Harry lay on the uncomfortable bed his relatives had begrudgingly provided him in his own room. He was lost in thought, grappling with an unsettling feeling that something was amiss. He recalled researching a mysterious magical stone during the school year — a stone that, or at least its replica, was supposedly at Hogwarts and in danger. Yet, the specifics eluded him.
Adding to his unease were the recurring nightmares he'd experienced at the beginning of summer, where he turned men to ashes with a mere touch. From what little he understood about the workings of the mind, he knew such dreams—particularly the repetitive kind—didn't appear without reason. But once again, he couldn't grasp what might have triggered them... Unless his subconscious—or perhaps some spell—had wiped his memory of events that transpired when he tried to save Hermione from that Death Eater. To make matters worse, no one had been there to comfort him afterward.
Then there was Albus Dumbledore. Harry couldn't shake off the feeling that he didn't trust the ancient man, and there had to be a valid reason for that mistrust. Yet, after being rescued from the Death Eater, something had shifted, making him view Dumbledore almost like a second Merlin. Even so, Harry was certain he couldn't view the headmaster as someone to follow blindly, despite what his mind insisted. There had to be some kind of mind magic at play. As a result, Harry resolved to remain cautious around Dumbledore.
Lastly, there were the Dursleys. He found himself feeling an odd sense of obligation to stay with them, even though, as the scion of the noble House of Potter, he could easily have found accommodations elsewhere in the British Isles. It felt as if some compulsion had drawn him back to Privet Drive. His logical side argued for remaining, at least temporarily, to ensure that whoever had manipulated him into returning to his relatives would be satisfied—after all, he didn't want to risk becoming a mindless drone. Thus, he would have to navigate this unwelcome situation under someone else's control for a while.
Turning onto his side, Harry glanced at the book he was currently reading: a tome on human anatomy. He had told the Dursleys that he needed to study hard to escape their house as soon as possible, which had made them bearable—only a few chores per day and plenty of 'free time' to focus on his studies. Completing his summer homework had taken just a couple of days, and with the rest of his two-week stay at Number Four Privet Drive, he was delving into self-study on medicine, a subject he had nearly abandoned amidst the chaos at Hogwarts.
Speaking of Hogwarts... another source of concern flared in his mind: Harry hadn't received any letters from his friends, nor had the ones he sent them garnered responses. He might have suspected the mail wards around his relatives' house were to blame—after all, why hadn't he received fan mail in the ten years he'd lived with them? However, Hedwig had returned looking worn out a few times, indicating that his mail was intercepted manually, not through magic. Most likely, the individual responsible for that and the one tampering with his mind were two separate actors... Why couldn't life ever be simple?
At least getting to the mall to buy gifts for his friends wouldn't be too much of a hassle, as he was spending his own money and all his aunt had to do was drive him there during one of her grocery trips.
"Boy! Get down here now!" Uncle Vernon yelled from the guest room, breaking into Harry's musings about finding someone at Diagon Alley to enchant his gifts. With a resigned sigh, he climbed out of bed and ventured downstairs.
As it turned out, Uncle Vernon had clients over for dinner and wanted Harry to stay in his room throughout their visit. Harry couldn't fathom why it took thirty minutes for Vernon to explain that, but he complied nonetheless.
When Harry finally returned to his room, he nearly shouted in surprise at what—or rather who—was sitting on his bed. The creature—a house elf—was two feet tall, had greenish skin and large eyes, and wore a tattered pillowcase. As soon as Harry entered, the elf jumped off the bed and bowed so deeply that its nose touched the carpet.
"Harry Potter! So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir... Such an honor!" the elf squeaked.
Harry wasn't particularly thrilled to have a visitor. "Um... Who are you? What are you doing in my room? And please be quiet," he said, his voice serious.
Dobby stepped back, eyes widening. "Of course... The great Harry Potter wouldn't know of Dobby... I is Dobby, the house elf, sir, just Dobby." The creature hesitated for a moment. "Dobby came to... to tell you, sir... It be difficult... Dobby don't know where to begin..."
Harry sighed, knowing this would be a challenge. "Just sit," he instructed, gesturing to the only chair in the room. Dobby's eyes widened even further.
"Oh, no... Dobby can't. Dobby not allowed to sit with wizards!" At least the elf seemed to remember to keep his voice down. "But great Harry Potter tells Dobby to sit and... So great Harry Potter, sir!" Still, Dobby took a seat.
"What did you want to tell me?" Harry asked, stifling impatience as he sensed the elf was about to ramble again.
Dobby looked conflicted, opening his mouth and then trying fruitlessly to hit himself with a lamp. Harry intervened. "What are you doing?"
"I almost said bad things about my family... Dobby has to punish himself for it," the elf explained, leaving Harry bewildered.
"Listen, you can punish yourself later," Harry said sharply, noting Dobby's frightened reaction. "What 'your' family are you talking about? And why haven't you told me what you wanted?"
Dobby seemed to ease up a bit. "Dobby be talking about the wizarding family he is serving, sir. Dobby be serving them until he dies." The sadness in the house elf's voice was palpable. It was clear he wasn't treated well, but also evident he couldn't leave his family. Considering Dobby had somehow bypassed the wards surrounding the Dursleys' home, it suggested some magical bond between the elf and the family that required him to stay. Harry hoped Dobby was just misfortunate and that not all house elves endured such treatment.
"Well…" Harry sighed again as the silence stretched, "what did you come to tell me?"
"Dobby be coming to warn the great Harry Potter, sir." Harry raised an eyebrow; the elf seemed unhinged, and this could be trivial. Yet, it could also be significant.
"Okay... what kind of terrible things?" Harry pressed. Dobby appeared torn, wanting to reveal more but seemingly constrained. "You can just nod if I'm right," Harry offered. After a moment, Dobby nodded reluctantly.
Harry sighed again. "And what is going to attack Hogwarts?"
"Dobby not knowing what be attacking Hogwarts. But Dobby know something will," he replied, causing Harry to curse under his breath.
"Now you want me to promise not to go? That's a lot of pressure for a warning," Harry replied. Sure, Dobby had powers that Harry could hardly comprehend, but he refused to allow himself to be coerced.
"But he wants me to make a promise, not an oath…" Harry thought. "If I promise and still go, it won't be binding. Plus, if I give my word not to go until the students arrive, I'll just be taking the train, right?" Consciously suppressing a smirk, he feigned a resigned sigh: "Very well, I won't be going to Hogwarts."
Dobby beamed upon hearing this. "Dobby be so happy! Dobby be able to keep the great Harry Potter safe!" However, his expression turned serious again. "Dobby feels he can give the great Harry Potter his letters back now." Before Harry could respond, Dobby produced a thick stack of letters from his pillowcase.
"So you were the one messing with my mail," Harry said coldly.
"Harry Potter, sir, shouldn't be angry! Dobby did this for the best. Dobby hoped... hoped that if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten, he wouldn't want to return to Hogwarts." Harry struggled to suppress his growing frustration.
"Just give me the letters... please." Dobby erupted into praise of Harry's kindness but handed the letters over nevertheless. However, as Dobby passed the stack, he noticed a name on one of them, gasping as if he'd seen a ghost.
"Dobby be punishing himself most severely... Dobby be interfering with his young mistress' letters… and the young mistress was always kind to Dobby..." From his frantic reaction, Harry pieced together that this 'young mistress'—Draconica, perhaps?—was likely someone who treated Dobby far better than the average elf was treated by their families. As Dobby continued lamenting, Harry skimmed through the letters: three were indeed from Draconica, two from Neville, and five more from Hermione, in addition to the seven he had previously attempted to send. Growing weary from listening to the slightly deranged elf, Harry finally decided it was time to send him back home.
"Um…" He forced politeness into his tone. "Dobby, not that I don't enjoy your company, but shouldn't you head back? What if your family notices you're gone?" Dobby looked at the alarm clock beside Harry's bed and gasped.
"The great Harry Potter is right. Dobby must return home..." With a quiet pop, the house elf disappeared.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Harry examined the letters before resolving to respond to all of them first thing the next morning. Too tired to continue reading, he decided to wrap up the day early and get some much-needed sleep.
~/ *** \~
Meanwhile, in Hogwarts, a certain old man with far too many titles pondered how to bring magical Britain to the Light side. He felt confident he had control over the 'Chosen One' and could guide him toward the Greater Good. Yet, Dumbledore knew he had to proceed with caution, considering Harry's independent streak.
With a deep sigh, Albus resumed plotting ways to change the wizarding world for the Greater Good, mentally cataloging backup plans in case he misjudged which boy was truly the 'Chosen One.'
Saving the world from darkness was far more complicated than he had anticipated...
~/ *** \~
"Hello, Tom." Harry greeted as he stepped into the Leaky Cauldron one afternoon in mid-July. "I'd like to rent a room until the end of summer." The bartender smiled back, handing Harry the key for Room Seven—though it hardly mattered to Harry what the room number was. After thanking him, the young wizard made his way to the room.
Much like the room he occupied last summer, this one resembled his space at the Dursleys but was outfitted with far more comfortable furniture and appeared much cozier, albeit a bit sterile, as any good hotel room should be. After settling Hedwig's cage next to the window so she would have a place to rest, Harry began unpacking his belongings, including his collection of medical books.
Scanning the titles, he realized he was nearly through with the simpler texts. Unless he wanted to delve into topics like the physiology of higher neural activity, it was time to acquire some new books—specifically, magical ones—to enhance his understanding. However, with plenty of reading material left to tide him over until school began, the green-eyed wizard decided to be lazy and postpone any visit to Flourish and Blotts until he received his list of school supplies for the upcoming year. Still, he had other business to attend to in Diagon Alley.
Despite Tom's directions, it took Harry a while to locate the enchanter's workshop because it was small, lacking visible signs, and rather tucked away from the main entrance of the Alley.
"Hello, anybody here?" he called upon entering the workshop, only to be greeted by a jingle of silver bells. The interior was cluttered with a variety of enchanted items and unfinished projects strewn across tables. "Anyone?" he raised his voice, hoping the proprietor was merely preoccupied.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," came a raspy voice from somewhere behind what appeared to be a solid wall. Moments later, a hidden door behind the counter opened, and an older man emerged. Emilio Fagonini, as the sign read, seemed to fit the stereotype of a mad scientist: long, disheveled gray hair, pale complexion, oversized glasses with multiple lenses, and various instruments tucked into the pockets of his dusty robe.
"What brings you to my shop, young man?" Emilio said as he scrutinized Harry through his goggles.
"I need self-refilling enchantments on these." Harry offered four different fountain pens to the shop owner, who inspected them through his glasses. "And self-refilling and preservation enchantments on these." He produced a modern ballpoint pen along with several spare cores in various colors.
"Ah yes, that can be accomplished, young man. However, enchanting items does not come cheap. For those quills, I'll need fifteen galleons, and another three for this curious muggle pen. Eighteen in total, with a third paid in advance... and a week's time to complete the work." While the cost was on the higher end, it was less than what he had paid to acquire them, so Harry agreed.
"Very well, I'll be back next Friday to collect them." He handed Emilio six galleons.
"I'll have your requests completed by then," Emilio assured him before returning to his work.