June slinked out like a bad hookup, and bam—July 1st hit. That's when summer finally showed up fashionably late, cranking the heat past 85°F. Not death-valley hot, but enough to ditch the layers.
"Ever think about rocking a skirt, Leah?"
Lynn—now officially Harry's ride-or-die—had leveled up their vibe in just a few days. In front of Lynn, Harley (yeah, Harley) could finally drop the guard.
"Nah, feels drafty. Like the AC's aimed straight at my junk."
She slapped a hand over her mouth the second it slipped out.
"Aunt Petunia made me try one, I swear—"
"Scottish dudes wear kilts, bro. High heels and stockings? Started as guy shit. No biggie."
"…Huh. TIL." Harley's skirt-phobia took a hit.
"See? Crack a book, learn some wild crap."
Lynn slapped his magazine shut and hopped off the couch.
"Breakfast's up."
Petunia's voice barked from the kitchen. Lynn was crashing for grub today.
Petunia and Vernon actually liked the kid. Plain clothes, sure, but clean as hell, baby-faced, total teacher's-pet energy. Biggest W? He fixed Dudley.
"DUDLEY! FOOD!"
Petunia's roar rattled the rafters. Ever since Harley showed up, Dudley's throne got yeeted to the kiddie table. Now he caught hands from both parents whenever he tried to half-ass his workouts.
"Almost—huff—done—gasp—lap!"
Dudley's room sounded like a dying walrus. Door wide open—zero shame.
The kid had zero willpower, but plot twist: Lynn's a sucker for a sob story.
He fished out a busted toy spaceship gadget:
[Forced Workout Room~]
Flip the switch? Whole house turns into Planet Fitness on steroids. Floors become treadmills, beds = trampolines, full Olympic obstacle course.
Lynn's was a junker—range too small for the whole Dursley McMansion, but Dudley's room? Locked and loaded.
Downside? Once it starts, it runs for 90 minutes minimum. No off switch.
Dudley's personal hell: three sessions a day, diet on lockdown. Dude dropped weight you could see. Went from factory-farmed hog to free-range beefcake. Dursleys were thrilled.
Thanks to Harley, the Dursleys weren't as freaked by the supernatural. Lynn swore it was "future tech," not magic. They just smirked. Sure, kid. We've seen E.T.
Ten minutes later, Dudley tumbled downstairs like a sweaty meatball, clothes dripping.
"Shower, you stink!" Vernon bellowed.
Dudley wheezed toward the downstairs bath (upstairs one was Harley's now). Two minutes of ice-cold hell later, he strutted out shivering but fresh—then the mailbox clanked.
"Get the mail, Dudley." Vernon, face buried in paper.
"I got it—" Harley was already stacking plates.
"Nah, let the boy move. He needs it."
Dudley shot his dad the ultimate side-eye, sighed like a deflating balloon, and trudged out.
BAM. He vaulted back in, waving four envelopes like he won the lottery.
"ONE'S FOR HAR—LEAH! AND—"
"HOGWARTS?" Petunia launched from her chair, snatching the letters.
"One from Marge, one bill…" She chucked the others on the table, eyes locked on the third. Read it loud:
---
Surrey
Little Whinging
4 Privet Drive
■■·POTTER■■
(The "Harry" line was scribbled into black blobs—Hogwarts' mail system having a meltdown over the name change. Just slapped the surname and called it a day.)
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(President of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chairman of the Wizengamot, Order of Merlin—First Class)
Dear Potter ■■,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. On the date of receipt, a Hogwarts professor will visit your residence to provide enrollment guidance.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
---
"Wait, there's one for me?"
Lynn spotted the fourth envelope—his name, neat as hell.
"Shouldn't you?" Harley squinted. "You're already slinging spells, dude."
"If I said it's superpowers, not magic…" Lynn shrugged, deadpan.
"You think I'm dumb?" She bonked his head. "I'm not buying that crap."
Petunia's brain just unlocked a core memory: Lily's letter, the professor visit, the whole "yes, magic is real" spiel for Muggle parents. Standard procedure.
Harley's sitch? Glitch in the matrix. Hogwarts was confused, but rolling with it.
"When are they coming?" Petunia glanced at the clock: 7:43 AM.
VROOOOM. A motorcycle roared up outside, brakes screeching. Footsteps crunched toward the door.