i. a troublesome invitation

Evie Dursley was eating her breakfast with a scowl on her face. Her plate was filled with a tiny grapefruit cut into quarters and she had a vase full of protein shake of a dangerous-looking green colour. Her brother's school nurse had rightfully decided that he was overweight and Dudley's diet sheet had been taped to the fridge, which had been emptied of all their favourite things. In other words, everything that was a teeny bit tasty.

Yeah, her summer hadn't been very good, at least alimentation-wise. Fortunately for her, she had spectacular friends that cared for her taste buds and had sent her food these recent months, their owls carrying dozens of sweets each visit. And with "owls" she meant, obviously, the messaging system wizardkind used—because Hogwarts had turned out to be totally real when she received the letter all those years ago. She was a witch, and had been for the past five years.

Staying up late every night was definitely worth it when she received free cookies and sweets to make up for the horrors of going the entire day sugar-free. Evie suspected that her cousin had been too receiving little snacks, because he never once complained of the eating arrangement, which was very suspicious. It wasn't like she despised eating healthy, but a girl can only eat so many vegetables before she goes insane. The lack of choice in the matter was also the main source of irritation. If there was one thing in the world Evie Dursley hated, was being told what to do, especially when she was already going to do said thing—she was no Quidditch player, but she liked to keep fit.

Driving the last piece of grapefruit into her mouth, she looked at the telly, avoiding the massive block in her vision that was her father's head hiding behind the Daily Mail. The reporter in the day's News coverage, a pretty blonde and tanned woman, was staring into the camera with a serious expression on her face.

"... marks a year since mass-murderer Sirius Black escaped imprisonment. We remind citizens..." she was saying, addressing the gravity of the situation with her tone.

Evie's lips twitched, threatening to turn into a smile that she was quick to hide.

The previous year, Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban—a maximum security prison for wizards—as an alleged murderer. A handful of weeks ago, Evie found out he was her cousin's godfather and was actually innocent . A couple of large, brightly coloured tropical birds had brought the man's letters to the house, instead of the regular and inconspicuous owls people tended to use. Evie had even gotten one letter herself, which was a nice thought, even if he was threatening her with bodily harm if she ever mistreated Harry. As if she needed a threat in order to treat her cousin well. But, taking into account who she was related to, she could understand the sentiment.

She looked away from the telly as soon as her aforementioned cousin sat down at the table, shooting him a tiny smile in lieu of a greeting.

Drinking the last of her protein shake, she looked at her little brother, who was right-down sulking in front of her, looking rather furious. When their mum put a quarter of unsweetened grapefruit onto his plate with a tremulous "There you are, Diddy darling", Dudley seemed to be on the edge of combusting. Needless to say, he was the least happy with the arrangement.

Her father then, for the first time in the whole morning, laid aside his paper.

"Is this it?" he said grumpily, eyeing his own grapefruit quarter with deep disapproval.

Sadly, it was.

Evangeline's mum gave him a severe look, nodding pointedly at Dudley, who had already finished his own breakfast and was looking towards Harry's with a sour look in his eyes.

Ever since the beginning of the summer, their lunches had been like this. Evie didn't know whether to be grateful for it, given that at some point it'd work for her brother's health, but it surely didn't make his mood any better. That school nurse who had seen what her mum's eyes—so sharp when it came to spotting fingerprints on her walls, and judging her daughter's fashion choices—just didn't want to acknowledge it.

Just as her father picked up his spoon, the doorbell rang, and he heaved himself out of his chair and set off down the hall. Evie was no longer allowed to pick up the mail, as if it was her fault that the last time she had done so she was told she was a witch. It wasn't like it could happen again, too.

Evie picked up her plate and walked towards the sink, pointedly ignoring her brother stealing their father's leftover breakfast. While cleaning after herself, she heard talking at the door, someone laughing and her dad answering curtly. She arched an eyebrow, turned around and waited for her dad as the front door closed, followed by the sound of ripping paper.

When her father was back, he looked livid. His skin was red and he had grown with anger, as if someone had inflated a tomato and left it to rot in the afternoon sun.

"You," he barked at Harry. "In the living room. Now."

She frowned and followed both of them out of the kitchen, managing to swiftly enter the room behind her cousin before her dad closed the door sharply.

"I didn't call for you, Evangeline," he said through gritted teeth.

She shrugged impassively, gaining a scoff in response. As if she was about to let Harry get scolded for something that probably wasn't his fault.

"So," he said, waving her off and marching over to the fireplace. He turned to face Harry as though he were about to pronounce him under arrest. "So."

The only thing she was able to do was stand beside Harry, eyeing the paper in her dad's hands, no doubt the source of his anger.

"This just arrived," he said. He brandished a piece of purple writing paper at Harry. "A letter. About you," he added, and then looked at Evangeline. "You were mentioned, too."

Evie's confusion increased. Who would be writing to her dad, of all people, about both of them? Neither of them knew anyone who would try to reach them through the Post, to the of her knowledge.

Dear Mr. and Mrs Dursley,

We have never been introduced, but I am sure you have heard a great deal from Harry about my son Ron, or from your Evie about my other son George.

As they might have told you, the final of the Quidditch World Cup takes place this Monday night, and my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

I do hope you will allow us to take Harry and Evie to the match, as this really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; Britain hasn't hosted the cup for thirty years, and tickets are extremely hard to come by. We would of course be glad to have them both stay for the remainder of the summer holiday, and to see them safely on the train back to school.

It would be best for Harry or Evie to send us your answer as quickly as possible in the normal way, because the Muggle postman has never delivered to our house, and I am not sure he even knows where it is.

Hoping to see Evie and Harry soon,

Yours sincerely,

Molly Weasley

P.S. I do hope we've put enough stamps on.

Evie grimaced at the last sentence her father read, already dreading what was sure to come.

"Look at this," her father growled.

He held up the envelope in which Mrs. Weasley's letter had come. Every bit of it was covered in stamps except for a square inch on the front, in which Mrs. Weasley had squeezed their address in diminutive writing.

"She did put enough stamps on, then," said Harry, clearly trying to sound as though Mrs. Weasley's was a mistake anyone could make. Which, honestly, was true among the magic folk.

"The postman noticed," he said through gritted teeth. "Very interested to know where this letter came from, he was. That's why he rang the doorbell. Seemed to think it was funny."

"It's rather funny," Evie said, and it would probably be true if it weren't for who received the letter.

"So - can we go then?" Harry asked.

A slight spam crossed her father's face, and his moustache bristled. Evie could guess what was going through his brain then. If he allowed them to go, he'd make Harry happy —something he had struggled against for thirteen years. Making Evie happy had also been something he'd refused to do ever since they'd found out what a monster his daughter was, so there was that. On the other hand, allowing them to go would get rid of them for the remaining summer, which was two weeks extra than expected.

She could almost see the cogs turning in his head as he weighted mentally the cons and pros of it.

"Who is this woman?" he said, staring at the signature with distaste.

"You've seen her," said Harry. "She's my friend Ron's mother, she was meeting him off the Hog- off the school train at the end of last term."

"Dumpy sort of woman?" he growled finally. "Load of children with red hair?"

"Dumpy?" Evangeline repeated, huffing (was her father not self-aware?) but quickly sorted the matter aside. "Dad, I've known Mrs. Weasley for years, I've been friends with her sons since I was eleven, and you don't know her?"

Her father was perusing the letter again, ignoring her.

"Quidditch," he muttered under his breath. "Quidditch- what is this rubbish?"

Evie frowned once again and quickly glanced at Harry, who seemed about to explode.

"It's a sport," he said shortly. "Played on broom-"

"All right, all right!" said her father loudly, starting to look vaguely panicking at the magical terms. He took refuge in perusing the letter again. "...send us your answer...in the normal way," he repeated.

Her dad looked at her, a scowl on his face, waiting for her response.

"Normal for us," said Harry before she could, and before his uncle could stop him, he added, "you know, owl post. That's what's normal for wizards."

Evie blinked. Maybe that hadn't been a genius idea.

Shaking with anger, like a kettle, her dad shot a nervous look through the window, as though expecting to see some of the neighbours with their ears pressed against the glass. As if their family was that interesting to the neighbourhood gossip mill.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to mention that unnaturalness under my roof?" he hissed, his face now a rich plum color. "You stand there, in the clothes Petunia and I have put on your ungrateful back—"

"Only after Dudley finished with them," said her cousin coldly, and indeed, he was dressed in a sweatshirt so large for him that he had had to roll back the sleeves five times to be able to use his hands, and which fell past the knees of his extremely baggy jeans.

"I will not be spoken to like that!" he responded, trembling with rage.

"Dad, you can't just—"

"No, Evie, it's alright, " Harry interrupted her, eerily calm. "Okay, I can't see the World Cup. Can I go now, then? Only I've got a letter to Sirius I want to finish. You know– my godfather."

Evie then did her hardest to fight back a smile. Godric, her cousin was pretty smart when he wanted to, wasn't he?

"You're– you're writing to him, are you?" her dad said, in a would-be calm voice — if they didn't know how scared the man was of Sirius Black.

"Well— yeah," said Harry, casually. "It's been a while since he heard from me, and, you know, if he doesn't he might start thinking something's wrong. Did you know he also writes to Evie? He seemed to take a liking towards her, too."

Oh, she was going to give her cousin the biggest hug the world had ever seen.

Harry stopped there, clearly enjoying the effects of his words as her dad quietly worked what that entailed. Surely if Harry stopped writing, his godfather would assume he was being mistreated—which he was. If Harry told him that he wasn't allowed to go to the World Cup, Sirius would also know he was being mistreated. There just wasn't any winning for Vernon Dursley, especially since Harry had added Evie to the mix.

She would be eternally grateful for that, given that Vernon Dursley could deny her permission to go to the cup, as he was her father and her legal guardian.

When her father started to talk, he was white as paper.

"Well, all right then. You can go to this ruddy...this stupid...this World Cup thing. You write and tell these— these Weasleys they're to pick you up, mind. I haven't got time to go dropping you off all over the country. And you can spend the rest of the summer there. And you can tell your— your godfather...tell him...tell him you're going. And that so is Evangeline."

"Okay then," said Harry brightly.

Harry turned and walked toward the door, Evie following behind him with a smile on her face. Merlin's hat, they were going to the Quidditch World Cup! She embraced her cousin, throwing an arm over his shoulders. Outside in the hall, Dudley had been waiting, probably trying to hear what was going on inside the living room.

"That was an excellent breakfast, wasn't it?" She heard Harry say, shortly after they disentangled.

Evie didn't stick around long enough to hear her brother's response and instead chose to get to her room, with an inevitable spring on her step. They were going to the Quidditch World Cup, for Godric's sake! The biggest event of the year, no doubt. No matter how many times she repeated it in her head, it didn't seem to sink in as a reality. Climbing two steps at a time, she soon entered her room and was welcomed by the sound of hooting.

She smiled as she approached Errol, the Weasley's weathered down owl.

He'd arrived the night before, tapping her window with his beak until Evie realised he was there. She had then let the poor owl in and given him some treats, which were deserved for making such a long flight so late at night — well, for Errol. He was old for an owl, and wasn't as skilled as he once would've been, hence why he had stayed the night in Evie's bedroom. The family didn't like him travelling in the dark, and neither did she.

Along with his company, he had brought a letter addressed to her, that judging from the ugly handwriting marring the envelope, was from George.

My darling Evie Evan Evadora Evangeline,

WE DID IT. My dad got the tickets! Monday night, as promised, and hopefully both you and Harry will spend the next of the summer at the burrow. Mum sent a letter to your house, so I'm sure that'll be a party. Ronnikins already asked Harry to send your answer, so you don't have to do that.

Whatever your parents say, we'll come and get you two at five o'clock on Sunday. Remember to pack your amazing chess set, or it'll happen like last year and a lot of people will get mad at you. Not me, though. Mostly little adorable Ron who fancies both you and your chess pieces (I bet your chest pieces too).

Evie rolled her eyes.

Also, do not dare come to my house without bringing those ears and walk buddies of yours. My dad will go crazy over them.

Your favourite Weasley,

George

PS.: If I catch you supporting Bulgaria you'll catch these hands.

She couldn't help but roll her eyes at the mention of Ron and what was probably just a passing fancy on her—he would be getting teased eternally for that, and by association so would she. As her eyes continued down the parchment, Evie snorted at the name George had used for her walkman. As much as he insisted he was in tune with muggle technology and culture, he was downright oblivious, as much as any other pureblood was. She had been completely outraged when she found out he didn't even know what Star Wars was, or films for that matter.

Making a mental note to pack her earbuds and her walkman into her school trunk, she folded the letter and put it back into its envelope.

She frowned at her room, trying to remember where she'd put the box full of letters she'd had for the last six years of her life. It had started as a way of keeping her mum out of her business, for the woman used to read her correspondence without permission, and Evie didn't want her mother to see her private conversations with her friends. With time, she'd realised that it had become a way of keeping in place her memories, and had also started to put pictures she took with friends.

Her room had been a mess for the past week. The organization that would ultimately lead to her deciding what she wanted to keep and what she wanted to throw away, was temporarily resulting in everything being out of its place. Evie found the box in her oldest hiding place, under the mattress, and opened it to find that the latest letter had been Angelina's.

Contrasting with Angelina's elegant handwriting, she put George's chicken scrawl on top of it and closed the box shut. With a sigh, she ran her fingers across the carving in the wood that spelt her initials, EVD. An eleven-year-old Evangeline had written them with her wand in her dormitory at Hogwarts. So many years ago. She put the box at the bottom of her school trunk and gave her room one final look before leaving.

It didn't hurt as much as she'd been told it would, which was good. She didn't need her plans to become suddenly harder than they already were.

ren speaks!
hope you love evie as
much as i do <3
thank you for reading!