Summer descended over the wizarding world like a warm, golden charm, casting a temporary pause on the whirlwind of magic, danger, and discovery that had consumed their first year. For the first time in months, the students of Hogwarts returned to their homes, the echo of ancient halls replaced by the simpler rhythms of everyday life.
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Lennon
Back in a quiet, narrow flat above a secondhand bookshop in London, Lennon spent the summer alone. The flat was small but warm, filled with mismatched furniture and worn books stacked in corners. Few knew the truth: her mother had disappeared years ago after a string of cruel, violent outbursts following her father's death at the hands of Death Eaters. Lennon had been barely eight when the Ministry intervened.
What no one at Hogwarts knew was that she had been briefly fostered by Sirius Black before his imprisonment. He had been like an uncle to her—fiercely protective, rebellious, and full of dark humor. His sudden arrest shattered her already fragile world. After that, Remus Lupin quietly stepped in, raising her in the shadows of the magical world, visiting when he could and sending protective enchantments when he couldn't.
Remus was the only adult she truly trusted. He taught her spells not found in textbooks, sent her letters full of poetry and wisdom, and reminded her, constantly, that she was not alone—even if she lived as if she were. He made sure her flat was protected by strong wards, and that she had enough money and supplies through discreet deposits and Ministry contacts.
She never spoke about her past. She built herself a life of independence and guarded strength. She cooked her own meals, balanced a small Gringotts stipend, and read obsessively to quiet her restless mind. The only remnants of her childhood were a battered photo of her father in Auror robes and a music box Sirius once enchanted to play her favorite lullaby.
Every evening, she wrote letters to her friends. Most she sent. Some—like the ones addressed to Mattheo—she folded and tucked away, unanswered.
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Harry
At Number Four, Privet Drive, summer meant loneliness. The Dursleys had made it clear that magic was to be neither mentioned nor practiced. Harry's Hogwarts trunk was locked in the cupboard beneath the stairs, and Hedwig confined to her cage.
Still, he found ways to keep the spark alive. At night, when the house was still, he would whisper incantations under his breath, reliving memories of his friends and flying. Occasionally, Hedwig delivered letters from Ron, Hermione, and even Lennon—hers were the longest, filled with warmth and subtle encouragement.
He read them like scripture, clinging to each word.
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Ron & The Weasleys
The Burrow buzzed with joyful chaos. Ron returned to a house where magic was welcome and siblings were many. Fred and George, unable to resist a captive audience, spent the summer refining their joke inventions and reenacting the chessboard scene with garden gnomes.
Ron told stories about Fluffy, about the trapdoor, and about Lennon—who had somehow become a legendary figure among his younger siblings.
"She led us straight through," Ron would say. "Cool as a cauldron."
Letters arrived frequently from Hermione, detailing her adventures, and from Harry, who was trying to survive Privet Drive. Ron and his brothers plotted ways to rescue him.
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Hermione
Hermione's summer was structured, precise—much like her. She dove into every textbook she could find, cross-referencing magical theories with Muggle science. Her parents, both dentists, listened with mild confusion as she explained the significance of devil's snare and enchantments.
Still, her letters to Lennon and the boys were filled with warmth. She asked thoughtful questions, proposed reading circles by owl post, and reminded Harry weekly that he was not alone.
And every now and then, she wrote about how much she missed having Lennon nearby—a big sister figure she never knew she needed.
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Mattheo
Malfoy Manor was cold, even in the height of summer. Mattheo spent most days in the ancestral library, avoiding his father's name—Voldemort—and avoiding questions from his cousin, Draco.
He wrote few letters, but he read Lennon's twice over. Her words haunted him. She believed in him when he barely believed in himself.
He spent hours practicing defensive spells in the old dueling chamber, trying to forge strength out of fear. Occasionally, he met with Lorenzo and Theo, their conversations clipped and cautious—always careful not to say too much.
He missed her. More than he dared admit.
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Theodore
Theo's summer was spent mostly alone. His father, reserved and strict, demanded study and silence. Their estate near the Scottish highlands was vast and echoing, filled with portraits that whispered and creaked.
Theo found solace in books, in stargazing, and occasionally, in the owl-delivered letters from Lorenzo or Mattheo. He read the Prophet with a critical eye, watching for signs of darker movements returning.
He didn't write to Lennon, though he often considered it. He respected her too much to risk dragging her into his family's shadow.
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Lorenzo
Lorenzo spent the summer in southern Italy with his mother, away from pure-blood politics and closer to sunshine and sea air. He trained every morning with local dueling wizards, then lounged in cafés reading French wizarding novels.
Still, something about Hogwarts stuck with him—specifically, the wild energy of Lennon McCauley and the loyalty of the trio she protected. He occasionally wrote to Theo and Mattheo, encouraging them to be better.
When he received a letter from Lennon, asking if he'd be returning, he smiled for the first time in weeks.
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Oliver
Oliver trained like a man possessed. Every morning he rose before sunrise, practicing his Quaffle handling and flying drills on an old Cleansweep. His parents supported him, but also worried he never seemed to relax.
It wasn't just Quidditch driving him—it was the memory of the team, of Lennon flying beside him, laughing mid-dive, shouting plays with fire in her eyes.
He missed her. Missed their shared strategy sessions, their sibling-like banter. He wrote often, and she replied with equal enthusiasm. They planned next year's team tactics by letter, already dreaming of winning the Cup.
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As July turned into August, the letters flew more frequently. Plans were made. Secrets hinted at. Fears whispered in coded ink.
And as the Hogwarts Express loomed once more, each of them—scattered across the world—felt the same thing:
The calm before the storm.
Year Two awaited.