Harry and Lola Potter were highly unusual children in many ways.
For one thing, they hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year. For another, they really wanted to do their homework but were forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And they also happened to be magical.
It was nearly midnight, and Harry was lying on his stomach in bed, the blankets drawn right over his head like a tent, a flashlight in one hand and a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped open against the pillow. Harry moved the tip of his eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning as he looked for something that would help him write his essay, 'Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless — discuss.'
"Lola what did you write for this?" Harry asked his sister who was lying on her bed turning her hair from its original black to hot pink. Lola Potter was Harry Potter's twin sister and a metamorphmagus. She was currently writing a letter to Nymphadora Tonks, another metamorphmagus who had taught Lola how to control her morphing.
"Try page 67. It has a paragraph on witch burning." She murmured turning her nose into a snout
The quill paused at the top of a likely looking paragraph. Harry pushed his round glasses up the bridge of his nose, moved his flashlight closer to the book, and read:
Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than forty-seven times in various disguises.
Harry put his quill between his teeth and reached underneath his pillow for his ink bottle and a roll of parchment. Slowly and very carefully he unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, and began to write, pausing every now and then to listen, because if any of the Dursleys heard the scratching of his quill on their way to the bathroom, he'd probably find himself locked in the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of the summer.
The Dursley family of Number Four, Privet Drive, was the reason that Harry and Lola never enjoyed his summer holidays. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their son, Dudley, were Harry's only living relatives. They were Muggles, and they had a very medieval attitude toward magic. Harry and Lola's dead parents, who had been a witch and wizard themselves, were never mentioned under the Dursleys' roof. For years, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had hoped that if they kept Harry and Lola as downtrodden as possible, they would be able to squash the magic out of him.
To their fury, they had not been unsuccessful. These days they lived in terror of anyone finding out that Harry and Lola had spent most of the last two years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The most they could do, however, was to lock away any spell books, wand, cauldron, and broomstick at the start of the summer break, and forbid them from talking to the neighbors.
This separation from spell books had been a real problem for Harry and Lola, because their teachers at Hogwarts had given them a lot of holiday work. One of the essays, a particularly nasty one about shrinking potions, was from Harry's least favorite teacher, Professor Snape, who was the head of Lola's house slytherin.
Harry had therefore seized his chance in the first week of the holidays. While Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had gone out into the front garden to admire Uncle Vernon's new company car (in very loud voices, so that the rest of the street would notice it too), Harry and Lola had crept downstairs, picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, grabbed some of the books, and hidden them in their shared bedroom.
As long as they didn't leave spots of ink on the sheets, the Dursleys need never know that they were studying magic by night.
Harry was particularly keen to avoid trouble with his aunt and uncle at the moment, as they were already in an especially bad mood with him, all because he'd received a telephone call from a fellow wizard one week into the school vacation.
Ron Weasley, who was one of Harry and Lola's best friends at Hogwarts, came from a whole family of wizards. This meant that he knew a lot of things that the Potter's didn't, but had never used a telephone before. Most unluckily, it had been Uncle Vernon who had answered the call.
"Vernon Dursley speaking."
Lola, who happened to be in the room at the time, froze as she heard Ron's voice
answer.
"HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I — WANT — TO — TALK — TO — HARRY — AND — LOLA — POTTER!"
Ron was yelling so loudly that Uncle Vernon jumped and held the receiver a foot away from his ear, staring at it with an expression of mingled fury and alarm.
"WHO IS THIS?" he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece. "WHO ARE YOU?"
"RON — WEASLEY!" Ron bellowed back, as though he and Uncle Vernon were speaking from opposite ends of a football field.
"I'M — A — FRIEND — OF — LOLA'S — AND — HARRY'S — FROM — SCHOOL —"
Uncle Vernon's small eyes swiveled around to Lola, who was rooted to the spot.
"THERE IS NO HARRY OR LOLA POTTER HERE!" he roared, now holding the receiver at arm's length, as though frightened it might explode.
"I DON'T KNOW WHAT SCHOOL YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT! NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN! DON'T YOU COME NEAR MY FAMILY!"
And he threw the receiver back onto the telephone as if dropping a poisonous spider. The fight that had followed had been one of the worst ever.
"HOW DARE YOU GIVE THIS NUMBER TO PEOPLE LIKE — PEOPLE LIKE YOU!" Uncle Vernon had roared, spraying Lola with spit. Usually the Dursleys were terrified by Lola and picked on Harry instead because she was a metamorphmagus.