"What do you think you're doing!"
Vernon roared.
"Using that blasted— let me see that!"
He snatched Harry's letter and managed to read only "I don't want to stay here" before the paper airplane slipped through his fingers and began wobbling away in a crooked flight.
"Ah! What is that!"
Vernon stared in horror as the plane wobbled off into the distance.
"I warned you! I will not tolerate you using your freakishness under my roof!"
He blustered, but in the very next moment his face changed, because an owl came whirling in through the dining-room window, dropped a letter on his head, and whirled away again.
After reading it, Vernon gave a furious roar, his piggy eyes gleaming with demonic delight.
"Read this!"
He shook the owl-delivered letter and hissed,
"Go on—read!"
Harry took it. Inside, there was only:
[Dear Mr. Potter:
We have received intelligence that at twelve minutes past three this afternoon you performed a Hover Charm at your place of residence.
You are aware that underage wizards are not permitted to perform magic outside of school. Any further such offenses may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).
Also be advised that under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy, any magical activity liable to draw the attention of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense.
Wishing you a pleasant holiday,
Mafalda Hopkirk,
Improper Use of Magic Office,
Ministry of Magic.]
He'd used magic? When?
Harry froze, mind jumping to the flying lamp, then to the little monster's face outside in the tree.
He had no time to think.
Vernon came at him like a bull mastiff, looming over Harry, teeth bared.
"Oh, I've got news for you, boy… I'm going to lock you up… you'll never be going back to that school… never… and if you use magic to escape— they'll expel you!"
And this time, he meant it.
He hired a man to bolt iron bars over Harry's window and personally installed a cat flap in the bedroom door, turning the tiny room into a prison cell.
He'd cut Harry off from hope.
Time crawled by. Rain soaked the street; the whole neighborhood looked drowned and grey. Harry knew the Dursleys would never suddenly grow kind and let him out.
And he also knew that wretched creature outside would never stop. He was half-convinced the thing was Voldemort's servant.
Think about it: if the creature kept him here, he'd either miss school and be expelled, or break and use magic and be expelled anyway.
Who'd be happiest?
The Dursleys, and Voldemort.
He stared out toward the distant, gloomy horizon. The clouds were like sodden grey sponges, sagging with rain.
Shapes he couldn't quite see flickered in the distance. Worry filled his eyes. If Sean couldn't use magic, and there was a creature watching the house, how was he going to manage?
And him… why did he always seem to invite trouble?
Wrapped in his worries, his consciousness slowly slipped away. The last image in his mind was of an empty sky—no one there. No one coming.
He drifted off, sleeping fitfully. He dreamed he'd been put on display in a zoo; a little sign on his cage read "Young Wizard."
People stared at him through iron bars while he lay on straw, starving and weak. In the crowd he saw Dobby's face.
"Harry Potter must stay in a cage forever!" Dobby shouted—and vanished.
Then he saw the Dursleys. Dudley shook the bars, laughing at him.
"Harry."
He heard a mature voice calling. It didn't stop. He opened his eyes, and moonlight was pouring through the bars of his window.
A black cat stood framed there, its fur washed silver in the moonlight. The voice was coming from a brooch fastened in its fur.
"You're awake. Let's go."
The black cat was still talking.
"I must be dreaming again…"
Harry muttered.
Then he watched the cat crouch, spring—and transform into a wizard he knew all too well.
"The cat turned into Sean—that can't be real—"
Harry was convinced he was dreaming.
"Don't be ridiculous."
Sean said calmly in front of him.
"Sean doesn't sound like that, and he wouldn't talk like that either. Plus, you're not even moving your mouth."
Harry flopped back onto the bed and shut his eyes.
Sean was speechless for a moment.
He'd actually arrived some time ago; he'd simply waited for Dobby to leave rather than get tangled up with a house-elf.
He waited until Harry pinched his arm, then suddenly leapt off the bed.
"It's not a dream!"
…
"What do we do?"
Harry asked anxiously, now fully convinced this really was Sean.
A moment later he realized the thing that terrified him most clearly wasn't a problem for Sean at all.
Sean had used a potion to corrode the iron bars on the window. Outside, two brooms were hovering, waiting for them.
They were loaded with charms: wind-shielding, auto-navigation, auto-flight and more.
So Harry slipped out of his cage into the night as if he were in a strange, wonderful dream.
The rain had stopped. Sean sat reading Dumbledore's notes; Harry hovered nearby, wanting to speak but nervy.
"Sorry,"
Harry said,
"Every time I end up needing you to rescue me. I'm just a burden."
He lowered his head.
From the moment he'd come to Hogwarts, he'd been accepting help… Sean had loaned him notes when they barely knew each other, brought him into the Hope Room, stood between him and Voldemort, led everyone against the Dark Lord… and what had he done in return? Cause trouble.
He'd hardly contributed anything.
Looking at Harry's cautious expression, Sean thought of that cramped, dark space under the stairs—black, full of spiders.
He thought of the cold tin of soup Petunia had brought up: barely any food in it at all.
He sighed.
"Harry, why are you asking that? You've already been through more than enough."
Bathed in moonlight, Harry saw nothing clearly.
But he knew he'd never forget this night, or this rain, or someone saying to him:
Harry, it's all right. I'll help, because you need help.
…
The Leaky Cauldron came into view.
The pub sat on the Muggle street of Charing Cross Road, shabby and dim on the outside, a Tudor-era throwback.
Sean stowed his broom; Harry's broom peeled off to auto-cruise to the joke shop.
Then they stepped inside together—where a lot of people were already waiting for them.