Ok so I'm contemplating changing the writing style from Second Person to Third. Or first, if you lot would prefer it. Thoughts?

Dinos-like-flowers: You are literally the reason I'm writing right now. Seriously, I had been neglecting this until I read your review. I think I know what other authors mean, now, when they say how Important reviews are to them! So, thank you!

To be honest, you couldn't believe how easily this lady was taking the fact that a nearly-eleven-year-old alien had shown up on her doorstep at five in the morning. Tiny, rural Surrey isn't really where one would expect to find a member of a race from a completely different planet, especially one with fins and gills and violet blood. Hermione seemed to be taking it fairly well, too, for which you were very grateful.

Mrs. Granger had been happily chattering away at (at, not to!) you for the last ten minutes, not letting you get a word in - you were fairly certain she was mostly asking questions, too! Hermione was sitting to your left, a notebook sprawled out in front of her. She appeared to be taking notes, of what, you couldn't tell. On your lap sat Hermione's ugly purr-beast, Crookshanks.

When you first met the thing, it had hissed at you - you, taking this as a challenge, had, of course, growled back. This, of course, had ended with a merry chase through the house (half of the time you after the cat, the other half, the cat chasing you). Hermione and Mrs. Granger had found it most amusing. Now, of course, the damn thing wouldn't leave you alone. You felt blessed that it wasn't one of those cats that was constantly shedding it's fur, or you would be covered in it by now. So there it sat, on your lap, purring it's ugly, squished face away. You absently began petting it, for lack of better entertainment. the fur felt odd against your webbed fingers, but not in an entirely bad way.

Anyway, there you sat, picking Jelly beans (Mrs. Granger was very thorough in getting you to eat all kinds of foods, after you had asked what bacon was) from your teeth with one hand a petting the ugliest cat you've ever seen with the other, when you heard a rather loud, rather unpleasant screeching sound. Mrs. Granger let out something akin to a squeak, and both you and Hermione jumped a little at the unexpected noise. A few seconds after the screech came a tapping from the window above the sink. Through the open curtains, you could see...

An owl?

The regal owl tapped again at the window, exactly three times. It was then you noticed that it held something in its beak - something that looked suspiciously like a letter. You didn't know humans still used birds to deliver letters - wasn't there a job for that, now? - The owl tapped again, and seemed incredibly annoyed at the lack of response it was getting. Slowly, ever so slowly, Mrs. Granger stood and walked towards the window. She and Hermione seemed just as confused as you were at the odd delivery. When Mrs. Granger takes the letters - two of them, not just one - the owl flies off again almost instantly, leaving a few tiny brown feathers behind.

She comes back to the table, sitting down slowly. you peek over at the papers in her hand - one is addressed to hermione, and the other...

The other was addressed to you.

There the envelope sat, little rectangle of parchment innocently placed on the table before you. Hermione looked at hers with the same sense of trepidation - seems neither of you wanted to be the first to open the letter. Sighing, you raised clawed hands onto the table, grasping at the paper. Hooking a claw underneath the top, you slit the envelope right open, removing the letter. Your eyes scanned over it, disbelief written all over your face. What the literal fuck?...


Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Harris Potter-Ampora,

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 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress



First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.


All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)

by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic

by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory

by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration

by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi

by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions

by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection

by Quentin Trimble


1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.



Yours sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus

Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions

You look over to Hermione, finding her face mirroring your own disbelieving expression. It looked like she had a little something else - a tiny booklet, titled "Magic for Muggleborns - a Guide to our World." you shuffled around the table as she flicked through it - and holy flying fuck, those pictures were moving!...

Mrs. Granger had, while Hermione and you read the booklet, snatched the letter, reading over it with a critical eye. When she was done, she shuffled around to read the booklet with the two of you. She gasped at the moving pictures - seems that no, moving pictures weren't a normal thing like you were hoping. You opened your mouth to speak, instead only letting out a strangled sound. this was not something you expected. not something you expected at all, and definitely not something you were comfortable with. Magic? You had given up on that stuff years ago when, through a series of crushing realizations, you had found that magic wasn't actually real. You'd been broken up about it for nearly a year. Then, in an attempt to get over it, you had started up with the classes you were still taking. Meeting Hermione and the rest had helped a lot with the whole getting-over-magic thing.

Speaking of Hermione - she looked over to you, taking in your twisted, panicked, deer-in-the-headlights expression and, tutting, pulled you into her arms - she knew what this meant to you. you clutched at her, shaking. Oh, how you hoped this wasn't some huge, elaborate joke - how you hoped this was real! Hermione smiled softly at your over-excited expression - your earfins fluttered, lips pulling up into a wide grin, grey-on-yellow eyes bright with feverish exuberance.

Mrs. Granger opened her mouth to speak, but, before she could say anything.. with a crack and a layer of ozone-smell, there was suddenly a prim, proper-looking old lady, swathed in green robes, sitting at the spare chair at the table. The last thing you saw was the linoleum tiles of the kitchen floor on your way down as you passed out from sheer shock.