The Owlery at Hogwarts Castle was especially lively that day.
At least several hundred owls crowded the windows, packages tied to their legs, then flapped straight toward the Great Hall.
At the Gryffindor table, Ron was biting into a piece of toast when he suddenly heard wings fluttering overhead.
He looked up to see a grayish-brown owl drop a flat package squarely in front of him, then fly off without looking back.
"What's this?" Ron froze for a moment.
Harry beside him had received a package too. Three owls landed in front of them almost simultaneously, piling the packages into a small mountain.
"Merlin's beard," Seamus said beside them, his eyes widening. "Harry, what have you got there?"
Before Harry could answer, Hermione had already opened hers.
She pulled a book from the brown paper bag. The little boy on the cover wore round glasses and had a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
"Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Part One," she read out the title. "I asked my parents to buy a few copies from the Muggle world so we could read it."
"What? This is that book?"
"Let me have a look!"
Ron fumbled to unwrap his package. Sure enough, it was the same book.
"Blimey... this reads... this reads as though it actually happened," he exclaimed in astonishment as he opened it.
Harry sat holding his own copy, but did not open it right away.
He stared at the boy on the cover who looked so much like him, an indescribable feeling welling up inside him.
That scar on his forehead, those round glasses, those green eyes...
It was unmistakably him.
"Harry, look!" Ron nudged him with an elbow. "What's in this book... it's you!"
Harry took a deep breath and opened the first page.
[The Dursleys, of 4 Privet Drive, were always proud to say that they were perfectly normal people...]
He kept reading.
The Dursley family, the cupboard under the stairs, Dudley's old clothes, those hungry nights, those days locked in his room...
"This is impossible..." Harry said quietly. "Everything in here is right."
"Everything is right?" Hermione's head shot up. "You mean what's written in this book is exactly what happened to you?"
Harry nodded, unable to take his eyes off the book.
How could the author of this book know these things?
"Wait." Ron put down his book, his expression turning serious. "Harry, if everything you're saying is true, then who exactly is this Allen Vane? How does he know what happened to you?"
"I don't know." Harry shook his head. "I've never heard that name before."
"Maybe he's a wizard who can read memories?" Seamus guessed.
"Read memories?" Hermione frowned. "That's unlikely. If someone really could read memories, the Ministry of Magic would have hired him as an adviser long ago."
"Then how do you explain this book?" Ron countered.
Hermione opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Just then, Dean Thomas, who was sitting a short distance away, suddenly spoke up. "Harry, the book says you lived in a cupboard under the stairs when you were little... is that true?"
The atmosphere at the table instantly shifted.
Everyone turned to look at Harry.
Harry felt his cheeks grow warm. He did not particularly like talking about these things, especially in front of so many people.
"...Yes," he admitted at last. "I lived there for eleven years."
A ripple of quiet gasps ran around the table.
"Merlin..." Seamus murmured. "I thought the newspaper was exaggerating."
"That's going too far," a fifth-year girl said, her eyes a little red. "You're the hero who defeated You-Know-Who. How could they treat you like that?"
"A hero?" Harry gave a bitter smile. "To them, I'm just a freak."
"You're not a freak," Hermione said earnestly. "You're a wizard, and a very good one."
Harry looked up and saw the sincerity filling Hermione's brown eyes.
"Thanks." He lowered his head in embarrassment and wiped his eyes.
"Anyway," Ron said, steering the conversation back, "Malfoy's in this book too."
"Malfoy?" Neville's eyes widened. "What does it say about him?"
"See for yourself." Ron turned to a page and read aloud, "['You wouldn't want to make friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.']"
"That's him all right," Seamus said.
A ripple of snickers rose from the table.
"Typical Malfoy." Fred leaned over from beside them. "His dad Lucius is just the same, walking around with his nose in the air."
Harry remembered his first meeting with Malfoy on the train, and a faint smile crept onto his lips.
"The book's right," he said. "I certainly don't want to be friends with him."
"Wise choice," Ron said. "If you'd made friends with him, his dad would probably have had you sent to Slytherin by now."
"Hey, what's wrong with Slytherin?" a voice came from nearby.
Everyone turned to see Malfoy standing a short distance away, also holding a copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Part One, his face as dark as the sky before a storm.
"Malfoy." Ron gave him a challenging look. "You bought this book too?"
"My father sent it to me," Malfoy said coldly. "He said it's caused quite a stir in the wizarding world."
"Have you read it, then?" Fred asked.
Malfoy's expression stiffened.
Of course he had read it. In fact, after finishing it, he had been so furious that he had nearly thrown it into the fireplace.
The book portrayed him as an arrogant, overbearing pure-blood supremacist who looked down on everyone, a spoiled brat who threw his weight around at school.
Although... that did rather resemble his usual behavior.
But having someone write it down and make it public was another matter entirely.
"This book is complete rubbish," Malfoy said through gritted teeth. "The author is nothing but a fraud."
"Really?" Harry looked up at Malfoy. "So the part where you approached me on the train and flew into a rage when I turned you down-is that rubbish too?"
Malfoy's face flushed scarlet.
The students around them let out muffled laughter.
"You..." Malfoy pointed at Harry, but could not get another word out.
"What about me?" Harry asked curiously.
Malfoy shot him a vicious glare, then turned and left.
"Looks like everything in the book is true," George said with a laugh. "Malfoy really is petty."
"Still, it's interesting that his dad actually sent him the book," Fred said thoughtfully. "Lucius Malfoy isn't the sort to let his son make a fool of himself."
"Maybe he hasn't read it yet?" Hermione guessed.
"Impossible." Ron shook his head. "This book's all over the wizarding world. How could he not have read it?"
"Then why send it to Draco?" Seamus asked.
"Maybe..." Harry thought for a moment. "He wants Draco to learn how to be a normal student?"
The table erupted in laughter.
Meanwhile, the atmosphere at the Slytherin table was nowhere near as relaxed.
Malfoy sat in his seat, his face livid.
His copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Part One lay open before him. To his eyes, the densely packed words on the pages looked like vicious remarks.
"Draco, is what this book says true?" a Slytherin student beside him leaned over to ask.
"Shut up," Malfoy said coldly.
"He did talk to Potter on the train..." Goyle said quietly.
"I said shut up!"
Goyle wisely closed his mouth.
Sitting opposite him, Pansy picked up the book and flipped through a few pages before frowning. "This book makes you sound... well, not very friendly."
"So what?" Malfoy snapped. "That book is rubbish anyway."
Malfoy leaned back in his chair, seething with a nameless anger.
He hated that book, hated the author called Allen Vane, and hated Harry Potter even more.
Why did that Scarhead get to be the protagonist? Why did he, Draco Malfoy, have to be a villain?
His father was right. Someone had to be pulling the strings behind this book.
And that person could very well be Dumbledore.
In the Headmaster's Office, the flames crackled in the fireplace.
Dumbledore sat in a high-backed chair, holding a steaming cup of lemon tea, his gaze calm as he watched the gathering dusk outside the window.
Snape stood beside the fireplace, his arms folded across his chest.
"You remember that only the first half of that book has been released?" Dumbledore said. "I hear the second half will be published soon."
A mocking curl appeared at the corner of Snape's mouth.
"The second half?" he scoffed. "The first half has already covered everything Potter has experienced since starting school. What else could the second half contain? Can the author predict the future?"
Dumbledore fell silent, an elusive glint flickering in his blue eyes.
"Surely you don't actually believe that book can predict the future?" Snape asked.
"I'm not certain," Dumbledore said. "But I wouldn't rule out any possibility."
"Absurd." Snape gave a derisive laugh. "How could a book possibly predict the future? It defies all logic."
"Magic itself defies logic, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly.
Snape opened his mouth, but could find no reply.
"So I believe our best course is to wait," Dumbledore said. "Once the second half is published, we will have our answer."
"What if the second half really can predict the future?"
"Then we will have an author who can predict the future." Dumbledore smiled faintly. "Wouldn't that be a good thing?"
Snape stared at him for a long while before finally turning and leaving the Headmaster's Office.
After the door closed, the smile slowly faded from Dumbledore's face.
He gazed at the gradually darkening sky outside the window and murmured to himself, "Predict the future..."