a gloomy goodbye to Nick and followed Filch back downstairs.

Harper had never been inside Filch's office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, she could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished.

Fred and George had an entire drawer to themselves and if she looked close enough, she could vaguely read her name under it. Harper grinned as she recalled the pranks they did last year.

Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment.

"Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies . . . frog brains . . . rat intestines . . . I've had enough of it . . . make an example . . . where's the form . . . yes . . ."

He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot.

"Names . . . Harry and Harper Potter. Crime . . ."

"It was only a bit of mud!" Harry protested.

"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!" Filch shouted before looking back at the parchment. "Crime . . . befouling the castle . . . suggested sentence . . ."

As Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.

"PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!"

And without a backwards glance at Harry or Harper, he ran flatfooted from the office, Mrs Norris streaking alongside him.

As Harry sank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk, Harper decided to walk around, trying to make the floor more dirty than it already was.

Her eyes fell on a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front. She picked it up and headed back to Harry.

"Hey Harry, look what I found."

• • • Kwikspell • • •
A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic

Intrigued, Harry took the envelope and flicked it open, pulling out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said:

Feel out of step in the world of modern magic?
Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells?
Ever been haunted for your woeful wandwork?
There is an answer!

Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method!

Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes:
'I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!'

Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsburg says:
'My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!'

They shared a glance before opening the envelope further to read 'Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips)'. They were, however, interrupted shuffling footsteps.

Harper grabbed the envelope and threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.

Filch was looking triumphant.

"That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!" he was saying gleefully to Mrs Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet."

His eyes fell on them and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope which, Harper realized too late, was lying two feet away where it had laid before.

Filch's pasty face went brick red. Harry and Harper braced themselves for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled to his desk, snatched up the envelope and threw it into a drawer.

"Have you—did you read—?" he spluttered.

"No," Harry lied quickly, before Harper got the chance to open her mouth.

Filch's knobbly hands were twisting together.

"If I thought you'd read my private . . . not that it's mine . . . for a friend . . . be that as it may . . . however . . ."

Harper was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouch cheeks and the tartan scarf didn't help.

"Very well . . . go . . . and don't breathe a word . . . not that . . . however, if you didn't read . . . go now, I have to write up Peeve's report . . . go . . ."

Amazed at their luck, Harry and Harper sped out of the office, up the corridor and back upstairs.

To escape from Filch's office without punishment must be some kind of school record, Harper thought, smiling by herself.

"Harry! Harper! Did it work?"

Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harper could see the wreckage of a large black and golden cabinet which appeared to have been dropped from a great height.

"I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office," Nick said eagerly. "Thought it might distract him . . ."

"That was you?" Harper said thankfully and a little surprised. "Yeah, it worked. We didn't even get attention. Thanks, Nick!"

The three of them set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harper noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter.

Harry, too, seemed to notice. "I wish there was something we could do for you about the Headless Hunt," he spoke up.

Nick stopped in his tracks, making Harper walk right through him. She wished she hadn't; it was like stepping through an icy shower.

"But there is something you could do for me," Nick said excitedly. "Harry, Harper—would I be asking too much—but no, you wouldn't want . . ."

"What is it?" Harper asked curiously.

"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth death day," Nick said, drawing himself up and looking dignified.

"Oh," Harry replied, exchanging a glance with her. "Right."

Smooth, Harry, very smooth.

"I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor the two of you would attend. Mr Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome too, of course—but I dare say you'd rather go to the school feast?" He watched the two of them on tenterhooks.

"No," Harper replied quickly. "We'll come."

"My dear boy and girl! Harry and Harper Potter, at my Deathday Party! And," he hesitated, looking excited, "do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"

"Of course," Harry replied, glancing at Harper.

When she watched Nick's retreating back, Harper wondered if they had made the right decision in going to his Deathday Party. She didn't even know what it was but she was sure she was going to find it out rather sooner than later.

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June 2nd 2022
I hope you enjoy it & tell me what you think of it! :)