Ron Weasley was in a bad mood. His best friend at Hogwarts, Harry Potter, had been out of touch since the holidays began. He had already sent him three letters, but Harry had not replied to a single one.
Perhaps he had too much fun during the summer holiday and forgot about his impoverished friend; perhaps he was bullied by those Muggles, but he said he would give them a good scare because they did not know that young wizards were not allowed to cast spells outside of school. If that is the case, those Muggles would be too scared to dare bully Harry
He lay on his back in his cramped room at the top of the Burrow, staring blankly at the orange poster of the Chudley Cannons on the ceiling, listening to the occasional explosions coming from his twin brothers' room, his mind filled with all sorts of speculations and thoughts.
But reality would not allow him to drift off into daydreams for long—his mother, Molly, was calling him again. Ron slowly sat up in bed, careful not to let the sloping ceiling hit his head. He put on Percy's old T-shirt and Bill's discarded jeans, and dejectedly went to the garden behind the Burrow to clear out the gnomes.
The Burrow is located outside the village of Ottery St Catchpole, and even the village postman does not know its exact location, but these silly gnomes always manage to find their way back to the Burrow with perfect accuracy.
Just as Ron was throwing out his eleventh or twelfth gnome in the twilight of the evening, he heard a "crack" and a small, colourful creature appeared in front of him, startling him so much that he almost screamed.
"Harry Potter's friend!" the little creature said in a high-pitched voice, a hint of curiosity in its big, round, watery eyes. "Is it Ron Weasley?"
"I am. But what are you?" Ron asked, backing away in terror.
Has the gnome in my house bred some new breed? What is that? Is it a dress made of tea towels?
"I am Dobby. My master asked me to give you this urgent letter." Dobby glanced at the Burrow and the dizzy gnomes around him with interest, bowed, his pointed ears almost drooping to the ground, and held an envelope high in both hands, handing it to Ron.
Ron cautiously took the letter, then tremblingly held it up to the still-setting sun, fearing it might contain some dangerous contraband.
Then he saw the pattern on the postmark; it was the Malfoy family crest.
"Were you sent by Draco?" Ron asked it.
He roughly knew what this little creature named Dobby was; it was probably the house-elf that his mother often talked about, saying, "I want one too."
"Yes! My Young Master said it is an emergency!" Dobby nodded hurriedly and said to him anxiously.
Ron was puzzled by Draco's sudden letter.
Was it really necessary to go to such lengths to send a house-elf to deliver the letter? And the envelope and the paper—was it really necessary to be so particular? He suddenly had some doubts. Had the letter he sent to Harry been too casual and sloppy? Was that why Harry had not replied?
When he tore open the envelope with some scepticism, pulled out the parchment, and glanced at it, he understood what was truly urgent.
"Harry has been locked up at home by the Muggles. Today is his birthday, we have to get him out. Ask Dobby for details, he saw everything. —Draco"
Of course, of course.
Harry was not writing to him because he was locked up. That one sentence alone dispelled Ron's summer-long gloom and lifted his spirits.
At the same time, feelings of worry, shame, and sympathy welled up, making his throat tighten.
What kind of life did Harry have during this half-summer holiday?!
If he cannot even reply to letters, the Muggles must have locked Hedwig up as well.
That was a good owl; it never lost a single letter.
"Do you want to know about Harry Potter?" The strange-looking house-elf, seeing his gloomy face, suddenly perked up. "I can tell you, but you must write back to your master."
"Tell me everything you know," Ron said worriedly.
Half an hour later, Ron learned everything and his face turned as red as his hair.
He quickly scribbled a note, handed it to the house-elf named Dobby, then rushed up the stairs to his house and shouted towards the twins' room, "Fred! George! I need your help!"