As the invitation left Sebastian's lips, Harry felt a sharp, phantom pain in his chest, as if his lungs had suddenly forgotten how to expand. The joy of the afternoon's shopping spree hit a wall of cold, hard reality.
Harry looked down at his feet, his voice small and thick with a sadness that the "Leo" disguise couldn't mask. "There's no need, Jack. Truly. Nobody has contacted me since the holidays started. Not once."
He kicked at a loose stone on the path. "I wrote so many letters. I told Ron about the Dursleys' new diet, I told Hermione about the books I was reading... I sent Hedwig out until she was exhausted. But I never got a single reply. Maybe... maybe they only like the 'Boy Who Lived' when school is in session. Maybe they don't actually see me as a friend."
"Really?" Sebastian asked, his tone light and unimpressed by Harry's despair. "You think two of the most loyal, stubborn children I've ever met just collectively decided to ghost you? Harry, I think you've fallen victim to a classic case of a letter thief."
Harry looked up, blinking. "A letter thief? What are you talking about? My house is protected by more charms than Gringotts, and Little Whinging is the most boring place on Earth. Why would anyone steal my mail? It's not like I'm sending secret Ministry documents. It's mostly just Ron complaining about Scabbers."
Sebastian chuckled, leadings Harry toward the bustling Muggle streets of London. "People do strange things for strange reasons, Harry. Some want to isolate you. Some think they're 'protecting' you. But don't let a missing owl ruin your birthday. If magic fails, we go Muggle."
"Muggle methods?" Harry asked, intrigued despite himself.
"I remember Mrs. Granger mentioning that her husband's dental practice is on the ground floor of their home," Sebastian said, steering Harry toward a small, cramped post office near Charing Cross. "Come on. We're going to find a copy of the Yellow Pages."
They emerged minutes later with a thick, yellow directory. Sebastian flipped through the 'G' section with practiced ease until his finger landed on a listing. "Here we go. Granger Dental Surgery. And look, a residential number listed right underneath."
He handed Harry his mobile phone—a sleek, high-end device that looked years ahead of its time. "Call her. Ask her yourself."
The excitement hit Harry like a physical wave. To buy time and privacy, Sebastian grabbed Harry's arm and Apparated them back to the quiet sanctuary of Swann Manor. Standing in the grand hallway, Harry dialed the number with trembling fingers.
Bip—bip—bip—
"Hello? Granger residence," a familiar, slightly frantic voice answered.
"Hermione?" Harry blurted out, his heart hammering. "It's Harry. Harry Potter."
"HARRY?!" The scream was so loud Harry had to pull the phone away from his ear. "Harry! Where on earth are you? How are you calling me on a telephone? Do you have any idea how worried I've been? Why haven't you replied to a single one of my letters? I sent six! One was three rolls of parchment long!"
Harry felt a massive weight lift off his shoulders. The familiar barrage of questions was the most beautiful thing he'd heard all summer. "Hermione, wait! I haven't received anything. Not from you, not from Ron. Someone's been stealing my mail."
The conversation lasted nearly an hour. Hermione, ever the investigator, was already theorizing about magical interference while Harry explained his current living situation with Sebastian. When he told her about the Polyjuice and the trip to Knockturn Alley, she sounded like she was about to have a heart attack through the phone line.
"Anyway," Harry said, cutting through her lecture on safety. "I'm calling because I'm having a party. Here, at Professor Swann's house. I want you, Ron, and all the Weasleys to come. July thirty-first."
"Oh, Harry, I'd love to!" Hermione squealed. "And it'll be so good to see the Professor. I've actually hit a bit of a wall with my independent study on Arithmancy, and I was hoping to ask him—"
"I'll let him know to clear his schedule," Harry joked. "You can get here by Knight Bus or Floo. Just ask for Swann Manor."
"I'll tell Ron," Hermione promised. "He's been convinced you were being held prisoner. He and the twins were actually planning a 'rescue mission' involving a flying car. Honestly, that boy..."
After hanging up, Harry felt like he was floating. But back in London, Hermione was the one feeling the pressure. She looked at her desk, piled high with books, and then at the phone.
Harry is brewing Polyjuice? Under Snape's supervision? she thought, her competitive streak flaring up. That's a N.E.W.T. level potion! How is he getting so far ahead? She immediately grabbed a fresh notebook. If Harry was spending his summer becoming a master potioneer, she was going to spend hers becoming a master of... well, everything else.
Friday, July 31, 1992.
The sun was shining brightly over Swann Manor when the doorbell rang shortly after lunch. Harry, dressed in his favorite new robes, practically sprinted to the door.
"Happy Birthday, Harry!" Hermione cried, nearly tackling him with a hug as she handed him a neatly wrapped book.
She didn't stay "guest-like" for long. After a whirlwind tour of the Manor—where she spent ten minutes gasping at the library—she cornered Sebastian in the drawing room. Out came a small, leather-bound notebook.
"Professor, on page 402 of Advanced Rune Mapping, there's a contradiction regarding the Sowilo symbol in a fixed array..."
Sebastian handled her questions with the patience of a saint, even as the fireplace roared green and the Weasley clan began to spill out. Ron, Fred, and George arrived with a roar of laughter, immediately dragging Harry toward the game room Sebastian had specially prepared. The air was filled with the sounds of Exploding Snap, the clatter of Wizard's Chess, and the occasional "pop" of a Filibuster Firework.
Amidst the chaos, Sebastian noticed Percy Weasley. The eldest boy was standing by the window, watching his brothers with a distant, almost wistful expression. He looked every bit the Prefect—stiff, polished, and carrying the weight of his twelve O.W.L.s like a suit of armor.
"Percy," Sebastian said, stepping up beside him with two glasses of iced, bubbling cola. "Come with me for a moment? I'd like to show you something in the study."
Percy looked surprised but followed obediently. Once they were settled in the quiet, book-lined room, Sebastian handed him a glass.
"I saw the results of your Ordinary Wizarding Level exams, Percy. Twelve certificates. All 'Outstandings' or 'Exceeds Expectations.' That is a monumental achievement. One that very few wizards in history can claim."
Percy's chest puffed out just a fraction, his ears turning slightly pink. "Thank you, Professor. It was... a lot of late nights."
"I imagine so," Sebastian said gently. "You're starting your sixth year now. The N.E.W.T. years. These are the years that define a career. Tell me, Percy—beyond being Head Boy, what are your concrete plans? Where do you see yourself when you leave the halls of Hogwarts?"
Percy took a sip of the cola, his eyes sharpening. For a moment, the "stuffy brother" disappeared, replaced by a young man with a burning, quiet ambition. "I want to make a difference, Professor. I want to be in the Ministry. Not just as a clerk... I want to be where the decisions are made. I want to ensure that families like mine... well, that they don't have to struggle."
Sebastian nodded, watching the boy closely. "A noble goal. But the Ministry is a labyrinth, Percy. It requires more than just high marks. It requires vision."
As the sounds of Harry's laughter drifted in from the hallway, Sebastian began to speak to Percy about the reality of power—a conversation very different from the one he'd had with Harry in Knockturn Alley, but just as vital.