A moment later they found themselves in the hallway of No. 4, Privet Drive. To his left, Dudley's thunderous snore shook the house. To his right, he was almost certain he could hear himself stirring awake.
"Dobby," Harry whispered, "I'm afraid you'll need to take us somewhere else. Quickly, if possible."
"Dobby know just the place." At this, he raised his right hand, wrapped his left hand around Harry's, and snapped.
They stood before a large country house of white stone. Four chimneys shot out of the sharp angles of the vaulted clay tile roof. They stood upon a slate stone entryway, a semi-circle drawing guests toward a broad, half round door of dark stained oak.
The country house was surrounded by untouched, perfectly manicured lawn and orchestrated rows of towering oaks overshadowing paths meandering around the home's several gardens. The soft trickle of water could be heard from fountains, and from a natural brook a stone's throw from the east wing. Harry felt certain he could hear the distant bells of fairy laughter.
In the distance, on ever side the home was surrounding by dense forest, towering ancient trees with dark green leaves. He heard a raven cry in the distance.
The home's tall, narrow windows interrupted the stone edifice every eight feet. To each side of the central entryway, golden runes were etched into the stone. Above the door, a lit lamp hung magically, suspended ten feet in the above them and casting a warm light on the entrance. Harry took in the scene for a moment. He felt remarkably comfortable here, his apprehension and the shock of time-travel fading to the back of his consciousness. "This is excellent, Dobby. Beautiful. But where are we?" Dobby bowed reverentially, extending his right hand toward the home. "It is Dobby's great honor to welcome Harry Potter to Ravenswood Hall, the home of the Noble House of Potter."
Harry was struck silent as they entered the home, overwhelmed with a sense of legacy. Before him, two sweeping staircases wrapped around the far wall, dark stained wood steps framing the oval entryway and drawing his eyes to a massive portrait beneath the landing - a family painting of what must have been his grandparents and father, around age ten. The portrait's frame was of cherry wood, carved elaborately. The walls were of a smooth, white stone, into which had been carved a forest scene with stunning detail. Harry caught the movement of a raven, shifting his weight from branch to branch, drawing curiously nearer to the home's guests.
"Brilliant."
He slowly approached the portrait before him. With his right index finger, he traced the carving of the frame until his eyes landed on the words "Fleumont & Euphemia Potter, together with James Potter, their son," etched into a copper plaque and the bottom center of the frame.
"Welcome to Ravenswood Hall." Harry jumped at this, caught up in the wonder of the moment, he hadn't expected the figures - his family - to speak. "My you find rest and sanctuary in our home, friend of the light."
Harry's attention turned back to Dobby. "Thank you for taking me here, Dobby."
Dobby merely nodded, uncharacteristically silent in the wake of Harry's awe.
"He looks so much like me, doesn't he? Or, I suppose, I look so much like him."
After pausing for a moment to soak in the smiling greeting of his father and parents, Harry turned his attention to the east wing, to his right.
Dobby led him to a large sitting room, the walls lined with floor to ceiling shelves populated with leather bound tomes. The room was furnished in the Victorian style, elaborately carved silhouette with deep button tuftings and large rolled arms. Beside every chair or sofa was a small table of dark stained wood, finished with a glossy sheen. Throughout, the space was lit warmly with candlelight, suspended thoughtfully near reading nooks. Beyond the siting room, through a door cleverly cut into the shelving, was a dining area, at the center of which was a large, circular table, stained cherry. Harry was fascinated to find that the tabletop was magically suspended, like a disc in midair. A n unbroken circular bench, likewise suspended, hovered beneath the tabletop. Harry supposed that twelve adults might eat there, side by side, with plenty of room to spare.
Beyond the dining room, Harry was led into a stunning greenhouse, of Victorian framework with cast iron embellishments interrupting large, seamless panes of glass. Every sort of magical flora Harry had encountered at Hogwarts could be found within, flourishing. Songbirds chirped and warbled in the high ceilings. On the far side of the room, through a glass door, the greenhouse seamlessly transitioned into what must have been the broadest garden on the grounds.
Through a door on his left, Harry was led through a study, walls lined with mahogany panels and waist-high shelving, at the center of which stood a large writing desk upon which sat a leather drafting pad, a quill, ink, and a fresh roll of parchment. Opposite the desk, a tapestry hung detailing the Wizengamot chambers in birds-eye view. The surname of every seat holder was etched as if by magic, nearly half of which in gold, nearly half in black, the remaining in charcoal grey. In the far corner of the room, behind the desk, a large globe hovered. As Harry approached, he noticed that the magical leadership of each nation was noted within that nations' boundaries, again magically etched in gold, black, or grey.
He'd nearly followed Dobby out of the room when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Standing on a perch in the opposite corner of the room, near a large window with a small, open panel, a hooded crow bobbed curiously.
"Oh! Hello. I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there."
At this, the hooded crow took flight, landing on Harry's outstretched arm.
"Look at you! You're extraordinary. What is your name, friend?"
Dobby, who had been watching happily, spoke at this. "Dobby is told, sir, that a family of Hooded Crows has served the heir of the Potter House for six generations. This must be the youngest, awaiting the return of the Potter heir. Awaiting you, Harry Potter, sir." He beamed with pride, his eyes welling.
"Lovely." He was lightly betting the Hooded Crow's beak as he bobbed on his arm. "So what shall we call you?"
A moment later, Harry lit up. "We'll call you Orion. Do you like that name?"
The crow hopped merrily, issuing a series of guttural clicks and a short caw.
"Okay," Harry laughed, "now that that's settled. Would you like to join us on the tour?"
Dobby then led Harry, with Orion on his shoulder, to another room lined with smooth, white stone. Six copper cauldrons hovered in the room's midst, beside waist-high wooden work stations. The wall was lined with shelving featuring a wide variety of potions ingredients.
"Brilliant. This will come in handy." He smiled at Dobby. "Although I've never used a copper cauldron. Dobby, will you help me find the appropriate theory texts later?"
Dobby nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, sir. Dobby would be thrilled."
The final room on the first floor of the east wing appeared initially to be completely empty. As Harry approached, however, a pearl pensieve - the same pensieve that Harry had used in his loft - descended from the ceiling, alongside a column of glass vials, many of which contained slivery threads of memory.
The first floor of the west wing contained the Potter's vast library, in a space Harry was sure had been magically expanded. Hundreds of aisles of tall shelving, interrupted on occasion by nooks for research and reading. The smell of weathered pages overwhelmed him, and he breathed full.
At the center of the room, in a wide circular expanse within the shelving, stood a desk, at standing height, upon which was laid a cloth-bound volume, open but empty. Beside it, a quill sat next to a small glass vial of ink.
They proceeded to the second floor by way of the sweeping staircase in the entryway.
The upper east wing was all guestrooms, and one room which Harry supposed must have belonged to his father. The rooms features were cast in Gryffindor gold and crimson, and a broom hung on the wall opposite the bed, beside a framed photo of James and the Gryffindor Quidditch team, circa '78. A trunk, broad and strapped, featuring a lion carved beautifully into the lid, sat at the foot of the bed. Harry opened it, exploring the contents with wonder. A head boy badge sat upon a neatly folded set of robes, beside which sat a number of volumes which Harry indeed would need shortly, each marked with his father's notes in the margins. Beneath these, Harry stumbled upon a small stack of notes he'd traded with Lily, a number of which made him blush and quickly return in a feverish panic.
The upper west wing featured two rooms: a broad, empty expanse, warded and insulated, clearly for experimental casting and combat training. Opposite this room was an enormous master bedroom, featuring a four-poster bed larger than any Harry had yet seen, a tidy reading nook with two leather wingbacks and a waist-high shelf upon which sat a small radio. Opposite the bed and seating area was a large master bath, with an enormous claw-footed tub, a shower room, two magically suspended copper basins hovering beneath vanity mirrors, and a massive wardrobe.
As they stood in the midst of the massive master suite, Harry suddenly realized it must be two or three in the morning. He yawned with reckless abandon.
"Dobby, it's late. I'll need to rest, and so will you. Is there a room you'd prefer?"
Dobby trembled with grateful enthusiasm. "Harry Potter offers Dobby a room in the House?! Dobby could never! Dobby will be perfectly comfortable in the House Elves quarters. Dobby will need to explain the new living arrangements with Kitty and Milo."
Harry paused, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Hang on. Kitty and Milo?"
Dobby nodded. "Indeed, sir. Kitty and Milo are house elves sworn to the House of Potter. Kitty and Milo have stewarded the estate these many years."
Harry was suddenly struck with gratitude. "Wow. I mean, of course. It's clearly been meticulously maintained. Please express my gratitude, Dobby, and do let them know that at their earliest convenience tomorrow morning I'd like to offer them clothes and would hope to retain them at a competitive salary as long as they're willing to stay."
Dobby's eyes welled. "Of course, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby is pleased to deliver such news. Dobby is always overwhelmed with the generosity of Harry Potter."
Harry shook him off. "Nonsense, Dobby. You gave a year of your life to me, without a second thought. I owe you more than you know."
At this, Dobby wept tears of gratitude, and after a few moments of awkward apologies (which only made things worse), Harry found himself alone in a massive bedroom that belonged to his grandparents, yet now felt, uncannily, that it belonged to him. Orion bobbed happily on his shoulder, then flitted to a perch beside a broad window on the far wall.