The Boy Who Couldn't See: Year 2

The Burrow

The three give a gigantic tug and Harry's ankle slips out of Uncle Vernon's grip. He lands on top of Ron and quickly scrambles into a sitting position as Fred steps on the gas. He rolls the window down and sticks his head out, yelling, "See you next summer!" at the family, earning laughter from the three boys, both for the joke and his words.

He sits back in his seat, grinning, "Let Hedwig out. She can fly behind us. She hasn't had a chance to stretch her wings in ages."

When Ron picks the lock and the cage opens, Hedwig nuzzles against Harry's face before flying past him and into the air. Harry's mind briefly reminds him of his cane that's been lying in his cupboard since last summer and he frowns. He forgot to mention that to Fred and George.

"So — what's the story, Harry?" Ron asks, interrupting Harry's thought process. "What's been happening?"

Harry tells them about Dobby, the warning and the fiasco with the pudding in the kitchen. After he finishes, there's a long, shocked silence.

"Very fishy," Fred finally says.

"Definitely dodgy," George agrees. "So he wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"

"I don't think he could," Harry says, shrugging. "I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall."

There's a beat of silence.

"You think he was lying to me," Harry says. It's a statement, not a question. He knows a disbelieving silence when he hears one. Mrs. Figg, the woman who used to babysit him when the Dursleys would go out, is the best at them.

"Well," Fred says tentatively, "put it this way — house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?"

"Yes," he and Ron say instantly.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry elaborates. "He hates me."

"Draco Malfoy?" George says. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" Harry raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I've heard Dad talking about him," George says. "He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who."

"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," Fred says, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung — Dad reckons he was right in You-Know-Who's inner circle."

"I don't know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf..." Harry mumbles.

"Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and they'll be rich," Fred says wisely.

"Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing," George says. "But all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that; you wouldn't catch one in our house..."

Harry frowns. Maybe they're right. He hadn't really taken Dobby seriously but honestly, you never know with magic and especially considering what happened last year...

"I'm glad we came to get you, anyway," Ron says. "I was getting really worried when you didn't answer any of my letters," Harry heart flutters and his face burns at the thought of Ron worrying over him. He quickly recovers and pushes that out of his mind even quicker, very much ignoring it. "I thought it was Errol's fault at first —"

"Who's Errol?"

"Our owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes —"