Harry wiped at the corners of his eyes; his throat felt clogged by something heavy.
Hedwig was chattering angrily in her cage, and at the same time Harry heard Aunt Petunia's heels clicking up the stairs.
He hurriedly stuffed the letter into his pocket.
Dudley was safe and sound; Petunia knew he hadn't actually done magic, but she still swung a soap-smeared frying pan at his head. Luckily, he dodged in time.
Then she sent him off to work—and no food until he was done.
Harry washed windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn, tidied the flowerbeds, pruned and watered the roses, and repainted the garden bench. The sun beat down straight on him, scorching the back of his neck.
But he didn't let himself resent it. In his pocket he had a single sheet of enchanted paper—a bridge back to the wizarding world.
That was his hope. And once you have hope, life becomes bearable.
Just a bit longer, he told himself. Once he gets a moment to breathe, he'll write Sean back.
But one question kept nagging at him: if everyone had written him letters, why hadn't he received any of them?
He found out soon enough.
When Harry finally finished all his punishment, he squeezed himself into the cramped, dark cupboard to write.
That was when a little creature suddenly appeared in front of him.
It had enormous bat-like ears, and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls.
It stared fixedly at the sheet of white paper in Harry's hands as though it were some terrible crime.
On the page, the words "I can't do homework here, and I can't practice Quidditch" stood out especially clearly.
"Harry Potter must not leave here, must not go back to Hogwarts. This year the most terrible things will happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
The little creature's voice was shrill. It suddenly began to tremble all over.
"Harry Potter must not go looking for danger. He does not know how important he is!"
Harry had no idea what it was talking about; all he saw was it lunging for his letter.
There was no way he was letting it succeed. Terrified as he was, Harry still grabbed on and wrestled with it. In the end, both of them had hold of one corner of the paper, pulling with all their might. The letter gave a strained, tearing sound.
"No, don't—"
Harry pleaded.
"Dobby can only do this, sir. It is for Harry Potter's own good."
The little creature actually spoke. It gave Harry a sorrowful look.
The next second, with a harsh rip, the letter split in two.
Harry stared dumbly at the torn pieces, scrambling to press them back together, but it was obviously no use.
The creature vanished. Harry was left clutching the ripped letter in his hands.
Rain began to fall on Privet Drive. It came so softly he hardly noticed at first; the air just grew heavy, and something cool appeared on his face and hands.
The next moment, a lifeline appeared—just as sudden as the rain.
Harry felt something gently tapping his forehead. When he looked up, there was another paper airplane, which quickly unfolded into a blank sheet:
[To Harry:
You haven't replied in a long time, so perhaps something else has happened.
Don't worry. I'll come.
—Sean Green]
Harry lowered his head. Outside the bedroom door, Dobby heard a hoarse, muffled sobbing, like a wounded puppy.
So he snapped his fingers and vanished, reappearing atop a nearby tree, where he began to bang his head against the trunk—thud, thud, thud.
Meanwhile, in Diagon Alley—
Sean had barely sent off the second paper plane when a group of young witches and wizards had already gathered.
"Sean, you're here."
Seeing the familiar figure step from the fireplace, they all exhaled in relief.
"Sean, do you know what's happened to Harry?!"
Ron blurted, panicked.
"I don't."
Everyone jumped. They glanced around, unable to tell who had spoken.
"It's me."
After two seconds of confusion, they finally connected the mature voice to Sean.
"What is that?"
For a moment, Ron actually forgot about Harry, his curiosity drawn instead to the brooch on Sean's chest.
"That's not important right now, Ron!"
Hermione snapped.
"Oh—oh, right—"
Ron pulled himself together.
"Harry's probably run into some trouble. Don't worry—I'll handle it."
Sean had the brooch speak, even as he prepared to leave.
The paper planes would not fail to deliver; Tayla had woven extremely powerful magic into them. So if Harry hadn't replied, most likely his attempt to write had been interrupted.
Maybe the Dursleys had stopped him. Maybe it was Dobby—
With that in mind, Sean planned to head out from Diagon Alley and make his way to Number 4, Privet Drive. Before that, he intended to make a few preparations—just in case things got complicated.
After all, he had signed the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. Without using magic, rescuing Harry would be a bit trickier.
Only a bit, though. The Trace only tracked spellcasting, recording when and where magic was used—but Sean didn't have to cast spells.
Not all magic lived at the tip of a wand.
Think of Ron's flying car… or a few well-prepared enchanted items.
"Are you going alone?"
In a quiet side alley off Diagon Alley, Hermione suddenly spoke up.
"Mm."
The brooch replied naturally.
"I can help!"
Ron shouted.
"Most likely you'd only get in the—"
Sean quickly shut off the brooch and walked toward the joke shop as if nothing had happened.
"So blunt…"
Ron's face turned red.
"Harry lives at his aunt's, same as us—no magic allowed there."
Justin explained; he'd already pieced it together.
"But Harry lives in London. Maybe I can help."
Justin added, a touch of meaning in his voice.
Sean still shook his head. The situation was more complicated than just dealing with the Dursleys; there was also a house-elf in the picture.
In the end Sean went alone to the joke shop. The twins had set up a room there as a workspace for magical gadgets, and he made full use of it.
Rain began to fall in Diagon Alley, pattering against the eaves, the drops bursting into little mushroom-shaped splashes.
Manager Gert was still busy; when she peeked toward the workroom, Sean was already gone.
All that was left was a distant silhouette streaking across the sky on a broom.
At the same time, Number 4, Privet Drive—
This time Harry had shoved his head under the blankets, using a tiny lamp to write his reply to Sean.
He had to warn him there was some kind of creature here—and tell him to be careful.
Even so, things still went wrong.
Just as he was about to send the paper plane off, a pair of huge eyes gleamed in terror from the hedge. Dobby, perched in the tree, snapped his fingers. Harry's lamp suddenly flew from the desk and crashed onto Dudley's foot.
There was a shriek from the dining room below. Uncle Vernon came charging in to find Harry holding a paper plane that was hovering in mid-air.
~~~
Patreon(.)com/Bleam
— Currently You can Read 120 Chapters Ahead of Others!