Chapter 258: The Letter Delivered
Diagon Alley.
People were coming and going in front of Weasley & Green's Wizard Wheezes. To the left of the shop, Hermione's face was etched with visible worry.
"Did Sean reply? Justin? What on earth happened to Harry?"
"Don't worry too much, Hermione. Whatever happened, we'll sort it out... Let's hear what Sean thinks first," Justin comforted her.
"Are Ron and Neville here?"
As soon as he finished speaking, Ron stumbled out of a fireplace, looking disheveled and covered in soot.
"What's wrong with Harry?! Good heavens! Where's Sean?"
Ron wiped his face but didn't see the figure he was hoping for.
"Watch out, Ron!"
As Hermione cried out, Justin reached out and pulled Ron to his side.
It turned out Neville was appearing in the fireplace.
He coughed twice as soon as he emerged, spitting out some soot.
"My gran absolutely wouldn't let me come at first, until I mentioned Sean's name..."
His words drew everyone's attention to the horizon, as if they were waiting for something.
Further away, Snowy flew through layers of white clouds, clutching a letter in her beak.
Sean, who had just sent the letter, was deep in thought.
It seemed that Dobby the free house-elf had appeared.
He was locking Harry in the house because the next year at Hogwarts would be even more dangerous...
Thinking of this, Sean found it somewhat amusing.
Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall claimed Hogwarts was the safest place in the world, yet every year Harry ended up in a sorry state.
In his first year, he faced a troll and Voldemort; in his second year, he faced a Basilisk; in his third year, a "fugitive" infiltrated Hogwarts...
By the final installments, Hogwarts had become the site of the final battle.
Perhaps the safety of Hogwarts was cursed, just like the position of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
Sean took out a stack of white paper—Professor Terra's paper airplanes.
Whenever and wherever, they could deliver messages.
It was said that the paper airplanes used by the Ministry of Magic were inferior derivatives of this product.
The Quick-Quotes Quill scratched rapidly:
Harry,
We realized you seem not to have received our letters. All letters have inexplicably disappeared.
But please don't worry. Upon receiving this letter, please use this blank sheet of paper to reply to me.
This white paper possesses special magic that will bring your letter to me. If you encounter any problems, tell me.
—Sean Green.
Watching the paper airplane wobble as it flew through the wall, Sean prepared to find Professor McGonagall.
Justin's second letter had just arrived; he needed to go to Diagon Alley.
The villa living room.
Professor McGonagall took a sip of steaming hot tea and saw the young wizard coming down the stairs.
At this hour, the child should still be immersed in Transfiguration...
She vaguely sensed something. Seeing the young wizard approach, she tried to remain calm despite a flicker of excitement.
"Professor, I would like to go to Diagon Alley," the brooch said.
Professor McGonagall nodded. Regardless, the child was finally willing to speak to her.
"Go ahead, my boy. Do you want me to come with you?"
Sean shook his head, his gaze looking distant.
The relationship between Harry and the Dursleys... was extremely complex.
One mistake after another was tied together, forming a tangled knot that couldn't be unraveled or cut.
The carriage kicked up dust as it moved further away from the farm.
"You should have asked more questions. If it's like last time..."
Inside the farm villa, Marcus remained silent for a long while before speaking.
His face was calm, but his body was trembling slightly.
Far away at Hogwarts, the Dark Lord sought to return, and the one who stopped his plot was the child before him, still so young and tender.
"You know many things are dangerous. Promise me, no matter what, look after him."
Marcus's final words dissipated in the wind, and the sound of the carriage outside the villa gradually faded away.
Number 4, Privet Drive.
Harry could only stare out the window like this every day.
As soon as he got home, Uncle Vernon had locked his spellbooks, wand, robes, cauldron, and top-of-the-line Nimbus 2000 broomstick in the cupboard under the stairs, that small, dark space.
The Dursleys didn't care if Harry got kicked off the House Quidditch team because he hadn't practiced all summer.
Harry hadn't done a single bit of his summer homework and wouldn't be able to turn it in when he returned to school, but what did that have to do with them?
Even Hedwig the owl was locked in her cage, prevented from delivering letters to anyone in the wizarding world.
Looking at Hedwig in the cage, Harry felt that he, like Hedwig, was locked in a dark, damp compartment.
"Ha! Freak! None of your freak friends are writing to you either—just admit it, no one cares about you!"
A fat boy with pinkish-white skin stood on the landing, wearing a disgusting grin as he mocked Harry. However, after Harry stared at him for a moment, he grew afraid again and stammered:
"What are you looking at?"
"I'm thinking about what spell to use to set you on fire," Harry said.
Dudley stumbled back a few steps, a look of terror on his fat face.
"You c-can't—Dad said you're not allowed to do magic—he said he'd kick you out—you've got nowhere to go—no friends to take you in—"
"Jiggery pokery!" Harry said fiercely. "Hocus pocus... squiggly wiggly..."
"MUUUUUM!" Dudley howled, stumbling as he ran toward the house. "MUUUUUM! He's doing you-know-what!"
Even after scaring Dudley off, Harry's mood didn't improve in the slightest.
Dudley was right; no one had written to him.
Not Ron, not Hermione, not even Justin, who had insisted everyone write to each other.
He could comfort himself that perhaps Sean and Neville weren't good at this, but what about Ron? Hermione? Justin?
Unless the "everyone" they spoke of didn't include him.
He knew his friends wouldn't do that, but he couldn't help thinking it.
What was worse, because he had fallen for Dudley's bait and scared him, he would have to face Aunt Petunia's retribution later.
Maybe cleaning the windows, washing the car, mowing the lawn, trimming the flowerbeds, pruning and watering the roses, repainting the garden bench, or something like that.
But he was in no mood to care about that.
While Aunt Petunia shrieked downstairs, Harry's mood hit rock bottom, until—
A paper airplane wobbled through the branches of the tree outside the window.
It paused suddenly, as if something were stopping it from advancing, but it stubbornly swayed its way to Harry.
Harry felt like a volcano was erupting in his heart. Of course he knew what this was!
During the crisis in the Forbidden Forest, Sean had used this to contact them.
He hadn't been forgotten!
Sean had sent a letter!
He opened the letter excitedly, and his eyes quickly welled up with tears:
Harry,
We realized you seem not to have received our letters. All letters have inexplicably disappeared.
But please don't worry. Upon receiving this letter, please use this blank sheet of paper to reply to me.
This white paper possesses special magic that will bring your letter to me. If you encounter any problems, tell me.
—Sean Green.
☆☆☆
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