There was a deep, hidden fear in Aunt Petunia's words, one Harry couldn't fully grasp.
But he did understand this much: the wizarding world was not especially safe.
He looked into the mirror.
For his age, he was still very small and skinny, though he had grown a few inches over the past year.
His black hair was as unruly as ever—no matter what he did, it refused to lie flat;
behind his glasses, his eyes shone bright green, and beneath the fringe on his forehead, the thin scar was still clearly visible, shaped like a bolt of lightning.
Of all the unusual things about Harry, that scar was by far the most extraordinary.
It was not, as the Dursleys had claimed for ten years, a souvenir from the car crash that killed his parents, because Lily and James Potter had not died in a car crash.
They had been murdered—murdered by the most terrifying dark wizard of the past hundred years, Voldemort.
Harry had survived that attack and been left with only the scar on his forehead.
Voldemort's curse had failed to kill Harry and rebounded onto himself.
Voldemort had fled, neither dead nor alive…
And then Harry had run into him again at Hogwarts.
At that, Harry couldn't help thinking of Sean.
Quiet Sean, always reading; Sean walking through Hogwarts at night with a bloodstained sword in hand; Sean leading them against Voldemort again and again.
Harry looked up. The afternoon sunlight poured across the terrace.
Clouds stretched lazily across the horizon, and not a single star was visible.
But Harry knew that when night came, and when wizards facing the darkness looked up, they would always find the stars.
They had always been there, hanging high in the sky.
As Harry's thoughts drifted, the doorbell rang.
He ran downstairs and opened the door. The sun hung above the neat front garden, lighting up the brass number 4 on the Dursleys' door, and the sunlight had crept quietly onto the visitors' faces.
"Mr. Potter."
At the door stood a stern-looking woman wearing square glasses.
She wore an emerald-green cloak, and her black hair was pulled into a very tight bun.
There was a trace of excitement in her expression, though more than that there was a kindness Harry rarely saw.
"Professor McGonagall—You—I mean, how did you…"
Harry would never have guessed it would be Professor McGonagall.
His mind immediately began racing back through every bit of trouble he had ever caused, and he grew nervous without even meaning to.
"I've come with Mr. Green… to deliver some invitations."
Professor McGonagall was, as always, extremely proper. Following the hint in her eyes, Harry tactfully took the envelope from Sean's hand.
"What invitations…"
Harry was bewildered.
What kind of invitation had to be delivered in person by a professor?
Instinctively, he looked at Sean. The black-haired boy looked no less confused than he did.
Sean genuinely couldn't remember any major event coming up soon.
The two of them stared at the invitation together, its edges lined with silver.
Dear Mr. Potter,
You are cordially invited to attend Green's birthday party.
The party will be held on July 27th.
Harry jerked his head up.
"Sean—your birthday?!"
"My birthday?"
Sean stood there in a daze, with a hint of sudden realization.
"Oh, Sean."
Harry looked at him for a long time without saying anything.
Only when an owl landed by the window beside them did he finally ask, very carefully,
"You've never celebrated your birthday either?"
Hearing them, Minerva McGonagall felt a strange ache rise in her throat.
…
The night of July 26th.
Exactly midnight.
The stars glittered overhead.
The twenty-seventh owl burst into Ravenclaw Tower.
By now, Sean's room was already piled with gifts.
Since the arrival of the magic hand mirrors, communication among wizards—already fairly convenient—had taken another enormous leap forward.
Though he had no idea who had spread the news, the alchemy world had sent enough gifts to fill the whole room.
On top of that, many letters and parcels had also arrived from the countryside farm, from London, and from Hogwarts itself.
Sean opened the large box that had just arrived.
Inside was another carefully wrapped gift, along with a card and a letter. It was from Hermione.
Dear Sean,
I hope you're doing well.
And if you are doing well, then…
The magic hand mirror on the table trembled slightly. In the little section marked by the image of miniature Professor McGonagall, a hesitant face appeared.
"Good evening, Hermione,"
Sean said softly.
A breeze brushed past the stained-glass windows of Ravenclaw Tower. On the table behind them sat a plate of fruit.
Through the cool, refreshing mung bean juice, he could vaguely make out peaches, cherries, and sweet melon.
"You found your birthday, Sean…"
That was all she managed to say.
"The Book of Admittance. Hagrid helped me sneak a look at it."
Sean answered.
"Happy birthday. That's what I wanted to say. No matter what, I had to tell you.
It's a wonderful holiday. I celebrate it with all my heart. We all do.
If anyone doesn't care about it, I'll say they're all fools."
Hermione said it in a thick, muffled voice, and then her face vanished from the rippling mirror.
At the last moment, Sean could see her shoulders shaking.
He stared at that spot for a long time, his gaze quiet and unfocused.
Then he opened the letter again and kept reading.
Sean,
I'm on holiday in France right now, but the moment I got the invitation, I came straight back.
I won't miss it. Never.
I had your gift sent by owl post. There's an advertisement for it in the Daily Prophet now (the paper comes every day, and it's so nice being able to keep up with the latest in the wizarding world).
Did you see the photo of Ron and his family from a week ago? I bet he learned quite a lot there.
I'm really jealous—ancient Egyptian wizards are fascinating. There's also some interesting local magical history here.
I've already finished my History of Magic essay and included everything I found here. I hope it's not too long—it's only two rolls of parchment more than Professor Binns asked for.
How's yours going?
I really want to see you, Sean. I miss you so much. Let's meet on July 27th, on the holiday itself!
Best wishes,
Hermione
P.S. Ron says Percy became Head Boy. I imagine Percy must be thrilled. Ron doesn't seem too happy about it.
Sean set Hermione's letter aside and picked up her gift.
It was heavy. Inside was a thick, weighty book, filled with difficult spells and all sorts of fascinating bits of magical history Hermione had collected.
Sean slowly lifted his head. In the shadow of the castle tower, he watched the soft white clouds drifting gently along, and owls winding through the breeze overhead.
The Forbidden Forest and the hillside beyond were all softened by summer.
The fields were damp and warm.
The air carried a mingled scent of blooming grass, clover, daisies, and naked rye.
The locust blossoms were beginning to fall.
The world was becoming more and more beautiful.
~~~
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