Chapter Text
Hadrian James Potter did not often cry – at least, not anymore. Crying was weakness, he had learned, through cruel mockery and frequent beatings. This was a truth. Crying was pointless, and pathetic, and got you nothing but more pain.
So young Harry rarely cried, though perhaps he should have. On his twelfth birthday, however, Harry thought he might have been excused for wanting to cry, because of all the lonely birthdays he had ever had, this one was by far the loneliest.
Harry remembered everything, and so it was with crystal clarity that he recalled the events of his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: being Sorted into Slytherin; the Great Hall sparkling with light; the troll at Halloween; the Cerberus on the third floor; the parasitic remains of Voldemort crumbling with Quirrell under his bare hands; and of course, his friends. Draco, Blaise, Hermione, Neville, Pansy, Millicent, Daphne, Theodore, Tracey – even Adrian and Gemma. He’d thought they were friends, all of them, and yet here he was, alone in his brand new bedroom at Number 4, Privet Drive, twelve years old, and he had not a single letter from any of the wonderful people he remembered.
Sometimes, lying in the dark at night, Harry thought he had imagined the whole thing. Hogwarts, his friends, Voldemort – all of it, just a dream.
‘Or maybe,’ some small, traitorous part of Harry’s mind whispered, ‘They haven’t written to you all Summer because they hate you. A freak doesn’t get friends, remember?’
“Shut up,” Harry whispered aloud, squeezing his eyes shut. “They care about me. I’m not a freak.”
A loud squawk made him jump. Hedwig, his snowy white owl, was glaring at him through the bars of her cage. She pecked pointedly at the large lock on the cage door, the key for which was sitting comfortably on Harry’s Uncle Vernon’s belt.
“I’m sorry, Hedwig,” Harry murmured sympathetically. He could understand the feeling of being in a cage. “You know I can’t use magic outside of school.”
Hedwig was the only real reminder that Hogwarts hadn’t been a dream. All the rest of his school supplies had been stuffed into Harry’s old cupboard and locked away.
“BOY!”
Harry couldn’t stop his flinch as Vernon’s bellow echoed through the house.
“Now you’ve done it,” he muttered at Hedwig, before heading downstairs.
“I warned you,” Vernon Dursley growled, glowering at Harry and struggling with Dudley’s bowtie. “If you can’t control that bloody bird, it’ll have to go.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Vernon,” Harry said quietly, gaze on the ground. He took a chance and continued, “If I could just let her out for an hour or two-”
Vernon scoffed. “And have you sending secret messages to your freaky little friends? Absolutely not.”
“I haven’t gotten any messages.”
“Who would want to be friends with you?” Dudley sneered, bowtie finally relenting.
“I should think you’d be more grateful,” Vernon snapped, turning a single pudgy finger on Harry. “We raise you since you were a baby, give you food off our table, even let you have Dudley’s second bedroom – all out of the goodness of our own hearts.”
Dudley frowned. “I thought he got the second bedroom because Mum was afraid he’d turn us into dung beetles if you put him back in the cupboard.”
Aunt Petunia froze in the kitchen where she was adding the finishing touches to a large, red cake. She only moved again when she noticed Dudley extending his own thick fingers to the pudding.
“Not yet, popkin,” she told him with a forced smile. “That’s for when the Masons arrive.”
“Which should be any moment,” Vernon reminded them all. “Now, let’s run through our schedule one more time. Petunia, when the Masons get here, you will be-”
“In the lounge, waiting to welcome them graciously into our home,” Aunt Petunia said, sweeping into position.
Uncle Vernon nodded, his many chins wobbling. “Good. And Dudley?”
“I’ll be waiting to open the door,” Dudley replied pompously.
“Excellent. And you, boy?”
Harry lowered his eyes once again. “In my room, silent.”
“And?”
“Pretending I don’t exist.”
“Too right you will,” Vernon glared at him. “With any luck, this could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career.”
The doorbell rung, cutting off Petunia’s reassurance, and Vernon shoved Harry roughly towards the stairs.
“Upstairs with you, boy!”
Harry picked himself up off of the stairs and moved silently up to his room. The grazes on his palms were only carpet burn – they would heal quickly.
Harry froze one step into his room. There was something jumping on his bed. Bat-like ears and giant green eyes were the creatures main features, and Harry identified it quickly. The more important question was this: why the Hell was there a House Elf playing trampoline on his bed?
“Hadrian Potter!” the elf squeaked, leaping off the bed. “Such an honour it is!”
“Who are you?” Harry asked, reminding himself to stay calm.
“Dobby, sir,” the creature smiled wide and gave a deep bow. “Dobby the House Elf.”
Harry rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay. Listen, this isn’t a great time, Dobby. Go back to your master. Actually, who is-”
“Oh yes, sir, Dobby understands,” Dobby interrupted him quickly. “It’s just that, Dobby has come to tell you… Well, it is difficult, sir. Dobby wonders where to begin.”
“Just tell me why you’re here,” Harry sighed.
The House Elf leaned forward. “Dobby has to protect Mr Potter. To warn him. Mr Potter must not go back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year.”
Harry frowned. “Why would I not go back?”
“There is a plot,” Dobby continued in a fierce whisper. “A plot to make most terrible things happen. If Mr Potter goes back to school he will be in great danger.”
“A plot?” Harry shook his head. “Who is your master, Dobby?”
The elf made a strange gagging noise, and whipped his head around in a panic.
“Dobby!” Harry snapped, as quietly as he could. “What family do you serve?”
Dobby dropped his head, his large ears drooping. “The Malfoy Family, sir.”
“The Malfoys? Draco? Did Draco send you? Answer me!”
“No, sir,” Dobby wrung his hands. “Master Draco doesn’t know Dobby has come. None of them do, but Dobby had to warn Mr Potter.”
“I have to go back to Hogwarts, I can’t stay here,” Harry told him. “I just can’t.”
“Why would Mr Potter go back to friends who don’t even write to him?”
Harry froze. “Excuse me?”
Dobby shuffled back towards the wardrobe, shaking his head.
“How do you know my friends haven’t been writing me?” Harry asked as calmly as he could.
The elf guiltily took a bound stack of letters from his pillowcase-tunic. “Mr Potter mustn’t be angry with Dobby – Dobby hoped if Mr Potter had thought his friends had forgotten him, Mr Potter might not want to go back to school, sir.”
Harry wanted to scream. He wanted to wring the little creature’s neck and snatch the letters from his hands. But that would get him nowhere. No - he needed to be smart.
“Dobby,” he began, carefully. “If you give me the letters, and unlock Hedwig’s cage for me, I will promise not to go back to Hogwarts this year.”
Dobby’s huge eyes got huger. “Really? Mr Potter promises?”
Harry nodded. “I promise. But I need to explain that to my friends so they don’t worry about me, so I need the letters, and I need Hedwig’s cage unlocked.”
Dobby nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, Mr Potter! Oh, Dobby is so pleased Mr Potter listened to Dobby, sir. Mr Potter will be safe, now!”
“Okay,” Harry said, once Dobby had fulfilled his end of the deal. “Goodbye now, Dobby.”
“Goodbye, Mr Potter,” Dobby said, with a bow, and disappeared with a crack.
As soon as he was gone, Harry read every single one of his letters. Then he searched his room for the broken stub of a pencil he had been allowed, and scratched out replies, explaining his whole situation and how he hoped they were well. At the end of Draco’s, he added:
Long story short: keep that damn House Elf away from me, yeah?
He attached as many as he could to Hedwig’s expectantly outstretched claw, whispered to her who they were all for, and watched her fly away.
Harry would be returning to Hogwarts – of course he would, especially now he knew his friends still cared about him. He’d deal with this ‘plot’ when he had to. For now, he simply held the stack of letters close, and didn’t bother to keep his grin off of his face.
Unfortunately, there was one thing Harry had forgotten.
He watched with mounting horror as his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Cousin Dudley, and the visiting Masons all stared in shock at the snowy white owl carrying a mountain of letters and flying – in plain daylight – into the distance.
“Oh, no.”
Uncle Vernon was furious. The Masons had told him very coldly that they would “get back to him” on his big deal after seeing a letter-burdened owl leave his house, and very quickly driven away. Harry, of course, got the brunt of his rage, but it seemed Vernon didn’t want to just leave it at violence this time. That very day, Harry’s bedroom gained three new adornments: large iron bars on the outside of his window; a small metal flap on the base of his door; and a thick grey lock to the door itself. The door snapped shut like a cell door when Vernon was done. Harry sat on the floor and tried not to panic. He would be fine, rationally, he knew that. His friends would find him, would help him. But the shadowed bedroom suddenly seemed very small, like the walls were closing in, like the world was going dark and he was back in his cupboard again, hunched over and scared-
The metal flap on his door pushed open, snapping Harry out of his hyperventilation. A bowl of tinned soup slid through, followed by a small piece of bread Harry could already tell was stale.
Dudley’s pudgy face grinned through the opening.
“I know what day it is,” Dudley said.
Harry closed his eyes. “Well done,” he replied mockingly, but his voice was weak.
His cousin didn’t seem to notice. “It’s your birthday,” Dudley’s cruel smile widened. “And nobody cares.”
Harry snapped his eyes open and lunged forward with a threatening snarl, making Dudley swear and stumble backwards.
“Freak!” the boy called, before turning and running away.
Harry collapsed on the floor next to the food. He couldn’t even bring himself to smile at the way Dudley had reacted. He was too tired. Harry closed his eyes against the dark, and began to dream.