"What do you think you're doing?!"
Uncle Vernon bellowed.
"You're using that blasted—let see that!"
He lunged forward and snatched the letter from Harry's hands. All he caught was the line I don't want to stay here before the paper suddenly folded itself into a paper airplane and slipped straight through his fingers, wobbling off into the air.
"Ah! What is that?!"
Vernon stared in horror as the paper plane fluttered away.
"I warned you!" he roared, bluster masking panic. "I will not tolerate you using your freakish abilities in my house!"
But his face changed abruptly.
With a rush of wings, an owl burst in through the dining room window like a miniature hurricane, smacked a letter squarely on top of Vernon's head, and vanished just as fast.
Vernon read it—and let out a furious howl. His tiny eyes glead with sothing ugly.
"Read it!"
He thrust the owl-delivered letter at Harry with a vicious sneer.
"Go on—read it!"
Harry unfolded the parchnt. Inside was written:
Dear Mr. Potter,
We have received reports that at three twelve this afternoon you perford a Hovering Charm at your place of residence.
As you are aware, underage witches and wizards are not permitted to perform magic outside of school. Further infractions may result in expulsion (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Clause 3).
Additionally, please rember that under Article Thirteen of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, any magical activity liable to draw the attention of non-magical persons (Muggles) constitutes a serious violation.
We wish you a pleasant sumr.
Mafalda Hopkirk
Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Improper Use of Magic
Ministry of Magic
I used magic?
When?
Harry froze. His mind jumped to the floating desk lamp… and the small, twisted face he'd seen staring at him from the tree outside.
He didn't have ti to think any further.
Vernon surged forward like an enraged bulldog, teeth bared.
"Oh, I've got news for you, boy," he snarled. "I'm locking you up. You're never going back to that school—never. And if you try to escape using magic, they'll expel you!"
He ant every word.
Iron bars were installed on Harry's bedroom window. Vernon himself fitted a reinforced hatch to the door, turning the tiny space into sothing closer to a cell than a room.
Any last trace of hope was sealed away.
Ti crawled on. Rain soaked the street outside. Harry knew the Dursleys wouldn't suddenly grow a conscience and let him out.
Worse still, he knew the wretched creature outside would never leave him alone. He even suspected it might be one of Voldemort's agents.
Think about it—if the creature kept him trapped here, there were only two outcos.
Either he missed school and got expelled from Hogwarts…
or he broke down, used magic, and got expelled anyway.
Who would be happiest then?
The Dursleys.
And Voldemort.
Harry stared at the distant, dim horizon. The clouds looked like grey sponges swollen with rain. Shapes blurred together, indistinct and heavy.
Worry clouded his eyes. If he wasn't allowed to use magic—and that creature was watching him—what would Sean do?
And him… why was he always causing trouble?
His thoughts drifted. Darkness crept in.
In the last image his mind held, the horizon was empty. No one was there.
He fell asleep without realizing it.
The sleep was restless.
He dread he was on display in a zoo. A cage label read: "Young Wizard."
People stared through the bars as he lay on straw, starving and weak.
In the crowd, he saw Dobby's face.
"Harry Potter will stay locked in a cage forever!" the house-elf cried—then vanished.
Next ca the Dursleys. Dudley rattled the bars, laughing at him.
"Harry."
A calm, mature voice called his na.
It didn't stop.
Harry opened his eyes. Moonlight stread through the barred window.
A black cat stood perched between the bars. Its sleek fur shimred silver under the moonlight. The voice ca from a small button embedded among its fur.
"You're awake. Let's go."
The cat spoke again.
"I must still be dreaming…" Harry muttered.
The black cat leapt lightly—and transford midair into a wizard Harry knew all too well.
"The cat turned into Sean—this is way too unrealistic—"
Harry shut his eyes and lay back down.
"Don't be an idiot," Sean said.
"That's not Sean's voice," Harry murmured. "And he wouldn't talk like that. Besides, you didn't even move your mouth."
Silence.
Sean genuinely didn't know what to say.
He'd arrived much earlier, but avoided showing himself while Dobby was around. Only after the house-elf disappeared did he step in.
After a mont, Harry pinched his own arm—then bolted upright.
"This isn't a dream!"
…
"What do we do?"
Harry asked anxiously, finally accepting that this really was Sean.
Almost imdiately, he realized his worries barely registered for Sean.
With a potion, Sean corroded the iron bars until they crumbled away. Outside the window, two broomsticks hovered, waiting.
They were layered with enchantnts—wind resistance, automatic navigation, even self-guided flight.
And just like that, dreamlike and unreal, Harry left his cage behind.
The rain had stopped. Under the night sky, Sean read from one of Professor Dumbledore's notebooks while Harry hesitated, clearly wanting to say sothing.
"Sorry," Harry said quietly.
"You always end up helping . I'm just… trouble."
His head drooped.
Ever since coming to Hogwarts, he'd been helped again and again. Sean had lent him notes before they were even close, welcod him into the Room of Hope, and when Voldemort struck, it was Sean who led them to face him.
And Harry felt like he'd given nothing in return.
Seeing his unease, Sean rembered the dark, cramped cupboard under the stairs—spiders everywhere.
He rembered the cold canned soup Petunia had brought earlier, barely any food in it.
Sean sighed.
"Harry," he said gently, "why would you think that? You've already suffered more than enough."
Standing in the moonlight, Harry still felt like he couldn't see clearly.
But he knew one thing.
He would never forget this night.
The rain.
And the mont soone told him—
It's okay, Harry. I'll help you. Because you need help.
…
They arrived at the Leaky Cauldron.
The pub stood on a Muggle street off Charing Cross Road, its exterior dark and shabby, an old Tudor-style relic from another century.
Sean put his broom away and sent Harry's broom off on automatic flight to Weasley & Green's Wizard Wheezes.
Then the two of them stepped inside.
Many people were already waiting for them.
End of Chapter
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