Chapter Text
Emmalina's POV
It was almost midnight and Harry and I were buried under our covers because that was the only place that we could do our homework without Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia yelling at us. Harry was holding a flashlight and A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot was propped open between us. We were trying to write an essay about ‘Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless - discuss.’
I flipped through the pages until I found a paragraph that could hold the information we needed.
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 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.
I set my quill on the book and reached under the pillow for my ink bottle and the roll of parchment. I carefully unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped my quill into and it, and slowly began to write, stopping for a few seconds now and then because if one of the three Dursleys heard the scribbling of the quill on their way to the loo, Harry and I would both find ourselves locked in the cupboard under the stairs until the term started again.
The Dursleys who lived at number four, Privet Drive, were the sole reason why Harry and I practically hated the summer holidays. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were the only living relatives Harry and I had. They were Muggles, plain as day, and had a very strong opinion towards magic and the magical community. My parents, who were a witch and wizard themselves, were not once mentioned under the Dursleys' roof.
For the last eleven years, the Dursleys never told Harry and me that we were magical and tried to 'squash' the magic out of us. But they had been unsuccessful much to their dismay. These days, they were terrified that someone - anyone - would find out that Harry and I had spent the majority of the last two years of our lives at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The most that the Dursleys could do was lock all of Harry and my spellbooks, both our wands, cauldrons, and broomsticks at the start of the summer break, and forbade us from socializing with the neighbors.
The separation from Harry and me, and our spellbooks had been a real dilemma for us because our teachers gave us a boatload of holiday homework. One of the essays, about shrinking potions, was for the most hated teacher at Hogwarts, Professor Snape, who would gladly give Harry and me detention for a month.
When Harry and I had a chance to seize our books in the first week of the holidays, we took it. When all three of the Dursleys went out to the front garden to admire Uncle Vernon's new company car, practically shouting so that the whole street would notice, Harry and I both tip-toed downstairs and I picked the lock the way the twins taught me, and grabbed some of our books and hid them in our bedroom.
As long as there were no ink spots on our sheets, the Dursleys would never know that we were studying magic at night.
I was particularly hopeful to stay out of trouble with our aunt and uncle at the moment because they were already not the happiest with us. It was only because we'd received a telephone call from a fellow wizard one week into summer vacation.
Ron Weasley, who was one of Harry and my best friends at Hogwarts and the younger brother to two of my bestest friends, came from a whole family of wizards. This meant that he knew a lot more magical things than both Harry and me, but he had never used Muggle devices like a telephone before. It was most unlucky that Uncle Vernon had answered the one call he made.
"Vernon Dursley speaking."
Harry and I, who just happened to be present in the room at that moment, froze as we heard Ron's voice answer - or shout.
"HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I - WANT - TO - TALK TO - HARRY - AND - EMMALINA - POTTER!"
Ron was yelling at such a loud volume that Uncle Vernon jumped a few feet in the air and held the receiver as far from his ear as he could get it, he was staring at it with a look of 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 trying to communicate from opposite ends of a football field. "I'M - A - FRIEND - OF - THE - TWINS' - FROM - SCHOOL -"
Uncle Vernon's beady eyes located Harry and me and we stood paralyzed in the spot.
"THERE ARE NO POTTER TWINS HERE!" he roared, now holding the receiver farther if possible. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT SCHOOL YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT! NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN! DON'T YOU COME NEAR MY FAMILY!"
Uncle Vernon threw the receiver back onto the telephone as if dropping something poisonous.
"HOW DARE YOU GIVE THIS NUMBER TO PEOPLE LIKE - PEOPLE LIKE YOU!" Uncle Vernon spewed, spraying both of us with spit like it was a waterfall.
Ron had obviously figured out that he had gotten Harry and me into some serious trouble because he never called once again. Harry and my mutual female best friend from Hogwarts, Hermione Granger, hadn't called yet either. I inferred that Ron had warned her not to call, which was a shame because Hermione was the other clever witch at Hogwarts besides me. She was also a Muggle-born, knowing nonchalantly how to use a telephone and also enough common sense to know not to say she was from Hogwarts.
So neither Harry nor I had any word from our wizarding friends for five horribly boring and long weeks and this summer was catching up to how bad last summer was. There was just one small improvement - after promising on our lives that we wouldn't use them to send letters to any of our friends, we had been allowed to let our owls, Hedwig and Athena, out at night. Uncle Vernon caved because of the racket they were making when they were inside twenty-four/seven.