Harry wiped the corner of his eye, throat tight like someone had stuffed a sock in it.
Hedwig was kicking up a fuss in her cage while Aunt Petunia's heels clacked up the stairs.
He quickly shoved Sean's letter into his pocket.
Dudley was fine, Petunia knew Harry hadn't actually done magic, but she still swung a soapy frying pan at his head. He ducked just in time.
Then came the punishment chores: no food until every window sparkled, the car gleamed, the lawn was perfect, the flowerbeds were weeded, the roses pruned and watered, and the garden bench repainted. The sun beat down until the back of his neck felt like it was on fire.
Harry didn't complain once.
Because folded in his trunk was a single blank piece of paper—his lifeline to the wizarding world.
Hope makes anything bearable.
He just had to wait until the Dursleys calmed down, then he'd write Sean back.
One question kept nagging at him, though: if all his friends were sending letters, why hadn't a single owl reached him?
He got his answer pretty fast.
Finally finished with the slave labor, Harry was hunched in his tiny, dark cupboard-under-the-stairs, scribbling a reply by wand-light, when a creature popped into existence right in front of him.
Huge bat-like ears. Tennis-ball-sized green eyes. Staring at Harry's letter like it had personally offended him.
The line "I can't do homework or even practice Quidditch here" practically glowed on the page.
"Harry Potter must not leave this house or go back to Hogwarts!" the creature squeaked, trembling all over. "Terrible danger this year! Harry Potter is too important to risk!"
Harry had no idea what it was talking about. He only knew it lunged for the letter.
No way was Harry letting some random gremlin steal his only connection to his friends. Scared or not, he grabbed the other end and yanked.
They wrestled. The paper made an unhealthy ripping noise.
"No—don't!" Harry begged.
"Dobby has no choice, sir! Dobby must protect Harry Potter!"
The letter tore clean in half.
Harry stared at the pieces in his hands, trying frantically to line the edges back together. Useless.
The creature vanished with a crack.
Rain started falling on Privet Drive—soft at first, then harder, until Harry realized the cool drips on his face and hands were actually tears.
Then—something tapped his forehead. Again and again.
He looked up.
A new paper airplane hovered in mid-air, unfolded itself, and became a crisp sheet of parchment.
[To Harry,
You haven't heard back in ages. Something's wrong.
Don't worry.
I'm coming.
— Sean Green]
Harry dropped his face into the pillow so the Dursleys wouldn't hear him crying like a wounded puppy.
Outside, Dobby heard anyway. He snapped his fingers and re-appeared in the tree, proceeding to bang his head against the trunk in despair. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Meanwhile, Diagon Alley.
Sean had barely sent off his second paper airplane when the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace roared green and kids poured out.
"Sean!" Everyone looked massively relieved the second they spotted him.
"Do you know what's going on with Harry?" Ron asked, panicked.
"No idea," the answer came—not from Sean's mouth, but from the silver-and-emerald brooch pinned to his robes.
The entire group did a double-take, staring around for the adult who'd spoken.
"It's me," the brooch said in Sean's normal voice, perfectly calm.
Ron forgot Harry for two whole seconds. "What the—cool badge!"
"Focus, Ron!" Hermione snapped.
"Right, right—sorry."
"Harry's definitely in trouble," the brooch continued. "But I'll handle it."
Sean was already heading for the door while the brooch talked. His paper airplanes were enchanted never to fail delivery, so if Harry wasn't answering, someone (or something) was intercepting the mail.
Dursleys… or Dobby. Probably both.
Either way, Sean had signed the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery decree like everyone else. Doing magic in front of Muggles would bring the Ministry down on Harry's head, not his own.
But not all magic needs a wand.
Flying cars, for example. Or certain creative alchemical gadgets.
"You going alone?" Hermione asked quietly in a side alley.
"Yeah."
"I could help!" Ron offered loudly.
"You'd probably be more hindrance than—" Sean cut the brooch off mid-sentence and strolled toward Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes like nothing happened.
Ron went red. "That was harsh, mate."
"Harry's stuck at his Muggle relatives' place," Justin explained, catching on. "Same rules as us—no magic."
"But he's in London," Justin added meaningfully. "I could still be useful."
Sean just shook his head. This wasn't a simple jailbreak; there was a suicidal house-elf involved too.
He ended up alone in the back room of Gambol and Jinx, the one Fred and George had turned into an unofficial workshop for him. Perfect.
Rain started drumming on the rooftops of Diagon Alley, little mushroom-shaped splashes blooming on every awning.
By the time Mrs. Gambol peeked in to spy, the room was empty.
Only a distant silhouette on a broomstick streaked across the stormy London sky.
Same moment—Privet Drive, Number Four.
This time Harry had buried himself under the blankets with a tiny lamp so he could warn Sean about the crazy creature.
He was just about to launch the paper airplane out the window when two huge, terrified eyes appeared in the hedge.
Snap.
The desk lamp flew off the table on its own and smashed down—right onto Dudley's foot downstairs.
Screams. Uncle Vernon thundered upstairs like an angry rhino.
He burst in to find Harry holding a paper airplane that was still calmly hovering in mid-air.
Vernon's face went from pink to purple to a shade that defied description.
"WHAT—DID—I—TELL—YOU—ABOUT—MAGIC—IN—MY—HOUSE?!"