Chapter 2
Harry managed not to shout, though only barley. He stared at the creature on his bed, before realizing it was rude and looking away. The creature was much shorter then your average person, about the height of a small child, it had a long, thin nose, bat-like ears and huge, bulging green eyes. Harry realized almost at once that they were the same eyes he had seen earlier inside the hedge.
Harry noticed that he was, once again, staring, but he didn’t think the creature minded as he was staring back with the same intensity.
Somewhere below them Harry could make out Dudley, sounding exactly as he had practiced, “May I take your coats, Mr and Mrs Mason?” He asked, and Harry could practically see him holding his arm out for them.
Harry was brought back to the creature in front of him as it slid off the bed and bowed so low it’s nose nearly touched the ground. Harry felt a bit awkward at this, he didn’t know why this strange creature was bowing to him. As the creature was bowing, Harry realized something he hadn’t registered before, the creature wasn’t wearing regular clothes. Looking closer Harry saw that what the creature was wearing weren’t clothes at all, instead it wore a grimy pillowcase with holes for the arms and neck.
“Er - hello,” Harry said in a way that was almost a question.
“Harry potter!” The creature asked in an oddly high pitched voice that Harry feared would be heard downstairs, “So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir. Such an honor it is…”
“T-thank you,” Harry said, edging towards his desk, before settling into his desk seat next to asleep Hedwig. He wanted to ask ‘what are you?’ But he decide it was too rude and opted for, “Who are you?”
“Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house elf.”
“Oh - really?” Said Harry, not knowing what a house elf was, or how it was different for a regular elf, “Er - I don’t want to be rude or anything, but - this isn’t a great time for me to have a house elf in my bedroom.” Harry heard Petunia high pitched laugh from downstairs and was sure that if he could hear that, then they could most certainly hear Dobby.
The house elf hung his head.
“Not that I’m not pleased to meet you,” Harry added quickly, not wanting to hurt his feelings, “but er, is there any particular reason you’re here?”
“Oh yes, sir.” Replied Dobby. Harry found that it bothered him when the house elf called him ‘sir’. It was a tittle, and not one Harry believed himself to be worthy of. “Dobby has come to tell you, sir…it is difficult sir…Dobby wonders where to began…”
“Sit down.” Harry told him, pointing at bed, he figured Dobby would get tired from standing so long.
But instead of graciously sitting on the bed as Harry had expected him to do, to his horror, Dobby burst into very noisy tears, “S-sit down! Never… never ever…” He sobbed.
Harry heard the voices downstairs falter for just a second before starting up again.
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, praying Dobby would stop crying, “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”
“Offend Dobby!” A look of utter shock covered the elf’s face, “Dobby had never been asked to sit down by a wizard - like an equal.” Harry wasn’t sure why they wouldn’t be equals, or at least so unequal that asking a house elf to sit would cause such a major response.
Harry, tried to say “Shh!” to get Dobby to be quiet and look comforting at the same time, it was much harder then he would have expected.
Harry ushered Dobby to bed where he sat hiccoughing, and looking like large very ugly doll. When he managed to control himself, he turned his huge eyes to Harry, watching him in watery admiration.
“You can’t have met many decent wizards,” Harry said.
Dobby shook head sadly. Then suddenly, without warning Dobby leaped up and started banging his head furiously on the window, “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”
Harry’s eyes widened in shock, a mixture of shock and fear flooded though him, “Don’t - what are you doing?” He hissed springing up to pull Dobby back on to bed.
But Dobby had already woken Hedwig, who let out a loud screech and flapped her wings wildly against bars of her cage, before calming. There was no way that the Dursleys and their guests downstairs hadn’t heard her.
“Dobby had to punish himself, sir.” The house elf, who had gone slightly cross-eyed, told him, “Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir…” Harry wanted to tell Dobby to stop calling him ‘sir’, but figured the elf would make another racket if he did.
“Your family?” Harry asked instead.
“The wizard family Dobby serves…” Dobby told him, “Dobby is a house-elf - bound to serve one house and one family forever.”
“Do they know your here?” Harry asked, the shutter that went through Dobby was answer enough.
“Oh no, sir, no…” The Dobby trailed off before continuing, “Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. if they ever knew, sir.”
“But won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?” Harry inquired with a mix of concern and curiosity.
“Dobby doubts that, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, sir. they let Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they remind me to do extra punishments.” If Harry hadn’t hated the elf's ‘family’ before, then he certainly did now.
“But why don't you leave? Escape?” Harry couldn’t imagin living with people like that forever, he would definitely try to escape.
“There is no escape, a house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never set Dobby free… Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir…” There was an unending sadness in Dobby’s voice, but Harry could tell he had come to terms with this fate.
Harry stared, not sure what to say to the elf.
“And I thought I was hard done by staying here for another four weeks. That makes the Dursleys sound almost human.” Harry muttered to himself, “Can’t anyone help you? Can’t I?”
Almost instantly Harry saw his mistake and desperately wished he hadn’t spoken. Dobby had, once again, dissolved wails of gratitude.
Franticly Harry whispered “Please, please be quiet. If the Dursleys hear anything, if they know your here…” Harry didn’t want to think of what would happen then.
“Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby…Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew.” Dobby said too loudly.
Feeling distinctly hot in the face Harry said, “Whatever you’ve heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish. I’m not even top of my year at Hogwarts, that’s Hermione, she-”
Harry stopped himself quickly, he couldn't stand to think of Hermione. It was much too painful
“Harry potter is humble and modest,” Dobby said reverently, orb-like eyes aglow, Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’.
“Voldemort?” Harry asked, forgetting that most people didn’t appreciate the use of this name.
Dobby, it seemed was one of those people. He clapped hands over huge ears and moaned, “Ah, speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name!”
“Sorry,” Harry said quickly, before the elf could make too much noise, “I know lots of people who don’t like it - my friend Ron…”
Harry stoped himself again. Thinking of Ron was too painful too. Harry couldn’t help but wonder if they had even liked him in the first place. Or maybe they had liked him, but he had done something wrong and they had stoped.
Harry snapped out of his thoughts, suddenly noticing that Dobby was leaned towards him, eyes wide as headlamps.
“Dobby hear tell,” The elf told Harry hoarsely, “That Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for the second time, just weeks ago…that Harry Potter escaped yet again.” There was astonishment clear in Dobby’s eyes
Harry hesitated for a second before nodding slowly. Dobby stared at him, eyes shining with tears.
“Ah, sir.” He said as he dabbed his face with the corner of the grubby pillow case 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 latter… Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts.” It was resolute. A final decision, not an option.
There was a long, heavy silence in the room upstairs. A silence broken only by the clinking of cutlery below and the low rumble of Vernon’s voice.
“W-what?” Harry asked at last, shattering the silence, “But I’ve got to go back - term starts on September the first. It’s all that’s keeping me going. You don’t know what it’s like to be here.” As soon as he said it he remembered who he talking too and almost winced at the words. Though it didn’t waver his resolve, “I don’t belong here. I belong in your world - at Hogwarts.”
But before he had even finished talking the elf had began to shake his head so hard his ears flapped, “No, no, no Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger!”
“Why?” Harry questioned, maybe if he knew the danger then he could just avoid it.
“There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Wizardry this year,” At this point Dobby was 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? Who’s plotting them?” Harry asked, starting to think that he wasn’t going to get an actual answer
Dobby made a funny choking noise and jumped up in a way that was quite alarming to Harry, before banging his head madly against the wall.
“Alright!” Harry jumped up next to him, grabbing his arm, “You can’t say, I understand. But why are you warning me? Hang on -” Harry said, a very frightening thought dawning on him, “This hasn’t got anything to do with Vol - sorry - you know who, has it? You could just shake or nod.” Harry added quickly as the house elf’s head tilted worryingly close to wall.
To Harry’s relief, Dobby took a step back from the wall, then slowly shook his head.
“Not He Who Must Not be Named, sir.” Harry breathed a sigh of relief, a second too soon if you asked him. Dobby was staring at him, his eyes wide, as if trying to convey some hint. Whatever it was that Dobby wanted to tell him wasn’t coming across, Harry was completely at sea.
After a second Harry asked, “He hasn’t got a brother has he?”
Dobby shook his head, his eyes growing impossibly wider.
“A sister, then?” Harry asked, “Or a lover, maybe?” Though, Harry couldn’t imagine who would submit themself to that torture.
When the elf just kept on shaking his head Harry sighed, “Well then, I can’t think who else would have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts. I mean there’s Dumbledore, for one thing - you know who Dumbledore is, don’t you?”
Dobby bowed his head, “Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore’s power rival those of He Who Must Not Be Named at the height of his strength. But, sir,” He continued, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper, “there are powers Dumbledore doesn’t… powers no decent wizard…”
Dobby jumped of the bed and sized Harry’s desk lamp. Before Harry could even think about stopping him, Dobby started beating himself in the head with it, an action which resulted in earsplitting yelps.
Harry quickly pulled the lamp away from him, heart thudding in his ears. There was no way he was getting out of this one, he thought, though he still prayed that he would.
The sudden silence downstairs proved his first thought right. Heart still thudding madly, Harry heard Vernon stomping into the hall.
“Dudley must have left his television on again, little tyke.” Vernon called back to Mrs. and Mr. Mason, his steps getting heavier the closer he got to Harry’s room.
Harry snapped into motion, “Quick! In the wardrobe!” He hissed as he stuffed Dobby into the closet. He closed the closet door, and had just flung himself onto bed when the door handle turned.
“What - the - devil - are - you - doing?” Vernon asked him though gritted teeth. His face was bright red and horribly close to Harry, “You’ve just ruined the punchline of my Japanese golfer joke…one more sound and you’ll wish you’d never been born, boy! Then Vernen turned and stomped, flat footed from room.
Harry could hardly believe it, he wasn’t getting punished for this! He really hoped Vernon could make the deal so that wouldn’t change.
Still slightly shaking, Harry let Dobby out of the wardrobe, “See what it’s like here? See why I’ve got to go back to Hogwarts? It’s the only place I’ve got -” Harry paused, not wanting wanting to give himself false hope, “Well, I think I’ve got friends.” I hope I do, at least. He added silently.
“Friends who don’t even write to Harry Potter.” Dobby said slyly. A statement, not a question.
“I expect they’ve just been having - hang on,” Harry paused, a note of confusion entering his voice, “How do you know my friends haven't been writing to me?”
The house elf looked down, shuffling his feet guilty, “Harry Potter musn’t be angry with Dobby - Dobby did it for the best…” Dobby told him, not bothering to try and lie.
“Have you been stoping my letters?” Harry asked in disbelief.
“Dobby has them here, sir.” He said quickly, then stepped away from Harry, pulling a big wad of letters out of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. Harry took a few steps forward to take them. He could make out the short slanted writing that belonged to Ron, Hermione’s tiny, neat cursive, and even a huge messy scrawl belonging to the game keeper, Hagrid. Harry reached out to grab them, but Dobby swiftly stepped out of reach.
Dobby blink anxiously up at Harry, “Harry Potter masn’t be angry… Dobby hoped…if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten about him…Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir…”
Not that it mattered what the elf was saying, Harry wasn’t listening anyways. Instead he made another grab for letters, but again, Dobby jumped out of reach.
“Harry Potter will have them, sir,” Dobby said hesitantly, then solidified his resolve, “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!” He was getting quit loud again and Harry didn’t think he would get of with just a warning if Vernon heard him again.
Still there was no way Harry wasn't going back to Hogwarts, “No. Give me my friends letters!”
Dobby looked down sadly, “Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice.”
He darted to to door, pulled it open, and sprinted downstairs, within seconds.
Mouth dry and stomach lurching, Harry sprang after him. He found that chasing a house elf down the stair, while try not make sound, wasn’t an easy task. Harry reached the bottom of the stairs and jumped last six, landing like cat. He stood up and looked around, desperately hoped Dobby would make his presence known to either the Dursleys or the Masons.
Harry wasn’t in the line of view from the dining room, but he was close enough to clearly hear Vernon say “…Tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr. Mason, she’s been dying to hear…”
Harry didn’t stick around to hear about the American plumbers. He silently ran up hall to the kitchen, as soon as he got there, he felt his stomach disappear.
Petunia’s massive pudding, with the whipped cream and sugared violets, that looked as if it took hours to make and even more time to decorate, was floating near ceiling. On the top of one of the cupboards crouched Dobby, looking especially guilty.
“No, please…” Harry whispered urgently, “They’ll kill me…”
“Harry Potter must say he’s not going back to school-” There was no way he was going to say that.
“Dobby…please…”
“Say it, sir…”
“I can’t.” Harry thought about lying, but he couldn’t do it.
Dobby gave him a tragic look, “Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter’s own good.”
---------------------------------------------------------------
Petunia Dursley was trying to act interested as Vernon and the Masons talked about pointless shallow things. It had always been a bit of a bore and a bit of a headache to Petunia, it was all a game after all. Though, over the years Petunia had gotten quite good at the game and she had long ago learned to hide her dislike for it. She knew how to play the supportive and doting wife, and the loving, overprotective mother. Not that she didn’t love Vernon and Dudley, of course she did, she just exaggerated sometimes.
Petunia also knew how to play the cruel aunt, terrified of magic and hatful towards her nephew. Again though, not a lie, merely an exaggeration, a stretching of the truth.
Dinners like this one we’re much more of a pain, then everyday life. Here everyone knows your lying or faking it. Everything is merely business. A wealthy couple making a huge purchase from a drill company on the verge of collapse.
From the outside it looked like a social event, it looked that way to some on the inside too. Dudley, Petunia was sure would never play the game. She was thankful for that, he shouldn’t have to.
It was harder to tell with Vernon. Petunia couldn’t tell if he arranged the evening and practiced over and over as a show of fake courtesy, or if it was just anticipation. Or maybe it was genuine courtesy, if that even existed.
Everything Petunia had done in preparation was a display of power. Or the illusion of it, at least. She arranged the seating to put Vernon at the head of the table, the Masons on either side of him, her and Dudley at the foot. In doing this, she made sure Vernon was displayed as the most important, the Masons too, were important, but not as much so as Vernon. Petunia herself would never sit at the head, she was merely a doting wife, no one important. As the wife Petunia had been tasked with making the dinner. She could not make just any dinner, it had to be fancy, and it had to be expensive. The dinner had to say ‘We have money, we don’t need yours.’ A lie, of course, but a necessary one. The Masons had to believe that they needed the deal more than Vernon did. They needed to believe, that they needed the drills more than we needed the money. A tender loin pork roast, made with overpriced ingredients said this perfectly.
But just a pork roast would still be seen as cheap. This was the reason that Petunia had worked for longer than she cared to admit on the perfect pudding. Just looking at it, you could see how much time was put into it. It tasted close to heaven, but most importantly, you could see how needlessly expensive it was. A perfect cherry on top on an already delicious cake.
Petunia was sure things would go exactly as she had planned them, there was only one flaw. One tiny detail that could ruin the entire night. That detail was Harry. He had already made enough noise to be heard from downstairs, what he had been doing Petunia had no idea. It had been enough to throw the evening off course, but he hadn’t derailed the entire night. A deal could - would, still be made.
But the deal would have to wait, for now Petunia had to suffer through fake pleasantries, and empty small talk that dripped with venom.
The complements and questions from both sides were always laced with a hidden meaning, “You look awfully handsome in that suit, young man. Would you mind my asking where you got it?” Mr. Mason had asked Dudley, smart to ask him. What he really wanted to know was if we owned it, or were just renting. When Petunia had said, “It’s been a lovely break, hasn’t it? I’m surprised you were still in town this week.” She had really meant “Is getting this deal important enough that you canceled your plans for it?”
Petunia, for the most part was quiet, a house wife was not meant to make a fuss.
Soon enough she was pulled back into the conversation, “Tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr. Mason, she’s been dying to hear it.”
Petunia knew nothing of this story and was almost certain she didn’t want to hear it. Still, her face lit up as she said, “Please do. Vernon refused to tell me, he said your a much better story teller than he is.”
In most conversations this was where Dudley would have cut in, saying something rude or sharp. That wouldn’t be happening today, or at least Petunia hoped it wouldn’t. She had told Dudley many times to only say what they had practiced. Unless asked by one of the adults, of course. Children were not meant to be loud or rude, instead they were meant to be well behaved and obedient. Petunia didn’t believe any of this to be true, in general she let Dudley say and do whatever he pleased.
At once, Petunia’s eyes flicked up in alarm. Though she may have imagined it, Petunia could have sworn she heard faint footsteps heading towards the kitchen. If it was Harry they might not get the deal.
“Of course,” Mr. Mason said, turning to Petunia, her eyes flicked back to him.
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could tell Petunia the story, a heart stopping crash sounded from the kitchen. The sound of glass shattering against the tiled floor. Petunia knew without a doubt that it was the stand her puding was on.
There was half a second of silence, where everyone just stared in astonishment, wondering what had happened.
Then, like the crack of a whip the room exploded back into motion. Vernon bounded to his feet making for the door, but stoping just short, Petunia wished he would feign confusion instead of making a scene. Dudley followed his father but looked less enraged and more triumphant, clearly wanting Harry to be punished. Petunia was surprised Dudley hadn’t screamed at the noise.
Mrs. Mason put down her cutlery, a shocked, but somewhat smug, look on her face, “And what could that possibly be? I’m sure it’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Petunia was too frazzled to dissect her words and respond appropriately, “No. I’m sure it’s fine.” She glanced at Vernon, who looked he was going to explode, then turned a murderous glare in the direction of the kitchen. She didn’t feel murderous though.
Vernon was obviously done waiting. He thundered into the kitchen, everyone else following behind him. To Petunia’s great assuagement, as soon as Vernon saw Harry he feined relief. It was nothing to worry about. Another lie.
Petunia made her way to the front, to stand next to Vernon. The sight was so terrible she nearly forgot to mask her shock with relief. Harry stood rigid in the centre of the kitchen, a look of shock on his face. Petunia had thought from the sound that he had knocked over the stand, maybe by accident, it was obvious that that wasn’t the case. The boy was covered head to toe in pudding, the cupboards, walls, and windows way above his head had splatters of pudding too. So Harry had to have used magic, though, Petunia couldn’t fathom why he would do such a thing.
Or maybe not. Harry kept glancing up at the top of one of the corner cupboards, the most peculiar look on his face. There was no time to dwell on it, there was no way Vernon would be able to gloss this over.
“It’s just our nephew.” Petunia said, turning to Mr. Mason, “He’s very disturbed, we decided to keep him upstairs because meeting strangers upsets him.” Mrs. Mason shot her a glace, that Petunia decided to ignore.
Dudley was near grinning at this point.
“Yes,” Vernon picked up and Petunia was grateful for it, “Nothing to worry about, we’ll just to have a quick talk with him, can’t have behavior like this going undisciplined. Dudley could you lead the Masons back to the dinning room.” Dudley, of course, knew saying no wasn’t an option, no matter how much he wanted to watch Harry get punished.
The Masons, still shocked, knew it wasn’t an option for them not to follow, no matter how much they wanted to know about this strange nephew.
Petunia let out a small sigh, maybe they - she, could still save this.
Vernon advanced on Harry, speaking to him in a tight, venomous voice, that was trying to stay quiet but just on the edge of shouting.
Petunia didn’t bother listening to them, though she did hear Vernon promise Harry he would flay him to an inch of his life. An exaggeration, but the threat was far from empty. She instead, went to the closet and got a mop so that Harry could clean the mess, still half wondering if it was really him who made it.
“Here,” She muttered, handing the mop to Vernon, who snatched it violently. He continued his rant to Harry before handing the mop over and getting him to start cleaning.
“Why don’t you get some icecream or something,” Vernon told her, sending a glare at Harry, before heading back to the dining room.
Harry let out a frustrated huff, then began scrubbing. “Did you do it?” Petunia asked him, walking over to the freezer to dig out some icecream. She smiled when she saw they had a rather expensive brand.
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, hesitancy and annoyance lacing his voice.
“I asked if you did it. Destroyed the pudding,” Petunia told him, as she pulled the icecream out. “Or was it someone else, from up there?” She added, gesturing in the direction of the cupboard Harry had been glazing at previously.
Harry hesitated for a second, caught of guard, “Would it make a difference?” He asked eventually.
A smart question, something Petunia had learned to expect from Harry. But she was not meant to believe that, she was not meant to be kind to him. She was meant to have eyes only for Dudley. He too was smarter than people expected. Petunia was meant to think that Dudley was the most brilliant boy in the world, but if truth be told, she didn’t know weather Dudley or Harry were smarter.
“No.” Petunia told him, her voice turned to stone, “It would not.”
Harry scoffed quietly, “Then why ask?”
Petunia didn’t have an answer for this. That wasn’t true though, she didn’t have an acceptable answer for it. So she simply turned to bring the icecream to the guests, leaving Harry to clean up a mess that he did not make.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Shockingly, the rest of the evening had gone smoothly. The Masons had asked a few questions regarding Harry, but were more or less satisfied this Vernon’s answers. They had talked about very little, dancing around the subject of drills, each side waiting for the perfect moment.
Petunia had just started handing a round box of after dinner mints. Light chatter was flouting though the air, the tone changing just barely, nearly imperceptible. Just as the mints made their way back to Petunia, the subject of drills was dropped. Took them long enough.
Everything was going fine, they would get the deal. Petunia nearly breathed a sigh of relief, Harry hadn’t ruined everything after all.
The game was nearly over. They had nearly won.
Petunia couldn’t help but feel a surge of accomplishment, after so much going wrong they would still get out of this.
That was before everything went to hell.
Petunia had left a window open to allow a breeze to pass through the house, that was her first mistake.
Well not really. Their was no way she could have known about the owl, but it was through that window that it entered the house.
Her next mistake was not trying to stop the owl, instead she watched it in fascination. It was a graceful creature, quite pretty too. The only other owl Petunia had seen was the one locked away in Harry’s room. She wasn’t fond of the bird, it was obnoxious and loud, it had a sharp, crisp look and always seemed to be glaring. This owl though, had a softer sort of look, it was tiny with a head that seemed too big, it had large yellow eyes that were almost perfect circles, and feathers of soft brown and white.
Petunia had just stared as it came in, not making a move to stop it. Looking closer, she realized it had something clutched in its talons. Something flat and slightly yellow, there was no way they could get out of this one. There was no way Harry could get out of this one either.
The tiny owl swooped into the house, looking all too innocent. Too small and graceful to cause any harm. Petunia was half convinced that that was the whole point of sending this particular owl and some big intimidating one.
By this point everyone was staring in a frozen kind of shock. Waiting. Watching. Praying that the owl would get out before it could cause any more harm to an already crumbling situation.
It did leave, but not before dropping the small yellow letter on Mrs Masons head. Great. There was no more hesitation after that, everything burst into action. Into chaos. Screaming like a banshee Mrs Mason sprung out of her seat and bolted away from the house, all the while shrieking half nonsensical words about lunatics and birds.
Mr Mason was quick to follow, standing up abruptly and hitting the table, causing the dishes to clatter and topple. Petunia flinched at the sudden noise, amplified by the previous silence.
Mr Mason stayed just long enough to stare down Petunia and say, “My wife is mortality afraid of birds. All shapes and sizes. Is this your idea of a joke?” His voice was thick with venom.
Petunia didn’t break her gaze and was about to say something, though she couldn’t tell you what, in response, but Mr Mason turned and stormed off after his wife.
She turned back to her family only to see Vernon storming into the kitchen, letter in hand to confront Harry. Dudley was following just behind and he had the most peculiar look in his face, as if he was trying not to smile. He wanted Harry to be punished and didn’t look far enough into the future to see anything beyond that.
Petunia sighed and followed them. Harry stood wide eyed, in the kitchen clutching the mop so tight that his knuckles where white. Vernon was advancing on him with a half crazed glint in his eyes. Understandable, as Harry’s stupid letter had ruined the deal for him. For all of them.
“Read it!” Vernon hissed, low and cruel, as he brandished the letter, “Go on - read it!”
Harry took the letter gingerly. As soon as he opened it Petunia saw the last bit of hope he had been holding onto vanish.
Harry looked up and gulped, he knew full well just how hopeless the situation was. Petunia took advantage of his clear shock and snatched the letter out of his hand, which had fallen helplessly at his side.
Dear Mr Potter,
We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.
As you know, under-age wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for Reasonable Restrictions of Under-Age Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).
We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity which risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.
Enjoy your holidays!
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
Improper Use of Magic Office
Ministry of Magic
She stared at it for a couple seconds after she had read it. Petunia had always assumed that Harry wouldn’t use magic, but the discovery that he couldn’t by the law was huge.
“Well what does it say?” Vernon snarled, grabbing the letter from Petunia. She let him take it.
As he read the stupid letter, his eyes light up with a feral glee, one that Petunia did not like, “You didn’t tell my you weren’t allowed to use magic outside of school,” Vernon growled, the mad gleam still dancing in his eyes, “Forgot to mention it…slipped your mind, I daresay…”
Harry, though obviously terrified, stood his ground, not breaking eye contact. Not that it mattered what he did, the punishment would be the same.
Vernon paused for a second, baring down on Harry in a way that distinctly reminded Petunia of a bulldog. Teeth bared and all, “Well i’ve got news for you, boy…” Vernon continued on his rant, “I’m locking you up…you’re never going back to that school…never…and if you try and magic yourself out - they’ll expel you!”
It was a good plan, though even Petunia would admit that it was much too harsh. No child should be locked up, caged like an animal. Petunia considered saying something, but thought better of it. She wasn’t supposed to question her husbands authority. She still hated it when he laughed maniacally as he dragged Harry up the stairs. Dudley was laughing too, though his eyes were clear and calm.
Petunia knew her husband, and she knew full well how extreme Harry’s new cage was going to be.
Vernon paid a man to fit bars on windows, Petunia could only imagine what Vernon claimed to need them for. Vernon himself fit cat flap on door so that food could be passed through three times a day. Harry was let out to use bathroom morning and evening, but he was always closely monitored. Other then that he spent all day in his room. His prison.
---------------------------------------------------------------
After four days the Dursleys weren’t relenting, and Harry saw no way out. He spent a lot of time trying to plot an escape, but he had yet to come up with something that might actually work.
Harry sat on his small bed, Watching numbly as the sun sank bellow the bars on his window. He wondered what would happen to him, if he would ever escape. He could escape, using magic, but what good was magic if he would be expelled? Harry was at an all-time low, he had lost his only weapon. Dobby may have saved him from some terrible danger but he would probably starve to death if this kept up.
At that moment, the cat-flap rattled, as if someone knew he was thinking of food. Not that that was unusual, he was almost always thinking about food. A small bowl of tinned tomato soup slid onto his floor. Delicious. Harry, insides aching with hunger, bolted up to get it. The soup was stone cold but he he drained half on it in one gulp, then went to Hedwig’s cage and tipped the soggy vegetables at the bottom of the bowl into her food tray.
Hedwig ruffled he feathers and gave Harry look of deep disgust.
“It’s no good turning your beak up at it,” Harry told her, “That’s all we’ve got.”
He let out a small sigh, and walked back across the room to put bowl on floor next to cat flap.
When he lay back down on his bed, he somehow felt even more hungry than he had before. Harry lay there for a while, just thinking, he did a lot of thinking these days. There was nothing better for him to do, nothing worse either. He wondered what would happen in four weeks, if he survived, that is. Would someone be sent to find him and see why he wasn’t at Hogwarts. Would they make the Dursley’s let him go? He hoped they would, it was his only hope.
The light was slowly waning and soon enough the room was nearly completely black. Exhausted, stomach rumbling, and mind spinning through unanswerable questions, Harry fell into uneasy sleep.
Harry was surrounded by glass. Well two of the walls were glass the rest were just regular cement. He stared from where he was still lying down, trying to figure out where he was. Then it struck him, he was on display in a zoo. In a cage not unlike the one he had freed a snake from.
There was a card attached to the cage on the other side of the glass reading ‘Under-age Wizard’.
Everything came into further focus and Harry realized there were people outside, “Help me!” Harry tried to scream but it came out as a hoarse whisper.
He was going to try again, maybe stand up and get their attention, but then harry noticed something. The people were not just standing around out there, they were goggling at him through bars as lay starving and weak on bed of what he now noticed was straw. These people were not going to help him.
Then he saw dobby's face in crowed, the house-elf wouldn’t let any harm come to him. Surely Dobby could free him, “Help!” Harry shouted again, and this time it came out loud enough for Dobby to hear.
“Harry Potter is safe there, sir,” The elf told him simply. Then, before Harry could say something in response, he vanished.
Loud, familiar voices caught his attention, and Harry tore his eyes away from the spot the Dobby had been. Dursleys appeared, Harry was sure they had only just appeared. Maybe they had come over from some other part of the zoo. Dudley rattled the bars violently and laughed at him.
“Stop it,” Harry muttered as the rattling pounded loudly through his soar head, “Leave me alone…cut it out…I’m trying to sleep…”
The rattling didn’t stop.
Harry tore his eyes open to see moonlight shining through the bars on his window. Just a dream, then.
But not everything had been a dream, someone was goggling through bars. A freckle-faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone.
Ron Weasley was outside Harry’s window.