Chapter 2

Harry was unaware of the commotion was causing by not being in the hospital wing when everyone realized that Sirius Black had escaped. All he knew was that he needed to hide. He was too far away from the tunnel to Hogsmeade beneath the one-eyed witch as well as retracing his steps through the tunnel under the whomping willow that led back to the Shrieking Shack. He didn't want to be out with a fully transformed werewolf either. He thought about going to the kitchens because using all of that magic had worked up an appetite, but if anyone checked with the elves, he'd be found quickly. He finally found himself in the third-floor corridor that had been forbidden in his first year. He opened the door to where Fluffy had been and found it empty. Harry slumped down on the floor trying to catch his breath and think.

Hermione had been pestering him the past week wanting to know what was wrong with him. Even though he kept telling her he was fine, he wasn't. Every day it got closer to the end of school and the return on the Hogwarts Express for the summer, he'd been getting more and more anxious. He knew with absolute certainty that if he returned to the Dursley's he would never get out of there alive.

The Dursleys were his closest living relatives. His Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister. She lived with her husband, Vernon Dursley, and son Dudley Dursley. They'd never wanted him there but were somehow forced to keep him. Until he got his Hogwarts letter, he'd lived in the cupboard under the stairs. He'd done the cleaning and cooking for the family since he was four. They barely fed him enough to keep him alive. Petunia liked to screech at him every time he did something she didn't like (which was quite frequently), but only once had she tried to hit him – when he'd accidentally burned the bacon one morning, she'd tried to hit him with a frying pan.

Dudley considered Harry his private punching bag, both literally and figuratively. Harry had never had any friends because anyone that approached him was soon made aware of what Dudley would do to them unless they left Harry alone. Then there was also Dudley's favorite game, Harry Hunting. Dudley and his gang would chase him until they caught him, then beat him up. Dudley's other favorite pastime was sabotage. Harry would clean the living room and Dudley would come behind him and drop dirt or mud, muss the pillows on the sofa, or other similar things. In the kitchen, he'd "accidentally" stumble into Harry making him lose balance and fall on the hot stovetop, causing burns or other injuries. One time he'd done it, Harry's sleeve caught fire and almost set the kitchen on fire. Aunt Petunia had quickly put out the fire then sent him straight to his cupboard without tending to his wounds. Later that day she'd opened the door long enough to toss in a couple of short-sleeved t-shirts with a screech of, "You'll wear these in the kitchen from now on. I don't need a freak burning up our house."

Vernon was a different case. He was a terror. If something even slightly bad happened, it was always Harry's fault. Vernon took perverse pleasure in taking out his bad luck on Harry. If his secretary didn't come to work one day, it was Harry's fault. If it was raining and he couldn't play golf, it was Harry's fault. If a driver cut him off in traffic, it was Harry's fault. No, it wasn't Harry's fault, it was THE FREAK'S fault. Freaks don't deserve to eat, have clothes that fit, or nice places to sleep. Freaks deserved to be punished for their freakiness. Freaks need to know their place, which is lower than dirt. Freaks lived to serve those better than it. Harry had the scars to prove the point that had been beaten into him time after time. Harry should have just been born as a house elf.

House Elf! That's a thought. Maybe he could get some help from his elf friend.

"Dobby," Harry said quietly.

Instantly there was a loud "pop" and a little being with tennis-ball-sized eyes appeared in front of him.

"Master Harry Potter sir calls Dobby? What can Dobby do for Master Harry Potter?"

"Hi, Dobby. How are you?"

Dobby grabbed Harry around the legs and exclaimed, "Oh, Master Harry Potter sir asks about Dobby! Dobby is being well."

"I need a little help. Can you sneak into Gryffindor Tower and pack my trunk and bring it to me? I don't want to risk anyone waking up if I do it."

Dobby popped away and returned a few minutes later with Harry's trunk, broom, and Hedwig's cage.

"Thanks, Dobby! You're the best!"

"What else can Dobby do for Master Harry Potter sir? Do you need a sandwich?" Another snap and a table and chairs with a plate of sandwiches appeared. "Something to drink?" A glass of pumpkin juice and a mug of hot chocolate appeared next to the sandwich. "Oh! I know! Master Harry Potter sir would like some of his favorite treacle tart!" Another dish appeared.

Harry looked at all the food that appeared.

"Thank you, Dobby! This is great." The little elf popped out.

Harry thought about what he was going to do. He had thought about this for a long time – longer than he'd been at Hogwarts. He had run out of options now. He began making a list of what he needed to do before the night was over. There were letters to Ron and Hermione, the Headmaster, Sirius, the goblins, and maybe Mr. & Mrs. Weasley. He thought about sending letters to Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape as well. They were all a part of this. He'd write the critical ones first, then see how much time was left.

While he wrote the notes he intended to send, he snacked on the food Dobby had brought him. The food gave him the energy he needed to do what he knew he must. He didn't realize how long it had taken for him to write the letters he had. It was past four o'clock in the morning when he finished.

Once he had sealed and addressed the letters, he called Dobby again.

"Master Harry Potter sir needs Dobby again?"

"Hi, Dobby. Can you do me another favor?"

"Of course, Master Harry Potter sir! Dobby is a good elf!"

"Would you take these letters to the owlery for me? Give this one to Hedwig first. She may have to search for him."

Dobby took the letters and popped out again.

Harry went through his one final time making a list of things he could give others and made a list. Ginny could have his third-year books. Maybe Remus would want the photo album with his parents' pictures. Most everything else in there was worthless. Harry then searched through his trunk until he found what he was looking for then Harry called Dobby one last time.

"Master Harry Potter sir needs Dobby?"

"Hi, Dobby. I thought you might want these socks. I've lost their mates, and they look like they would fit you well. Would you like them?"

"Harry Potter is the best master ever!"

"I am not your master, Dobby, I am your friend."

Dobby never bothered to tell Harry that when he had freed Dobby from the Malfoy's that Dobby had bonded with him. He would help his master from afar if he had to.