Nothing to see here. Though it's nice to be able to start a chapter without having to say, "I know it's been a long time, etc., etc.."

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The last few days of term went by very quickly. When it came time for the leaving feast, the Great Hall was decked out in the red and gold of Gryffindor, who had won the inter-house championship quite handily. Harry reflected that, with the minor exception of the time he'd almost been murdered in January, he may well have experienced his first "normal" school year. It was a strange thought. For most students, this would be the norm. Rather pleasant, if a bit boring.

Dumbledore gave a speech, wherein he tallied up the points and congratulated Gryffindor on their victory, but Harry wasn't really taking it in. He was remembering fondly the look on Neville's face when it had been his ten points that put them over the top to ousting Slytherin. It was a shame he hadn't been able to do anything about that. For all the things he fixed, there always seemed to be something that got lost by the wayside.

When they got their exam results back, it was to discover that Hermione was, of course, top of the year, with Harry only just behind her. Harry was pleased to see that Ron's marks were better than he could ever remember them being before. He'd always done all right for himself, but these were the sort of marks Mrs Weasley would be speaking of proudly for weeks. He congratulated his friend on a job well done, and Hermione did the same.

'All down to you two, really,' Ron said. 'Don't reckon I could've done half so well without you dragging me along.'

'Ron, you mustn't sell yourself short,' Hermione scolded him gently. 'Harry and I may have made sure you did all your work, but we can't make your brain any bigger. You did this yourself.'

Ron's ears went pink and Harry smiled broadly, draping an arm over each of his friends' shoulders. Really, who needed a troll?

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Harry received one final shock before leaving Hogwarts for the summer. After making the boat trip back across the lake, Hagrid pulled him aside and presented him with the leather-bound photo album of his parents. Harry had wondered whether or not Hagrid would still think to make this, as in his memory it seemed tied up in his experience with Quirrell, and Hagrid's guilt over his unwitting part in it.

'Thanks, Hagrid,' he said, choking up a little. 'This really means a lot.' Hagrid beamed at him through his bushy beard, and he was subjected to a rough one-armed hug that nevertheless succeeded in knocking the wind out of him.

He spent a good portion of the train ride back to London looking through the photos. He'd memorized them all, but hadn't seen them in well over a year; it felt like getting a small piece of his old life back.

When they finally arrived, Mrs Weasley and Ginny were on the platform waiting for them.

'Welcome back!' Mrs Weasley said happily, hugging both Ron and Harry and greeting Hermione warmly. 'Ginny tells me you did spectacularly in the last quidditch match, Harry.'

'How d'you know about that?' Ron asked his sister.

'Ginny and I've been keeping in touch via owl post,' Harry said quickly, before Ginny could lay into her brother. 'I told her about it.'

'Wish I could've seen it,' Ginny said. 'It sounded brilliant.' She had indeed lamented missing the match when he'd recreated it for her through their mirrors. Ron, for his part, if he was shocked that the two of them had been corresponding, wisely kept it to himself.

They all traveled through the gateway together, and outside Harry spotted the Dursleys straight away. They were difficult to miss. Uncle Vernon took up a fair bit of space, and his purple face at the sight of Harry stood out like a beacon. Dudley and Aunt Petunia were hanging back, looking somewhat fearful. Harry had to force himself not to laugh.

'Ready, are you?' Uncle Vernon said gruffly.

'You must be Harry's family!' Mrs Weasley said.

'In a manner of speaking,' grumbled Uncle Vernon. 'Hurry up boy, we haven't got all day.' He turned and walked back to his wife and son.

'See you over the summer then,' he said to Ron and Hermione. He met Ginny's eyes and they shared a brief moment of amusement.

'Hope you have – er – a good holiday,' said Hermione, looking uncertainly at his relatives.

'Oh, don't worry about that, he said conspiratorially so that Mrs Weasley couldn't hear. 'I haven't bothered to tell them we're not allowed to do magic away from school.'

Ron and Ginny laughed, and Hermione smiled weakly, but then it was time to go. He piled into the car with the Dursleys and prepared to endure a long car ride full of silence back to Surrey, followed by several weeks of pretending he didn't exist. Unlike during his original childhood however, he didn't mind that one bit. The less interaction he had with the Dursleys, the better. And he'd never had a two-way mirror at Privet Drive before, either.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

The first several weeks of summer passed exactly as Harry had expected them to. Minimal interaction with his relatives except at mealtimes was doing everybody a lot of good, as far as he could tell. Petunia and Vernon seemed almost pleased – if they were capable of such a feeling – that he was voluntarily spending so much time away from the rest of them. They still hunted him down to do chores on occasion, or to complain about Hedwig making noise (as they would not permit her out of her cage), but for the most part he was blissfully left alone. The younger him would have hated it. Now, he reveled in it.

The solitude gave him a lot of time to go over his plan book, thinking up strategies that he could run by Ginny at night when they spoke through the mirrors. He still hadn't given up on trying to find a way to get Sirius out early, but had yet to land on one that wouldn't throw a spanner in the rest of their plans. It was frustrating, but he was determined.

He hadn't been receiving any post, which meant that Dobby was indeed stopping his letters, as Ginny had confirmed that Ron was writing him regularly, and was generally perplexed as to why he wasn't getting a response. Ginny was making a show of writing to him as well, which she complained about since, according to her, it was hard to think of what her eleven year old self would have wanted to say to him.

'You don't have to let anyone see your letters, you know,' Harry pointed out when she mentioned this. 'Hell, you could just send blank parchment and no one would know.'

'Look who thinks he's so clever,' she said. 'It's obvious you've never lived in a house full of people if you think no one's ever going to see what I've written in my letters to you.'

'We've managed to communicate with each other for nearly a year without anyone finding out,' said Harry.

'That's because we're keeping that a secret, Harry,' she explained patronizingly. 'Everyone knows I'm writing letters to you. There's no hope of keeping their contents secret if everyone knows I'm writing them.'

'Your family is mad,' said Harry, shaking his head.

'That's not news,' she replied, 'but all big families are like that, Harry. You don't get to keep many secrets when you share a roof with eight other people. Well, six now Bill and Charlie have moved away, but same thing.'

'I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky,' Harry said, 'that we've never been caught.'

'Don't say that, you idiot, you'll jinx it!' she said, laughing. 'And anyway, it won't be much longer now. Dobby comes on your birthday; less than a week away. Only a few days after that you'll be back here with us. And just in case they don't think of it on their own, I'll start hinting to Fred and George that maybe you might need rescuing.'

'Did we definitely decide we wanted to go through with that?' asked Harry. He remained unsure it was a good idea, though Ginny had been insistent.

'Yes, we did,' she said firmly but not unkindly. 'Mum and Dad would probably end up coming to get you themselves, but it might take as much as another week, and who needs that? Besides, a little adventure now and again is good, and Mum didn't stay upset for long; you remember.'

'I'll use this against you if we ever have kids who pull something like this,' he teased, 'but all right, you win. At least make sure they leave a note for her, though.'

'If all goes well, we'll be back before she ever sees it, but that's probably a good idea,' said Ginny. 'How are the muggles?'

'Oh, you know, same as always,' said Harry, rolling his eyes. '"Keep out of your Aunt's way, hoover the sitting room, shut that bloody owl up, none of that funny business!"' he rattled off in a passable impression of Uncle Vernon. It was puffing up his chest and his cheeks that sold it, in his opinion.

She laughed at his antics. 'You're getting better at that.'

'Some of your acting talent must finally be starting to rub off,' he said.

'Flatterer,' she smiled fondly. 'Get some sleep and I'll talk to you tomorrow. Love you.'

'Love you,' he echoed and her face vanished. He sighed heavily. Less than a week before he could see her again. And after that, she'd be coming along to Hogwarts and he wouldn't have to be away from her anymore, ever again. On that point he was resolute. Ever again.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

His birthday came with zero fanfare, as it always did with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon gave his long spiel about how everyone was to behave during dinner with the Masons, instructions which included Harry staying in his room and pretending he wasn't there. As this was what he did most days anyway, he didn't know why his uncle even bothered, but there it was.

He did sit out in the backyard for a bit to enjoy some fresh air after breakfast, where Dudley tried to bait him by pointing out that no one had remembered his birthday, but gave up after only a few minutes when Harry didn't rise to it. When Aunt Petunia went out front to inspect the hedges, he made his way upstairs before she could notice him and put him to work. Harry found that as long as he remained out of their sight, he was out of their minds.

At half past seven he was called down to the kitchen to eat. When he arrived, the smell of roast pork in the oven assailed his senses, and he could see the pudding of whipped cream and sugared violets that he would never forget – the one Dobby had levitated in an attempt to force him to stay home and gotten him literally imprisoned in his room. If all went as it was supposed to, it would happen again in about an hour. Harry had never had to lance a boil, but he imagined it must be something like what he was feeling at the moment: he knew it was necessary, and that it would all be over soon, but he definitely wasn't looking forward to it.

He ate the hunk of cheese and two slices of bread that had been laid out for him and trudged back up the stairs. The doorbell rang and Uncle Vernon gave him one last threat. Harry padded across to his bedroom. Pausing only slightly outside, he took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and opened the door.

There was Dobby, sitting on his bed in his filthy old pillowcase, staring at him with those big tennis ball eyes.

For all his planning with Ginny, Harry had not prepared himself for the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him upon seeing the little elf again. It was like seeing Fred for the first time only somehow worse; he had witnessed Fred's death, but he had quite literally watched Dobby die. Held him as his last breath and life's blood left his body. He had dug the elf's grave with his own hands and inscribed his gravestone himself. He cursed himself for not realizing the need to emotionally prepare himself for this.

Blinking back tears and choking back what was some mixture of a sob and the urge to be sick – and hoping Dobby hadn't noticed as he slipped off the bed and bowed so low his nose brushed the carpet – he seized hold of his emotions and forced them down, willing himself to keep them under control. He could deal with them later.

'Hello,' he said, trying to put a bit of question into his voice.

'Harry Potter!' Dobby cried. Harry almost lost control of himself. It was so good to hear his little friend's voice again. 'So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir...Such an honour it is...'

'Th-thank you,' said Harry, hopping the elf would mistake the hitch in his voice for confusion. 'Er, if you don't mind my asking, who are you?'

'Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf.'

'Pleasure to meet you,' Harry said. 'I don't mean to be rude, but is there a reason that you're here?' Harry and Ginny had discussed this at length. They had strongly considered simply telling Dobby that he knew about the plot, or that a plot existed; that he was well aware of the dangers inherent in returning to school and was prepared for them; that he was grateful for Dobby's desire to help, but it would really be unnecessary; he had everything under control.

In the end, they had agreed that while it would certainly simplify things and remove a lot of future inconveniences (assuming Dobby was willing to believe him in the first place), the chance of it getting back to Lucius Malfoy that Harry was somehow onto him was too high, and thus that plan of action was inadvisable. Thus Harry was reduced to playing dumb and grossly inconveniencing himself for the sake of the plan. His sympathy for Dumbledore grew with every week that went by in this new timeline.

'Oh, yes, sir,' said Dobby. 'Dobby has come to tell you, sir...it is difficult, sir...Dobby wonders where to begin…'

'Here, sit down,' Harry said automatically. Whoops.

'S-sit down!' Dobby wailed, bursting into tears. 'Never...never ever...'

'Sorry,' Harry said. 'I didn't mean to startle you. But if you've never been asked to sit down before, you can't have met many decent wizards.' Harry could not resist the jab at the Malfoys, though he did regret it a moment later when Dobby agreed with him without thinking and immediately started bashing his head against the window for speaking ill of his masters. Harry was very irritated with himself, which actually did help him to control his emotions, so there was that. He would have to be much more careful. He wasn't worried about the Dursleys hearing anything as he had been as a child; he just didn't want Dobby hurting himself.

'Stop that!' he yelled, pulling Dobby away from the window.

'Dobby had to punish himself, sir,' the elf said. He'd gone slightly cross-eyed. 'Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir...'

'Sorry, that was my fault,' Harry said. 'They don't know you're here, do they?' he asked, trying to get back on track and establish his pretense.

'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...'

'I wish you wouldn't,' Harry said. 'They never specifically told you that you couldn't come to see me, did they?' He was trying to put all he'd learned about house-elves and the terms of their enslavement to use. Kreacher was generally able to do anything he hadn't been explicitly forbidden to do, but that may have been because Harry had made it clear to him that he could. He didn't know if it was a loophole exploitable by all elves, though it had to be to a certain extent or Dobby wouldn't have been able to come to Privet Drive at all.

'No, sir...' said Dobby uncertainly.

'And were you ordered to stay in the house this evening?' Harry asked. This was stretching a bit and he knew it; house-elves were typically expected to remain in the house they were bound to unless leaving it was part of a task they had been assigned. Even Kreacher never left Grimmauld Place unless he was told to or called from elsewhere, despite Harry not caring if he did.

'No, sir, but Dobby is expected to be at home at all times, sir, in case he is needed.' The little elf was twisting his ears nervously.

'Then you'd better hurry and say what you came here to say so you can get back,' Harry said. 'There shouldn't be any need to punish yourself if you haven't disobeyed any orders or neglected your work, right?' This was a guess, but he had a feeling a lot of it depended on what Dobby himself felt was necessary, so he was hoping to convince the elf that he hadn't actually broken any rules.

Dobby – rather predictably, Harry thought – burst into tears again. 'Harry Potter tries to help Dobby! Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew...'

Harry made shushing motions, trying to calm the elf.

'It's all right; don't worry about it,' he said. 'What did you need to tell me?'

Dobby took a few seconds to compose himself, then said, '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.'

'What?' asked Harry, trying his best to sound shocked. 'No, I have to go back.'

'No, no, no,' said Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flopped. 'Harry Potter must stay 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?' asked Harry, playing his role.

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

Harry crafted his next words very carefully, having worked out with Ginny the sorts of things he should say at this point.

'Listen, Dobby,' he said. 'First of all, I won't ask you what the plot is, since I'm guessing the reason you haven't already told me is that you're not allowed to.' Dobby nodded silently and Harry continued. 'I'm also guessing that because you know about it, and you're not allowed to say, that your masters must be either in on it or behind it – you don't have to confirm that,' he was quick to add. 'Don't say anything that would get you into trouble; just listen. I understand the position you're in, and I'm grateful for the warning. Really, I am. But I need you to trust me. Whatever this plot is, I'll be in just as much danger as everybody else.' That wasn't exactly true, but Dobby didn't need to know he knew that. 'And whatever you might think, I'm not more important than anybody else. If there's danger at Hogwarts, I can handle it.'

He wasn't really expecting Dobby to go along with this, but it was his one chance to avoid a lot of hassle later on.

'Harry Potter is humble and selfless!' Dobby proclaimed reverently. 'Harry Potter does not seek to save himself when others are in danger! But he must, he must! Harry Potter means too much to too many!'

'Listen,' said Harry, suppressing a sigh. It had been worth a shot. 'I've got to go back. All my friends are there, and anyway, if there's a dangerous plot, I couldn't leave them there to face it without me.'

'Friends who do not even write to Harry Potter, sir?' said Dobby, taking his bait.

'How do you know about that?' he asked, putting on an accusatory tone. 'Have you been stopping my letters?'

'Dobby has them here, sir,' said the elf, pulling out a thick wad of envelopes from his pillowcase. '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…'

'Dobby,' said Harry, trying once more to reason with the elf, though he knew it was futile. 'I'm never not going to want to go back to Hogwarts. There's nothing you can say or do to change that, so don't even try. You've given me your warning, so I'll be on my guard. Please give me my letters.' He didn't really need them, but he knew it would be out of character not to request them.

'Harry Potter can 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!'

'I can't do that.' Harry knew, in the back of his mind, that he was remaining far too calm for a twelve year-old in this situation, but he couldn't bring himself to even pretend to be angry with Dobby. Besides, while his behavior might have been suspiciously mature to any human onlookers, a house-elf wasn't likely to know the difference.

'Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice, sir,' said the elf sadly, and quick as a flash he darted out the door and down the stairs. Harry followed him, knowing full well what was coming, and what it meant for him over the next several days.

He arrived in the kitchen to what he knew he'd find: Dobby crouched on a cupboard in the corner, and Aunt Petunia's pudding floating up near the ceiling.

'Dobby,' said Harry. This was his last chance. 'Dobby, if your masters are involved, and they ever get a package or a gift from me, make sure you're standing next to them when they open it.' It was a risky thing to say, but with what he and Ginny had planned, there was no way to guarantee that Lucius Malfoy would ever come to the school at all, much less storm into it in a rage as he had before. Harry would not run the risk of not being able to free Dobby. Ginny had agreed with him that this was worth the small possible risk to their secret or their plans.

Dobby blinked at him, clearly taken aback and confused by these instructions, but he was not to be deterred and recovered quickly.

'Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school.'

'I can't,' said Harry with an air of finality.

'Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good.'

The pudding fell and splattered everywhere, the dish shattered in a great crash, and Dobby disappeared with a crack.

Screams rang out from the dining room and Uncle Vernon burst into the kitchen, purple with fury. He handed Harry a mop, promised he would be punished severely as soon as the Masons left, then went back to the living room to make his excuses.

Harry was left in the kitchen mopping up pudding, and he finally let his emotions overtake him. He stood silently crying while he mopped, his tears dripping down and mixing with the soapy water on the floor. If Vernon or Petunia saw, they would likely just assume he was upset over being punished.

When he was finished cleaning, he returned the mop to its place and, not wanting to try his luck (or his uncle's patience) silently crept back upstairs. It wasn't until he was halfway up that he remembered the owl. The letter warning him of performing underage magic should have come by now; he knew he hadn't had time to go back upstairs the last time before Mrs. Mason had fled the house in a mad panic.

Thinking he might just be much more efficient at cleaning than he had been at twelve, he continued up the stairs to his room and sat on his bed to wait. Time passed, he heard the Masons leave. Uncle Vernon thundered up the stairs and shouted at Harry for a good ten minutes, but didn't lay a hand on him. Afterward, he slammed the door and stomped off.

Harry was very perplexed. Not since the boa constrictor at the zoo had something not gone the way he remembered it without his or Ginny's direct intervention. Something was definitely off. He should have received his letter from the Improper Use of Magic Office by now. Everything had gone exactly as it was supposed to.

He sat puzzling over this unexpected turn for some time. After an indeterminate period, a thought struck him – a crazy thought, but one easily investigated. He would just have to wait until the Dursleys were asleep.

Two hours later found Harry creeping down the stairs in the darkness. He had to be quick; Ginny would be expecting to hear from him soon. He tiptoed over to the cupboard under the stairs. He'd lived there for ten years; getting in would be no problem. If only unlocking it from the inside had been as easy.

He poked his head in and found his chest. Opening it up, he found his wand sitting atop the rest of his things right where he'd left it at the beginning of summer. Not sure if what he was about to do was wise, he reached out and took it. Then he closed up his trunk and the cupboard, making sure to lock it again, and moved to sit in his uncle's chair in the sitting room. Glancing at the clock, he saw he had twenty-seven minutes before he was supposed to speak to Ginny. Plenty of time.

Here goes nothing, he thought. With a wave of his wand, he caused one of his aunt's knickknacks to hover in the air. He sent it zooming around for a bit, then carefully placed it back down where it had been. Then he waited.

The seconds and minutes ticked by. Nothing happened. It occurred to him that as it was the middle of the night, there might be no one in the office to send him a letter. He returned to his room and called Ginny, giving her the full report on his conversation with Dobby. He did not yet tell her he hadn't gotten his ministry warning. He wanted to first see if his hunch was correct. After they said good night, he tucked his wand under his mattress and went to sleep.

He was awoken early in the morning by his now coldly furious uncle and told he was not to leave his room for any reason except the bathroom for the rest of the summer. His meals would be brought to him. No bars were put on his window. No cat flap was put on his door. And no owl.

Just to make absolutely sure, Harry got out his wand and cast a few more spells in his bedroom. He was ignored for the entire day until Aunt Petunia brought him a lukewarm bowl of tinned soup for dinner. There was no mention of any owl or any warning of any kind.

Well, though Harry, dipping into the soup. That's interesting.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

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~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

I've been on a bit of a tear lately, which is a nice change of pace. I'm spreading myself out between a couple of different projects, so if you have me on author alerts you might see a few things other than this popping up.

As to this particular chapter, most of Dobby's dialogue was written by Rowling and not me. This is because nothing Harry or Ginny have yet done would have altered it.

Also: a common theme in reviews for this story (which I love; keep 'em coming!) is, "Why don't they just do X?" There are a couple of possible reasons for this, depending on what X is.

Firstly, I'm trying to write a story, not check off a wish-fulfillment to-do list.

Secondly, because it wouldn't actually make sense or be in character for them to do that.

Thirdly, and most importantly, these are characters in a story. They are living the events as they happen with nothing but their own decade old memories to guide them. They can make mistakes. They can overlook or forget things. They do not have the access to online wikis and reference guides that we as readers do, nor have they reread and internalized the events of the novels a dozen times. They cannot open one of the novels at any time they like and be reminded of when or how something happened. Sometimes they don't do something that might seem obvious to a real world reader for the simple reason that they just did not think of it.