Harry Potter, of sound mind and body, was certain that there were a pair of eyes staring at him from the shrub.
A first, he thought it had to be a mirage. He'd been sitting in the garden under the hot summer sun for a while now, trying to avoid his Aunt Petunia as she savagely scoured the house for any dust motes before the arrival of Uncle Vernon's guests. There wasn't much to do in the garden, and he was starting to feel thirsty and hungry, but it was preferable to sit outdoors than face the Dursleys.
Harry stared at the eyes, imagining them to be nothing more than a trick of the light. But as he stared, they didn't shimmer out of sight the way a mirage should. They were certainly holding his gaze.
They were too large to be the eyes of a cat, and the shrub was far too small to admit a human hiding in its depths. Harry's next thought was of Torsh, the busy little house elf with large, bulbous eyes he'd met last Christmas while visiting Blaise's house.
He stood up, seized with sudden hope. He hadn't heard from Blaise all summer, in spite of his promises to write. Perhaps he was feeling jilted, as Harry hadn't been able to write to him, either. Uncle Vernon had locked Hedwig in her cage the second Harry returned from school. Could it be possible that Blaise, having received no letters from Harry, sent his house elf to check up on him?
"Torsh?" Harry asked tentatively, taking a cautious step toward the eyes in the shrub.
The eyes blinked out of existence, but Harry was sure they had really been there. He hadn't imagined them. He was about to take another step toward the shrub, when a voice arrested his progress.
"What's a torsh?"
It was Dudley, Harry's cruel and massive cousin. He stood on the back stoop of the house, the expression on his face a mixture of sarcasm and curiosity.
Harry rolled his eyes at him and said, "It's a new spell I'm developing. I've just about managed to turn this shrub into cotton candy."
Harry thought the sound of some fluffy, sweet candy sounded wonderful at the moment, but Dudley's eyes grew in horror.
"You're not supposed to do that!" he whined, "Mum says you're not to do any of that here! I'll tell if you do anything weird!"
Harry smirked at him. It hadn't escaped his notice that Dudley carefully avoided saying the words "spell" or "magic" around Harry.
"What do you want, Dudley?" asked Harry, ignoring his cousin's threat to run to Petunia.
Dudley appeared confused for a moment, as if his sudden fear had blasted away whatever intention had brought him to the garden. Harry hoped that he'd wander back indoors and forget whatever bullying plans he had in store, but Dudley appeared to recall himself, and drew his great, flabby chest up proudly.
"I know what day it is," he announced with utmost smugness.
"It's Friday, Dudley," Harry said in a bored voice, "It's not like it's a secret. Not everyone is as slow to learn the days of the week as you."
"No, not that," Dudley said, an irritated lilt to his voice, "It's your birthday."
"I'm touched that you remembered, cousin," Harry said with mock tenderness.
"Seems I'm the only one that did," Dudley fired back. Harry sensed that he was getting nearer to his point as his corpulent body swelled even greater, nearly filling the door frame he guarded. "You haven't gotten anything from them, have you?"
"From who?" Harry asked, though he was already bracing himself for Dudley's answer.
"From those freak friends at your freak school," Dudley clarified, "You must really be pathetic. No friends at your old school, and now you haven't any friends among your own kind."
Harry could have pointed out that the only reason he didn't have friends at his muggle school had been because Dudley and his gang beat up anyone who ever dared get close to Harry. Instead, he merely stated, "I have friends."
"Then they must have forgotten you already. Not very memorable, are you?"
"How do you know they haven't been speaking to me?" Harry asked quietly.
Dudley gave him a confused look. "What do you mean? There haven't been any owls or anything this year."
Harry uttered a forced, deranged sort of cackle, purposely trying to put Dudley on edge.
"Do you think that owls are the only way wizards communicate? How do you know I'm not casting my aura out of my body and flying to my friend's houses at night? Or talking with them through the mirrors in the bathroom? How do you know they're not watching you while you sleep, scrying through a stone basin of glacier water?"
Harry had no idea where he was getting this nonsense from, but Dudley was clearly shaken.
"Y-You're lying," he stammered.
Harry took a slow, menacing step toward him, "Why shouldn't they spy on you, Dudders? I've told them so much about you. They're curious to see the fat muggle boy who lives with the next great dark wizard of our time. If I were you, I'd cover the mirror in your bedroom."
Harry made a sudden lunge toward his cousin. He was much smaller than Dudley, and wouldn't have been able to do him any harm whatsoever, but Dudley was so spooked he squealed like the pink pig he resembled, and bolted indoors, screaming for his mother.
Harry knew he was going to pay for that outburst sooner rather than later, but he'd lost his patience with his cousin. Dudley, however thick he appeared, had managed to hit on the one thing that had been weighing on Harry's mind since summer began. What had happened to Blaise and Millie? He'd received no letters, no parcels, not even a post card. Could they really have forgotten him? Or had they only been his friend because of his fame, and quickly lost interest when they realized how normal he truly was?
Harry had chided himself for thinking this way, and he always managed to think of some plausible excuse for why his friends hadn't written to him yet. But as the days turned to weeks, Harry had begun to feel desperate for some news of the wizarding world. Even a sneeringly worded letter from Draco Malfoy would be welcome at this point. Harry would even consider an offer to visit his home if it meant escaping his mundane life with the Dursleys and getting a taste of the magical world again.
The shrill screech of his Aunt Petunia interrupted his musing. He was being called indoors to "make himself useful" and help prepare a dinner he wasn't going to get a morsel of. After helping his aunt by sweeping and scrubbing the floors, washing the dishes, and heading back into the garden to spread manure in the flowerbeds, Harry was given only two slices of bread and a chunk of rank smelling cheese. He was too tired and hungry at this point to complain, and the food was quickly bolted down.
His aunt was already dressed in a hideous salmon-colored cocktail dress, while Dudley and Veron adjusted their dinner jackets in the front room. Harry slunk by them silently, dragging his feet to his room for a night of pretending he didn't exist while his relatives schmoozed with Vernon's wealthy potential clients.
He had just shut his door and turned to his bed, ready to flop down in complete exhaustion and misery, when he stopped. There was someone already sitting on the bed.
Harry recognized the large, round green eyes instantly. They were the same eyes staring at him from the garden shrub. He was elated to see that he'd been right in assuming they belonged to a house-elf, but the little creature before him certainly wasn't Torsh. True, they had the same large ears, the same long, pointed nose, and green eyes, but here the similarities ended. The creature in front of him had eyes of a darker shade than Torsh, and the pillowcase it wore for a covering was shabby and dirty, where Torsh was always dressed neatly, although a bit eccentrically.
"Harry Potter!" The little creature squeaked, jumping up from its seat and staring at Harry in awe. Harry was given the distinct impression that this elf was male, though he couldn't be sure what gave him that impression. With Torsh, gender had always been a mystery.
"Er, yes that's me," Harry said lamely, "And you are?"
"Dobby, Mr. Potter, sir. My name is Dobby."
"How do you do, Dobby?" Harry asked. He was still confused, wondering who could have sent their elf to him if it wasn't Blaise and his mother, but he figured it couldn't hurt to be polite, "Won't you sit down?"
He motioned to the bed where the little creature had already been sitting prior to his arrival, but to his shock and dismay the elf immediately burst into tears. Harry immediately thought of his uncle, and the treats he'd made against Harry all day if he ruined this job opportunity for him. He tried to console the poor creature, saying hastily.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to offend you!"
"Offend Dobby? Oh no, Harry Potter is too kind to a poor elf. Dobby was merely overcome with emotion... to be treated so well by a wizard of Harry Potter's stature... like an equal."
"You can't have met very many nice wizards, then," Harry stated.
Dobby shook his head sadly, then his eyes grew wide with fear. Harry was horrified as the elf sidled to Harry's window and began bashing his head against the windowsill, screaming at himself as he did so.
"Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"
Harry could hear the muffled voices of his family and their guests falter downstairs, and he quickly moved to restrain the insane elf, pulling him back from the window.
"Stop!" he cried in a harsh whisper, "What are you doing?"
"Dobby must punish himself, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby insinuated something against his masters, and it was wrong of Dobby. If they was to find out..."
"Won't they know if they see you've hurt yourself?" Harry asked, trying to think of some way to reason with the creature who struggled weakly in his grasp, as if desperate to go back to his bizarre punishment.
"Oh no, Dobby is always having to punish himself for some reason or another," explained the elf, "Sometimes Dobby's masters suggests punishments."
"I see," Harry said, allowing his grip on the elf to slacken once he realized he no longer intended to make a loud noise. Harry felt bad for the elf. Whoever his masters were, they were clearly the worst sort of wizard. Blaise and Mrs. Zabini would never treat Torsh that way.
Thinking about Blaise was painful, but it did recall a question to Harry's mind.
"Did your masters send you here?" Harry asked, wondering if the elf would tell him where he came from.
Dobby's already large eyes became wider, and he shook his head slowly.
Harry tried to think of a polite way to ask the question on his mind. Dobby seemed like a very sensitive creature, and he felt that one false word would send him spiraling into another fit of self-harm, or possibly a shower of grateful tears. Harry decided it was best to ask directly.
"Then what brings you here, Dobby?"
"Dobby has come to warn Harry Potter," said the house elf, his voice tremulous with the import of his next words, "Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts."
Harry gaped at him, then he couldn't suppress his laughter.
"Not return to Hogwarts!" He repeated after stifling his own giggles with his hand, "Who put you up to this? Was it Millie?"
The house elf appeared alarmed at this sudden outburst, "Dobby does not know any Millies, sir."
"Then who? Crabbe and Goyle are too thick to think of a prank like this, and surely not even Malfoy..."
Harry saw the elf flinch and heard a whimper of fear that he tried to suppress. It was a dead giveaway.
"Draco?" Harry asked, realizing even as he said it that it made perfect sense. If any wizard family were to abuse their house elf, it would be the Malfoys. "It was Draco that sent you here?"
Dobby's bony hands flew to his own mouth, clamping it shut. He whipped his head fiercely from side to side. Harry got a feeling that he wasn't aloud to tell lies to a wizard, but at the same time, he had probably been ordered not to tell secrets about the family he served.
Harry could feel his amusement rolling into anger. If he wasn't careful, he'd lose his temper and his shouts would draw the attention of the Dursleys.
Clutching his hands into fists, he ground his teeth and muttered, "Well, you can go tell your master that I'll definitely be on the Hogwarts train come September first, and when I see him..."
"Harry Potter must not return!" Dobby suddenly exclaimed, the cry bursting from his mouth and surprising Harry enough that he jumped back in alarm. "There is a dark plot... Hogwarts will not be safe for anyone!"
"I'm not scared," said Harry, "Draco can make up whatever story he wants. I'm going back to Hogwarts. It's my home, Dobby. My friends are there..."
"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?" the house elf stated slyly.
Harry gave a start of surprise, then he glared at the elf in suspicion.
"How do you know my friends haven't written to me?" he asked darkly.
The elf must have seen the malice in his expression, because he took a few steps back.
"Harry Potter must not be angry with Dobby... Dobby did it for Harry Potter's own good..."
"You've been stealing my letters!" Harry gasped, appalled that Draco would take his prank this far.
"Dobby thought that if Harry Potter believed his friends had forgotten him, he would not want to return!"
"That's ridiculous! What have you done with my letters! Give them to me now!"
"Dobby has them here, sir!" Dobby said, meekly pulling a neat stack of letters from under his shabby pillowcase, tied with a bit of twine. "Dobby will gladly return them if Harry Potter promises not to return to Hogwarts."
"I promise," Harry said instantly.
Dobby seemed amazed that his plan worked so well. Harry took advantage of his moment bwewilderment to snatch the stack from Dobby's outstreatched hands. He then flopped onto his bed, eagerly tearing away the twine and ripping into the letter at the top of the stack, written in Hagrid's untidy scrawl.
"Dobby is very relieved, sir," Dobby said as Harry perused his letters, drinking in every word on the page, "Harry Potter will be much safer here with his family than at Hogwarts."
"Oh, I'm definitely not staying here," Harry said in a matter of fact tone, "Safe with the Dursleys? You must be joking."
Dobby's lower lip quivered, "But Harry Potter said..."
"I lied Dobby," Harry replied easily. He looked up and saw the little elf's eyes filling with tears. He felt a little guilty for tricking the elf, who was obviously just following Draco Malfoy's stupid orders. But at the same time, he was angry for having been robbed of his letters for so long. Letting him waste the whole summer feeling like he'd been abandoned, and that Hogwarts had been nothing more than a fantastic dream, was more cruel than a little white lie to a house elf.
Harry used what anger he had to force out his next words. "That's right. The great and awesome Harry Potter lied. Not unlike how you lied by allowing me to think my friends forgot me."
"Dobby was only trying to help!"
"Well you can tell Draco that I don't need his help."
Dobby dashed the tears from his eyes and drew himself up to his full height, which was not very substantial.
"Harry Potter is only saying this because Harry Potter still does not understand," Dobby declared, "Harry Potter will only be putting himself in danger at Hogwarts! If Harry Potter does not promise to stay away, Harry Potter leaves Dobby with no choice!"
Harry ignored him. He'd already blasted through one letter, and he'd moved on to a second from Millie. He was vaguely aware of Dobby opening the door of his bedroom and sprinting silently down the stairs. Harry didn't care. He was probably off to report to Malfoy that his plan had failed. It wasn't until Harry heard a great crash and a woman's shriek that he suspected there might be more of a threat behind Dobby's final words.
Harry heard a great thundering as someone raced back up the stairs. The footsteps were heavy, not the light patter of the house elf, so Harry was only partially surprised to see his Uncle Vernon looming in the doorway.
"I didn't do it," Harry said immediately.
This was of course a mistake. He looked more guilty than ever now.
"Oh, and I suppose the pudding just picked itself up and flew across the room all on its own?" Vernon asked viciously.
"I dunno, maybe it was ghosts." Harry said.
If he thought that his uncle would more readily accept the existence of ghosts than house elves, he was sadly mistaken. Vernon's face turned red with suppressed rage, then deepened into a mottled purple as he spat, "Ghosts. Aren't. Real."
"Yes they are," Harry retorted rather unwisely, "They're all over my school."
Mentioning Hogwarts was the last thing Harry should have done. Vernon's purple face turned into a sickly green at the reminder.
"Your school... your school! It was that infernal lunatic asylum that taught you all these ridiculous tricks! I won't have you mentioning it in my house again! Do you understand me?"
He'd crossed the room to glower over Harry in a few short strides. Harry bunched himself up against the wall, drawing his knees protectively over his chest as he glared at his uncle defiantly. He thought of a few things he'd like to say to this tyrannical giant, but he thought better of it. Dobby obviously meant to keep Harry locked up under the Dursley's rule. If he made any step out of line, the Dursley's were more than capable of keeping him under lock and key all school year.
Harry settled for a mere nod of his head, not trusting himself to speak. Vernon composed himself as best he could and a moment later headed back down the stairs, slamming Harry's bedroom door while he went.
Harry returned to his letters, which he'd thankfully had the presence of mind to stuff under his bedcovers just before Vernon's stormy entrance. He amused himself with their perusal, thinking he'd managed to get off pretty easy this time. Vernon no doubt had to return to his guests, and hadn't the time to harass Harry any more.
But only a few minutes later, he heard a second shriek echo from downstairs, and the confused sound of chairs being pushed back or pushed over. Harry hid his letters again and listened. There was the sound of running footsteps, and a woman shouting about "lunatics." Harry heard a low murmur of a man's voice, his words indistinguishable but the displeased tone of his voice very clear. Vernon was loudly trying to make some explanation or excuse to him, but a moment later the front door closed with a heavy thud, and for a moment, silence.
Harry didn't like this silence. He liked to keep tabs on the Dursleys. It was better for him to know where they were and what they were doing at all times. Whenever anything went wrong, it was somehow always Harry's fault. He was sure it was only a matter of time before his uncle made his way slowly back up the stairs, and he braced himself for the confrontation.
Rather than come to him, Harry heard himself being called down to the living room.
"BOY!" roared Vernon's voice from the base of the stairs, "GET DOWN HERE NOW!"
Harry knew that to hesitate was to bring more trouble upon himself, so while he preferred to remain in his room to avoid whatever was in store for him, he nevertheless sprang from his bed and made directly toward the door, stopping only to hide his letters in a desk drawer.
Vernon stood glowering at him at the base of the stairs. Harry saw another letter clutched in his fat hand. Harry understood what happened immediately. The letter must have arrived by owl, upsetting Vernon's guests. Harry wondered who could have sent him a message so soon after Dobby's interference ended, and he didn't have long to satisfy his curiosity. Vernon quickly shoved the letter into Harry's chest, demanding that he read it aloud.
He stood blocking the bottom stair, and Harry slightly enjoyed the sensation of standing above him for a change as he popped open the wax seal on the parchment. He spared a glance over Vernon's shoulder to spy his Aunt Petunia and Dudley, standing at the threshold of the parlor and watching him with tense faces.
Harry looked down at the page, and obediently read.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We Have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at three minutes past eight. As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school...
Harry faltered, his gaze traveling up to witness the change in his uncle. Vernon was angrily chewing on a corner of his bushy black mustache.
"Not permitted to perform spells outside school..." he repeated darkly, his eyes boring into Harry. To Harry's surprise, he didn't say anything more, merely gave a jerk of his head indicating that Harry should continue. Harry glanced at the page, skimming over the part that warned of expulsion if he repeated his presumed offense, and began at the next paragraph.
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.
There was a cheerful closing which inappropriately clashed against Harry's present feelings, and a signature from Mafalda Hopkirk of the Improper Use of Magic Office in the Ministry of Magic, but Harry felt that Vernon was not interested in these little details. Harry looked up from the letter once again and braced himself for the storm that was soon to follow.
But Vernon did not explode with anger, as expected. Instead, he nodded his head a few times, as if agreeing to whatever thoughts were running through his mind. He continued to chew on the corner of his mustache. Harry knew better than to interrupt his train of thought, but he was deeply disturbed. The Dursley's belief that Harry could curse them at any moment was the only thing that had kept his stay with them remotely tolerable all summer. He feared the treatment that was in store for him now that the truth was exposed. Perhaps if Vernon had ranted and raved as he usually did when he lost his temper with Harry, he could have simply weathered the storm and things would eventually settle down. Instead, Vernon was thinking. His continued silence did not bode well for Harry.
"Right..." he finally said, the word coming out as sharp and deadly as a kitchen knife. To his credit, Harry didn't flinch, though he saw Petunia give a small jump as Vernon obviously reached a decision.
"Right, right... Not allowed to do magic outside of school, eh? Well so much the better. I've got news for you, boy... You're never going back to that school. You're going to stay right here, in your room, where I can keep an eye on you and ensure none of... none of... this magic ever happens under my roof again!"
Harry had no doubt that his uncle would remain true to his word, and he made a desperate attempt to jump the stair banister, thinking he could force the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, collect his belongings, and make his escape. He would rather risk expulsion than spend the rest of his life a prisoner of the Dursleys. But before he could make his move, Vernon had already grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back to his bedroom.
Things did not get better from there. The following morning, Uncle Vernon had bars fitted over the window of Harry's bedroom. A cat flap was installed on the bedroom door so that Harry's food was slipped in to him three times a day. He was permitted to have only two bathroom breaks, morning and night, and he even overheard Vernon and Petunia discussing getting him a commode, so that even these breaks would be prohibited. Harry felt like he was truly in prison.
He would have conjured himself out, and taken his chances with the Ministry, but his wand was locked up with the rest of his school things in the cupboard downstairs. He worried about his wand and spell-books constantly, as it was only a matter of time before Vernon reasoned that if Harry was not to return to school, they could simply burn all evidence of his time at Hogwarts. Harry thought instead of finding another means of breaking out. He tried to pick the lock himself, but wasn't sure how the mechanism worked. He thought of breaking the padlock on Hedwig's cage and sending her to get help, but even if he could somehow manage it, the bars were fit too closely for even Hedwig to squeeze through.
That night, Harry sat on his bed with a cold lunch-meat sandwich that had been slid through the cat flap by his Aunt Petunia. He tried to reason with her, using his most wheedling tone, but she had already moved away from the door. She hadn't spoken a word to him since the owl incident.
Harry pulled some of the meat from his sand-which and a wilted piece of lettuce and offered it to Hedwig, who ruffled her feathers in consternation and glared at him.
"I know, but bear with me," Harry told her in a conciliatory tone, "I'll think of a way out of this."