Chapter 3
Harry woke to shouting.
Which wasn’t unusual.
What was unusual was that the shouting wasn’t directed at him.
“IVY!”
Harry groaned and pulled a pillow over his head.
Too late.
Another shout echoed through the house.
“IVY POTTER!”
A door slammed somewhere downstairs.
Harry heard hurried footsteps.
Then—
“Coming!”
That was Ivy.
Definitely Ivy.
Harry rolled onto his side and glanced at the clock.
Far too early.
Normal people should still be asleep.
Unfortunately, Ivy had never been normal.
A moment later another voice joined the chaos.
Dudley.
“Why does she get to make breakfast?”
“Because if you make breakfast, we’ll all die.”
“That’s rude!”
“It’s accurate.”
Harry smiled into his pillow.
Then there was a loud crash.
Followed by silence.
Followed by Aunt Petunia’s horrified gasp.
Harry closed his eyes.
Maybe if he stayed in bed long enough, whatever disaster was happening downstairs would sort itself out.
⸻
It did not sort itself out.
Five minutes later, Aunt Petunia stormed into the room.
“Harry!”
Harry opened one eye.
“What?”
“Get downstairs.”
“Why?”
“Because your sister is impossible.”
Harry sighed.
“That doesn’t really narrow it down.”
Petunia pointed toward the door.
Harry got the message.
⸻
The kitchen looked like a battlefield.
Flour covered the counter.
One of the mixing bowls had somehow ended up on the floor.
Dudley was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
And Ivy stood in the middle of it all holding a frying pan.
“Morning.”
Harry blinked.
“What happened?”
“Minor setback.”
“Define minor.”
“The pancakes attacked.”
Harry stared.
“The pancakes attacked.”
“Violently.”
Harry looked at the blackened remains inside the pan.
Then at the smoke drifting toward the ceiling.
Then back at Ivy.
“…Right.”
“I was framed.”
“You burned them.”
“Allegedly.”
Petunia made a sound that suggested she regretted every life choice she’d ever made.
Harry took a seat at the table.
Ivy slid into the chair beside him.
“Good news.”
“There is no good news.”
“I found another letter.”
Harry sat upright.
Immediately.
Ivy grinned.
“There it is.”
“What letter?”
She reached into her pocket.
And produced a familiar yellow envelope.
Harry’s heart jumped.
The same thick parchment.
The same emerald-green ink.
The same strange seal.
His name was written across the front.
Beside it was another.
Addressed to:
Miss Ivy Potter
The twins stared.
Neither spoke.
Then Ivy whispered:
“We’re opening them.”
Harry glanced toward Aunt Petunia.
Who was busy trying not to notice.
“We are absolutely opening them.”
For the first time all week, Harry thought they might finally get some answers.