From Return to Hogwarts to Return Of The Barn Owl

January 1st, 2022. A new dawn, a new day, a new year.

Determined to make the most of it from the start, at 11 AM sharp I grab my boyfriend Andrew and our ginger cat, Ron Weasley, to take a walk in the park. Having not partaken in the alcoholic beverages from last night's celebrations I'm not hangover in the least, but 8 hours of playing host did take their toll on my stamina, so fresh air was an alluring prospect. Granted, the boys don't exactly share my enthusiasm. Ron, in particular, is almost jet-lagged from supervising us all night and foregoing his usual sleeping pattern. But they'll come around. Such a beautiful day can't be wasted.

"Okay, you were right. I do feel much better," says my boyfriend upon arriving home, a few hours later.

"Always the tone of surprise. Of course, I'm right."

"Yeah, yeah, don't let it get to your head. So, honey, do you think you can contain yourself for half an hour until I whip us something to eat, or do we watch it now? It should already be live on HBO, right," he asks, looking at his watch.

Hmm, tough question. Being a huge Potterhead, of course the 20-year anniversary special Return to Hogwarts is first on my priority list, but I've heard Andrew's stomach growling earlier and mine isn't much better. Releasing Ron from its harness I gracefully concede to the delay and fill up the kitty bowl with crunchy treats. If only it were that simple for us humans.

28 long minutes later, we take a seat on the couch in front of the laptop, wolfing down some fancy croque monsieur and homemade sweets, abuzz with anticipation. There was no way I was hitting play before finishing the meal. Not only did Return to Hogwarts deserve my complete attention, but I needed to be able to bowl my eyes out. Let's face it, tears were certainly on the menu with a reunion such as this. Heck, I even cried at Friends, despite not being a big fan of the show.

7 minutes, it was finally time. No, I wasn't nearly done eating, but I was done waiting.

Mysterious thing, time. - Albus Dumbledore

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! This is it! There's a weird ringing in my ears that makes it hard to focus and I'm starting to get tunnel vision, but I soldier through. It wouldn't do to hyperventilate from the excitement and miss the beginning. Just breathe.

The opening scene changes and Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig appears on screen. She lets out a piercing hoot that makes my ears pop before the laptop rumbles loudly and everything goes black.

***

Nooo! What the heck was that?

"Baby! Do something! Plug in the laptop, anything!"

"It is plugged in, honey. The power went out. Look around you, everything is dark."

Well, that's just super. I turn around towards Andrew when a feather-light touch tickles my nose.

"Stop that! This isn't funny. You know I'm not fond of the dark."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Oh, okay then. I guess Ron is tickling me, right?"

"Not quite, madam."

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, both Andrew and I jump up from the couch, reaching for each other in the darkness.

"No need to be alarmed, I assure you."

"Who's there? Show yourself!"

Andrew's voice resonates in the darkness and his authoritative presence encourages me slightly.

"Oh, of course. Silly me. Just give it a moment."

To what? Before I gather the nerve to open my mouth, the lights sputter back to life, revealing the source of the speaker: a barn owl. A 40cm, heart-shaped and white-faced, with plumage in a mottled shade of brown honest to God barn owl was sitting in our living room, atop the coffee table. What kind of sorcery is this?

"Is that an..."

"An owl. Indeed I am, sir. Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Charles Tiberius II and I have come to you in a matter of grave importance."

Unbidden, wild giggles erupt from my mouth, washing away the shock and fright. Several seconds pass before I manage to compose myself. Who talks like that? Certainly not a barn owl.

"I'm sorry, but this is just ridiculous. I know that we were watching Harry Potter, but this is real life. You see," I ask before pinching myself to prove a point. "Still here. So what's the gig?"

"There is no gig, madam. I realize that this may be difficult to grasp, but time is of the essence. Master Harry needs your help."

All my muscles lock on their own accord. Master Harry needs us? What in the blazes is going on? Surely not Master Harry P...

"Ron, no!"

Done with his sleep in the other room, our cat finally emerged and decided on a 'strike now, question later' strategy. Catching him in mid-jump, I turn to the owl who somehow manages to look offended, feathers sticking on end.

"Look here, I don't know who you are or what you're doing here, but let me assure you..."

"Madam, with all due respect, you do. I am Charles Tiberius II and I am here to enlist your help. Now you can choose to disregard my warning, but that will not make it any less real. Everything will be made clear as soon as you agree to come with me to Master Harry. Unfortunately, our window is closing and I cannot remain here much longer. You must decide."

On point, the lights start to flicker again, further accentuating the urgency of the owl's words.

It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.

I feel Andrew stirring at my right, seemingly at the end of his patience... Choices... This all thing is surreal, but I can't, in good conscience, turn my back on it and what? Resume watching Return to Hogwarts, while considering my next therapy appointment? Out of the question. This may be my version of a long belated Hogwarts letter, however crazy it may be. I turn towards my skeptic boyfriend, still cradling Ron to my chest, lest he decides to continue his earlier efforts.

"Baby, I know it's absolutely bonkers, but I must see this through."

Ignoring the owl's approving nod I soldier on without waiting for a reply.

"Just hear me out. Didn't we always wonder what it would be like if we were bit by a radioactive spider and suddenly developed superpowers? Or take the red pill from Morpheus and learned the higher truth? This is my chance, don't you see? What if it was Obi-Wan perched on our coffee table?"

"Obi-Wan would hardly be perched..."

"Andrew!"

"Alright, alright. You don't have to use my full name. We'll follow Mister Owl here if that's what you wish. Don't think for a second I'm letting you go alone. I may not be a Harry Potter expert like you, but we're a team. Always."

"Baby, you're absolutely amazing for even offering, but it has to be your choice in earnest. You can't just humor me. Not it something like this."

A small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he lifts both his hands in a placating gesture, before pointing to His Royal Owliness Charles Tiberius II. Good grief, what a mouthful. To Charlie.

"Honey, I really do agree that we should follow the little guy. We wouldn't forgive ourselves otherwise."

Bristling at the perceived slight, Charlie opens his beak but promptly closes it, instead looking at our grandfather clock.

"Marvellous. Now let us be on our way. Hurry, both of you lightly grab a feather and close your eyes. I have been told this feels slightly disorienting for humans."

"What about Ron," I ask apprehensively. "We can't just leave him here alone."

I don't care that cats and owls are natural enemies. He was coming with us.

"No, I suppose you cannot. Bring him if you must. Now grab ahold of me. Quickly."

Stealing a last glance at Andrew, I secure Ron in my lap and do as instructed, allowing myself to be sucked into space in a whirlwind of dizzying colors.

***

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

Ughh, did we just Apparate? It feels like all my molecules were pulled apart before being reassembled. Trying to settle my rolling stomach after such an abuse, I open my eyes to comfort Andrew and promptly close them again. It can't be. I risk another try and swivel my head left and right, eyes threatening to leave their sockets in a reasonable imitation of an owl. We were in the middle of a large and splendid circular room, filled with silver instruments that were emitting all kinds of curious noises. All around us, there were paintings of men and women dressed in vintage garb, in various states of awareness. I pinch myself painfully, eliciting an angry meow from Ron who gets jostled in the process, but the scene doesn't change.

"Honey, isn't this..."

Words failed me at this point, so an answer was out of the question. We were in Dumbledore's office, at Hogwarts!

"Blimey, it actually worked."

Turning to the sound, I see a ginger-haired young man sitting with his legs crossed on an enormous claw-footed desk, grinning from ear to ear.

Ron Weasley. The original.

"The old boy did it."

"Of course he did it. Charles is remarkable."

"Thank you, my lady. The grace of eloquence is seated on your lips."

The lady in question was trying (and failing) to tame her wild brown locks in a ponytail while suppressing a slight blush.

Hermione.

Dear Lord. Ron and Hermione. Hermione and Ron. In person. If they're here, then maybe the third and most famous of the trio is also present. Master Harry.

As if summoned by my thoughts, The Boy Who Lived emerged from a black cabinet. Except he wasn't a boy anymore but closer to our age, in his early 30s. As were Ron and Hermione for that matter.

"Brilliant. Hello there. I'm Harry and these and Ron and Hemione, but I'm guessing you already know that, right?"

Do you know those girls they show on TV, fainting at rock concerts when faced with their idols? Well, let's just say I was having a hard time standing on my own two legs. The only thing I was capable of was blinking. Rapidly and fish-like. A fishy owl trapped in a human body, that was me. Fortunately, Andrew seemed to take all this way better than me (let's see him face to face with Han Solo). Putting his arm around me and Ron, he responded without even a tremor in his voice.

"Hi! Yes, we sure do. Please excuse my girlfriend, she's had quite a shock. We both have, but you can't begin to understand how much this means to her."

Behind Harry, a large painting catches my eye, making me lose the battle with gravity. In the safety of a gilded frame, a silver-haired wizard was sleeping, half-moon spectacles perched precariously on a crooked nose.

Fortunately, Andrew catches me before I careen to the floor in a heap. Grabbing our hissing cat (who had had enough of ill-treatments) with one hand, he offers the miscreant to Hermione.

"Could you please take Ron for a second? She needs a moment."

"Sorry?" came the confused reply.

"Ron, our cat. I'm Andrew, this is my girlfriend Anna and the adorable menace is Ron Weasley, our cat."

Several beats later, Charlie is the first to recover.

"Ah, yes, sir. Do you not see the resemblance? It is uncanny."

Even in my stupor, the sarcasm was hard to miss. It seems there was some tension between the owl and Ron. Human Ron, not our Ron. Well, ours too.

"Har-har. You fancy yourself amusing, do you?"

"Ron, stop it. We have other pressing matters." Hermione, apparently still the voice of reason, picks up our furball and carefully lays down with him on a velvet armchair. A cat person is always a cat person. It's good to know that at least some words of wisdom are still relevant in this beautiful conundrum we're living. "Harry, if you will."

"Yes, of course. I apologize, this is an exceptional situation for us as well. Nice to meet you all. Would you care to take a seat on the couch? I can summon something for the nerves."

***

The valerian tea did manage to calm me down significantly, along with Andrew's reassuring presence at my side.

"Now, we apologize for all the confusion, but there was no other way. We desperately need your help. But let's start at the beginning. You see, after Voldermort's defeat, the wizarding society started a slow but steady process of healing and rebuilding. Things were going well. That's until an evil threat awakened after 600 years of slumber. A vile being bent on destroying everything we've built and more."

"Wow, wow, wow. Slow down there. That is not the beginning. The beginning would be an explanation as to how all this is possible. Of how you're all real all of a sudden. Books melding with reality, movies with real life. Normal individuals meeting their heroes. "

What do you know, I did have a voice. I didn't even stutter, despite some furious blushing.

"She's right, mate. You should start with telling them about Rita."

"Rita Skeeter, the reporter?"

"The one and only."

"Yes, Ron's right. We have always been real, Anna, but strong enchantments kept us separate, in mirror worlds. Rita is the one who made your being here possible by finding one of the few hidden portals. She stumbled upon one in 1997 during an investigation and spent the better part of the year traveling around Britain, gathering information and sharing some in return. Particularly, with a single mother by the name of Joanne Rowling who fancied herself a writer. Fortunately, by that time someone from the Ministry caught up with Rita and started to undo all the damage. However, for reasons unknown, they were unable to Obliviate Rowling, but only alter her memories so she believed the story to be a figment of her imagination."

Holy cow! J.K.Rowling got the idea from Rita Skeeter?

"So it was all real? Real real," I whisper to the room at large.

"Almost. From what we gathered, Rita did seem to exaggerate her prominence and beauty—the woman looked like a troll—but overall it was fairly accurate. There are differences, of course. For example, you saw for yourselves that not only do owls speak, but they can also perform minor spells."

"I did wonder about that. Charlie here is positively chatty."

"Who what?"

"Oh settle down, you buffoon. Go on, Harry."

Yeap, definite animosity there.

"Charles is a particularly talkative owl, indeed. Much more so than Hedwig."

"So he's your owl? You really are 'master Harry'."

"Yes. Although I told him not to call me that. I met Charles at Oxford, about a year after losing Hedwig, and we hit it off."

"Can't possibly understand why."

"Ron!"

Highly amused at the exchange but hungry for more information, I nudge the conversation back on track.

"Right, that's great to hear. So everything else is more or less the same? You're married to Ginny, Ron to Hermione, you have five children in total..."

"Urm, not exactly", replies Harry with a grimace. "Ron and Hermione are happily married, yes, as is Ginny. Only not to me but to Newt Scamander's great-grandson, Oliver. No children yet."

"Oh, I see."

What could I possibly say to that? Sorry?...

"And what about the time thing," asks Andrew, filling in the awkward silence that descended.

"You mean how come we seem to be the same age as you, when in fact we should be much older?" guessed Harry.

"Yeap."

"Hermione would explain it much better, but in short time flows differently in our world. I don't know the exact ratio, suffice to say that for us the Battle for Hogwarts was 15 years ago."

"More accurately, time flows 25% slower here than in your world," my favorite witch can't help supplying.

So I was right. They were in their early 30s. Like us. Without even realizing it, I grew comfortable enough to curl on the couch with my feet beneath, while chatting with the Boy Man Who Lived. Quite a New Year's Day for a Potterhead.

"On the matter of time. Sir, if I may, we really must hurry."

Charlie was standing ramrod straight near a three-legged stool that hold the Sorting Hat, drilling holes in Harry's head. No biggie. This is how I roll now.

"Yes. 600 years ago there was a witch that made Voldemort look like a teddy bear by comparison. One so vile that her very existence was erased from historical records, with few the wiser", continues Harry somberly. "The offspring of the hag Maladora Grymm and wizard-king Erebor, Sinestra was born at the beginning of the Middle Ages. When the king found out that the mother of his newborn girl was in fact a powerful hag who tricked him with a beautification potion, he banished them both from his kingdom, exposing Maladora's crime to the Wizarding Community. As a result, Sinestra spent her childhood years in a rusty dungeon, with only her enraged mother for company. But the king had no way of knowing how powerful the magic coursing through his daughter's veins would be. Scorned and rejected, fueled only by anger and despair, the girl grew up to be a twisted and malicious being, determined to make the whole world pay for what she suffered. After her mother's death, at the tender age of 12, she blew up the only home that she knew and escaped the dungeon, leaving behind a body count in the triple digits. What followed were 50 years of death and ruin for wizards and Muggles alike, for her curses fell without discrimination. So great was her power, that she had no need for followers, her only goal being total world domination. It took the joint effort of 77 wizards led by a young Nicholas Flamel to finally subdue her, by putting Sinestra in an enchanted sleep, a stasis of sorts. She was then placed on a hidden island in Bermuda, to be guarded by many enchantments, until the end of time. Unfortunately, the end of time is upon us."

Harry's dark proclamation is met with utter silence. No wonder, given the magnitude of his story. I gather enough courage to ask Harry the most obvious questions.

"What happened now? Why are we here?"

"It's not clear how, but she managed to wake up and escape her bonds, fleeing the island. All we know is that Ron, Hermione, and I were here on a visit when a heavy cloud fell over the world, trapping the population in a cursed sleep. Apparently, this office is so well protected that the darkness couldn't infiltrate it. Dumbledore's theory is that if we stepped outside the protections we would fall asleep too and only she would remain, to reshape the world as she pleases. That's why he devised this emergency plan."

"Dumbledore? So he does come alive in the painting? We don't see anything of the sort in the books or movies and it always bugged me." I ask excitedly.

"During his one-year term as headmaster, Snape frequently strategized with portrait Dumbledore, but this may have not shown up on screen or in print. So yes, he does come alive."

Bingo! "Then why is he sleeping now?"

"Because he's old, you know? And it's nighttime. Beauty sleep and all that," Ron interjects.

"Oh, that makes sense. But what I still don't understand is our role in all this. We don't have any powers," I say pointing to Andrew and myself. Laughter bubbles inside me when I look for our furry companion and see the two Rons seizing each other up in the corner, each staking a claim on Hermione.

"On the contrary, my dear. You're very powerful in your own right," says a deep, reassuring voice.

Squeezing Andrew's hand, I barely contain the urge to stand in the force of Dumbledore's penetrating gaze, albeit it from a painting. Sensing my inability to form coherent words manifested itself again, my boyfriend steps up to the plate.

"Mr. Albus Headmaster Mr. Dumbledore. It's an honor to meet you, sir. I can't tell you how many tears Anna shed over your death every single time we watched the second to last movie. But could you please enlighten us about all this, about our supposed powers and how we can be of help?

With a twinkle in his piercing blue eyes, Dumbledore obliges.

"Certainly. As Harry aptly described, our whole world has been put to sleep by Sinestra. The three standing before you are the only ones left from what I have been able to ascertain. The only ones standing against total obliteration. Naturally, there is not much even they can do confined in these quarters. But as it happens, I was able to get in touch with my old friend Nicholas Flamel, who confided a way out of this darkness. A contingency plan they kept back in the day. Mind you, it does not come without peril. However, the circumstances are dire indeed."

As I look at the grim faces of all those around me, an unshakeable certainty settles in my bones. Despite my considerable fear and the sheer oddity of this whole situation, we cannot abandon them. Against rhyme or reason, Hogwarts has called upon us. Dumbledore himself is asking for our assistance. How could we forsake them? How could I look myself in the mirror and know that I let The Boy Who Lived... die? With billions along with him. Another sobering thought creeps in. After their annihilation, how long would it take for Sinestra to turn her gaze to our world? I look at Andrew who gives me a shallow but firm nod. Decision made, I square my shoulders with a confidence that eludes me in reality. What's better than a little world-saving to start the year? A new dawn indeed.

"Headmaster, what do you need us to do?"

"Sinestra's powers are fed by her intense hatred. A transgenerational, deeply rooted loathing of all living beings. The only way to counteract her evil enchantment and cut her off from her magic forever is by a massive infusion of simply put, love."

"Come again," Andrew asks, tapping his ear in confusion, as if unsure of its viability.

Horror dawns on me.

"You don't need us to sacrifice ourselves for this world, thus granting it protection, right? Like Harry's mother did for him?"

Ignoring Harry's wince, I zone in on Dumbledore's reply. Contrary to the books, I intend to get all the available information from the start, however troubling it may be.

"Goodness me, nothing of the sort. Although dear Lily inadvertently activated an instinctive variation of the Aether spell. The charm, named after the primordial Greek God of Light and Heavenly Ether, is perhaps similar to a Patronus, with two major differences. It builds solely on memories of love and it can only be done in pairs. Not necessarily romantic duos. It is mostly forgotten old magic, but extremely powerful, able to fight back any spell spawned from hatred. For the charm to work, both wielders should be pure of heart and with an iron-clad resolve, for they have to pour all their love into those memories, bringing and keeping them alive. The channeling has to be so strong that a column of light erupts from the pair, creating a protective cathedral-size golden column. In our case, several couples would need to spread out across the globe and perform the Aether charm simultaneously, in order for it to expand in a tapestry of light and love that will repel the curse."

Several couples? So not just us. But...

"Umm, headmaster, how would we be able to perform a spell without a wand? Or the ability to practice magic, of course," I ask with a self-deprecating laugh.

"You do not need a wand in order to summon an Aether. The spell is so old that it precedes wandlore, being directly linked to someone's heart. After all, wands are only conductors, facilitators. They are not sources of magic. But you are. Even though our worlds have different definitions of magic, it exists in them both, interwoven at a molecular level. You might not use wands or recite incantations, but make no mistake—magic runs deep within you. Both of you. If not, Charles would not have made the connection."

"Charles, the pompous barn owl Charles?"

"Indeed, my boy. Certain owls are capable of traveling through interdimensional portals and Charles here is one of them. He was tasked with finding couples with a strong affinity for our world and bringing them here. If you were immune to magic, you would have been completely oblivious to his presence. And of course, he and others like him will accompany you outside not only to help you Apparate in the right place but to shield you from the darkness. You see, another particularity of barn owls is that they are naturally immune to curses such as this. "

With a new appreciation for Hermione's admirer, I look for Charlie, expecting a grandiose retort, but he was nowhere to be found.

"Out on a new run. You were the first pair he brought back," offered Harry catching my gaze. "That's why we didn't test the theory yet ourselves. He was needed to find you guys."

Right. Several couples.

"What about the pure of heart bit? Did the owl catch that too," continues Andrew, looking somewhat surprised to voice such a question.

"No, that will be decided by the Sorting Hat. For it to correctly place students in the appropriate House, it scans them to the core. Thus, it should have no problem in determining the state of your heart."

As if sensing being mentioned, the hat gave a low cough, giggling its faded leather skin in an almost inviting gesture.

"Okay then. Let's get this over with. The worst thing it could happen would be for it to deem us evil, which will get us promptly returned home, right?"

10 points for Andrew for not beating around the bush. Although it's more likely a coping mechanism—humor to mask discomfort. I know it well.

"Yes, let's see what the Sorting Hat makes of us," I agree with apprehension.

Somehow, I end up first on the three-legged stool, nervously waiting for a thousand-year-old magical artifact to search my heart. Not whacky at all. With a quick smile, Harry picks up the hat and places it carefully on my head. For a moment, nothing happens.

"Not Slytherin, please not Slytherin."

"Think you're funny, do you? As if I don't hear that year after year, ever since young Harry Potter divulged our first encounter," came the answer in my head.

"Sorry, I'm just nervous. I didn't mean anything by it."

"And here lies the mystery."

"Sorry?"

"Why are you nervous? Do you not think yourself as good?"

What kind of a question was that? I don't make a habit of touching base with my heart. Too late I realize that my thoughts are not my own at the moment.

"Which is a shame. If more people would be attuned to their feelings the world would be a much different place. If they turned within instead of always looking outside for gratification, for fulfillment. Stop chasing cardboard dreams and just be present in the moment, aware of themselves and of others. Relying more on instincts and less on the mind, living a life with meaning. So I ask you again—do you think yourself as good?"

Feeling mildly chastised by the Therapeutic Sorting Hat, I give the question my full attention. Do I see myself as good? I certainly try to be kind and I would never willingly hurt another. But am I truly pure of heart? Closing my eyes, I try to shut down the mind and tap into my heart.

"I think all of us have the potential to be good. What matters is what are we willing to do with it. The choices we make. Exactly like our abilities. How we choose to conduct ourselves and if we strive to be a little bit better, day after day. And I fervently want that. Maybe a hint of laziness gets in the way sometimes, but I do wish to be of service and live a life with meaning, as you said. Whatever the costs."

"Well, well. I am glad we agree then."

Stunned, I blurt out: "So, you think I'm pure of heart?"

"Young lady, I know it for a fact, but you needed to realize it as well and not let self-doubt color your perspective. Being constantly in touch with your core will make everything clear, including your own worth."

With shaky hands and a tentative smile, I remove the hat.

"I passed," I say bemused.

"Of course you did," states Dumbledore's steady voice from the wall. "Now let us also confirm your fellow here so we can begin the preparations. We have much work to do."

***

To be continued

By A.M. Radulescu

Dear reader, thank you for embarking on this journey with me, written for the Return Of The Night Owl creative competition. Stay tuned for the epic conclusion and find out what the Sorting Hat has to say about the state of Andrew's heart, what other befuddled guests does Charlie bring, who will pair up with Harry to perform the Aether spell, and most importantly, will love prevail?

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