The Spiteful Sorting Hat

Ascending downs

"It's nothing, really," Harry said, "They're always like that."

"Harry, nothing about that was normal," Mrs. Zabini replied shortly, and that was all she said for the rest of the drive.

Harry and Blaise sat in the spacious backseat together, happily spending the drive chatting relentlessly about their summers. Of course, Harry didn't have much to share, as the first part of his summer was spent languishing for some word from his friends, and the last few days were spent in solitary confinement. He preferred to listen to Blaise talk about the numerous dinner parties at magical homes his mother had dragged him to, the Quidditch match he'd seen in person, and shopping trips to Diagon Alley.

"But why didn't you respond to any of my letters?" Blaise finally asked when he'd exhausted all other topics, "I've been writing, and I even got a letter from Millie, but nothing from you. I was really worried. Millie said you hadn't written to her either. I told mum we could use the phone to call, but I realized I didn't know your number."

"The Dursleys would never let me talk on the phone, anyway," said Harry, "And I would have written, but Hedwig was locked up, remember?"

"You could have sent a letter back by my owl," Blaise said petulantly, "There's nothing wrong with Mephistopheles."

"That's the thing, I never got your letters."

"Liar, I see you carrying a stack of them right now!"

"No, you see... I didn't get the letters until three days ago."

Blaise looked at Harry curiously, but Harry shot a telling glance at the back of Mrs. Zabini's head. Her silence and chilly atmosphere suggested that she was probably lost in her own rage-fueled thoughts, but Harry still worried that she might be listening in. He knew that she was friends with Draco Malfoy's mother, and he didn't want to say anything to implicate the Malfoys in the incident of the house elf in her presence.

"Later," Harry mouthed silently, and Blaise understood. He abruptly changed the subject back to Quidditch, and they were able to carry on their conversation comfortably and enthusiastically for the rest of the drive.

Harry wasn't sure what the distance between Little Whinging and Ascending Downs was, but it seemed to him that the drive was rather shorter than it should have been. They were soon zooming through the sleepy muggle village, and cruising down the private country road leading to the Zabini's stately home.

Harry sprang out of the backseat behind Blaise, laughing about something he said. Hedwig had beaten them there, her wings carrying her faster than even a charmed car could go by road, and she swooped down to land on Harry's shoulder, rubbing her feathers against him affectionately. She gave an indignant hoot as Harry dragged the cage out from the backseat, but Harry reassured her that she wouldn't have to go back in the cage now that they were here.

As it turned out, Harry's trunk was in the boot of the car, and Torsh was hopping out to carry it upstairs. Harry insisted that he help carry his things to his room, though Blaise laughingly told him that Torsh could simply send it upstairs with a snap of their fingers. Harry shook his head, saying he wanted to do it himself, and asked Blaise to carry the cage up with him. Blaise caught on to Harry's intent, and soon the two of them were dashing up the stairs as fast as their heavy burdens would allow, while Mrs. Zabini swept off to the study, closing the door behind her.

Blaise led Harry to the same room where he'd stayed during his visit last Christmas. Harry waited until his trunk was safely stowed away before plopping onto the bed and eyeing Blaise seriously.

"Have you ever heard of a house elf named Dobby?" Harry asked without preamble.

"Dobby?" Blaise repeated, wrinkling his nose in thought, "No, it doesn't sound familiar."