Disclaimer: #include disclaimer.h

Parts of this chapter have been quoted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

Chapter 23

Minerva McGonagall paced the Headmaster's office like a caged tiger while the students were on their way back to London, for she had recently heard some very unsettling words about one of her charges.

"Did I not tell you Albus, eleven years ago and again last year, that those muggles are wholly unsuitable as guardians?"

"You did, Minerva," Albus Dumbledore replied with aggravating calm. "And as I told you on both of those occasions, I am aware that it is not an ideal environment, but there are circumstances which require Harry Potter to live with his mother's blood relatives."

"And just what circumstances are those?" Minerva snapped. "I think it's time you levelled with me and explained just what is so important that you would place a young boy with guardians who, at best, strongly dislike him. And may I add: you'd better have a pretty good answer to convince me that I shouldn't take this up with the Ministry."

"Very well," said Albus. "The reason is Voldemort." Minerva let out a tiny yelp. "And the fact that he has once again appeared in Britain makes this all the more important. You should remember well from the war that Voldemort could get through almost any wards if he made a concerted effort. Harry could not reasonably be raised under a Fidelius Charm, so I used the next best thing. Lily's sacrifice made it possible to place blood wards on the place where her blood dwells through her sister and nephew. No wizard intending Harry harm can hurt him there, and Voldemort himself cannot breach them. He must at least be there to recharge them each summer so that we can send him there in case of an emergency." And here, Albus spread his hands wide. "If you know of another way that young Harry can be kept as safe, I would be happy to hear it."

Minerva deflated and sat down. Of course she didn't know any other way—not unless she could pull enough strings to let Harry stay at Hogwarts over the summer, and that would be a long shot. Besides, Albus could think circles around her on that sort of thing. The question was whether this protection was worth it, and…well, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was right there in the castle not two weeks ago.

"Very well, Albus," she said. "I will continue to trust your judgement on how to keep Harry safe, for now. But I will not continue to ignore him in that house, as we have both been guilty of doing for the past eleven years. I asked Miss Granger to inform me if she feels the boy is at risk, and I will pay him a personal visit if she does so—and perhaps even if she doesn't."

She was happy to see Albus nod in support. "Of course, Minerva," he said. "I think that is a fair point. And do inform me if you learn anything more."

"I certainly will."

Daniel Granger took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then said, "I need another drink."

Septima Vector poured him another shot of Firewhiskey, which the two elder Grangers described as tasting "like Scotch mixed with hot sauce and gunpowder". It was a mark of how serious the situation was that it was Vector who recommended the Firewhiskey when she bought the family dinner in a private room at the Leaky Cauldron.

Dan downed the shot with a grimace and immediately followed it up with a gulp of water. Emma was leaning heavily on his shoulder while Hermione held her free hand. "So, just to review," Dan said harshly, "your Defence Professor was possessed by the disembodied spirit of a wizard so evil that you fear to speak his name. He let the troll into the castle on Halloween as a distraction to try to steal the Philosopher's Stone to bring this evil wizard back to life. Then, he recently tried again, and you, Hermione, and her friends tried to stop him—and I understand you tried to keep the children away from the action—but this incident ended with her friend being attacked and that teacher…" He hesitated to repeat it in his daughter's presence. "…being murdered in front of them…Did I miss anything?"

"No," Hermione said softly. "I think you got it." There was one thing she had left out of the story, not least because she wasn't too sure of it herself: it very well might have been the case that Voldemort had tried to possess her (or Ron) but couldn't touch them because of the protection on Harry. That would certainly explain why his skin felt blisteringly hot for a moment. But she wasn't sure she believed it, and she certainly didn't want to, so she didn't mention it.

"So do you want to tell us again why we should trust your school to keep our daughter safe?" her father said.

Septima licked her dry lips and glanced down at the table for a moment. "Simply put, Hogwarts's safety record is still quite good, despite this incident," she explained. "I told you after Halloween that these sorts of incidents are very rare, and I still stand by that.

"However, when I told you about Hogwarts's strong safety record, I admit that wasn't entirely accurate. What I did not mention before is that bad things tend to happen to the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professors in particular. This isn't anything intrinsic to the class, mind you, and it hasn't affected the students before, but it's increasingly believed that the job was cursed by You-Know-Who in order to weaken his enemies. No Defence Professor has been able to teach for more than one year since before I was a student. They always seem to be involved in some scandal, or they sustain an injury, or they have to leave the country suddenly, or they're just incompetent and get sacked. Some of them have died in the post, although this incident is the first murder on the grounds. There were a couple of war deaths over summers, and the others were accidents and illnesses—the Dragon Pox epidemic of 1979 claimed two in a row, in fact.

"I tell you this because I hope you can understand that despite these problems, the students at Hogwarts have been kept quite safe. This year was the first year since I began teaching that any students were seriously endangered by anything other than their own foolishness. In addition, Headmaster Dumbledore will be taking greater pains from now on to ensure that people who are possessed are unable to get into the castle."

Dan and Emma gave Septima a hard look. "You'll forgive us if we don't feel so confident about that without seeing some results," Dan replied. "After all, we were told that the troll was an isolated incident."

"I understand your concern," she replied. "Not having any family myself, I can only really say that I myself have no reservations about continuing to work at Hogwarts, in spite of what's happened."

"We do appreciate your opinion, Professor," Emma said. "But please understand this is still a difficult decision for us…Now, Hermione, what do you have to say for yourself in all this?" she asked her daughter with a stern look that made Hermione think she would rather face McGonagall's White Queen again.

"What?" she said nervously. "I…I was just doing what I had to."

"I understand you felt like you had to help your friends, but was cavorting around at night like that really the best way to do it?"

"Mum, I tried. Harry didn't give us much choice."

"Mrs. Granger, please don't be too hard on Hermione," Septima interrupted. "She's been through a difficult time, and…well, frankly, your daughter is a hero. She saved her friend's life possibly as many as three times that night—no mean feat, even if her friend hadn't been Harry Potter. And she may very well have helped us stop He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named from returning to power and prevented a war that would have devastated the magical world. She tried to act responsibly throughout her ordeal. I consider her only really questionable decision to be coming down after us instead of returning to her dorm, but even that may well have helped to stop Quirrell from stealing the Stone."

Emma backed off and blinked back a few tears. "I'm sorry, Hermione," she said. "It's just hard to see our little girl…caught up in something like this. We sent you to school to learn magic, and here you're having to save your friends from evil wizards…"

Hermione squeaked and hugged her mother tight. Dan wrapped an arm around both of them.

Finally, Emma broke away and made a futile attempt to smooth out her daughter's hair. "Look, we're…we're proud of you. We are. From the sounds of it you did really well…But can you honestly say you want to go back to Hogwarts after everything that's happened?"

"I do, Mum."

"But—"

"Mum, a friend of mine told me that I can't let fear and pain keep me from what I care about. I care about my friends, and I care about Hogwarts—I love it there when there's not a psychopath involved. This past year has been the best year of my life. Please don't make me start all that over at a different school."

Emma cupped her face with one hand: "Oh, Hermione…when did you grow up?"

"I think it was about four years ago, and we didn't want to admit it," Dan said with a weak smile. "Hermione, we don't have to decide just yet. Actually, Professor, what is the deadline to decide where she'll be going?"

"Normally, you have until the end of July, although under extraordinary circumstances, a transfer could be made even in the week before term starts."

"Okay, we'll decide for sure by the end of July, then," Dan said. "And I know we all would have preferred to meet under better circumstances, but it does mean a lot to us that you took the time to come down here and explain things."

"Yes, and thank you for dinner, too," Emma added.

"It was really no trouble, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. I sometimes think a more hands-on approach would benefit a lot of our students. Now it's getting late, and I know you need to—what is it, drive home? Hermione, I do hope I will see you again in the fall."

"I'll do my best, Professor," she replied.

Dan and Emma exchanged a look that said, We're doomed, aren't we?

"Good night, Professor," Dan said, shaking Septima's hand.

"Good night."

They said their goodbyes, and the Grangers piled in the car for the drive back to Crawley. As they drove along, Hermione waited a while until she felt it was safe enough to mention her other news.

"Mum, Dad, you know how that letter said I'm not allowed to use magic outside of school?" she asked.

"Yes," her parents said warily.

"Well, I talked to Professor McGonagall, and it turns out that's not precisely true…"

Harry Potter explored his room, looking for someplace to hide his school books. Uncle Vernon had locked his school trunk, containing his books, robes, wand, cauldron, broomstick, and runic spells, in the cupboard under the stairs the minute he'd got home. All of the spells he was hoping to use to get some concessions out of his relatives were in there—almost. Luckily, he'd anticipated this possibility and kept one small scrap of wood with Latin runes inked on it in his pocket.

After a careful inspection, he discovered a loose floorboard under his bed that opened into a space large enough to keep his books in. Then, he just had to wait. A few days later, when Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were all out in the yard, Harry snuck down the stairs, took the scrap of wood out of his pocket, held it up to the cupboard door, and whispered, "Alohomora."

The spell was released from the runes, and the lock clicked open. Harry grinned with satisfaction. As quick as he could, he grabbed his textbooks, ink, quills, and parchment, and the other scraps of wood on which he had written runes, and carried them upstairs. He didn't have many of these spells on hand, but he hoped they would be enough. He left his wand—he couldn't use it anyway—though he hoped he wouldn't come to regret that decision.

The one problem was Hedwig. She'd been padlocked in her cage to prevent Harry from sending any letters to his friends. He only had two more Alohomoras—he should have made more—and he suspected he would need one to get the rest of his things back when he left for Hogwarts. That meant he could let her out at night once, but she'd be locked up again as soon as Uncle Vernon found out. He hated to see her cooped up in her cage, but he decided he would only use that spell in case of an emergency.

Oh well, at least his relatives were too scared to try anything so far. And he could get his homework done.

"So all you have to do is hold up the rune circle and speak the name of the spell—at least in theory."

"In theory?" Emma Granger said nervously.

"Well, I don't actually know if it'll work for you," her daughter replied. "Some magical artifacts work for muggles, and some don't."

"Oh…okay, then, but it's not gonna, I don't know, explode or something?"

"I don't see how. The worst that could happen is that maybe it would backfire, but it's only a Levitation Charm, so what harm could it do?"

Hermione had had to sit her maths A-level exam three days after returning home, which she found challenging, but quite manageable. Now, she only had her summer homework from Hogwarts to worry about while she waited for the results to come in August. With her schedule freed up, she began showing her parents the limited bits of magic she could do at home. But this, she thought, was the most interesting test of it: whether her parents could, themselves, cast spells with the use of the runes.

Her mother looked uneasy as she held up a square of wood with a runic circle written on it, but she was willing to try. She waved it at a small book sitting on the table and said, "Wingardium Leviosa."

The book hopped up and hung in midair, shakily following the motion of her hand. Emma was so surprised that she nearly dropped the rune, but she squealed like a little girl with excitement, "It worked! It worked!"

"You did it, Mum! You did magic!" Hermione said, and they both started laughing.

"Brilliant, Hermione!" her Mum said, kissing her on top of her head.

"Well, I never thought I'd see the day," Dad said as he watched. "So how many more of those things do you have?"

"A few," Hermione said, and she retrieved another rune for him to try.

"Aunt Petunia…I have a question for you."

The response to this was just about what Harry expected: slowly turning around from preparing lunch and glaring at him. Harry had waited until a time when Uncle Vernon was at work and Dudley was out with his friends to confront his aunt, but he was still breaking one of the most important unspoken rules of Four Privet Drive: don't ask questions.

"Just one question," he added, as Aunt Petunia looked about to tell him off.

She glared at him a little longer. "Well, spit it out, boy."

"Did my mother ever tell you there was a war going on?"

The colour drained out of Aunt Petunia's face so fast that it couldn't be healthy. She staggered back against the counter. "Wh-wh-what?" she said fearfully.

"Did my mum tell you and your parents there was a war going on in her world? That people were dying left and right? That she was being specifically targeted because of her 'normal' family? Why she and my dad had to go into hiding?"

"That's enough!" She forced her trembling hands to stay still and did her best to collect herself. "If you must know, boy…no. Lily mentioned some bad things going on—I suppose there might have been enough to piece together that there was a war. But no, we never knew how bad it was until they dropped you on our doorstep with nothing but that letter telling us what happened."

"And I don't suppose you ever bothered to ask her, did you?"

"I said that's enough! Go to your room!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

Strangely enough, Harry wasn't mad. Even though he'd probably miss lunch, now, it was worth it. He had a lot to think about. He'd have to tell Hermione once he actually got a chance to write to her.

"Now, you have to be careful with this stuff," Hermione warned. "It's like concentrated hydrochloric acid to most things. It's drain-safe, but you have to flush it with a lot of water."

"And they let eleven-year-olds handle it?" Dan asked.

"Believe it or not, it's safer than having untrained witches and wizards try to use their wands on potions."

It had taken a special trip to Diagon Alley to buy potions ingredients to be able to do this at home. There were only a handful of potions that could be made without the use of wands (how Hermione wished she'd thought to make some runes with potion-making spells), but why waste the opportunity? The few that could be made this way were rather like cooking or chemistry, aside from the strange ingredients, and her Mum was eager to try it out after the rune demonstrations.

At Hermione's direction, Emma carefully added bundimun secretion to the cauldron that was simmering on the stove, crushed the snake fangs, stewed the horned slugs, and so on, all using Hermione's potions kit, so as not to get magical grime all over the kitchen.

"Good. Now turn off the heat before you add the porcupine quills. Neville messed that up and…it didn't end well."

"Right. Burner off…" The porcupine quills went in and slowly dissolved into the mix.

"It's just so weird seeing things dissolve that normally shouldn't," Emma mused. Hermione just shrugged. By now, it looked pretty normal to her.

It wasn't much longer before they reached the final step. "Good, good," Hermione said. "Now, just mix in the blueberry paste. That neutralises the corrosive effects."

"If you say so."

The potion thickened as Emma stirred and turned a soft light blue, a little bit greyer than the sky on a sunny day, just the colour the textbook said it should be.

"That means I got it right?"

"Yes…Well, Mrs. Granger," Hermione imitated Snape's acerbic voice. "I suppose you've exceeded expectations on the assignment."

"Ugh. He's not really like that all the time, is he?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I don't think he even likes teaching…or children."

"So why is he teaching children?" Dan asked.

"I wish I knew. Anyway, we need to be careful cleaning up, too. Bad things can happen if the ingredients get contaminated."

Dear Professor McGonagall,

I'm getting worried about Harry. It's been a month since the end of term, and I haven't received any letters from him, even though I wrote him three times. Ron says he hasn't heard from him either. I think his relatives might be keeping him from writing. Could you please check on him and make sure he's alright? Thank you.

Sincerely,

Hermione Granger

Minerva patted the note in her pocket as she walked up to the door of Number Four Privet Drive. It was entirely possible that Harry was being lazy about writing or was otherwise occupied, but her instincts said no. If there was one thing she had noticed about that boy, it was his dedication to his friends. Either way, she would get to the bottom of this.

She rang the bell, and a few moments later, a very large blond boy opened the door. "Hello?" he said.

"Good morning. You must be Dudley," she said. "I would like to speak to Harry Potter."

Dudley Dursley got a terrified look on his face and ran away yelling, "Mum! Dad!"

Minerva sighed. She had a feeling she would need a dram or two after this visit.

In a few more moments a horse-faced woman and her over-sized husband stormed up to the door. "You!" the woman spat. "What are you doing here?"

"As hospitable as ever, aren't you Petunia? I'm checking up on Harry. I'd like to see him right away, if you please."

"And what gives you the right—" Vernon Dursley growled.

"Vernon, please, she's one of them," Petunia whispered, tugging on his arm.

"I won't have any more of them in my house."

"Vernon, you won't get rid of her," Petunia insisted. "They won't take no for an answer. It's the same as those dratted letters."

Vernon paled as he remembered Hagrid's dramatic entrance last year. "Fine," he grumbled. "But make it quick." He stomped over to the stairs and hollered up, "Boy, get down here!"

There was a thud and a scrambling sort of sound, and soon, Harry Potter appeared at the base of the stairs. "Professor!" he said in surprise. He ran over to the door. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"

"Only if something is wrong here, Mr. Potter," Minerva said gently. "Your friends have been growing worried about you. They haven't heard from you all summer."

"Well, Uncle Vernon won't let me let Hedwig out…but it doesn't matter. Ron and Hermione haven't sent me any letters, anyway," he said gloomily.

"What? That's not true, Mr. Potter. Miss Granger has informed me that she wrote to you three times. Are you saying you haven't received any of her letters?"

"No, I haven't heard from anyone."

Minerva whirled on the Dursleys. "Have you been keeping Harry's mail from him…again?" she added, as a good guess of what had happened last year.

But Vernon shook his head emphatically. "We haven't seen any bloody owls besides his. It's not our fault if they can't find their way here." And he grumbled under his breath about his dislike of "freaks" sending post by owl.

"And the regular post?" she pressed. "One of Harry's friends has been writing by your post system."

"Nothing's come for Harry," Petunia insisted. "You think we wouldn't learn our lesson after last year?"

Minerva frowned. She was far from convinced of such a thing, but still, there was no reason for the owls not to go through. She drew her wand.

Dudley screamed and hopped away backwards with his hands covering his large bottom. Petunia also took a few steps back, but Vernon shouted, "Now see here! I won't have you doing any of that…that…in my house!"

"I will do what I please, Mr. Dursley, thank you very much," she shot back. "And if your post system is being disrupted, I should think that would interest you, too." She waved her wand around the door and muttered some incantations, looking for any spells or wards that would interfere with the mail, but she found only Albus's blood wards. "Hmm…very strange," she said as the Dursleys sputtered. "I don't know why your mail hasn't been delivered, Mr. Potter, but hopefully your own owl will be able to carry letters both in and out of the house, and you will at least be able to contact your friends." Then, she turned back to the Dursleys: "It's very unhealthy to keep an owl confined for this long, and there's really very little trouble that Harry and his friends can cause by their correspondence, so I implore to allow him to let her out."

Vernon looked like he was gearing up for another rant, but Petunia managed to hold him back. "Fine, we'll do that. But there'd better not be any trouble. Was there anything else?"

"That depends on Harry, Mrs. Dursley. Mr. Potter, have you been having any other problems?"

"Er, no," he said hesitantly. "I'm doing alright."

Minerva just gave him a stern look and said, "Very well. Please don't hesitate to write me if you need anything. Good day to you all."

Uncle Vernon continued the grumble after the professor left, but soon enough, he stomped up the stairs to unlock Hedwig's cage, muttering about "no-good, nosy freaks" the whole way.

"And you'd better only let it out at night, when nobody can see," he warned Harry.

Harry just smiled when he was left alone in his room again. He patted a very eager Hedwig on the head to calm her down and started writing his letters to Ron and Hermione.

A week later was Harry's birthday. Hedwig was out for the night—he hoped collecting presents from Ron and Hermione. For his part, Harry was being thoroughly ignored, as usual. He was expected to be not seen and not heard while the Dursleys entertained some big name clients of Uncle Vernon's. That was fine by him. He didn't care for those sorts of disingenuous, over-the-top dinner parties, anyway. As he climbed up to his room, he figured he'd spend a quiet evening reading. There was just one complication.

There was a house elf standing on his bed.

Harry thanked Merlin that Hermione had introduced him to the elves at school, or he probably would have cried out and ruined everything in that moment. This wasn't a Hogwarts elf, though. He was dirtier, his wrists were bandaged, he had a couple of scars on his face, and he appeared to be wearing a pillowcase instead of a tea towel. His nose was very long, and his eyes were precisely the shade of green of tennis balls.

"Er—hello," said Harry nervously.

The elf hopped down off the bed and bowed so low that his nose touched the floor. "Harry Potter!" said the elf in a high-pitched voice Harry was sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir…Such an honor it is…"

"Th-thank you…um…Dobby…" Harry replied. "Why are you in my bedroom?"

"Dobby has a message for you, sir…it is difficult, sir…" The elf started pulling on his ears.

"Look, Dobby," Harry whispered, "it's nice to meet you, but this really isn't a good time. Can you at least, you know, make it quick?"

Dobby looked discouraged, but he replied, "Yes, sir. Dobby has come to give Harry Potter a warning, sir. His masters must not know, but Dobby must warn you, sir…Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and forks from downstairs and the distant rumble of Uncle Vernon's voice.

"W-what?" Harry stammered. "But I've got to go back. You don't know what it's like here. The only friends I have are at Hogwarts. And besides, Hermione says it's already too late to switch schools for this year." To his delight, Hermione had managed to convince her parents to let her return to Hogwarts in September.

"No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "Not too late for Harry Potter, sir. Harry Potter is famous. Any school will teach him. He must go to another school, where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

"Why?" said Harry in surprise.

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

"What terrible things?" said Harry at once. "Who's plotting them?"

Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head frantically against the wall. "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!" he shouted.

Harry sprang forward and pulled the struggling elf away from the wall. "Stop! What are you doing?" he hissed. He forced him to sit on the bed.

Dobby looked at Harry cross-eyed and said, "Dobby had to punish himself, sir. Dobby almost revealed his family's secrets, sir…"

"Punish yourself?"

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself, sir. Sometimes, his family is reminding him to do extra punishments. If they knew Dobby was here, sir…" He shuddered like he was about to run at the wall again.

"But that's horrible," Harry said. "The Hogwarts elves never do that—"

Dobby's eyes grew wide. "You is knowing the Hogwarts elves, sir?"

"Yeah, my friend Hermione likes to visit them. They're pretty nice—"

To Harry's horror, Dobby burst into noisy tears.

"I'm sorry!" he hissed. He thought he heard the voices downstairs falter. "Please be quiet. I didn't mean to offend you."

"Offend Dobby?" the elf choked. "Dobby has heard of Harry Potter's greatness, sir, but never his goodness. Harry Potter is even a friend to the house elves."

"I'm not that great—all that's just exaggerated stories," he said. "Hermione's way better at magic than I am—But Dobby—do all wizard families treat their elves like that? Aren't there rules or something?"

Dobby started pulling on his ears again. "Elves is property, bound to their families, sir," he whined. "Each family can manage their elf as they sees fit."

"And what family do you serve?"

The elf shuddered and then leaped up and banged his head against the wall again.

Harry sprang into action and pulled him back. "Stop that! They can't know you're here." He pointed at the floor. "Look, maybe you should go see my friend. Her name's Hermione Granger. I think she lives somewhere in Crawley—hang on, I've got her address." He ran over to his sock drawer and pulled out Hermione's recent letter. He showed Dobby the return address. "See, this is where she lives. She knows loads more about elves than I do. Maybe she can help you."

A moment later, Harry rather wished he'd kept his mouth shut as Dobby burst into wails of gratitude. He really must be in bad shape compared with the Hogwarts elves, the way he kept carrying on. "Please be quiet," he begged. "I'll be in big trouble if the Dursleys hear anything. Look, I'm sorry, but you really can't be here tonight. Hermione'll be more useful to you—probably more useful on that mortal danger thing, too."

Dobby stopped crying and sat very still, his green eyes bulging. "Oh, no, sir," he squeaked. "This danger is too great for Harry Potter, sir, and his friends. Dobby has heard tell of their great deeds, but this danger is far too great. Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts."

"But I can't leave my friends—" He looked down again at the envelope in his hand. "Wait a minute. Were you the one stopping my letters?"

Dobby looked down at his dirty, bare feet. "Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby," he said. "Dobby thought that if Harry Potter's friends had forgotten him…Dobby tried to stop Harry Potter's mail, sir, but his friends were worried about him and told the Professor to check on him."

"Well, you see, I've got good friends at Hogwarts. Hermione saved my life last term. I'm not going to leave them to face mortal danger on their own. Besides, Dumbledore said he's stepping up security. Nothing'll get past him."

Dobby bowed his head.

"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's voice dropped to an urgent whisper — "there are powers Dumbledore doesn't…powers no decent wizard…"

And before Harry could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed, seized Harry's desk lamp, and started beating himself around the head with earsplitting yelps. And then it all went downhill from there. Harry managed to stuff Dobby in the closet for long enough to deflect Uncle Vernon's anger, but no sooner had he left the room than Dobby started arguing with him again not to return to Hogwarts, and when he refused to listen, the little elf dashed downstairs and ruined Aunt Petunia's prized pudding, then vanished. Then, an owl swooped in and dropped a letter onto the head of Mrs. Mason, who just happened to have a phobia of birds, and worst of all, that letter was a warning from the Ministry of Magic about his using magic outside of school. His cover was blown, and he didn't even do anything.

Uncle Vernon was beyond furious when he saw that letter. Indeed, he got a mad gleam in his eyes like a very fat cat that had just cornered a mouse, and he started laughing like a maniac: "Well, I've got news for you, boy…I'm locking you up…You're never going back to that school…never…We'll shoo that bloody bird of yours away from the house, and we'll tell those freaks from the school you ran away. And you can't magic yourself out, or they'll expel you!"

Harry knew the jig was up. He had just once chance to scare them off now. His hand dove into his pocket and pulled out the scrap of wood he kept there for emergencies. "Oh can't I?" he said threateningly. He held up the rune to Uncle Vernon. "Flipendo!" he roared.

Nothing happened.

"Damn."

Hermione had warned him it might not hold a charge that long. Unfortunately, that stunt earned him a good, hard punch in the stomach, and Uncle Vernon picked him up and threw him into his room instead of just dragging him. A padlock went onto to window to keep Hedwig out, and the bedroom door was locked from the outside.

Harry stayed awake late that night, waiting until he was sure the Dursleys were all asleep. Then, he pulled up the loose floorboard and found the two Unlocking Charms he had kept in reserve. The Knockback Jinx might have lost its charge, but there was a chance these hadn't. If either one of them still worked, he could get out of his room and sneak out to somewhere he could send for help, maybe intercepting Hedwig when she got back.

"Alohomora. Alohomora."

It was no good. Both of the runic circles had lost their charge. He was trapped.