With the passing of Harry’s birthday came the sweltering heat of August. The Dursleys spent even more time indoors, and Harry spent an increasing amount of time outdoors. According to the news, they were experiencing a heat wave not seen in over five years.

Today Dudley was at the cinema with Aunt Petunia while Uncle Vernon was at work. To make sure that he wouldn’t ruin anything inside the house, Petunia had locked Harry outside. It wasn’t so bad, really. Even if there wasn’t any air conditioning or food, at least Harry could sit in the shade of the oak tree and get water from the garden hose.

Today Harry climbed into the tree where Hedwig was waiting, and together they sat in the branches and waited for the rare cool breeze to pass them by. While it was peaceful up in the tree with his beloved familiar, Harry had to concede that he was also rather bored. Since he hadn’t heard any news from the Wizarding World since June, all Harry had to think about was whatever happened with the Dursleys, and that was hardly stimulating. Harry wished he’d ordered a subscription to the Daily Prophet like Hermione did. During the school year, it wasn’t a problem because he could read her copy, but now in his solitary summer hols it was proving to be a bad choice.

Even if he wanted a subscription now, there was no way for him to send for one. Sure, he had Hedwig, but she wasn’t much use if he had no letters for her to send. All of Harry’s writing supplies were in his trunk and locked away. He rarely had time to himself, anyway. If he tried to sneak away a piece of stationery and a pen, someone was bound to notice the missing objects and blame him for it. Besides, with Petunia and Dudley always hanging about, he had a hard enough time getting a drink of water in between chores. There was no way he’d be able to pen a letter with them around, and they always locked him outside when they were away.

Harry sighed and looked at his familiar, who had fallen asleep some time ago. Hedwig looked a lot healthier than she did at Privet Drive; happier, too. Obviously being able to hunt down her own food was a lot better than whatever Harry could spare her. Lately, she had taken a few trips during the day as well, and she always returned looking remarkably pleased with herself. It didn’t happen too often, but Harry wondered if maybe she had found herself a nice boyfriend. Owls didn’t usually go out during the day, but if her trips made her happy, Harry didn’t mind.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway reached his ears then, and Harry perked up and spun his head to locate the source. Sure enough, there was a taxi, and his aunt and cousin were just getting out of it. He met them by the front door just as Petunia was unlocking it with her key. Dudley had telltale bits of popcorn on the front of his large shirt. They were both pink-faced with the heat, particularly his cousin who was sweating like a pig.

“Go in and start preparing for supper,” Petunia told him as she and her son crossed the threshold.

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry replied stoically. Upon entering the kitchen, Harry started to plan and prepare the family meal. The sanctioned meals that Smeltings school nurse and Dudley’s doctor had both approved were incredibly boring and bland, according to Dudders. Harry didn’t think they were as bad as Dudley made them out to be. Besides, Dudley still had his ways of wheedling sweets from his mother.

“Oh, my poor boy is wasting away!” She would say, and pat her son’s round pink cheeks. In the meantime, Harry was getting a bit worried that his friends would notice how thin he was when school started again in the fall. Then again, no one seemed to notice before. Harry’s stomach growled, and he thought that he’d be rather grateful for a can of soup that was warmed up instead of cold.

Petunia had bought some chicken breasts from the shop for a recipe she found in House and Garden, so Harry decided to make that. After retrieving the magazine and locating the right recipe, Harry got to work.

The chicken was roasting in the oven and the vegetables were sauteing in a pan when Uncle Vernon got home. From his station at the stovetop, Harry could hear Petunia greet her husband at the door, chattering away at him as she took his coat and briefcase and put them away. Vernon gave his sedentary son a merry greeting, which was returned with a grunt. His uncle must have had a fantastic day of yelling at people on the phone if he was this chipper upon returning home. He got to the kitchen then, and his face twisted into a sneer at the sight of Harry.

“Come home and dinner isn’t even on the table. Disgraceful, it is. Used to be a man could come home to his loving family with supper waiting for him.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle Vernon.” The apology was an automatic reaction. There was nothing he could have done short of magic for the food to be ready in the amount of time he was given.

“Can’t even do just one little thing asked of him,” Petunia chimed in.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. He didn’t know why he kept apologizing. It wouldn’t change anything. Anger flared within him at his uselessness and cowardice. Some Gryffindor he was, apologizing to his muggle uncle like his life depended on it.

“You will be, boy. You will be,” his uncle growled before turning away and going upstairs to change out of his work clothes.

Petunia continued to look at Harry like he was a particularly smelly fish while he worked the stovetop.

When the food was set out on the dining table that Harry had prepared, he was banished to his room without a bite to eat. He fumed while the Dursleys sat at the table laden with food he prepared in a house that he cleaned and took care of. Their laughter and conversation floated up the stairs, and Harry couldn’t help but listen in.

“... and Coach McCulloch said that next year I could try out for the team,” Dudley finished saying through a mouthful of food.

“That’s my son,” Vernon declared proudly, easily audible from upstairs. “A nice, strong lad just like his father. Isn’t that right, Pet?”

Aunt Petunia made disgusting cooing noises at her son. “I don’t know what that nurse is thinking, putting Dudders on a diet. He needs as much strength as he can get if he’ll be on the Boxing Team next year,” she clucked.

“Just you wait, Pet. Our Dudley is a hardy boy. He’ll do us proud.”

“I know, dear, but you know how I worry…”

Harry had to force himself to stop listening. There was only so much Dudley coddling he could take. He wondered if all parents were this gooey about their children.

My mum and dad are dead, so it’s not like I’ll ever find out. I don’t think I’d like being that pampered all the time anyway. Harry lay back on his bed, thinking of his fellow schoolmates. He’d seen Ron’s mum once, when she helped him through Platform 9 ¾ . She was a very nice woman, and Harry really appreciated that she’d sent him a jumper for Christmas. All the Weasley children loved her very much, and she in return loved them all. Harry wondered if maybe his mother had been anything like Mrs. Weasley. Part of him hoped so, especially since anything was better than Aunt Petunia.

After getting off the Hogwarts Express, Harry had seen Hermione rush over to her parents, but he hadn’t a chance to introduce himself. His Uncle had manhandled Harry to the car without even a chance to say a proper goodbye. Hermione’s parents looked nice enough, and he remembered that they were dentists. He doubted they let Hermione eat sweets like his cousin Dudley. They must be really good parents if they raised a smart and conscientious girl like Hermione.

Harry thought of the things he’d heard about the parents of his fellow Gryffindors in the common room. He realized that the only one who never contributed (besides himself) was Neville. He only ever mentioned his Gran. Harry frowned to himself and wondered what might have happened to Neville’s parents, and if it was okay to ask. Probably not. Harry didn’t really appreciate it when people asked about his parents, either. After all, before Hogwarts he hadn’t even known their names. Now, thanks to the Mirror of Erised and the photo album from Hagrid, Harry could now place faces to names.

Harry glanced out the window at the flower box where his mother’s music box was hidden. He listened to it almost every night before bed. Not only did he know the names and faces of his long-dead parents, but they had also left things behind for him. From his father he had the Invisibility Cloak, and from his mother he had the music box and necklace. After having nothing for so long, it was nice to feel like he had a heritage.

Harry was abruptly torn from his thoughts when his uncle bellowed up the stairs for him to clean the dishes. Reluctantly, he went down the stairs and got to work, filling the sink up with soapy water as he cleared the table. When all the dishes were clean and either drying or put away, Harry wiped down the counters and dining table with a wet cloth. Satisfied, Harry then took out the rubbish and put it into the bin outside. Apparently, his relatives had nothing else for him to do, so he went back upstairs and sat with Hedwig for a while. She left to go hunting after the Dursleys went to bed.

After changing into his overlarge and holey pajamas, Harry carefully removed the music box from its hiding place. After making sure all the Dursleys were sound asleep, Harry wound up the mechanism and opened the lid. The soft music filled the air, and Harry spent a long while thinking of Hogwarts, his friends, and his owl. When he was starting to drift off, Harry put the music box back in the flower box and went to bed.

Apparently, part of the reason Vernon was in such a good mood lately was that he was getting ready to make a huge sale.

“Just think of it, Pet. Just got a promotion, and now the largest sale this company has ever seen,” Vernon said gruffly, puffing out his chest.

It was Thursday, and the Masons (Vernon’s potential clients) were due to come to dinner on Saturday. Predictably, Petunia had Harry working himself to the bone in preparation. It was late afternoon, and Aunt Petunia had just come back from the nursery with yet more flowers and fertilizer. Apparently after being neglected for so long, the garden was in desperate need of an overhaul. Harry didn’t understand why flowerbeds were so vital for just one dinner party. What was wrong with plain grass? But flowerbeds were what Aunt Petunia wanted, so Harry kept his complaints to himself and did as he was bade.

Harry spent hours bent over in the front garden under the hot summer sun digging, planting, and watering. The sun was hot on the back of his neck and his ears, and Harry knew he’d have a fresh sunburn at the end of the day. He’d probably sleep without a shirt tonight just to get some relief, because he sure wouldn’t be given any lotion or medicine for it.

He was on his way to turn on the tap for the hose when he spotted a little garden snake.

“Oh, hello!” Harry exclaimed, more out of surprise than anything else.

“Greetings,” The little garden snake replied lazily. Harry suspected he had interrupted it’s sunbathing. It was probably best to let sleeping snakes lie, so he shrugged and went about his business.

At long last, it was Saturday. The entire house was busy getting ready for the esteemed guests. Even Dudley, although his part to play came later when the Masons arrived.

Harry was sitting in the shade under the large oak tree in front of his bedroom window when Dudley came up to him. More than anything, Harry was surprised that he had willingly gone outside.

“Wot you doing out here, freak? Shouldn’t you be working? It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.  I know your freaky little friends haven’t been writing,” Dudley taunted.

“What would you know about it, Dudley?” Harry couldn’t help but snap back. He knew he should hold his temper in; he knew, but still-

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out, Potty. Anyway, it’s a good thing they wised up so quick. If they couldn’t see what a freak you are I’d start to wonder about their heads.” Dudley chortled. “Then again, your lot is a bit on the barmy side already, innit? Waving round your funny little sticks-”

“Abra kadabra! Boogity woogity!” Harry yelled, waggling his fingers in his cousin’s direction as he spouted more nonsense. It was worth it to see Dudley nearly fall on his fat arse.

“MUUUUUUUUM!! THE FREAK IS DOING IT AGAIN! HE’S DOING THAT STUFF!”

Oh, now Harry was in for it. Petunia had followed her large son back out of the house to where Harry was, a soapy frying pan in hand. He hadn’t bothered trying to run; that would just make things worse.

“He cast MAGIC on me, mum!” Dudley yelled, pointing at Harry with a sausage-like finger.

“I didn’t! I ju-” that’s all Harry could get out before he had to dodge the soapy frying pan that his Aunt had lobbed at him. It missed him and thumped heavily on the grass. For such a skinny woman, she sure could chuck that thing.

“You better not have hurt my dear Diddikins, you worthless, no-good freak!” She exclaimed shrilly. In response, Dudley clutched at his bulging stomach and groaned. Petunia immediately went to his side and chattered soothing words at him, while Dudley moaned things like “Mummy” and “feels funny”. As she escorted her precious pudding of a son back indoors, Petunia looked back at her nephew.

“Finish the washing in the kitchen, but don’t you lay a finger on the roast,” she snapped at him over her bony shoulder.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry replied obediently. It felt like he was being let off easy, but he knew his Aunt would have more chores for him as soon as she saw to her precious little butterball. He followed them inside at a safe distance, then went right to the kitchen. There was a large stack of pans and dishes that needed washing. He got to work, quickly and efficiently cleaning up his Aunt’s mess. She came into the kitchen a few times to get her darling son a generous helping of ice cream and other snacks. Obviously, Dudley was playing this incident up for as much as it was worth. She reappeared for the last time when Harry was just finishing his task.

“If you’re done here, Hoover the sitting room.” She snapped at him before once again attending to her cooking. She always did the cooking when guests were over, for which Harry was immensely grateful. It looked like tonight it would be her ‘specialty’; a traditional roast beef with root vegetables, mashed potatoes, a chic garden salad, and dinner rolls. After dinner Harry knew there would be what Petunia liked to call her pièce de résistance; a large and heavily decorated pudding. Just as well she liked to do that herself- Harry didn’t have the patience or the stomach to create such offensively sweet treats.

Shaking his head in private disbelief, Harry retrieved the vacuum from the Cupboard Under the Stairs 2.0 and not only Hoovered the sitting room, but the entire downstairs. Just because his Aunt hadn’t outright told him so didn’t mean she didn’t want him to do it. It didn’t take too long, though Dudley complained about the noise the entire time. As if Harry could do anything about that! When it was done, Harry reported back to his Aunt, and she told him to prune the hedges, repaint the garden bench, and fertilize the flowers.

Harry went to the shed in the back garden for the manure that his Aunt had indicated. If the Weasley twins were here, they’d undoubtedly tell him that his summer hols truly were shitty. Chuckling under his breath, he did the pruning first, and it was while doing that he found his small snake friend from before. It was casually lying under the hedges, half in and half out of the sun.

“Hello again,” Harry said politely as he pruned another bit of bush with the large garden shears.

“Hello again, ssssspeaker.” The snake flicked its tongue lazily.

“I never did catch your name last time we met,” Harry remarked, clearing up some of the clippings.

“My apologies,” the snake replied, and then proceeded to let out a long string of hissing. Harry didn’t think he could translate it into a single English word if he tried. It seemed to be a representation of the warming of a rock when the sun was just emerging over the horizon.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Harry said. “My name is just Harry.”

“Well met, Harry,” the snake replied. It slithered out of sight suddenly without a warning. “The shrill one approaches.”

Sure enough, Aunt Petunia had come to check on his progress.

“Lazing about again, are you? You’d best hurry it up. You’ll have nothing to eat until all the work is done.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry mumbled, and she stalked back to the house.

After he finished pruning the hedges, Harry used the manure to fertilize the flower beds. After that was repainting the garden bench, even though it was nearly immaculate to begin with. When all was done, Harry stood up and carefully stretched his sore back muscles. He put the pruning shears, paint, and leftover manure back in the shed, then went round to the back door of the house. Petunia had set out a path of newspaper for him to walk on so that nothing of worth (which basically meant everything except Harry) would get dirty.

“There’s dinner for you on the breakfast table, hurry and eat it before the Masons get here,” Petunia snapped at him, nervously smoothing down her best Sunday dress. Starved, Harry eagerly sat down to his meal of plain toast and a glass of water. He wolfed it down in no time at all, then washed his dishes (which were lower quality than the other dishware in the house). It was then that Harry spotted the pudding on top of the fridge. It was true to Petunia’s usual tastes, a sickeningly sweet pastel purple color. It was adorned with all sorts of sugary decorations. Harry reckoned that there was some sort of cake or custard underneath all the pomp and flair. He didn’t have any more time to think about it, though. Uncle Vernon had just come home. He had his and Dudley’s sport coats in hand, fresh from the cleaners. The Masons would be arriving within the hour, so Vernon and Dudley put on their ‘costumes’ and Petunia put the finishing touches on the dining table.

Afterwards, Vernon went through the itinerary for the night with them all. Petunia and Dudley would be putting on nauseatingly fake performances, but Harry’s job was easy; stay out of the way, don’t make any noise. Pretend you don’t even exist. Harry could certainly do that. After the summer he was having, pretending he didn’t exist would be a piece of cake.

Just then the doorbell rang, and they all scurried to their places. Harry was halfway up the stairs when he heard Dudley open the door and greet the guests like he had rehearsed. There was one small thing he didn’t envy his cousin for. Harry would much rather hide in his room than have to perform like a dancing monkey. He opened his bedroom door quietly, looking forward to a quiet evening alone.

Except there was one problem. He wasn’t alone at all.

Huge, globe-like green eyes peered at Harry in the semi-darkness, and Harry just barely suppressed a yelp. After turning on the lights, Harry saw that there was some sort of… creature sitting on his bed. Hedwig was resting on the sill of the open window, eying their unexpected visitor.

“What are you?” Harry blurted out.

“I am Dobby, a House-Elf, Mister Harry Potter sir!” The creature squeaked. Harry entered the room and carefully shut the door behind him.

“Hello, erm, Dobby.” He stuttered. “Can I help you with something?”

“Help Dobby, sir? Mister Harry Potter is so kind!” The little elf chirped happily. “No, sir, Dobby is here to help Harry Potter!”

“Help me? You mean you can take me away from the Dursleys?” Harry asked excitedly, remembering to keep his voice down.

“Take you away? No, Dobby is making sure you stay here!” the elf proclaimed. Harry couldn’t believe his ears.

“Keep me here? They’re muggles, they hate me and my magic!” Harry tried to stay quiet yet convey the dire situation he was in. “I’ve got to get out of here! To- to go back to Hogwarts, and see my friends-”

“Friends that don’t even write to Harry Potter?” The elf interrupted.

“....What?” Harry was derailed by the sudden disruption, but not for long. “How do you know my friend haven’t been writing?”

Looking supremely guilty, the House-Elf produced bundled stacks of letters from nowhere. Harry could easily make out the handwriting of his friends.

“Dobby...” Harry began, trying to reign in his temper, “why do you have my letters?”

“Dobby thought that if Harry Potter thought his friends didn’t care about him anymore, Harry Potter wouldn’t go back to Hogwarts!” the small creature exclaimed shrilly. There was a lull in conversation from downstairs, and Harry prayed that he’d emerge from this unscathed. Distantly, part of him was glad to learn that his friends still cared about him after all.

“Not go back to Hogwarts?!; Dobby, I have to go back, it-it’s my home! I belong there!”  Harry was steadily starting to feel overwhelmed. He was tired, hungry, and thirsty, and now a weird little elf was telling him he couldn’t go back to the only place he’d ever really felt accepted? As if!

“No! Harry Potter mustn’t go! It’s too dangerous for Harry Potter to go back to school!”

“Why, though? It can’t be any more dangerous than it was last year! I hardly think there are any other teachers working for Voldemort-”

“DO NOT SAY HIS NAME!” Dobby shrieked. A tense stillness followed, the noise from downstairs definitely stopped. Harry could easily hear the heavy footsteps of his uncle coming up the stairs.

“Quick, Dobby, hide!’ Harry whispered, and tried to sit on his bed and look normal. Dobby had disappeared with a small pop.

“What in the blazes do you think you’re doing, boy?”

Truthfully, Harry had no idea what was going on. Too bad that wouldn’t placate his uncle. “I’m sorry, it was an accident.”

“There better not be any more accidents, boy, or there’ll be hell to pay,” Vernon growled menacingly. Harry immediately cast his eyes to the floor. Don’t make a sound. Stay in your room. Pretend you don’t exist.

“Yes, sir.”

“Mark my words, another peep out of you and you’ll wish you’d died with your fool parents.” Vernon closed the door on Harry and lumbered back down the stairs to his guests.

That threat would work better if I hadn’t been wishing that for the past eleven years, Harry thought sadly. He was aware of Dobby’s presence when the little elf popped back into view. It was looking at him sadly.

“This is why I have to go back. I have to go back to Hogwarts,” Harry pleaded.

“If Harry Potter will not stay, Dobby will make him stay,” Dobby told him mournfully. “Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter sir.” With that, he vanished again. Harry’s heart immediately started beating rapidly in a state of panic. He knew, he just knew, that the elf would make sure Uncle Vernon never let him see the light of day again. Harry dashed out of his room, doing his best to keep his steps light. His footfalls made barely a sound on the thick rug that ran down the hallway. He slowly creeped down the steps, constantly making sure that the dinner party was going on as usual.

“Dobby!” Harry whispered harshly. “Dobby!”

Finally, Harry reached the bottom of the stairs. Looking both ways down the hall, he started toward the kitchen. It was unlikely that Dobby was in the dining room; surely if he’d done something in there Harry would know already. After making sure no one would be getting up soon, Harry ducked into the kitchen and froze at the sight in front of him. Dobby was standing on top of the fridge, right arm held out in a display of magic. Floating in the air was Aunt Petunia’s horrid pudding.

“No, Dobby. Please, no.” He didn’t care if begging wasn’t very Gryffindor of him. He couldn’t let this weird little creature give his uncle an excuse to get angry.

“I must, Harry Potter sir,” Dobby said solemnly, and disappeared. The pudding fell to the floor in a great crash, shattering the expensive crystal and flinging confection everywhere.

For a few moments, silence reigned. Then came what sounded like a herd of stampeding buffalo. Dudley was the first to reach the entrance to the kitchen, and it was there that he stopped and looked at the mess with his mouth hanging open. Petunia came next behind her son. At the sight of the crime scene in the kitchen, she shrieked and brought her hands up to cover her mouth. At long last came Uncle Vernon, his face already purple and a vein in his forehead standing out prominently. Harry did his best to keep from shaking. There was no way he’d be allowed to go back to school. It’d be a miracle if Harry was spared the cupboard under the stairs.

“I warned you, freak,” Vernon spat. “I BLOODY WARNED YOU!”

The Masons were somewhere in the background, looking perplexed. Harry could do nothing but hang his head and try to make himself as non-freakish as possible.

“I apologize for this, Mr. and Mrs. Mason.” Petunia tried to calm the atmosphere down. “This is our nephew. He’s very...  disturbed. Doesn’t like strangers, you see. We didn’t want him to get overexcited and have a fit.” Petunia looked back to her husband, who was still fuming. “If we could all move to the sitting room, I’ll have something prepared to serve for pudding.”

Mr. and Mrs. Mason seemed at once reluctant and relieved for the dismissal. They both retreated down the hallway to the sitting room. Petunia grabbed the attention of her son.

“Dudley, if you would entertain our guests while we take care of your hopelessly insane cousin?”

Dudley nodded in reply and waddled out of the room.

“Now, I don’t know what has gotten into that thick head of yours, but if you think that after this we’ll let you keep going to that crackpot school, then-” Uncle Vernon was interrupted by a loud shriek. The three of them ran from the kitchen into the sitting room. There, they found Mrs. Mason flailing wildly and screaming. The was an envelope at her feet, and an owl was on it’s way out the window. Numbly, Harry picked it up. It could only be for him. In the background, Mr. Mason was explaining his wife’s terrible fear of birds. With shaking hands Harry opened the letter.

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, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlock’s Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours Sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic

 

Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening.

For the second time that night, there was another loud shriek. Again it was Mrs. Mason, who had just experienced another Owl Post delivery. The brown barn owl left immediately just like the first.

“THAT’S IT!” Mr. Mason roared. “I’VE BEEN PATIENT WITH YOU, DURSLEY, BUT I DO NOT APPRECIATE THIS CIRCUS YOU’VE INVITED US TO! DON’T EVEN CONSIDER TRYING TO MAKE A DEAL ANYMORE!” Mr. Mason led his hysterical wife out of the house to their car. She was still waving her arms like they were being attacked by a swarm of owls. Petunia followed them out, presumably to convince them to stay. Dudley was staring at the entire spectacle, jaw slack. And Vernon-

“BOY!” Vernon roughly grabbed Harry where his neck and left shoulder met. With the considerable weight that his uncle had on him, Harry had no choice but to back up until he slammed into a wall.

“What’s it say?” Vernon growled.

“W-what?”

“THE LETTER, YOU DAFT BOY! WHAT DOES IT SAY?”

With a quavering voice, Harry read the Ministry’s missive aloud.

“Not allowed to use magic? Convenient we didn’t know, eh? Suppose it must’ve slipped your mind.”

“He’s got another one,” Dudley said, holding the edges of the second envelope by the tips of his fingers like it would bite.

“Go on, then. Open it.” Vernon let go of Harry, and he took the letter from his cousin’s hand. The loopy writing in purple ink was immediately recognizable.

Do not panic. Help is coming.

-A. Dumbledore

 “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?!” Vernon yelled.

“I don’t know!” Harry yelled back. Would Dumbledore come and get him? Or maybe Hagrid? Did this mean he wasn’t going to be expelled?

While Harry was trying to not panic, Petunia came back inside. Apparently, the Masons could not be convinced to stay. She pursed her lips as she stared at Harry.

“Just like Lily, you are, making freakish things happen to decent folk.” Harry wondered what she meant by decent folk, because he certainly didn’t see any here.

“That freakish school of his expelled him. ‘Parently magic isn’t allowed during the hols.” Dudley piped in, eager as always to see what punishment would befall his cousin.

“As if I’d let him go back there after this spectacle. No, you won’t even speak of magic until you’re of age and out of my home!”

Just then, someone knocked on the front door. Four, solid knocks that startled the occupants of the house.

“Who could that be?” Petunia wondered.

“Get the door, boy,” Vernon ordered.

Harry obeyed, unlocking the deadbolt and twisting the knob of the heavy door. Could this be his promised help? The door swung open, revealing-

“Professor?”

“Potter.”

Harry stared up at the Potions Professor, bewildered. This was his help? If the Dursleys were bad, Snape and the Dursleys were even worse! Behind him, the Dursleys peered curiously at their unexpected guest.

“You!” Harry was startled to hear his Aunt exclaim. He turned around to see her pointing at his professor accusingly.

“Petunia,” Snape sneered at her, using the overall confusion to sweep past Harry into the house.

“You’ve no business here, Snape.” Petunia hissed.

“I do, in fact. You see, I am one of Mr. Potter’s professors at Hogwarts.” Snape carried himself in his usual menacing manner. In fact, Harry often wondered if Snape knew how to slouch. The more amazing thing was that he towered over everyone in the room, even Uncle Vernon. Harry knew from experience that his uncle liked to be the one who towered over people. As he closed the door he had kept holding open, Harry privately admitted to wondering how the people he hated most (with the exception of Malfoy and Voldemort) would clash. Snape had continued walking past all of them into the sitting room as if he owned the place. Harry followed, and as he passed his cousin Dudley asked, “Does he teach maths? He looks like he teaches maths.”

“Potions, Mr. Dursley. I teach Potions. Remedies for all manner of ailments, elixirs to change one’s appearance, antidotes...” Snape paused, and Harry knew it was for a dramatic effect. “... Poisons.”

Looking around, Harry saw that his relatives were absolutely entranced by his professor’s deep and captivating voice. According to the smirk the man wore, he rather liked the awed and scared expressions they wore. Aunt Petunia was the first to snap out of it.

“Yes, yes, you and your freakish chemistry set.” She waved her hand like Snape hadn’t just insinuated that he was very familiar with lethal substances. “What are you doing in my home?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, but he let the insult slide. “Headmaster Dumbledore asked me to… neutralize the situation while he does damage control at the Ministry.”

“Neutralize the- that brat smashed my best crystal!” Petunia exclaimed.

“Tragic, I’m sure.” Snape conjured a mop, unbothered when the Dursleys jumped at the casual display of magic. He gave the mop to Dudley. “Best start cleaning up.” Dudley gaped at him, and Harry was sure this was the first time in his cousin’s entire life that he’d been asked to clean anything. The Professor turned to Harry.

“Potter, a word.”

Curiously, Harry followed his Potions Professor into the hall that connected the dining room, kitchen, and sitting room. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia attempted to follow them, but were repelled by a classic Snape glare.

“What in the world possessed you to do underage magic, Potter?” Snape hissed. “Around muggles, no less?”

“It wasn’t me!” Harry shot back.

“Then who, Potter?” Snape obviously didn’t believe him.

“It was an elf! A-a House-Elf!” Harry stumbled under his words, and he knew he didn’t sound convincing at all.

“Oh? And where is this House-Elf now?” Snape looked around like he expected one to pop out of nowhere. “Try a better lie next time, Potter. House-Elves only work for wizards.”

They do? Harry couldn’t help but think. “I’m not lying, I swear! It had a name- Dobby.”

This made Professor Snape pause. “Are you sure about this, Potter?”

“Certain, Professor. It kept saying I couldn’t go back to Hogwarts because it was dangerous. It was taking all my mail, and when I refused to stay here, it smashed the pudding!”

“Did it say anything else, Potter?” Snape asked, sounding as nonchalant as ever.

“No, I don’t think it did.”

Snape seemed to be lost in thought, and Harry stood there wishing he’d been able to go to bed like he’d planned from the beginning.

“What’s that on your neck?” Snape asked suddenly. Harry’s right hand went up to touch the spot where Uncle Vernon had grabbed him earlier. There was a large patch of skin that was warmer than the rest, and Harry suspected he’d soon have a bruise there.

“It’s nothing,” Harry replied. Snape got a peculiar look on his face, but said nothing else about it. With a dramatic flair of his black cloak, the Professor turned around and made for the front door.

“Where’re you going, then?” Vernon asked.

“None of your business, Dursley.”

“None- none of my business? You just walk into my house uninvited, spout nonsense, then leave?” Uncle Vernon looked like he wanted to say more, but he was currently cowering under the scrutiny of Professor Snape, who was looming over him menacingly.

“We’ll be in contact,” Snape told them abruptly. “I trust you remember where I live?” He directed this at Aunt Petunia, who nodded. Without saying anything else, Snape left.

They were all silent after the Potion Master’s dismissal, but it was soon broken by Vernon.

“Never in my life…” he trailed off, and the vein in his forehead started to make another appearance.

“I-” Harry started.

“NOT A WORD, BOY,” Vernon commanded. “Up to bed.  Don’t you dare come out until we tell you.”

Harry obeyed, head hung low. Could this summer possibly get any worse? As he lay in his bed clutching the turquoise necklace, he didn’t think it could.

The next morning, Harry woke up to the sound of metal bars being drilled into place over his window. Beyond his uncle’s red face peering in on him, Harry could spot Hedwig soaring gracefully through the sky. At least she had escaped imprisonment. Hopefully she stayed away for a while and was safe wherever she had taken to going during the days.