"...so, he hasn't been going out much?"
"Yes, I've been bringing meals to his door. Mr. Fudge, has the Ministry of Magic given him some kind of punishment?"
"Oh, no, of course not—it's just an insignificant little incident. But... staying indoors is good. After all, the world is too... uh, not very safe for him right now, Tom, you know."
Fudge took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his forehead, speaking somewhat vaguely. The late August weather was still a bit hot, which shouldn't be a problem for a wizard, but his somewhat rounded figure combined with the dark cloak he wore almost all year round for appearances—
"Alright."
Tom Senior nodded in agreement; he certainly knew what Fudge was implying—after all, that person had escaped from Azkaban. As the Dark Lord's most loyal and deeply hidden minion, almost everyone could guess his aim.
Fudge did not linger long. After finishing the tea in his cup, he got up, panting, and left the Leaky Cauldron. With the fugitive still at large and the wizarding world in fear, he had only come to ensure everything was still safe and couldn't stay long since the Ministry of Magic needed him.
After Fudge left, Tom Senior picked up the prepared food tray, greeting familiar patrons as he walked toward the stairs.
"Potter—"
Tom Senior, hunched over, stopped in front of the door with the number 11. He raised his hand and knocked on the door, "Your dinner's here—sweet pancakes and milk, oh, and I included some butter for you."
"Oh, thanks—"
A voice responded from inside the room, followed by the sound of things being tidied. The door was half-opened from inside, and Harry peeked out, taking the food tray from Tom's hand and giving the old man a polite smile.
"What are you busy with?"
Tom Senior casually asked as he handed over the food, even craning his neck to look behind Harry but only saw some light smoke and nothing else.
"Oh... it's, uh, my Potions Class homework."
Harry instinctively glanced back at the room upon hearing the question and explained.
"Oh—well, if you need any help..."
"...just ring the bell, I know."
"That's good."
Tom Senior nodded, not asking further and turned to leave the narrow corridor.
"..."
As he watched the old man's hunched figure disappear around the corner, Harry finally relaxed his tense body. He closed the door, broke off a piece of the sweet pancake, and tossed it to the snowy owl napping atop the wardrobe.
"Hoot—"
Hedwig flapped her wings in slight annoyance after being startled, but after a bout of complaining, dutifully picked up the pancake—though it was an extra meal.
"Are you going out tonight, too?"
Seeing Hedwig eat a few pieces of pancake and then move to the window, Harry hesitated, rummaging through the drawer, pulling out a half-written letter. After hastily adding a closing remark, he put the letter into an envelope and handed it to Hedwig, "Do me a favor, you know who to send it to."
"Hoot—"
The snowy owl seized the envelope with her foot, and with a knowing nod, started flapping her wings, quickly disappearing into the night of Diagon Alley.
Watching the white figure vanish, Harry closed the window, took a bite of the buttered pancake, and turned to the table he had moved to the inside of the door, away from Tom Senior's sight—and the things on it.
"..."
Harry really didn't want anyone to see these things—or the state he was in now.
Staring at the bubbling dark brown liquid in the cauldron, the boy found himself lost in thought—his mind wandered back to the night three weeks ago. At that time, he was still striving to visit Hogsmeade during the third-grade weekends, desperately trying to tolerate Aunt Marge and dine with her despite her face full of wrinkles—
Enduring her criticisms... he couldn't help but wonder, is every Dursley always this mean-spirited?
Oh, no, that's not right; his cousin Dudley wasn't—the little fat sausage was just simple-mindedly stupid.
But for some reason, recently, Harry found that he didn't hate Dudley as much as he used to. Although Dudley was still bullying him as usual, these days, Harry had this feeling that Dudley might have once tried to tiptoe around him... Was it last summer when the Dursleys didn't know he couldn't perform magic outside school?
No... Now the blurry dream in Harry's mind didn't allow him to figure it out even if he tried his hardest.
However, he supposed now he had no connections with the Dursleys—although Fudge told him that next summer he could return to the house on Privet Drive, he really didn't want to go back if there was another place he could reside then.
Feeling slightly agitated, Harry scratched his head, took out his magic wand, and waved it over the Potion in the cauldron, reverting the beginning-to-blacken Potion back to brown.
He had thought he could get along with Aunt Marge, since the temptation to visit Hogsmeade over the weekend with friends was strong; Fred and George had talked numerous times about how authentic the Three Broomsticks' Butter Beer was... and, about Ms. Rosmerta—the owner—how... charming she was.
Er...
If only he hadn't cast a Spell to bash Aunt Marge against the wall and break a total of thirteen ribs.
Upon hearing her insulting and belittling his parents, he couldn't restrain his fury, immediately pulling out his magic wand and casting a spell. The immense impact obliterated the Dursleys' kitchen; everyone present—except him—was knocked out. Watching the mess he had caused, Harry stood there for quite some time, waiting for the Ministry of Magic's owl.
But what finally came for him was the Minister of Magic himself, cloaked in stripes.
Was that sort of grandeur necessary?
That was the sole thought in Harry's mind at that time, as he watched Cornelius Fudge step calmly over the Dursleys' threshold and slowly approach him. Harry felt a gradual chill emerge from deep within his organs.
Perhaps he'd be sent to Azkaban?
The boy thought sadly.
Harry made no attempts to escape, not believing he could flee from the Ministry's Aurors—maybe the Invisibility Cloak would help, but that stealth artifact was locked securely in the trunk upstairs, and Harry regretted not leaving right away.
After all, wouldn't the Ministry of Magic have been alerted?
Looking at Fudge standing before him, Harry suddenly wasn't as frightened. He straightened his back forcefully and, with a somewhat stiff tone, said, "I did all this. You can take me away—"
"...ah?"