Let's Feast on the Gossip! Simple and Convenient.
(Following Up Really Matters.)
---
"Oh, right." Hagrid suddenly seemed to remember something. He turned toward Owen, reached into his coat pocket, rummaged around for a moment, and finally pulled out a small cloth bag.
"This is from Professor Dumbledore. But don't buy your wand just yet—I still have to feed the little ones at noon."
Owen took the bag from Hagrid.
He casually tossed it, and a metallic clinking rang out.
Hmm. About twenty Galleons knocking together. Nice.
Right— the short letter pinned to his bed curtains that morning had been from Dumbledore.
He had instructed Owen to meet Hagrid in the afternoon so they could head to Diagon Alley for a new wand.
Tears nearly sprang to his eyes.
It's rare that Grandma— no, Dumbledore still remembered him!
He thought it was just another empty promise from his boss!
---
"Um… can I take a look?" Owen raised his head and asked sincerely. "I'm really interested in those magical creatures!"
The big guy swallowed hard.
"Of course! If yeh'd like, I can introduce them to yeh. They're all beautiful little children." Hagrid beamed at him.
Few first-years ever showed interest in magical creatures.
Most were scared out of their wits by Hagrid's "little cuties." Even the bravest Gryffindors weren't immune.
This was exactly why Care of Magical Creatures didn't begin until third year.
The Ministry wanted to avoid traumatizing young wizards—
like Ron in second year.
Of course, Ron's fear of giant spiders had more to do with Fred and George than any curriculum.
Hagrid happily went off to prepare meals for the creatures.
---
"You—" Hermione stared at Owen in astonishment. She was far too familiar with the sound of Galleons. She had examined them the first time she'd seen wizarding money.
She had refused to believe they were pure gold.
After all, Muggle banks stored tremendous amounts of gold—if wizarding money were solid gold, counterfeiting would be far too easy.
She and her father had studied one for an entire afternoon before concluding that Galleons did contain gold—just not much.
Most of the coin was made of a substance they didn't recognize at all.
Probably the wizarding world's way of preventing forgery.
"Why would Professor Dumbledore give you such a large amount of money?" she demanded.
"Hm… maybe it's a scholarship," Owen said without hesitation. He puffed out his chest smugly. "A reward for outstanding students!"
"You? Outstanding?"
"Of course. Can you beat me?" Owen shot back. "This isn't a Muggle kindergarten. Do you think we compete by solving math worksheets?"
"You—!" Hermione was so furious she could almost cough blood. She had always been the smartest, the top student—
and this guy was crushing her pride with a single sentence!
"Hermione," Harry stepped in quickly to hold her back. He didn't really care about the money.
"What do you know about my parents?" Harry asked Owen quietly.
"Not much. Just a simple love triangle. Not even a classic one."
"A love triangle?" Harry blinked.
"Snape liked your mother, mate!" Ron exclaimed as he finally escaped Tooth's overenthusiastic dog-bath routine. He had realized the giant dog only looked terrifying and wouldn't actually bite.
"A rival?" Hermione looked stunned. Professor Snape—the gloomy, perpetually unwashed Potions Master—liked someone?
"Oh," Harry breathed. "That explains a lot. No wonder he hates me."
"Of course, it wasn't just rivalry," Owen continued calmly. "Your dad and his friends bullied Snape a lot. There were faults on both sides, sure, but Snape definitely suffered more."
"And those things caused quite a stir back in the day. Most older witches and wizards know about it.
Right, Hagrid?"
"Me?" Hagrid froze mid-stir. He turned to Harry awkwardly.
He had watched that whole generation grow up—of course he knew the truth.
"Harry… who hasn't made mistakes when they're young? Yer dad—well, he was a bit full of himself, but he was still a good man."
"My dad…?" Harry whispered in disbelief.
He felt his chest tighten.
Was his father… also a troublemaker?
Had he bullied Snape like Dudley bullied him?
In that single moment, a piece of Harry's childhood idealism shattered.
"But it's all in the past! Harry didn't offend anyone," Ron burst out, rushing to defend his friend.
"It's mainly because Harry looks so much like his dad," Owen said, picking up one of Hagrid's rock cakes.
Crunch.
"Ow—!"
His teeth nearly cracked.
He quietly placed the rock back on the table.
This stuff— not even a battle-hardened Hufflepuff could eat it!
---
"Muddy, silky—let's awaken the magic of the magical girl!"
"Fire-wielder horribly burned!"
"Gouge out his own eyes for revenge!"
"Dramatic cross-dressing transformation!"
"Or just change his gender. And better yet—change his name."
"From now on, you'll be called Harry Evans."
Harry's face darkened with each line.
By the final sentence, his expression was nearly pitch black.
"I don't like this," Owen muttered after seeing Harry's face. For a second he thought the boy might suddenly awaken some ancient family power.
So he quickly added, "Actually, I know another method."
"Simple, efficient, once-and-for-all!"
He leaned toward Harry with a mysterious smile. "Let's eat some melon."
"There's no problem that can't be solved with one good melon-eating spell. If one isn't enough—then eat seven!"
"Even Voldemort would crumble!"
"Want to learn it? I can teach you."
And then—Owen raised his wand and actually mimicked the gesture for the Killing Curse.
"The incantation is— ah—"
"STOP!" Hagrid roared in terror.
An eleven-year-old wizard teaching another eleven-year-old wizard the Killing Curse?!
What kind of academic exchange was this—
Azkaban's Summer Program?!
"Don' say that name—and don' ever say that curse!" Hagrid thundered as he stomped over. At three meters tall, looming over Owen was an intimidation skill all its own.
"That spell is pure evil—only the worst Dark wizards use it!"
But Owen, Class-A war criminal in spirit, remained unfazed.
Calmly he recited the "wisdom" he had engraved on his dormitory bed:
"Some people call a spell that destroys the soul and leaves only the body the most unforgivable crime.
—I call it efficiency."
---
Another day of writing at the company.
All was quiet, not a soul in sight.
Sunlight streamed through the window, warm and golden upon my back.