"What do you think you're doing?!"
Vernon bellowed.
"You're using that blasted—hand it over!"
He snatched Harry's letter away, but the only words he managed to glimpse were "I don't want to be here" before the paper airplane slipped right through his fat fingers and wobbled off into the air.
"Aaagh! What is this?!"
Vernon stared in horror as the airplane tottered away.
"I warned you! I will not have you using your freakishness in my house!"
He was all bluster, but the next second his face paled. An owl shot through the dining-room window like a feathered hurricane, dropped a letter squarely on his head, and vanished just as fast.
Vernon read it and let out a triumphant roar, his tiny eyes gleaming with evil delight.
"Read this!"
He waved the owl post like a victory flag.
"Go on—read it!"
Harry took the letter. It was short and to the point:
Mr. Potter,
We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this afternoon at twelve minutes past three.
As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school. Any further infractions may result in expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).
Please also keep in mind 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 Wizards' Statute of Secrecy.
Enjoy your holidays!
Mafalda Hopkirk
Improper Use of Magic Office
Ministry of Magic
Harry hadn't used any magic. When?
His mind flashed to the lamp that had floated away earlier… and the tiny creature he'd glimpsed in the tree.
Before he could think further, Vernon loomed over him like an angry bulldog, teeth bared.
"Well, boy… I've got news for you… You're locked up… You're never going back to that school… never… And if you try magic to escape—they'll expel you!"
He meant it.
He hired someone to bolt iron bars across Harry's window and installed a cat-flap in the bedroom door. The spare room became a proper prison cell.
Hope? Gone.
Days dragged by. Rain soaked the streets. Harry knew the Dursleys weren't letting him out anytime soon.
He also knew the creature outside would never let him go. He was starting to suspect it worked for Voldemort.
Think about it: keep Harry trapped here forever. Either he missed the school year and got expelled, or he cracked, used magic, and got expelled anyway.
Who would be happiest?
The Dursleys… and Voldemort.
Harry stared at the dark, distant sky—heavy gray clouds like soaked sponges. Shadows moved in the gloom. Worry filled his eyes.
If he couldn't use magic and that thing was watching… how was Sean supposed to help?
And him—why was he always the one causing trouble?
Worry dragged him under. His last thought before sleep was of an empty horizon—no one there at all.
He drifted off uneasily, dreaming he was locked in a zoo cage labeled "Little Wizard." People stared through the bars while he lay starving on straw. Dobby's face appeared in the crowd.
"Harry Potter will stay in a cage forever!" the elf cried, then vanished.
Then the Dursleys showed up. Dudley rattled the bars and laughed.
"Harry."
A calm, adult voice cut through the dream. It kept speaking. Harry opened his eyes.
Moonlight striped the room through the bars.
A sleek black cat sat on the windowsill, its fur silvered by the moon. The voice came from a small badge pinned in its fur.
"You're awake. Let's go."
The cat kept talking.
"…Still dreaming," Harry mumbled.
Then the cat leapt, and mid-air it became a very familiar wizard.
"The cat just turned into Sean—this is way too weird—"
Harry was convinced he was still asleep.
"Stop being ridiculous," the figure in front of him said.
"That's not Sean's voice, and you're not even moving your lips!"
Harry flopped back onto the bed and shut his eyes.
Sean was momentarily speechless.
He'd actually arrived ages ago but had waited for Dobby to leave before revealing himself—he didn't want the hassle.
He waited a bit longer until Harry pinched his own arm, shot upright, and yelled:
"It's real!"
…
"So what do we do?" Harry asked anxiously, finally accepting that this was actually Sean.
Then he realized all his worries were child's play to the boy in front of him.
Sean poured a single drop of corrosive potion onto the iron bars—they melted like sugar.
Outside the window, two broomsticks hovered patiently, loaded with charms: wind-shielding, auto-navigation, auto-pilot, the works.
And just like that, in a dreamlike blur, Harry left his cage behind.
Later that night the rain had stopped. Sean sat reading Dumbledore's old notes by moonlight while Harry hesitated, then finally spoke.
"Sorry," he said quietly, head down.
"Every single time you guys have to come rescue me. I'm nothing but trouble."
He'd been getting help since the day he started Hogwarts. Sean had lent him notes when they barely knew each other, welcomed him into Hope Cottage, led the charge against Voldemort when he came for Harry… and what had Harry ever given back?
Sean looked at Harry's hunched shoulders and thought of the cupboard under the stairs—dark, cramped, full of spiders.
He thought of the cold canned soup Petunia had shoved through the cat-flap earlier, barely any food in it.
He sighed.
"Harry, why are you apologizing? You've already been through more than enough."
They were sitting under the moonlight, but Harry couldn't see anything clearly.
He only knew he would never forget this night, this rain, or the person who told him:
Harry, it's okay. I'll help—because you need it.
…
They reached the Leaky Cauldron.
The pub sat tucked between Muggle shops on Charing Cross Road, dark and shabby, pure Victorian Tudor style.
Sean stowed the brooms, sent Harry's on autopilot to Gambol and Japes.
Then the two of them walked inside.
A whole crowd of people was waiting for them.