It was nearly midnight, and I was lying on my stomach in bed Harry was doing the same,the blankets drawn right over my head like a tent, a flashlight in one hand and a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped open against the pillow. I moved the tip of his eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning as I looked for something that would help me write my essay, "Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless —discuss." 

The quill paused at the top of a likely-looking paragraph,I moved my flashlight closer to the book, and read: 

Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than forty seven times in various disguises. 

I put my quill between my teeth and reached underneath my pillow for my ink bottle and a roll of parchment. Slowly and very carefully I unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped my quill into it,and began to write, pausing every now and then to listen, because if any of the Dursleys heard the scratching of our quills on their way to the bathroom, This was one of my last essays thank god, regardless, we'd probably find ourselves locked in the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of the summer.

 The Dursley family of number four, Privet Drive, was the reason that Harry and I never enjoyed our summer holidays. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their son, Dudley, were Harry and my only living relatives. They were Muggles, and they had a very medieval attitude toward magic. Our dead parents, who had been a witch and wizard themselves, were never mentioned under the Dursleys' roof. 

For years, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had hoped that if they kept Harry and me as downtrodden as possible, they would be able to squash the magic out of us. To their fury, they had been unsuccessful. These days they lived in terror of anyone finding out that  we had spent most of the last two years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

The most they could do, however, was to lock away our spellbooks, wands, cauldrons, and Harry's broomstick at the start of the summer break, and forbid us to talk to the neighbors. This separation from our spellbooks had been a real problem for us, because our teachers at Hogwarts had given us a lot of holiday work. 

One of the essays, a particularly nasty one about shrinking potions, was for my least favorite teacher, Professor Snape,who was also my head of House. Harry and I had therefore seized our chance in the first week of the holidays. While Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had gone out into the front garden to admire Uncle Vernon's new company car (in very loud voices, so that the rest of the street would notice it too), We had crept downstairs, picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, grabbed some of our books, and hidden them in our bedroom. 

As long as we didn't leave spots of ink on the sheets, the Dursleys need never know that we were studying magic by night.Harry was particularly keen to avoid trouble with our aunt and uncle at the moment, as they were already in an especially bad mood with him, all because he'd received a telephone call from a fellow wizard one week into the school vacation.

Ron had called him, and Gryffindors being idiots well..

"Vernon Dursley speaking." 

Harry and I, who happened to be in the room at the time, froze as we heard Ron's voice answer. 

HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I — WANT —TO — TALK — TO — HARRY — POTTER!" 

Ron was yelling so loudly that Uncle Vernon jumped and held the receiver a foot away from his ear, staring at it with an expression of mingled fury and alarm. 

"WHO IS THIS?" he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece."WHO ARE YOU?" 

"RON — WEASLEY!" Ron bellowed back, as though he and Uncle Vernon were speaking from opposite ends of a football field. 

"I'M — A — FRIEND — OF — HARRY'S — FROM —SCHOOL —"Uncle Vernon's small eyes swiveled around to Harry, who was rooted to the spot. Oh god..

"THERE IS NO HARRY POTTER HERE!" he roared, now holding the receiver at arm's length, as though frightened it might explode. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT SCHOOL YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT! NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN! DON'T YOU COME NEAR MY FAMILY!" 

And he threw the receiver back onto the telephone as if dropping a poisonous spider.The fight that had followed had been one of the worst ever. 

"HOW DARE YOU GIVE THIS NUMBER TO PEOPLE LIKE — PEOPLE LIKE YOU!" Uncle Vernon had roared, spraying Harry with spit.Ron obviously realized that he'd gotten Harry into trouble,because he hadn't called again. I had also given my number to my friends, but they were smarter. 

"Petunia Dursley speaking."

"Hello? Yes, this is Zoe Anderson speaking. Is Emma Potter here?"

"WHY?"

I knew Emma from when we were 10. She gave me this number and I just found it! Funny isn't it?"

"Very" said Aunt Petunia, looking like it was the most boring thing ever. "For you" she sneered at me, I was trying not to jump.

"Zoe?" I whispered.

"Ems!" she cried "Oh my god, I missed your voice. Malfoy and Nick tried to get a phone but it's hard. Anyway how are you."

An hour later, Aunt Petunia narrowed her eyes at me.

"That was a long conversation."

"Lot's to catch up on." So, I was safe.

I finished writing about Wendelin the Weird and paused to listen again. The silence in the dark house was broken only by the distant, grunting snores of our enormous cousin, Dudley. It must be very late, I thought. 

My eyes were itching with tiredness. I'm done anyway. . . . I replaced the top of the ink bottle; pulled an old pillow case from under my bed; put the flashlight, A History of Magic, my essay,quill, and ink inside it; got out of bed; and hid the lot under a loose floorboard under harry's bed. 

Then I stood up, stretched, and checked the time on the luminous alarm clock on his bedside table.It was one o'clock in the morning. My stomach gave a funny jolt. We had been thirteen years old, without realizing it, for a whole hour. 

"Happy Birthday" I said. Me and My brother hadn't been on best terms. I shook my black but scarlet at tips hair.

Harry's head came up. His eyes widened "Happy Birthday, Ems,"

Yet another unusual thing about us was how little we looked forward to our birthdays. We had never received a birthday card in our lives. The Dursleys had completely ignored our last two birthdays,and we had no reason to suppose they would remember this one. I walked across the dark room, past Hedwig's large, empty cage, to the open window. Harry behind me.

We leaned on the sill, the cool night air pleasant on my face after a long time under the blankets. Hedwig had been absent for two nights now. I wasn't worried about her: she'd been gone this long before. But we hoped she'd be back soon — she was the only living creature in this house who didn't flinch at the sight of us. Harry, though still rather small and skinny for his age, had grown a few inches over the last year. His jet-black hair, however,was just as it always had been — stubbornly untidy, whatever he did to it. The eyes behind his glasses were bright green, and on his forehead, clearly visible through his hair, was a thin scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning. I had an identical one. 

 Of all the unusual things about us this scar was the most extraordinary of all. It was not, as the Dursleys had pretended for ten years, a souvenir of the car crash that had killed our parents, because Lily and James Potter had not died in a car crash. They had been murdered, murdered by the most feared Dark wizard for a hundred years, Lord Voldemort. We had escaped from the same attack with nothing more than a scar on our forehead, where Voldemort's curse, instead of killing us, had rebounded upon its originator. Barely alive, Voldemort had fled. . . . 

But we had come face-to-face with him at Hogwarts. Remembering our last meeting as we stood at the dark window, I had to admit I was lucky even to have reached my thirteenth birthday. I scanned the starry sky for a sign of Hedwig, perhaps soaring back to us with a dead mouse dangling from her beak, expecting praise. Gazing absently over the rooftops, it was a few seconds before We realized what we were seeing,

Silhouetted against the golden moon, and growing larger every moment, was a large, strangely lopsided creature, and it was flapping in our direction. We stood quite still, watching it sink lower and lower. 

For a split second he hesitated, his hand on the window latch, wondering whether to slam it shut. But then the bizarre creature soared over one of the street lamps of Privet Drive,and Harry, realizing what it was, leapt aside. I had already moved into the shadows.

Through the window soared three owls, two of them holding up the third, which appeared to be unconscious. 3 more following them, They landed with a soft flump on Harry's bed, and the middle owl, which was large and gray, keeled right over and lay motionless. There was a large package tied to its legs, the others were tawny, except one was a handsome eagle owl. With a leap, I realized it was my friend's Draco's owl.

I recognized the unconscious owl at once — his name was Errol, and he belonged to the Weasley family. Harry dashed to the bed, untied the cords around Errol's legs, took off the parcel, and then carried Errol to Hedwig's cage. Errol opened one bleary eye, gave a feeble hoot of thanks, and began to gulp some water. 

Harry turned back to the remaining owls. One of them, the large snowy female, was our own Hedwig. She, too, was carrying a parcel and looked extremely pleased with herself. She gave Harry an affectionate nip with her beak as he removed her burden, and before flying nibbled my ear, then flew across the room to join Errol. 

I nor Harry didn't recognize the third owl, a handsome tawny one,but we knew at once where it had come from, because in addition to a third package, it was carrying  letters bearing the Hogwarts crest. When Harry relieved this owl of its burden, it ruffled its feathers importantly, stretched its wings, and took off through the window into the night.

I removed the other three owls of their burden and they took off. I opened the first one from Draco, I nearly gasped in shock, it was a silver bracelet with a tiny emerald heart. Under there were the words, Veni, Vedi,Vici

I saw, I came, I conquered.

I unfolded the letter.

Dear Ems,

Happy 13th! Before you say anything; it didn't cost much. I promise, my mother used magic to engrave the words, I carved the heart and attached it to a silver bracelet I revived. I promise. You have to accept it. You have no choice.

I laughed.

I really miss you, and our talks, seriously I read your letters to sleep. Though I don't miss you calling me Dray (Ridiculous name. You can do better) And well, everything's the same. Is Potter still annoying you? I can kill him for you. I miss hogwarts of course, Did you hear about the missing prisoner? Muggles are being told he's a muggle, but he's a wizard, and really dangerous. Biggest Ally of You-Know-Who my father says.

I can't wait to see you again. 

Love,

"Dray"

P.S.- My new nickname for  you is Scar. For Scarlet and because of your hair. Well, you get it.

See you

I clasped the bracelet on, it was beautiful. He had made it on his own...and it was a heart.I couldn't help it.

I blushed.