The final weeks of the summer holiday were slipping away. Aiden had been diligent in his correspondence, writing to many people, including Harry. He'd received replies from almost everyone, but from Harry, there was only silence.
Thanks to the new staves and the foundational magic he'd developed, Aiden spent the second half of his vacation fielding inquiries from various magical luminaries. Ollivander, in particular, sent a flurry of frantic, excited letters. But this busyness had an unfortunate side effect: Aiden completely forgot about poor Ron, who was still enduring his "training" at home, and more importantly, he forgot about Harry, who was being systematically cut off from the wizarding world.
By the time he remembered, it was already too late.
Let's turn back the clock to the beginning of the summer holiday.
Harry had returned to Privet Drive hoping for a peaceful break, but his hopes were immediately dashed. His aunt and uncle promptly locked away his owl, his textbooks, his wand, and his broomstick. Trapped in his small room, Harry could only look helplessly at Hedwig in her cage.
"Looks like it's just you and me now," he sighed.
Heartbroken that his friends had seemingly forgotten him, Harry channeled his frustration into scaring his cousin Dudley with veiled threats of magic.
In August, a wealthy building contractor, Mr. Mason, had a very pleasant business dinner with Vernon and agreed to visit their home. Vernon, a director at a drill-making firm, was ecstatic. He was convinced that the deal for a villa on the island of Majorca depended on this visit.
The Dursleys went into a frenzy of preparation. Vernon and Dudley dressed in their finest clothes while Petunia cooked an elaborate roast and a magnificent violet pudding.
"Harry Potter!" Vernon bellowed.
Harry was summoned from his room to watch the Dursleys rehearse their ridiculous, sycophantic welcome. Under threat of being locked up for a week, he was forced to agree to stay in his room and make no noise, his plea to let Hedwig out for an hour brutally denied.
"Hey, cousin, pass me the frying pan," Dudley demanded.
"You forgot to say the magic word," Harry replied instinctively, his mind still on Hogwarts time.
"DON'T—" Vernon roared, his face turning purple. "DON'T YOU USE YOUR STRANGE TRICKS IN THIS HOUSE! NOW, GET BACK TO YOUR ROOM!"
Back in his room, Harry looked at Hedwig, his eyes filled with disappointment. That night, his dinner consisted of two slices of bread and a single piece of cheese. After receiving his meager meal, Harry returned to his room and found a strange creature bouncing on his bed.
It was a bald little being with enormous, bat-like ears and large, protruding green eyes. It was dressed in what looked like a tattered, dirty pillowcase.
The two of them stared at each other awkwardly.
The creature spoke first, its voice high and squeaky. "Harry Potter! It is an honor to meet you, sir."
"Who are you?" Harry asked.
"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf."
As Harry and Dobby chatted, the topic turned to wizards, and Dobby suddenly began to furiously bang his head against the wardrobe door. At that moment, a soft tapping came from the window. Harry turned to see a sleek leopard cat with beautiful markings peering in.
'It's Aiden's pet,' Harry thought, and immediately went to open the window.
Lada jumped gracefully into the room. Downstairs, the Dursleys and the Masons were startled by the noise and looked up curiously.
Lada let out a long, loud "Meow~!" that echoed through the house.
Vernon hurriedly smoothed things over. "Oh, don't worry about that. Just a stray cat."
Upstairs, Dobby, having momentarily stopped his self-punishment, spoke again. "Dobby knows Harry Potter is here, but Dobby had to come. Terrible things are going to happen at Hogwarts this year, and Dobby must protect Harry Potter!"
Having violated his masters' trust, Dobby grabbed a nearby lamp and began to beat himself over the head with it.
Downstairs, Vernon's patience finally snapped. He stormed up the stairs and burst into Harry's room. Harry managed to shove Dobby into the closet just in time.
"You just ruined the punchline of my joke about the Japanese golfer," Lada said coolly, her eyes fixed on the stunned man. "If you make another sound," she added, her voice turning as cold as ice, "I promise you, you'll wish you'd never been born."
Vernon stared, his jaw slack. The cat—the cat had spoken. Faced with such an impossible and threatening event, Vernon's courage completely abandoned him. He shivered, turned, and fled the room without another word.
Harry got Dobby out of the closet.
"See?" Harry explained patiently. "This is why I have to go back. I don't belong here. I belong at Hogwarts, with my friends."
"Friends who do not even write to Harry Potter?" Dobby blurted out.
"I expect they've just been... wait," Harry said, his eyes narrowing. "How do you know my friends haven't been writing to me?"
"Harry Potter must not be angry with Dobby," the elf squeaked, pulling a thick stack of letters from his pillowcase. "Dobby thought... if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him, Harry Potter might not want to go back to school."
Harry snatched the letters. He recognized the handwriting instantly: Hermione's neat script, Ron's messy scrawl, Aiden's elegant semi-cursive, and Hagrid's barely legible scratches.
"What an interesting play," a pleasant, musical voice commented from the desk. "But the shit shoveler asked me to bring you a message."
Harry's head whipped around. He saw only Lada, lying on his desk, watching the scene with an air of detached amusement.
"You..." Harry stammered, his mind refusing to believe it.
"Yes, it's me," Lada said, casually scratching behind her ear with a hind paw.
"You can talk?!" Harry and Dobby exclaimed in unison.
"Ophelia came back and told the shit shoveler that a house-elf hijacked her letter," Lada explained with a yawn. "The shit shoveler was worried that sending another owl would just get it intercepted, so he asked me to make the trip. Do you have any idea how far I ran? I crossed two whole counties. I'm exhausted. Meow." She stretched languidly. "Also, the shit shoveler told me to tell you something: don't worry, you won't be expelled."
"Won't be expelled? What does that mean?" Harry asked, confused.
"No!" Dobby shrieked. "Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts!"
The house-elf jumped up like a mad thing, threw open the door, and bolted from the room. Lada, however, had been reading the desperate swirl of colors in the house-elf's aura. She knew what he was about to do. She shot out of the room after him, pouncing on Dobby just as he reached the top of the stairs.
In a panic, Dobby unleashed a burst of accidental magic. Petunia's magnificent violet pudding floated into the air, hovered for a moment, and then came crashing down directly on Lada's head, covering her in a sticky, purple mess.
Dobby scrambled free and looked at Harry, who was chasing after him. "I'm sorry, Harry Potter," he cried. "This is all for your own good!"
He snapped his fingers and vanished from sight, though an invisible presence lingered on the stairs.
The loud crash brought everyone from the living room running. The Masons and the Dursleys squeezed into the entrance hall to find it splattered with cake and cream.
"I'm so sorry," Vernon explained anxiously. "This is my nephew. He's... unwell. Gets terribly nervous around strangers, so we usually keep him locked up."
Petunia's eyes darted upwards, and she gasped. She could just make out the shimmering outline of Dobby standing on the stairs. Harry stared at him, too. The air shimmered where Dobby stood, and he made a series of frantic gestures.
'Harry Potter must promise Dobby he will not go back to school.'
Harry's expression hardened, and he mouthed a single, defiant word: "No."
***********
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