A/N: Hello! This is a sequel to my first story, Case of the Cintamani Stone! If you haven't read that one, please go read it - otherwise the developments in this one will make no sense.

Harry Potter-Mason watched the idle screen of an arcade machine devolve into a kaleidoscope of colours and sound. A child sized Stetson fedora rested on his knee, idly shaking whilst a walkman playing a library copy of the Shadow radio play fell on deaf ears. The cheap plastic of the seat cover squeaked along to the rhythm of his bouncing leg. The problem started last night when his adoptive father sat him down and told him that he needed to talk to him seriously - man to growing man. This had been the first time since he had been pulled out of primary school for a fight that Grant had sat him down to do that.

Maybe that wasn't quite where the trouble began. Today was July 31st, Harry's birthday, which was a few weeks into the summer holiday - and a few weeks since he had started up summer lessons on Muggle - non-magical - subjects. Harry looked at the copybook sitting across his lap, the literature and humanities notes he had written in a shaky shorthand coming across as a blur of swirls and lines. Hermione, his friend, fellow student and London resident, had found a copy of the Gregg shorthand instruction book at the library and Harry had been more than happy to dive right in with her. Being able to disguise their notes to each other from the tutor was a good thing - especially if they were talking about magic. Hermione's muggle parents, dentists Tom and Fiona Granger, had found the tutors and suggested it to Grant and Petunia a week after they had gotten home from school.

"Did you hear what they learned at that school?" Harry had caught the conversation his father had on the phone before it all got started, "It's all magic! No maths, no science, not even a hint of English!" There had been a pause.

"She taught herself? That's pretty impressive, Tom. But-" Harry had finished climbing the stairs to his room shortly after that when he heard his mum, really his aunt Petunia, coming through the hall.

It had turned out that both sets of parents were worried that their children weren't getting well rounded educations by attending a strange, magical school in the Scottish highlands. For Harry it seemed almost like a dream that a year ago an owl had shown up at his bedroom window with a letter confirming his attendance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His parents were right - of course - that he certainly hadn't learned standard classes but instead a mixture of charms, potions, transfiguration, astronomy, flying, defence against the dark arts, and quite a few other things that would have made a normal school teacher balk.

However, the most important lesson was something that had dominated Harry's life since he was able to think on it: how his birth parents Lily and James Potter had died. To him, that was the central mystery of his life and with that owl's arrival he had the opportunity to learn that it was a murder mystery.

That revelation had changed the world for him. It gave him the opportunity to don the fedora of a detective and crack the case as The Hammer. James and Lily had been betrayed by a close friend and murdered by one Dark Lord Voldemort, a wizard powerful enough to rate the terror of all of magical Britain, but also fail to kill Harry himself. The Hammer still wanted a face to face with that betrayer, especially after having to deal with a not-quite-dead Voldemort in the last school year. For the Hammer, it was the kind of rush he could only get in a real case. And yet, that still wasn't quite the problem he was worried about.

Going that far back wasn't useful to anyone - there were too many other tangential questions. Really, his confusion all centered around the conversation with his father and by extension his continuing friendship with the girl genius he had met last year on the train to school.

"Listen, Harry, you've been spending a lot of time with Hermione lately, and you're just about that age so your mother and I think it's about time we talked about some things." Grant had sat down on Harry's bed whilst the Hammer had taken up residence in his favorite thinking chair.

"Yeah, dad?" Harry asked after a longer than normal pause on Grant's part. His father rubbed the back of his neck, stumbling over the words he was so normally good at.

"You're coming up on the age where you're going to become a man, Harry." Grant was looking all over the room trying to dig up the words he wanted to say, his eyes pausing on the thought board on the wall. Harry played with his hat in his lap, waiting. "I mean, like physically. D'you know what I mean, son?"

"I'm going to get taller and I might be able to grow a beard or at least a five o'clock shadow, right?" Harry was worried before about a growth spurt - it was hard and expensive finding out-of-fashion clothing in his sizes - but with magic it'd be a lot easier to keep a hat on his head.

"No, I mean, yes, but also that wasn't quite what I meant." Grant said, his face contorting with the difficulty of trying to explain what he was getting at.

"What I mean is that, at some point you're going to see girls your age differently. Or maybe even boys, I guess." Grant trailed off again, hoping his precocious son would finally catch the hint.

"What do you mean, dad?" Grant ran a hand down his face, taking the time to just gather all the different things he wanted to say. "Listen, Harry, when a man and a woman…" Grant had started from the top with how babies were made. He got into the minutiae about trusting people before hopping into bed with them and about what and how to use a condom. It was a lot. The Hammer took off the headphones from his ears and hit the stop button on his cassette player before flicking the switch off. His father never had made the point to him about why he had connected all of that to spending his time with Hermione. She was a nice gal, and a bedrock part of his investigation team, but what did she have to do with that whole speech? Harry wiped cold sweat off of his forehead, the uncomfortable thumping of blood in his ears. He didn't know what to do with all of the information Grant had laid onto him in a hurry. His father had even given him a hug and kissed him on top of his head when he was done. It was weird.

Harry certainly couldn't ask Hermione about it. They had been seeing each other more days of the week than not thanks to the tutoring schedule their parents had arranged. It was the gamut of keeping the two of them up to date with their peers in a summer scramble through the sciences, humanities, and maths. Of course she was having no trouble with it - information seemed to just flow right into her like a sponge - but Harry was more concerned with trying to start up his Detective business again over their holiday.

He undid the cuffs on his button-up shirt and rolled up the sleeves to the garters. He was getting warm despite the air conditioning pouring out a chilly breeze nearby. Harry had found this arcade on the third day of tutoring - it was on their walk home to the overground stop, stocked with a plethora of cabinets, a fair few ticket machines for the prize wall, and a lounge in the back where the teenage employee didn't care if he hung out so long as he bought something, even if it was just the quid tokens to play. Harry had taken to it immediately, even if Hermione had been less impressed, and as far as he was concerned this was the current headquarters of the Hammer's Detective Agency for the summer holiday. She had decided to go home today rather than staying with him to work on homework, citing the fact that the arcade lounge smelled of "Old nachos and teen angst."

So, Harry spent the afternoon in the arcade alone - he'd catch the overground home and likely be back in time to celebrate his birthday with his parents. Birthday celebrations had always been rather subdued affairs - maybe he should have invited Hermione and Neville this year. His other wizard friend and trusted member of his investigation team, Neville Longbottom was a pure-blood wizard from a family where everyone was a wizard, making some of his interactions a little bit strange for the modern world, but one thing Harry could point out was that it would be rude in either culture to not write your friends for weeks into the summer holiday. Harry wondered why he hadn't heard from him since leaving school - even if the Hammer didn't own an owl, he was sure the Longbottom family one would be more than happy to wait around to deliver his replies if he fed it. Maybe it was Nev's grandmother Augusta trying to reign in his behaviour. Harry slapped his cheeks, trying to wake himself from the stupor he had caught himself in. Being in the detective agency was meant to be a return to the basics: magic or no magic, detective work was the same all around and coming to the right conclusions was only a process. Magic just made it so the far fetched possibilities were simply more likely.

A musical tune played out over the arcade speakers, muddled by the individual sirens' songs of the arcade cabinets, but distinct enough to remind Harry that an hour had passed. He looked around, focus going from shadow to shadow between each cabinet. He had always felt like there was something else - something hiding amongst them like they were watching him. Staring particularly hard in between a set of Street Fighter cabinets, the Hammer caught onto something that looked like two enormous green eyes staring back at him. He bolted upright in the chair, blinking to make sure it wasn't just his eyes playing tricks on him.

And like that, they were gone - just the faded fluorescent paint of the partially carpeted pillar sitting in the half-light between the cabinets. Harry wiped his brow again before picking his hat up off the floor from where it had fallen, placing it on top of his head. He walked over and bought an overpriced Coca-Cola from the pockmarked teenager running the stand. It was almost the last of his muggle savings - the money had come from the proceeds from a gimme case his neighbor, Mrs. Figg, had given him to help her track down one of her missing cats a week ago. She knew about magic, but somehow wasn't magic herself. It was something the Hammer was still thinking over.

Harry sat back down into the chair and reached forward to pop open the soda only to see a tiny little… someone already standing on the coffee table. The Hammer reached a finger over the top of the can, breaking the seal with a sad little hiss as he met the gaze of the little humanoid's enormous green eyes.

"Uh. Hello." The Hammer spoke tentatively to it.

"Harry Potter!" It spoke, a high pitched voice that was lost to the beeps and boops of the arcade machines around them. The Hammer was glad for the extra noise and the fact that the attendant almost never paid attention to him. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you sir… Such an honour it is…"

The Hammer took a very long sip on the soda, using the time to look the little thing over - it had shoved its bulbous head and bat-like ears through a ragged old pillow case, two additional holes for arms along the side and the rest of it girded around its legs. It honestly reminded Harry of someone sitting next to the Doll family chanting 'gooble gobble one of us'.

"I, uh, don't think I'm that impressive, pal. But, why don't you tell me who you are?"

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf." House-elf?

"So what brings you here today, Dobby the house-elf?" The Hammer set down the soda on the other side of the table from where Dobby was standing.

"Oh, yes, sir," Dobby began in earnest, "Dobby has come to tell you, sir… it is difficult, sir… Dobby wonders where to begin…"

"Why don't you take a seat, pal? Take some time to figure it out." The Hammer motioned toward the chair opposite his, inviting the new potential client to tell him his woes. To his horror, the little house-elf's eyes welled with tears before he burst into noisy crying.

"S-sit down!" he wailed, "Never… never ever…"

"I-I mean, you can stay standing if you want. Whatever's more comfortable."

"Comfortable!" Dobby redoubled his abject sobbing and wailing. Harry wasn't good with crying folks. He especially wasn't good with magical crying folk.

"Er, sorry, didn't mean to offend you or anything."

"Offend Dobby!" The elf choked, "Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a wizard - like an equal - "

Harry stood up and walked the elf to the edge of the table and helped him up into the opposite chair. He looked like a forlorn prop from a forgotten silent picture film about Nosferatu's cousin. At last, Dobby managed to contain himself and sat hiccoughing, his great eyes fixed on Harry in watery adoration.

"Haven't met too many good wizards in your time, then." Harry commented as he sat back down.

Dobby shook his head. Then without warning, he leapt up and went to the water fountain and began banging his head furiously into it - occasionally managing to hit the button on the side and spurting a small stream of water onto himself whilst shouting, "Bad Dobby! BAD BAD Dobby!"

The Hammer leapt from his seat and dragged the elf away from the fountain, sitting him back down into the chair. He placed a hand over his mouth and looked over his shoulder at the counter - thankfully the attendant had put on headphones in the lull in business and was bobbing his head whilst cleaning a snack spill in another direction.

"What are you doing, Dobby?" Harry asked, afraid to sit back down lest the elf resume banging his head on more delicate appliances.

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir." The elf replied with a sniffle, wringing out the little bit of water from the edge of his pillowcase covering, "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir…"

"Your family?"

"The wizard family Dobby serves, sir… Dobby is a house-elf bound to serve one house and one family forever."

"Sounds like slavery to me, pal. Did they send you?"

"Oh no, sir, no… Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir-"

"Won't they know that you shut your ears in the oven door?"

"Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments…" Harry winced. He felt for the wretched little elf.

"Can't you just run away? High tail it out of town?"

"A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never set Dobby free… Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir…"

The Hammer slumped down into his chair, contemplating what the house-elf had told him, "That sounds like a raw deal. Did you want my help to get you free?'

Dobby began wailing in gratitude again, making Harry stand up to check on the attendant before trying to quiet the elf down.

"Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby… Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but your goodness, Dobby never knew…"

"Whatever greatness anyone's told you about isn't really of note. I'm just a regular hawkshaw getting by."

"Harry Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby reverently, his eyes shining like Christmas ornaments, "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"What, Voldemort?" said Harry.

The elf clapped his hands over his bat-ears and moaned, "Ah, speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name!"

"Sorry. Seems like all the magic folk can't stand it. Nev would go all pale…" The Hammer stopped himself from musing to the elf.

Dobby leant towards Harry, eyes wide, "Dobby heard tell," he spoke in a hoarse whisper, "That Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago… that Harry Potter escaped again!"

The Hammer cocked an eyebrow. Word traveled fast. "Yeah, I suppose so."

"Ah, sir." Dobby gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the pillowcase he was wearing, "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later… Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

The Hammer sat down on the edge of the coffee table and leaned down with one elbow on his knee toward the elf, "Why's that?"

"Because, sir, if Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger. Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose."

"What kind of mortal danger?" The Hammer asked with a gleam in his eye. Things were getting good.

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," Dobby whispered. The Hammer pulled out his pocket notebook and began to jot down the highlights - starting with the house-elf and relevant times and what he was presenting to him.

"Yeah?"

"Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

"Can you tell me what kind of things, Dobby? Who's plotting it? Who's going to be involved?"

The house elf's eyes darted left and right, a strangled little sound escaping from his throat before he hopped up off the chair and began to bang his head against the arm rest. Harry yanked the elf's arm to get him to stop making noise.

"Fine! I get it! Jeez this magic stuff is a pain in the neck."

He managed to convince Dobby to have a seat again before asking, "This doesn't have anything to do with ol' Voldy does it?"

The house-elf grimaced, but shook his head negatively.

"Is it someone who works for him? Someone the old Dark Lord might've worked for? Someone who used to work for him?" Harry continued his line of questioning. The elf shook his head from side to side at each one except the last.

"Alright - but this means that whoever it is," Harry held up a warning finger, "is currently alive," Dobby nodded, "Doesn't like me," Dobby nodded, "Has an association with You-Know-That-Guy" Dobby nodded, "And has access to Hogwarts." Dobby did a little side to side motion with his head that wasn't quite a nod or a shake.

"Well at the very least, the Chief should be on the lookout for something. You know, Dumbledore?"

Dobby bowed his head low, "Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength, but sir," Dobby dropped his voice into a confiding whisper, "there are powers Dumbledore doesn't… powers no decent wizard…"

Before the Hammer could stop him, he was back at the water fountain, re-soaking himself. Harry pulled him away from the dented fixture by both wrists and held on this time.

"It'd be easier if I had someone who knew about magic. Figured Nev would be all over this if he was here."

"A friend who doesn't even write Harry Potter?" Dobby tried to be sly.

"You're intercepting my letters." The Hammer accused him, lifting the elf up off the floor by his wrists and shaking him gently. In a flash, the Hammer found that he wasn't holding onto anything - Dobby was very suddenly in the corner next to the water fountain. The elf pulled out a small stack of letters from inside his pillowcase. He saw the majority of them had Neville's handwriting. A few peeking out were in a scribble that looked like they were from Hagrid. A part of Harry was glad he and Hermione had their mundane connections. He didn't know what he would do if she wasn't just a phone call away.

"I knew he wouldn't forget to write. Stealing mail is a felony, Dobby. Give it back."

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry… Dobby hoped… if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him… Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir…"

"Well ya did a lousy job - I've been with Hermione almost every day and she's more magical than half the school put together. Give me my mail back, Dobby." Harry squared up to Dobby, both of his hands up, getting ready to pounce at the elf.

"No, sir. Not until Harry Potter says that he's not going back to school." The Hammer lunged for him, but found himself crashing into the corner - Dobby had materialized next to the arcade cabinets behind him. Harry straightened his hat and began to get up when Dobby placed a hand against the nearest cabinet like a threat. Harry froze.

"Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"No, Dobby. If I'm not there to face the danger, then there'll be someone else that will have to face it. I have to go back."

Dobby took in a great sniff, wiping a tear from one eye before saying again, "Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school."

"I can't, Dobby, I have to go. That's final."

Dobby gave him a tragic look.

"Then Dobby must, sir. For Harry Potter's own good."

The music playing from the machine Dobby was touching began to distort, playing faster and more warbly while the pictures on its screen distorted into a pixelated rainbow of lights and colours.

"Oh crap." The Hammer muttered to himself as electricity began to arc along the surface of the case. In an instant, it exploded into a shower of sparks and began ejecting the coinage from inside it with a gusto that would have made a pitching machine jealous. The little arcs of lightning danced from the cabinet and spread to the ones next to it, making those break out into the same kaleidoscope of sparks, tickets, and one pound coins flooding from the machines. The Hammer fell onto his butt in the corner, into the puddle of water Dobby had left behind, holding an arm up to shield his eyes from the spectacle and using his other hand to hold onto his hat.

After the third wave of crackling and explosions a heavy silence settled as the broken stucco drifted down from the ceiling. The PA played a sad, distorted rendition of the half hour chime, fritzing out at the end before the speaker popped. The attendant screamed.

The manager had come out from the back office and began to curse in a way Harry had never heard before. Putting a pinky into his ear and twisting it round to clear his head, the Hammer started picking up his books and placing them into his knapsack, trying to avoid eye contact whilst the manager raged. Things didn't look good for the future of the Detective Agency's headquarters.

In the end it was all too fantastical for the muggle manager to believe that a 12 year old could be responsible for this much chaos. Thankfully, the man's concerns had been with Harry's wellbeing for liability reasons rather than threatening to phone the police. So, a little stunned but no worse for wear, Harry stumbled home with Dobby's warning in his ears.

When he got home, his parents were already waiting for him with an owl-delivered letter.

"This, uh, came for you today." Grant handed him the open letter. It was addressed to Harry, care of Mr. & Mrs. Mason.

"Dear Mr. Potter-Mason,

We have received intelligence that a sparking charm was used in the vicinity of the Anorak video arcade at twenty minutes past four. As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside of school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity which risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offence, under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

Seeing as you have used a spell in a public place - this notice serves as your first and final warning before administrative action will be taken.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours Sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic"

Harry read the letter over three times, cursing the Trace under his breath more strongly each time.

"Did you take your wand to class today?" Petunia asked him.

"No, mum, it's up in my room like I said it was. You can go check if you want. I was framed."

"We believe you, son, but what happened?" Grant put a hand on Harry's shoulder. The Hammer took his hat off and walked to the living room, explaining as he went - that some magical creature had decided to pull a prank on him and made the arcade short out. He left out the fact that Dobby had tried to warn him about the big plan that was trying to kill him or the fact that the arcade was now in ruins. The Hammer didn't know how much longer he'd be able to continue hiding the danger from his parents' knowledge. His mother ambushed him, placing both hands on his face to hold his attention, "You know we're concerned because we're worried about your safety, right?"

"I know. Just that magical people are apparently a little more durable than most folks. I'm fine, mum, really." Harry put both of his hands over hers, trying to be as reassuring as he could in spite of the severity of the letter he had received. She looked at him a moment before kissing his forehead, leaving him to get ready for dinner. Harry hung his hat up and picked up the phone. He needed to talk to Hermione.