After Edward mentioned he'd brought muggle money, and with Harry's enthusiastic encouragement, the three young wizards finally mustered the courage to check out the amusement park.
At first, their faces were full of disdain, but that quickly turned to curiosity, then astonishment, and finally pure joy.
Daphne and Pansy would never admit it out loud, but they were clearly enchanted by the carousel.
Harry and Malfoy, meanwhile, couldn't get enough of the roller coaster and the pirate ship, insisting on sitting in the front row every time—they went on nearly ten rides each.
"It's practically like zooming around on a broomstick!" Harry exclaimed.
The haunted house, though? Nobody cared for it.
"Might as well go wander the Forbidden Forest for a thrill," Malfoy scoffed.
Watching the young witches and wizards run wild, Edward felt like a parent chaperoning kids at a playground.
Finally, as the sun began to set, they reluctantly left the amusement park.
"So, how was it?" Edward asked.
"Eh, it was alright. I still prefer flying on a broom," Malfoy said, shrugging.
"Who was screaming their head off on the pirate ship, then?" Harry teased.
"You were just as bad, Potter!"
"How do they make all this stuff move? I mean, they don't have magic, do they?" Pansy asked, more curious about the mechanics behind the park.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, twinkling lights flickered on, casting the park in a vibrant, colorful glow.
"It's electricity. Don't ask me to explain it—it's not easy to sum up," Edward said, throwing up his hands. "If you're really curious, you can take Muggle Studies in third year."
Harry chimed in, admitting he couldn't explain electricity either.
"Who's curious? We were just asking," Daphne said, turning to steal one last glance at the park.
They bickered a bit about how to get back, but in the end, they had no choice but to take the only option available: the Knight Bus.
Harry had never heard of the Knight Bus and was intrigued, while Malfoy kept insisting it was the most comfortable and safest ride he'd ever taken.
By the time they stumbled off at the Leaky Cauldron, though, Harry was too drained to even think about hexing Malfoy for the exaggeration. His legs felt wobblier than when he'd stepped off the roller coaster.
Compared to the Knight Bus, Floo powder was a dream. Sure, you had to toss a handful into a fireplace and step into green flames, but it beat that bus by miles.
"Where are we headed?" Harry asked.
"Bedivere Manor. Say it clearly, or you'll choke on the ash. My dad once mumbled the address and ended up in some old witch's house in Ireland," Edward warned.
Harry focused hard, determined not to mess it up.
"See you later, Malfoy, Greengrass, Parkinson. Thanks for coming to check on me today!" Harry's face flushed as he shouted, "Bedivere Manor!"
He vanished into the flames in an instant.
"Catch you at school—or maybe next week. We'll probably hit Diagon Alley for school supplies," Edward said, stepping into the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace and disappearing.
Moments later, Harry stood in the grand hall of Bedivere Manor, gawking at his surroundings.
The space was bigger than Gryffindor's common room, lined with gleaming suits of armor and walls adorned with knightly tapestries. The decorations were split almost evenly between Gryffindor lions and Slytherin serpents.
This was the fanciest house Harry had ever seen.
"Welcome, Master Harry," a neatly dressed house-elf appeared with a pop, startling him. Nothing like Dobby, this elf was poised and proper. "I'm Therin, the Bedivere family's steward."
"Please, hand me your luggage. Master William and Lady Anri will be here shortly."
"Oh, thanks," Harry said, passing over his bag.
Therin snapped his fingers and vanished with the luggage.
A hearty voice boomed through the hall. "You must be Harry! Welcome, what an honor! I'm Edward's father, William Bedivere." A tall, handsome blond man strode forward, gripping Harry's hand in a vigorous shake.
"Hello, Mr. William!" Harry winced at the strength of the grip but managed a grin.
"Oh, Harry, dear boy, you look just like your father, except—" a woman's voice called from the other side of the room.
She was a stunning witch in a shimmering robe, with waist-length chestnut hair—possibly the most beautiful witch Harry had ever seen.
"Except my eyes, which are like my mother's? Hello, Lady Anri," Harry said, a bit shyly.
"Such manners! Good lad. You must be starving. Let's get dinner ready," Anri said, waving her wand. Plates and dishes floated from a nearby cabinet, arranging themselves on a marble dining table.
Soon, the plates were piled with a feast nearly as lavish as Hogwarts' start-of-term banquet, just on a smaller scale.
"So, Harry, you've met Mum and Dad. Settling in alright?" Edward asked, appearing beside him with a pat on the shoulder.
"Edward, I'm so jealous of you," Harry said with a grin. "This is the coolest house I've ever seen."
Meanwhile, at Malfoy Manor.
Draco had finished dinner ages ago and was now sprawled in a comfy armchair in his room. He clapped his hands sharply. "Dobby! Get out here!"
With a loud pop, the timid house-elf appeared by Draco's bed, his big eyes wide with nerves.
"Master Draco called for Dobby. Dobby is here. Good evening, Master Draco," Dobby said, bowing so low his long nose nearly touched the floor.
"What were you up to last night?" Draco asked, his tone laced with arrogance.
"Last night? Dobby… Dobby was cleaning the manor—"
Dobby's voice quivered, and he suddenly began smashing his head against the floor, banging it so hard he drew blood.
"Stop it!" Draco shouted.
Dobby froze, abandoning his attempt to knock himself out.
Draco fixed him with a complicated look.
Malfoy Manor was massive, with more than one house-elf, but Dobby was the best at his job. He'd been serving the family since Draco was born, and Draco was used to his presence.
Draco had never punished Dobby himself, but he'd seen his father, Lucius, "discipline" him plenty of times—especially when Dobby messed up. Sometimes, even Draco thought Lucius was too harsh, but he never dared—or wanted—to speak up for Dobby. That would make him look weak.
He'd meant to press Dobby about what he was doing last night, but something Edward had said before they parted echoed in his mind.
"I think we should be a bit kinder to house-elves sometimes."
Draco couldn't shake the feeling Edward had said it for his benefit. Maybe Edward suspected the elf causing trouble for Potter was connected to him. So why hadn't Edward called him out?
Kindness? Why be kind to these creatures? Showing goodwill to muggles was one thing—they were human, at least. But house-elves? They weren't even the same species!
Draco didn't get it, but he'd grown used to following Edward's lead. Edward's advice rarely steered him wrong.
"Ahem, Dobby, maybe you don't need to kneel on the floor. There's a stool over there," Draco said, coughing lightly and trying to sound less haughty.
It wasn't easy for him.
Dobby's head shot up, his huge eyes brimming with disbelief.
"Master Draco is telling Dobby to sit? On a stool? Dobby's been at the manor for years, and no wizard has ever told Dobby to sit!"
"Master Draco is like Ha—"
Dobby was muttering through sobs, but he stopped short, as if realizing he was about to say something forbidden. He bolted toward the wall, seemingly intent on smashing himself against it.
"Stop! Dobby! Get back here! Sit on the stool! No more trying to kill yourself!" Draco roared, exasperated. How could one creature be such a headache?
Dobby halted mid-sprint, turned mechanically, and perched on the stool, his little legs dangling. His eyes were a mess of emotions—panic, because he didn't know why Draco was asking about last night; confusion, because Draco's usual coldness had shifted; and fear, because he dreaded what punishment awaited if Draco knew he'd gone to see Harry Potter on his own.
"Dobby, tell me the truth. Did you go to Number 4, Privet Drive last night, find Potter, and blow up his muggle aunt's pudding?" Draco asked, seeing Dobby had finally calmed down.
Dobby's mind went blank. He couldn't lie this time and nodded faintly.
"Did my dad or mum send you?" Draco asked, puzzled, pacing the room.
Dobby shook his head, his long fingers twisting together nervously, dreading the question he couldn't answer: Why did you go to Harry Potter?
"So why'd you go there?" Draco muttered, almost to himself, racking his brain for another explanation.
Then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit him.
"Wait! I get it! You went to mess with Potter for me, didn't you?"