It was good to be home. Harry had not realized how much of a break he had needed until he was lying on the rug in front of the large fireplace just off the elves' kitchen, listening to Toory and Zeely working to prepare a stew while he read today's edition of the Daily Prophet. Every now and then, Harry would stop reading and give his full attention to Hedwig, whose feathers he was scratching as he read. Lying with his head on his arm, Harry watched her trying (and failing) to keep from falling asleep as he stroked the back of her head and neck. He basked in the lack of things to worry about. No Quirrell, no Voldemort, no mysteries—well, no pressing mysteries at least. There were still a few things Harry had encountered during his first year at Hogwarts that had left him curious, but those could wait. Now, he was just home… where there was just the one thing giving him a bit of anxiety.
Once Hedwig was fully asleep, Harry got up quietly so as not to wake her and tiptoed into the kitchen. During the first few weeks of summer, Harry had been building the nerve to do what he was about to do, wanting to ask Toory and Zeely something, but concerned about potentially offending them. Having debated it internally ad nauseam, he felt that the risk was worth what he hoped would be the benefits.
"Master likes them medium-sized," Toory was saying as Harry entered, the two elves' back to him.
"I is knowing that!" Zeely said a little testily, cutting potatoes next to Toory at the counter. "Master also likes his carrots extra mushy."
Toory was skinning carrots, but gave no response to this reminder. It was nighttime, but Harry knew that this particular stew needed to simmer for eleven hours, hence their late-night preparations.
"I also like it when you use red onions, which I can smell you've already done, so nice job," Harry said, giving them both a little start.
"Master!" Zeely squeaked, turning around and wiping her hands on her apron. "Is you needing food? A nightcap? Warm milk?"
Harry raised his hands and waved her off. "No, I… hm, actually yes — I am a little hungry, but—"
He should have thought before he said it, because both of the elves moved into a flurry of activity, questions, and suggestions about what Harry might like them to prepare for him. He finally had to pull out the heavy ammunition to get them to stop.
"Be quiet and listen for just a moment," he said, and they fell silent, unable to do otherwise.
"So, I've been thinking," Harry started, moving around to the other side of the counter, stationed in the center of the kitchen. "Food… We eat it when we're hungry, obviously, and we eat what we've come to like, or what sounds good at the moment but… There's a cultural aspect to it too, I'm realizing. Humans like to cook for their families—it makes them happy, just like it makes you two happy. And they like cooking together, or trying new recipes, and there's just a lot of other reasons why—even when you've got two incredible house elves taking care of you and always feeding you—someone might want to learn to cook as well, to be able to do it for themselves if they needed to, and to enjoying doing it for others, like you do."
He gestured at them, trying to communicate his sincere appreciation. "And I also thought it might be something fun the three of us could do together… Erm, what I'm trying to say is, I've been wondering about how you both might feel about maybe helping me learn how to cook?"
Harry had tried to predict their reactions to this request, knowing they would say yes immediately no matter how they felt about it, as it was impossible for them to do otherwise, but he was worried about hurting their feelings. With a wave of relief, he saw Toory's face erupt in a huge grin, turning to look at Zeely, who looked back at Toory with gleeful excitement radiating off of her.
"We has been hoping you would ask us, Sir!" Zeely said, her breath hitching with emotion. "We is wanting to teach you!"
Toory nodded enthusiastically. The two of them both seemed to want to say more, Harry could tell, but they were stopping themselves. Harry furrowed his brow, wondering what that was all about. The look on his face seemed to prompt Toory to explain.
He told Harry that, for years, Toory and Zeely had enjoyed working alongside the adults in the Potter family as the witches, wizards, and elves collaborated to show the Potter children how to prepare the staples of the family recipes, and work to find new ones to try. While his parents were not there to continue the tradition, Toory and Zeely had been hoping to keep it going with Harry, but had not yet found it within themselves to broach the topic.
Harry let out a single laugh, unable to keep the emotion out of it and needing to blink repeatedly to clear his eyes. "I've been trying to build up the courage to ask you two to show me how to cook, all the while the two of you have been doing the same." He shook his head. "I think maybe we should start trying a little harder to be more open with each other."
Zeely nodded furiously, large tears flying everywhere, while Toory gave one strong nod.
"I agree, Master Harry," he stated.
Harry nodded as well, then looked down at the counter. "Right, so—this is a spoon, yeah?" he asked, snatching a large cutting knife up by the blade and holding it out in front of him.
Zeely gasped horrifically and Toory snapped his fingers, the knife disappearing from Harry's hand at once. Harry grinned cheekily at them as they recovered from his little joke.
"Lesson one," Toory said sternly. "Kitchen safety."
Owl post delivery to Potter Manor functioned similarly to arriving guests, in that any correspondence did not arrive directly to the house, but rather a designated hutch warded to allow the entry of post owls only. Any number of the owls living at the manor would get an alert whenever something was delivered, and then fly off to retrieve it. Naturally, Hedwig took it upon herself to fulfil these duties any time she and Harry were home, inspiring him to upgrade it with several amenities she felt the visiting owls deserved and would appreciate.
This morning, Hedwig arrived at Harry's favorite outdoor table, dropping a small pile of letters next to his breakfast plate and enjoying a sip of his orange juice after he had tapped the glass with his fingernail, which she knew was his way of offering it to her. He shuffled through the envelopes, deciding in which order to open them. There was a letter from his financial consultant, Beatrice Hawkins. Harry opened this first, confirming his assumption that these were the forms he needed to sign to finalize some moves he had decided to make with a bit of his gold, purchasing interests in a few businesses he found to have something of a monopoly in spreading influence throughout the wizarding community, The Daily Prophet and Flourish and Blotts the most notable among them. There was also something from Beatrice that he had not been expecting.
A small, torn-off piece of parchment had been inscribed with an exclamation mark and a smiley face. Harry detached it from the pages beneath it to see that his patent for Wireless Walls had, at last, been approved by the Ministry. He grinned broadly, hopeful that this, more than anything else, was his best chance at broadening wizarding culture's exposure to new ideas.
While he planned to maintain his majority stock in Wireless Walls, and have a large say in the types of programming and coverage being offered outside of the current slate of Quidditch matches already lined up, he was also looking forward to encouraging the platform to share ideas and perspectives he had noticed were somewhat limited in this society. One thing he was looking forward to in particular was the slow dissemination of some of the scientific technological achievements made by Muggles during the past few decades. Harry had found that Muggles were often depicted as somewhat unintelligent and simple when discussed in wizarding society, which Harry considered to be both elitist and dangerous considering the boon of technology Muggles had gone through in recent years.
He tried to push aside for now the torrent of excited thoughts he had about which steps to first take with Wireless Walls, and looked at the other envelopes. A statement from Gringotts, a friendly reminder from his private Magizoologists about upcoming care routines for a number of the animals in Harry's care, a "Tap-to-Transfer" receipt from Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary, which Harry knew was in response to a large order he had paced but was going to check extensively before activating…
Harry frowned. The only other envelope was from Puddlemere United, which Harry thought likely to be some kind of correspondence sent out to their box seat members. There was nothing from any of his friends—not from any of them, not even Ron or Hermione. They had been home for weeks, which Harry had assumed was enough time for most of them to enjoy being with their families enough to spare a few minutes to stay in contact with one another. And yet, while Harry had sent a few friendly letters out, he had not received a single piece of parchment in return from any of them.
Hating the way he was feeling sorry for himself, Harry tried to distract his thinking by opening the Puddlemere envelope. Failing at first to focus on it, he had to re-read the first two sentences in what he knew must be the first time doing such a thing since he was four years old.
Congratulations, Mr. Potter! Your exceptional Quidditch talents have earned you the opportunity to compete for a position on Puddlemere United's Under-17 team. A founding member of the Underage European Quidditch League, Puddlemere Uni strives to find aspiring Quidditch players such as yourself with whom to build a mutually beneficial partnership which we hope will…
His attention now a laser-like focus, Harry sped through the rest of the letter, a satisfied smile building more and more strongly on his face as he did. It appeared as though the scout Harry had met at the last Hogwarts Quidditch game had not been exaggerating. Harry was invited to try out for Seeker for Puddlemere's UEQL team, Puddlemere Uni, one week from tomorrow. There was a list of skills provided which Harry was supposed to be ready to demonstrate to the best of his ability (he was already organizing a practice schedule and sequence in his mind); instructions on what to wear and bring (including a parent or guardian, which Harry assumed would be worked out easily in his case by demonstrating his legal status as an adult, even if it slightly worried him that it could potentially disqualify him for the underage league); a variety of Puddlemere merchandise, such as a banner, magical stickers, and quills and parchment rolls stenciled with the Puddlemere logo, all likely meant to entice and excite the kids receiving these letters, which Harry found to be entirely successful; and a badge labeled "Try-Outs," which he was to affix to his chest before arriving, granting him access to all of the appropriate areas in the Puddlemere facility he would be visiting.
After reading all of that, Harry just sat for a little while, smiling at the landscape visible from the porch. He enjoyed playing Quidditch for Gryffindor, and playing in pick-up games with friends, but to land a spot on Puddlemere Uni… Harry brought his letters inside, putting them in his study to organize later. Before walking back outside, he took some time to collect a few things.
Minutes later, Harry was walking across the east garden, levitating behind him two massive bowls, each the size of a small child's swimming pool. When he got to the usual spot, he lowered the bowls onto the grass, then whistled loudly, the sound reverberating across the garden and into the forest. Just moments later, Harry could feel the rumble under his feet even before he could hear it, closely followed by the explosion of branches out towards him as two huge figures charged from the forest, the trees bending and snapping back into place.
In front of Harry at his left, Ajax the Nundu skidded to a halt and began eating at once from the bowl at his feet, upon which Harry had painted "Big Guy" in bold letters. A moment later, the three-headed giant dog Fluffy arrived on Harry's right and began eating just as eagerly, as well as a little competitively, even if each of the three heads connected to the same stomach. Every now and then, one of Fluffy's heads would take a moment to leer at Ajax, seemingly unable to ignore the cat eating only feet away from his own food, a growl always starting to emerge.
"Ah-ah-eh!" Harry would correct with a raised finger, and everyone would return to their meal.
Satiated, the cat and dog managed to play nicely together with Harry after their meal, chasing each other around the grounds and retrieving (in Fluffy's case) or attacking (for Ajax) various items which Harry hurtled about.
Harry felt a sense of satisfaction at having convinced Hagrid to allow Fluffy to stay at Potter Manor as part of Harry's menagerie. It had been Hagrid's own suggestion a couple of weeks ago after seeing how happy Berta was, and yet he had still needed Harry's goading to make it happen. The last time Hagrid was here, he had once again seen how releasing the animal to Harry's care had led to its happiness; it made Harry happy to see Hagrid happy about the arrangement.
Fluffy and Ajax seemed to spontaneously decide together that playtime was over and began heading their separate ways, leaving Harry alone with the giant bowls. He frowned, realizing that Hagrid was yet another friend from whom Harry had not heard in a while.
Harry did not sleep the night before Quidditch try-outs. He had been planning to, but whenever he closed his eyes, he could not help but to envision a skill he wanted to be sure to highlight for the coaches, which would inevitably lead to him leaping out the window with his broom to practice it a few more times. When the sun came up, he abandoned any thought of sleep and made himself an early breakfast. He used the main kitchen to try to avoid disturbing Toory and Zeely, which nearly worked, the pair of them only coming in at the end to add a bit of seasoning to Harry's eggs and clear the crumbs from the edge of his plate before he sat down to immediately get more crumbs on it.
"And Master is quite sure he is not wanting company on his trip?" Toory tried to ask casually as Harry laced up his boots later.
"Yes. Quite sure. Just a bit of independent fun," Harry assured him for the fourth time in two days. He felt it would be rather odd to have his house elves accompany him to try-outs, but promised Toory that if it ended up being that house-elves had been expected to attend, he would call for them at once. Harry thought maybe Toory was feeling restless, and decided that, if things with Puddlemere went well, he would send him to hand-deliver a note to Ron about it, which would hopefully earn a reply.
An hour before he was scheduled to meet with Philbert Deverill, manager of Puddlemere United, Harry Apparated outside the enchanted moor at which Puddlemere had a practice pitch. He saw several other kids clearly there for try-outs, all of them much older than him, all of them with a parent, and none with any house-elves. As Harry walked the path towards the facility, he earned a few doubletakes at his scar, which was not unusual and rather more common nowadays after the events at the end of the school year had inevitably become widely known.
Harry had been wondering how many other Hogwarts students there would be at try-outs, or if the entire roster of candidates might in fact be from the school. As it turned out, the only fellow Hogwarts student Harry saw during his time there was the Hufflepuff Seeker, who was too nervous to even notice when Harry gave him a friendly wave.
Not wanting to intrude, but highly curious, Harry listened harder to the conversation between parents and kids around him. He learned that some candidates were from more local schools of magic, which Harry knew to be far less formal and immersive but which worked better with many families' situations; some were learning magic at home while continuing to attend Muggle public schools—an uncommon path, as it required a lot of permits and accountability coordinated through the Ministry's Muggle Liaison Office; while some were attending smaller private schools, most of whom Harry found to come across as rather snooty, although he doubted that it was their fault.
"I'm Gemma Carmichael," a girl said out of nowhere, coming in quickly to stand next to Harry as he leaned on a fence watching some Keepers trying out in the field it surrounded. "I'm 13, my dad died when I was a baby, my mum runs a magical corner shop in Braithwaite which is the only one for miles and that I work at whenever I'm able… or whenever I'm not goofing off on the pitch or with my friends. Oh, and I have a scar shaped like a crescent moon on my hip that I accidentally gave myself when I was a toddler, or so the story goes."
She leaned her broom against the fence and pulled her shirt up while pulling down the waistline of her Quidditch tights, showing Harry the scar, which sat very low under her hip bone and had a rather blueish hue to it against Gemma's caramel-colored skin. Harry gaped rather stupidly at it.
"It's magical, hence its continued existence, and I like to think it came about from something more nefarious than 'Messing about with your father's wand,' which I find to be a rather boring explanation. Anyway," she said with a sigh, getting her clothing back into place. "I figured if I shared that much with you straightaway, we'd be on somewhat equal footing."
She put her hand out and Harry shook it, smiling at her introduction. Generally speaking, he now knew as much about Gemma as everyone else here knew about him.
"Chaser?" Harry asked her, having taken note of the subtle alterations to her glove. He pointed at it and flexed his own fingers in explanation of the question.
"Yep," Gemma said, raising her gloved hand up and flexing her fingers much like Harry did. "Don't worry—it's all still regulation. I just like a bit of pinky freedom for gripping."
Harry nodded and showed Gemma the changes he had made to his own gloves. The more obvious changes were not apparent to the casual observer, as Harry had removed as much of the protective padding as he could without going outside the requirements, seeing as he just did not need such protection. It became quickly apparent that Gemma was quite the Quidditch enthusiast, keeping up with Harry as they discussed a wide range of technical and cultural aspects of the sport. By the time Gemma had to leave for her try-out, Harry found her to be more knowledgeable than he in the current state of affairs with teams and players—something of a superfan, but with enough of her own skill that she seemed quite at ease on a professional pitch, walking right up to chat with the Puddlemere United Chasers on hand to evaluate the underage candidates, while everyone else stood somewhat nervously to the side.
Harry was eager to watch the Chaser try-outs, but they had barely begun before he needed to make his way to his own. He was hoping to as least catch Gemma's eye to wave goodbye as he walked away, but she was fully focused on the Puddlemere player giving instructions.
There were nine other kids trying out for Seeker. Philbert Deverill stayed long enough to collect forms from everyone, introduce them to the players and coaches who would be running the try-outs, and tell them rather depressingly that what they had done on the pitch before now had gotten them only this far, and would not be considered past this point. If they wanted to earn a place on the team, they had to do it here, today.
As the Puddlemere starting Seeker and reserve Seeker began describing what the candidates would be asked to do, Harry had only the briefest of realizations that he was sinking into the same intensity of focus as Gemma had before submerging himself fully into it.
An hour later, Harry sat on the grass chugging water from his flask. The other Seeker candidates did the same, all of them breathing much more heavily than Harry, but all of them likely thinking the same thing he was—that the Puddlemere United players running this were mentally unstable considering the amount of enjoyment they seemed to have gotten out of torturing the kids trying out. The break was short-lived as they were called to report one-by-one for individual skills assessments, which Harry felt they purposefully left until now, wanting to see how well the potential Seekers could perform after an hour of exertion, as would be the case in any games they would play.
"Who wants to go first?" reserve Seeker Carmen Bennitol asked just as it seemed like people were starting to catch their breath.
Harry did not miss a beat, shooting to his feet and letting his broomstick slap hard into his hand as began walking forward at once. "I will," he stated firmly, and no one argued.
Once the Seekers had him out of earshot of the other candidates, they started giving him instructions.
"All right, Potter. Here's what we'd like to see…"
Harry had to work to not roll his eyes as the two of them quickly ran through the skills they were interested in seeing him perform, many of which were to flow from one into another to evaluate his transitional skills. There were places where he had some leeway on how to address the type of situation they were planning to put him in, and other places where he had to try to make a less-effective skill work in a situation when another would have served him better. Harry was not sure what the purpose of that was (perhaps to test his willingness to follow a game plan), but what he was sure of was that they were stringing together a nearly impossible-to-remember series of skills in an attempt to see how he would deal with frustrating circumstances and expectations. It was, quite possibly, the best thing Harry could have hoped for.
Eight minutes and twenty seconds later, Harry grabbed the Snitch from behind Bennitol's right ear, giving her a start with the cracking sound his blazing arm movement had made. He did a loop in celebration, enjoying a smattering of whoops and claps from some of the onlookers, flying to the ground at once upon hearing the whistle being blown.
"All right, you're done Potter. Find some green," Seeker Ben Atlas said when Harry landed lightly next to him, avoiding eye contact with Harry and seeming to be trying hard to not look impressed.
Harry waited until he was splayed out on the grass to grin madly behind a gloved hand. He had flown spectacularly.
Once all of the potential Seekers had each gone through their trials, there was some down time for most of the candidates while the Keepers finished their routines. A wave from Gemma invited Harry to come stand next to her at the same spot on the fence as before.
"How'd it go?" Harry asked by way of greeting.
"I dunno," Gemma said, excited nervousness radiating off of her. "I scored a goal, so that's got to be worth something, right?"
"Yeah, for sure!" Harry said. "Wait… scored a goal against one of these…" he waved at the line of Keeper candidates waiting next to the goal posts. "…or Matheson?"
"Matheson," Gemma said quietly, her eyes lighting up. Harry smiled.
"Okay, well that's—yeah I'd say that's worth something. Nice one," he said, genuinely impressed that she had been able to score against Puddlemere United's starting Keeper. He wondered if the man was bent out of shape about it, or just as impressed as Harry was.
"That's three in a row! Open your damn eyes!" Matheson shouted at the current child trying out as Keeper, and Harry felt that his question had been answered.
Once the individual skill evaluations were over, the Puddlemere players and coaches met for a long while, eventually coming back and dismissing half of the candidates outright, leaving fourteen behind, Harry and Gemma among them. As one of the coaches began talking about the scrimmages they were going to set up for the remaining time, Gemma snuck a look in at Harry, and he knew she was thinking the same thing he was. Fourteen players left to choose from meant that they had likely landed a spot on at least the reserve underage team, so now it was just a matter of disseminating the starters from the backups.
The first time they split the players up, Harry was on the team opposite Gemma, which he tried to not read too much into. Indeed, they only stated in those positions for a short while before the coaches mixed things up again. They did this four more times until Harry got the feeling based on the skill set he had seen from these players, that they were in something of a final try-out, with those on Harry's team the clear frontrunners for the starters. Indeed, the other seven candidates were sent to the grass while the entirety of Puddlemere United's starters took to the pitch to face off against Harry's team. Even while purposefully dulling his senses, Harry could feel the intensity of his team's emotions. They all knew they were minutes away from either landing a spot on the team, or doing something to warrant being demoted to the reserves.
"You'll need to subvert expectations to have any chance of scoring against Matheson," their assigned coach was saying to the Chasers during a team huddle. "Like you did earlier," he pointed out, referencing Gemma, who nodded seriously.
The coach went on to lay out some plans for giving it their best shot against the veteran pros, the Chasers and Beaters further strategizing in their groups while Harry and the potential Keeper flew apart from everyone else, organizing their own thoughts about their solitary positions.
Deverill, who was fully engaged with the process now that things had reached this level of importance, blew his whistle acting as referee, gathered the players together to remind them needlessly about the stakes, and released the balls to start the match.
"Well that was quite the bloodbath."
It was only 45 minutes later that the match ended—mercifully ended, as some of the candidates had put it—which Harry did not necessarily agree with owning to the rage he felt at having watched the Snitch be caught only feet away from where he had been in line to grab it, Puddlemere's Seeker somehow getting a better line on its path and snatching it out of the air. Harry was about to vent his frustrations at the warlock who had called it a blood bath when Gemma spoke before he could.
"Thanks, Gramps," she said, pulling off her Quidditch robes and chucking them at the ground in front of the old wizard's feet.
"Ah, don't feel bad," he said sincerely, putting an arm around Gemma's shoulders. "The fact that they didn't go easy on a group of wee school children shows just how much they think of yeh."
Harry had not thought of that, and decided to latch onto the idea as it made him feel substantially better about things. He pulled off his own Quidditch gear, which they had been told to do, glad to be getting out of it but still having a hard time accepting that his chance to impress anyone had come to an end. He felt he had barely really been able to—
"Congratulations to the following players, to whom Puddlemere United is happy to extend an invitation to play as starters on the official Puddlemere team of the UEQL, Puddlemere Uni," Philbert Deverill said, coming over to the cluster of candidates and their parents, who froze in anticipation.
"Seeker: Potter, Keeper: Agande, Chasers: Carmichael…"
Harry stopped actively listening, knowing he could review what was being said later, and turned his attention to Gemma, whose face lit up with overwhelming joy. She shared a look with her grandfather, whose large hand squeezed her shoulder in affectionate pride, then turned to look at Harry, who was just… happy.
The rest of the time spent at the facility was boring and exciting at the same time, filling out forms, being measured for robes and equipment, scheduling practices and press events (including mention of Wireless Walls which Harry was happy to find was already becoming integrated even at this level of play). At last, the seven starters found themselves alone, able to share with each other the elated excitement they each felt but were too embarrassed to display around anyone else.
"You flew great!" one of the Beaters said to Harry. "Were you just so pissed when she caught the Snitch before you could?"
"Yeah!" Harry responded emphatically.
They went on to share thoughts regarding moments of each other's brilliance and frustrations, before making sure they knew each other's names and contact information so they could keep in touch before their first practice.
"Please send me a letter before then so I can be sure this wasn't all a dream," Gemma told Harry as they were getting ready to leave.
"For sure," Harry promised, glad to have someone to write to over the summer, as his friends had so far let him down in that regard.
"Mkay. Well… bye, then," Gemma said, seeming a little awkward before moving to join her grandfather, who waved jovially at Harry before the pair of them walked away.
Harry stood for a while, suddenly feeling alone amongst the other kids who were celebrating with their parents. Maybe it was this moment that inspired it, but Harry deiced then that before he headed back to Potter Manor, as long as he was out, he might as well stop in at Privet Drive to say hello to the Dursleys.
It felt a little strange to ring the doorbell of what had been his childhood home, but Harry did so nonetheless, owing to the fact that it was definitely no longer a place he could call home. He heard Aunt Petunia's footsteps before the long pause between her looking through the peephole to see that it was Harry on her doorstep, and her eventual decision to open the door.
"Hello, Aunt Petunia. I… was in the area, and thought I would say hello."
Harry had actually considered sharing with his aunt the news of his admission to the Quidditch team, knowing she might have at least a small understanding of its significance, but abandoned that notion as soon as he saw her face. It had been a while since he had stepped foot in number four Privet Drive, and he had perhaps romanticized things a bit in his mind. From the look his aunt gave him now, she was clearly not glad to see him, and had no interest in any stories about the wizarding world in which he found himself.
She moved back to allow him access, but said nothing. Each second that transpired further cemented Harry's realization that coming here had been a mistake, and he plowed forward to try to rectify it.
"Right, well I just wanted to check my room to make sure I got everything, and then I'll be off," he now said, lying.
Aunt Petunia gave a curt nod as her only response, and Harry headed up the stairs after taking a glance around. From the looks of the new electronics and furniture, the Dursleys continued to do well financially without Harry's further assistance, which he knew he should feel grateful about, but found he was a little sorry for.
Feeling ashamed of himself for such thoughts, he moved more quickly towards his old bedroom. He had sent his Quidditch equipment back to the manor before coming here, now wondering if there in fact was anything that he might have left behind, or if this trip would prove to be a complete waste of time. Entering his room, he saw that it had been cleaned to predictable Aunt Petunia standards, and that there was nothing of interest to him, which, if he was being honest with himself, he already knew. Still, he sat on the bed and thought, wondering why he had even come here, and finding that it was likely a kneejerk reaction to seeing other kids being able to share their success with family members. It was stupid, he realized. He had no real family here. He got up and started for the door when there was a loud crack behind him. He whirled about, his wand quickly drawn.
For a fraction of a second, Harry thought that Zeely had followed him to Privet Drive and was now standing on his bed, which would have been jarring enough, but he soon realized that this was a completely different house-elf looking at him, which was even stranger. Harry had an insane thought for just a moment that Aunt Petunia might have found a way to buy a house-elf. He discarded such thinking at once and instead walked towards the elf, who had slipped off of the bed and was now bowing towards Harry so low that the end of his long, thin nose touched the carpet. Harry noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm- and leg-holes, not necessarily unusual attire for a house-elf, but a little wanting, in Harry's opinion.
"Erm — hello," Harry said cautiously.
"Harry Potter!" said the house-elf in a high-pitched voice Harry was sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir… Such an honor it is…"
Harry sank into his old desk chair. "Your name is Dobby, you said?" he asked, and the little elf nodded vigorously. "Forgive me, Dobby, but it's… pretty unusual to see a house-elf here." He gestured at the walls, hoping it was as obvious to Dobby as it was to Harry that this place was not a place that welcomed magic. "So… why are you here, if it's not too rude to ask?"
"Not at all rude, Harry Potter," said Dobby earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you, sir… it is difficult, sir… Dobby wonders where to begin…"
"Do you want to sit down?" Harry offered, conjuring a little chair he felt would be just Dobby's size.
To Harry's dismay, the elf burst into tears — very noisy tears.
"S-sit down!" he wailed. "Never . . . never ever . . ."
Harry thought he heard Aunt Petunia walking from the kitchen to listen at the bottom of the stairs, and cast a silencing Charm on the door.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to offend you or anything—"
"Offend Dobby!" choked the elf. "Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a wizard — like an equal —"
Harry ushered Dobby to the bed where he sat hiccoughing for a while, Harry sitting next to him. At last Dobby managed to control himself, and sat with his great eyes fixed on Harry in an expression of watery adoration.
"You should have been asked. That's the way the house-elf bond is supposed to work. They would treat you like family if they were decent witches and wizards."
"They isn't," Dobby said absently, swiping at his eyes. It took him a moment to realize what he had said, even if Harry had picked up on it with a grimace. A house-elf was not permitted to insult their masters the way Dobby just had, even if it was true.
Harry caught Dobby just in time as the elf leaped for the window, against which Harry was certain he was about to bang his head in punishment for what he had said. Lifting Dobby firmly but carefully back to the bed, Harry switched places with him so that there was less chance of any self-harm. Harry took note of how, even though Dobby was taller than Zeely, he was much lighter.
Harry felt it a second before it hit, and knew that it was carrying Dobby that had set it off. He had carried this elf before… no… he hadn't—not yet. Shell Cottage… the silver knife… Dobby had saved him—him and his friends. "Here lies Dobby, a free elf."
Harry stood at once and turned around, unable to hold back the tears. No. He did not want to feel whatever that was. He understood enough—Dobby was a friend. Whatever else he had just Seen could wait. He packed the vision away in his mind more forcefully than usual, secretly hoping that he might forget it entirely. When he turned back around, Dobby was looking at him, concerned.
"Is Harry Potter all right, sir?" he asked.
Harry waved him off. "I'm okay, sorry. Let's both just try to stay seated, yeah?" he laughed a little, but Dobby seemed highly put off by the casual humor. "So, you were saying—about why you're here…" Harry prompted. "Is there something I can help you with?"
Dobby's mouth popped open and he dissolved into wails of gratitude. Harry thought of a couple of Charms he felt might calm the house-elf down, but resorted instead to simply patting him on the shoulder, which had the inverse effect of making Dobby cry even harder. Harry removed his hand and decided to just let the moment play out, knowing he had sufficiently sealed the room from leaking sound, no matter how nosily Aunt Petunia might be trying to listen in.
"Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby… Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew…"
"Well, that's a bit dramatic," Harry said. "I do try to be a good person, but I also know lots of people just as… just good as me, better even!"
"Harry Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby reverently, his orb-like eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named — Dobby even heard tell that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago… that Harry Potter escaped yet again."
If it had not been for the vision, which was trying to leak little tendrils into Harry's conscious mind, he would likely have been suspicious of Dobby by now, but then again, even without the vision he could feel the elf's sincerity, so Harry just nodded.
Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears. "Ah, sir," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later… Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."
There was a silence at this. Again, Harry could feel Dobby's positive intent at sharing this warning, but Harry also felt something else, which he could not place.
"Why?" Harry asked.
"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"
"What terrible things?" said Harry at once. "Who's plotting them?"
Dobby made a funny choking noise and then moved to bang his head against the wall, Harry catching him before he could do so.
"Okay, I get it—not through any fault of your own—but if you can't tell me who is plotting terrible things at Hogwarts, you were either specifically ordered to not tell anyone what you knew, or it is your masters themselves who are behind it." He did not need Legilimency to see in Dobby's face that it was the latter, but he did not let on to Dobby so that he would not know he had spilled a secret. Besides, he still did not know to which family Dobby belonged, but it was not impossible to find out. For now, he tried to gather whatever other information he could.
"Putting that aside, why warn me, specifically? There are hundreds of other people going to Hogwarts this year. Why not warn them as well?" A thought struck him. "Hang on — this hasn't got anything to do with Voldemort, has it?"
It turned out that Dobby, like most of the wizarding world, treated the name as something of a taboo. The house elf pulled his ears down low to avoid hearing any further mention of it, and slowly shook his head.
"Not — not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir —"
But Dobby's eyes were wide and he seemed to be trying to give Harry a hint. Harry, however, was not aware of what it might be, and knew it was a lost cause to try to pry anything out of a house elf who had been sworn to secrecy. He thought for a minute.
"Well, like you said — I've faced him twice before and won. If he's planning to do something at Hogwarts, then that's precisely where I should be. I'm not going to sit around at home and let him hurt my friends."
"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?" said Dobby slyly.
"I expect they've just been — wait a minute," said Harry, frowning. "How do you know my friends haven't been writing to me?"
Dobby shuffled his feet.
"Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best —"
"Have you been stopping my letters?"
"Dobby has them here, sir," said the elf. Hopping nimbly off the bed, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make out Hermione's neat writing, Ron's untidy scrawl, as well as several others.
Dobby blinked anxiously up at Harry.
"Harry Potter mustn't be angry… Dobby hoped… if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him… Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir…"
Harry was barely listening. His friends had been writing to him! He made a grab for the letters, but Dobby jumped out of reach with surprising speed.
"Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"
Harry considered lying, but somehow could not bring himself to do it. He did want those letters, however, and prepared to take them from Dobby, by controlled force, if necessary.
"Dobby," said Harry evenly. "There is not a single thing you could say or do to convince me to stay away from Hogwarts."
The elf looked into Harry's eyes for a moment, his shoulders eventually sagging in defeat. "Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice," he said sadly.
The Elder wand snapped into Harry's hand, but he was a split second too late, Dobby snapping his fingers to Disapparate with a loud crack so that the Full Body-Bind Curse Harry had cast simply impacted the wall behind where Dobby had previously been.
Harry cursed under his breath and just stood for a while, thinking. The first thing he was going to do was head home and ask Toory and Zeely if they had ever heard of or met Dobby. He charged towards his bedroom door, an uneasy feeling building inside of him as he reached for the doorknob… which he could not grasp. His hand simply stopped a centimetre away from the knob as if he were tying to push together two opposing magnets. He tried to get at the knob from other angles, but it was to no avail.
Had Dobby done this? Tried to lock him in this bedroom at Privet Drive to keep him from going to Hogwarts? If so, there were just too many mistakes to count, as this was the very last place Harry would ever choose to be if he was not able to return to school.
He pointed his wand at the door, deciding to just vanish it entirely. Except… when he cast the spell, it hit the door but then diffused in concentric rings like ripples in a pond along the door's surface, eventually bleeding out onto the wall as well before disappearing. Harry walked to the door and reached out, realizing that no—the spell had never touched the door, or the wall. The same force that kept him from touching the doorknob was keeping him from impacting any boundary point of the room, and apparently worked on magic just as well as on fingers. Thinking back at his Full Body Bind Curse, the same pattern of energy dispersal had appeared on the wall then.
Harry moved around the room now, checking the walls, window, ceiling, and even the floor, which he now realized also had the strange barrier on its surface. He did not enjoy the realization that he was trapped in this room, working to get control of the panic he felt begin to rise.
He cancelled the silencing charm he had used earlier and moved to the door, listening as hard as his enhanced hearing would allow.
"Aunt Petunia?" he called loudly.
As he feared, he could tell that the boundary prevented sound from entering or leaving the room. Harry took a few steps back from the door, knowing that his best bet for escaping was to calm down and think it through, even as he began to wonder if air was getting through the barrier, and if he might just suffocate here.
"Dude," Harry admonished himself out loud, and it seemed to work.
For the next thirty minutes, Harry began attempting various methods of escape, starting with the simplest and most reasonable, which included using the Lord Ring, calling for Toory and Zeely, and Apparating. When those did not work, he tried a long list of spells which grew in intensity until he stood panting, doubled-over with both wands in his hands. Once that failed, he tried utilizing every one of the Animagus forms he had so far mastered, which had no impact on getting through the barrier, but served to completely destroy most of the furniture in the room.
He sat down, taking a long while to meditate, during which time he decided to try brain over brawn. Each time he had cast a spell at the room, the force of the spell moved away from the point of impact in a circular wave. Revisiting the memories of his attempts to use magic to power his way through, he saw there were times when the impact of one spell was still dying out when he cast the next, and sometimes the waves from their two dispersions met and had odd effects on each other. He stayed in contemplation for a very long time trying to work out the patterns, looking for any way to use it to his advantage.
He hopped up thinking maybe he had figured something out, ready to test it. He would focus on the window, he decided, as it was the weakest physical part of the room. Looking at it now, he blinked. It was dark outside. He checked his watch, surprised to see that it was the middle of the night. Toory and Zeely were probably beside themselves with worry by now, although Aunt Petunia apparently either didn't care, or didn't know that Harry was still here… or perhaps the barrier was present on the other side of the walls as well, which Harry dearly hoped was not the case, as it would make what he was about to try that much harder.
It would be three spells. Harry targeted the areas above, to the left, and to the right of the window. If he cast them in just the right places at just the right times, the waves of magic would cause a superposition, which Harry would hit with a fourth spell just as the enhanced wave reached the middle of the window. That should—or could— cause a force strong enough to shatter the window and, hopefully, the magic attached to the glass. His eyes darting between all three targets, Harry took a deep breath and aimed both wands straight and true in front of him.
"Okay… here we go…"
His first three spells hit just where he wanted them, just when he wanted them to, and as he had predicted, the waves converged in the center of the window. Harry drew back his arm to cast the final spell… when the window slid open. As if there had never been any barrier at all, the curtains parted and someone's head popped through from outside: a familiar, freckle-faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone.
"Oh," said Ron Weasley rather casually. "There you are."