I am writing this under the cover of darkness. I have my duvet pulled up over my head like a tent and I’m typing by torchlight. I just hope the tapping of my keyboard doesn’t arouse suspicion from the muggles, or more significantly – from the Ministry Officials.

It began a few weeks ago with the sporadic appearance of a seemingly innocent white muggle van parked up at the end of our close for occasional overnight periods. Seemingly innocent that is, except for the fact that along its side in bold, blue and decidedly whimsical letters spelt the words ‘Ted Fortescue’. Could this belong to a relative of a certain Florean Fortescue, whose noble ancestry includes one previous headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and whose modern-day family prominence lies in culinary expertise in the wizard world? But what could this van be doing here? What was it used for? And where was its driver? After observing with mild surprise this famous wizard name displayed bold as brass in the middle of a muggle street, my suspicions were roused. Henceforth I attempted to record photographic evidence of said van.

My tale picks up again a few days later while I was working at home in my office. I was vaguely aware of a couple of magpies outside, flitting around a tall conifer tree that had partially broken off and had toppled over at a point about the same height as my upstairs window. I didn’t take much notice, birds and squirrels are regular visitors to the garden. However, I did take notice when suddenly a large magpie screeched over to my closed window, flew straight at the glass with a loud thump, then continued to hover inches away, squawking frantically, wings outspread and open beak thudding on the window pane. After a few seconds it abandoned its efforts, wheeled around in midair and returned to its mate in the conifer tree, where they both occupied themselves in an intense pecking and foraging session among the broken boughs.

Vague wonderings about shiny objects and magpies’ fascination with such things drifted through my mind, but I had barely recovered from the fright of being on the receiving end of an attempted magpie mugging when it did it again. For a few more seconds it hovered at the window, screeching earnestly, its beak so far open that I could see its pink tongue and right down the back of its throat. As I was considering the good fortunate of having the window tightly shut, so the bird was unlikely to get in, I was struck by the sudden thought of Owl Post. Could it be that this magpie was not just trying to help itself to something sparkly in my office, but was deliberately attracting my attention for some more significant reason? At once my gaze shifted to its leg to see if there was a package tied there, but there was clearly none. It flew away again and returned to its conifer, which I noticed now contained three black and white occupants, all immersed in the earnest task of frantic foliage rummaging.

I paused to consider the implications of Magpie post. Could the Ministry of Magic have passed a regulation to utilise magpies as an alternative to owls? Hmm, I could see some distinct advantages to this. Magpies in built up areas are likely to be less conspicuous to muggles than owls. Magpies are not nocturnal, so could supplement the owls with additional daytime shifts to provide a full 24 hour postal service. I grabbed my camera and poised myself at the window, waiting for it to return so I could get a close-up shot of this frantic bird that was clearly on some sort of magical magpie mission. But of course, now that I had my camera, all three birds remained steadfastly in their tree and refused to come any closer. Eventually I had to content myself with a few snaps taken from a distance.

The Magpie Post incident appeared to finish there. Ironically the partially severed conifer was cut down two days later by my neighbour, so if the magpies had been using it as a temporary post office collection/drop off point, I will never know. Was this abrupt ending to the episode a coincidence? Or does my neighbour also Know something? Is there a connection between the appearance of Florean Fortescue’s brother’s van and the arrival of Magpie Post in the neighbourhood? Were they trying to contact Mr. Fortescue? Is there a link between the sudden onset of mysterious incidents and the ever closer arrival of Book 6?

Maybe that would have been the end of that. Perhaps to the average muggle, nothing even remotely odd could be read into these incidents, but it seems that when magical things begin to happen, even the ‘perfectly normal, thank you very much’ residents of Falkland Place cannot fail but to notice.

At 6:30am last Monday morning I was abruptly awoken by an unlikely racket that I can only describe as someone letting off an air horn right outside my bedroom window. Possibly an air horn that was at the end of its canister, and rather than emitting one constant ear-splitting wail, had now reached the point of coughing out a variety of deafening honks, squeals and whistles at regular intervals. Puzzled, I peered out of my window but all I saw were equally perplexed neighbours peering out of theirs. After a minute or so the source of the disturbance appeared to be moving further away until it faded into the distance and was gone. I went back to bed for a final half hour’s snooze before getting up, then when I did, I’d forgotten the incident entirely. Forgotten that is, until the following morning when, with the relentless punctuality of an alarm clock, the same thing happened again. This time having been on the receiving end of a generous helping of wine and champagne the previous night, (it was my wedding anniversary), I opted not to bother to investigate and instead satisfied myself that it must be a very large and very noisy goose. They make honking noises I told myself, perhaps one had flown over from a nearby farm or something. My husband of course, with the acute responsiveness of a sleeping brick, snored peacefully on.

It was only later that evening as we opened the front door to go out that we came face to face with what had clearly been the culprit of the dawn interruptions. A large and feathery crested bird was pecking unconcernedly among the flowerbeds in our front garden.I recognised it immediately as being

And now it’s five days later. As my certainty grows that there is more to Falkland Place than meets the eye, my attention is drawn to the still present peahen, which presumably has just rung next-door-but-one’s front door bell as it now appears to be waiting at their doorstep for someone to respond. My husband informs me that the magpies have been spotted in the back garden again, and I’m keeping a sharp watch for the return of Ted Fortescue’s van.

But I’m going to have to leave my musings there. A muffled creak of floorboard downstairs warns me that my observations may not have gone unnoticed after all. Even as I write this I’m aware that an advance guard of Ministry Officials may be making their way across my darkened hallway and up the stairs, memory modification charms at the ready.

If you’re reading this then the written facts at least have escaped obliviation and are still at large in the muggle world. As far as my own memory goes however, there is no guarantee that I will have any recollection of these incidents in the morning. Muggles and wizards be warned; the up and coming release of Book 6 may have sparked the most mysterious wave of magical encounters yet, and there’s at least one muggle out here who thinks she Knows.

Constant vigilance everyone!