July 31st, 1992, 221B Baker Street, London, 11:47 PM
The wards surrounding 221B Baker Street hummed with quiet vigilance, invisible threads of protective magic woven so intricately that they formed something akin to a fortress. Ancient runes carved into the foundation stones pulsed with steady power, whilst more modern enchantments—Ethan's own innovations—created overlapping layers of detection and defence that would make even Hogwarts' protections seem quaint by comparison.
It was these wards that first registered the intrusion attempt.
In his study on the second floor, Ethan's eyes opened despite the late hour. He'd been reviewing correspondence from Howard regarding the preliminary planning for the International Confederation for Magical's Cooperation when the subtle shift in the ward structure alerted him to an unauthorised presence attempting to breach the perimeter.
Not attempting to break through—the wards would have responded with considerably more alarm to that. No, this was something trying to slip between the layers, exploiting the natural gaps that existed in any defensive network designed to allow authorised individuals passage.
House-elf magic.
Ethan's dark amber eyes gleamed with interest as he stood, moving silently to the window. His True Sight activated with barely a thought, the world suddenly overlaid with flowing streams of magical energy—the wards appeared as golden threads, the ambient magic of London as a soft blue haze, and there, struggling against the outermost defensive layer, a small knot of desperate, chaotic green.
'A house-elf,' Ethan confirmed, watching as the creature bounced off the ward barrier for the third time, only to reappear a few metres away and try again. 'And a bound one, at that. And these...magical tethers connecting it to... somewhere.'
The elf—male, wearing what appeared to be a filthy pillowcase—attempted to Apparate directly into Harry's room. The wards caught him mid-transition, ejecting him back outside with a force that sent the small creature tumbling across the street.
Ethan winced sympathetically. That had to hurt.
The elf picked himself up, shook his oversized head, and immediately tried again. And again. And again, each failure more desperate than the last, each attempt leaving the creature visibly more exhausted.
'Persistent little thing,' Ethan thought, settling into his chair by the window. He made no move to intervene, content to observe. 'What could drive a house-elf to risk this kind of ward backlash repeatedly? My wards are designed to deter hostile wizards—the impact on a creature as magically sensitive as a house-elf... must be agonising.'
The elf's determination was remarkable. For nearly twenty minutes, it continued its futile assault on the wards, trying different approaches, different entry points, even attempting to slip through the chimney flue before being rebuffed by the internal protections.
Finally, exhausted and clearly in pain, the elf Disapparated with a small, defeated pop.
Ethan sat back, his mind already working through the implications. A house-elf, trying desperately to reach Harry. The timing—just before Harry's birthday, just before the start of the new school term. The sheer determination despite obvious suffering.
'Something is about to happen at Hogwarts,' Ethan concluded as his eye shone with brilliance starlight. 'Something this elf believes is dangerous enough to risk punishment, pain, and repeated failure to warn Harry about.'
He could have ended it quickly—disabled the wards temporarily, allowed the elf entry, extracted the information directly. But Ethan had learned long ago that sometimes the most valuable intelligence came from patient observation rather than direct intervention.
Let the elf make its attempts. Let the pattern reveal itself. And when the time was right, Ethan would ensure the meeting occurred on terms that maximised information gain whilst minimising risk.
He returned to his correspondence, making a mental note to monitor the wards more closely over the coming days.
July 31st, 1992, 221B Baker Street, London, 2:15 PM
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY!"
The chorus of voices filled the sitting room as Harry descended the stairs, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. He'd stayed up late reading—a detective novel Luna had recommended—and the morning had gotten away from him.
What greeted him stopped him mid-step, his mouth falling open in surprise.
The sitting room had been transformed. Enchanted streamers in Gryffindor red and gold floated near the ceiling, occasionally swooping down to ruffle people's hair before darting away. A magnificent cake sat on the table—three layers, decorated with moving starlight. Presents were stacked in a gleaming pile by the fireplace, and the air smelled of Ethan's cooking—something rich and savoury that made Harry's stomach rumble.
But it was the people that truly made Harry's heart swell.
Ethan stood by the mantelpiece, his usually reserved expression softened into a genuine smile. Remus was beside him, eyes crinkling with warmth. Sam lounged in an armchair, looking simultaneously amused and slightly uncomfortable with the domestic sentiment—but he was here, and that was what mattered.
Luna sat cross-legged on the floor, her radish earrings swinging as she tilted her head to examine the enchanted streamers. "The Nargles are having a lovely time with the decorations," she announced cheerfully.
Ron stood near the cake, eyeing it with barely concealed hunger. "Blimey, Harry, is that a Snitch made of actual gold on top?"
"Gold-leaf fondant," Ethan corrected mildly. "I'm not wealthy enough to waste actual gold on cake decorations."
Hermione was practically vibrating with excitement near the bookshelves, her bushy hair even more untamed than usual. "Harry! Happy birthday! I hope you don't mind, but Mr. Esther said I could look at his collection and—oh, Harry, he has a first edition of 'Moste Potente Potions' and a complete set of 'The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection' volumes and—"
"Breathe, Hermione," Draco suggested from his position by the window, though his tone was amused rather than mocking. "You'll hyperventilate, and then we'll have to revive you, and that would delay the cake."
"Priorities, Malfoy?" Ron grinned, rolling his eyes.
"Always," Draco replied smoothly.
Harry felt his throat tighten with emotion. His friends—all of them, here, for him. He caught Ethan's eye, and his father nodded slightly, understanding without words.
"I—thank you," Harry managed, his voice thick. "All of you. This is... it's brilliant."
"Wait until you see the presents," Ron said eagerly. "I got you something actually good this year and it's certainly not Chocolate Frogs!"
"I liked the Chocolate Frogs," Harry protested.
"You got six Dumbledore cards," Ron pointed out. "Six! That's just bad luck."
The afternoon dissolved into cheerful chaos. They ate Ethan's cooking—a magnificent spread of Harry's favourites, from shepherd's pie to treacle tart—and played games that ranged from Wizard's Chess, which obviously Ron dominated.
To a complex strategy game involving enchanted creatures that Luna inexplicably won despite appearing to make completely random moves leaving quite an impression on Hermione, a good one for broadening the book-smart girl's perception.
Hermione spent a considerable portion of the celebration in animated discussion with Ethan about magical theory, her eyes bright with intellectual excitement. At one point, Harry overheard her saying, "But Mr. Professor Esther, if we apply Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration to the runic matrices you described, wouldn't that create a cascade effect in the—"
"Precisely, Miss Granger," Ethan replied, looking genuinely pleased. "Though you'd need to account for the harmonic resonance between..."
They lost themselves in technical discussion that went completely over Harry's head, but watching Hermione glow under Ethan's attention warmed something in Harry's chest. His Dad had that effect on people—making them feel valued, intelligent, worthy of serious consideration.
The presents were opened amid much laughter and teasing.
Ron gave him a book about famous Quidditch seekers ["Thought it might help with strategy, even if you're not playing"].
Hermione presented a carefully organised study schedule for second year, colour-coded by subject ["I know it seems excessive, but you'll thank me later"].
Draco's gift was a set of high-quality potion ingredients in a elegant wooden case ["Your potion work is adequate, Potter, but better ingredients will improve your results"].
Luna's present made Harry laugh—a pair of spectacles with multiple rotating lenses.
"For seeing things that are hidden," she explained seriously. "The Wrackspurts don't like them at all, which means they work brilliantly."
Sam's gift was practical—a defensive spell manual with a note: "Ethan says you're progressing well. This should challenge you appropriately. Try not to blow anything up. —S.F."
Remus gave him a photo album, but not just any album—this one was enchanted to organise photographs automatically by date and event, with space for written memories alongside each image.
"For documenting your Hogwarts years properly," Remus said warmly.
Ethan's gift came last. It was a slender wooden box, beautifully crafted from what Harry recognised as English oak. When he opened it, his breath caught.
Inside, nestled on midnight blue velvet, was a silver pocket watch. Not unlike Ethan's own golden one, but sized for younger hands. The face was elegantly simple, with constellation markers instead of numbers. But it was the inscription on the back that made Harry's eyes sting:
"To Harry. May you always find your way home. With love, Dad."
"It's keyed to the wards at Baker Street," Ethan explained quietly as the others politely pretended not to watch the emotional moment. "Should you ever need to return home quickly, press the stem three times. It will create a Portkey directly to the sitting room. Emergency use only, of course."
"Dad," Harry whispered, not trusting his voice for more. He stood and hugged Ethan tightly, feeling his father's arms wrap around him in return.
"Happy birthday, Harry," Ethan murmured.
There was one final present, a package with no name, wrapped in simple brown paper.
Harry opened it to find a superbly crafted leather journal with a built-in enchantment that prevented anyone but the owner from reading it.
No note, no signature. But Remus and Sam exchanged knowing glances with Ethan, and Harry caught his father's slight nod. 'Sirius'
The thought was bittersweet, but Harry carefully placed the journal with his other gifts, silently acknowledging the gesture.
As the party wound down and his friends began heading home—Ron via Floo powder, after nearly tripping into the fireplace, Hermione collected by her parents and Draco departing with aristocratic composure.
Luna lingered.
"It was a lovely party," she told Harry, her grey eyes warm. "You have very good friends."
"I do," Harry agreed, glancing at Ethan, who was deep in conversation with Sam and Remus. "I really do."
That night, lying in bed with Jasper nestled on his pillow and Osian snoring softly in his kennel, Harry felt a contentment he'd never experienced during his years with the Dursleys.
He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face, completely unaware of the house-elf watching forlornly from the street below, still trying desperately to find a way past the wards.
August 7th, 1992, Hyde Park, London, 10:23 AM
Ethan had been drilling Harry on physically education for nearly an hour, and the boy's shirt was soaked with sweat despite the mild summer weather. Luna sat nearby on a bench, reading a book about theoretical applications of Divination whilst occasionally looking up to offer encouraging comments.
"Again," Ethan instructed, his wand creating a series of moving targets—floating spheres that darted unpredictably through the air. "Steady, breath, focus. And Harry—anticipate, don't react."
Harry's eyes shone with determination. His physique had improved dramatically over the summer, though his father's relentless training regimen sometimes felt more gruelling than any Hogwarts lesson.
"Better," Ethan acknowledged as Harry successfully tagged the last red sphere. "Splendid fluidity. You're thinking less and trusting your muscle memory more."
"Thanks," Harry panted, wiping sweat from his forehead.
It was then that Harry felt it—that same prickling sensation he'd experienced several times over the past week. The feeling of being watched, of someone desperately trying to reach him but unable to cross some invisible barrier.
He'd mentioned it to Ethan, who'd simply nodded thoughtfully and told him to remain alert. Now, the sensation was stronger than ever, more urgent.
"Dad," Harry said quietly, his hand moving instinctively to his wand. "It's happening again. That feeling—"
"I know," Ethan said calmly.
Luna looked up from her book, her eyes suddenly sharp. "Oh! The peculiar magical signature I've been sensing. It's very close now. Very distressed, too. Poor thing."
A small pop announced the house-elf's arrival.
Harry barely had time to register the creature's appearance—large, bat-like ears, bulging green eyes, and a filthy pillowcase serving as clothing—before it threw itself at his feet with a wail.
"Harry Potter!" the elf sobbed, his voice high and anguished. "Dobby has been trying for weeks! Dobby must warn Harry Potter—Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts!"
Harry blinked, completely wrong-footed. "What? Why—"
"There is danger, terrible danger! Dobby has tried and tried to reach Harry Potter, but the Great Seer's wards are too strong—Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter, but Dobby must warn—"
"Hold on," Harry interrupted, crouching down to the elf's level despite his confusion. Beside him, Luna had approached with obvious fascination, her head tilted as she studied the distraught creature.
"You're a house-elf," Luna observed. "But your magic feels quite unusual. All tangled up with worry and duty and... oh, you're bound to someone, aren't you? Someone you don't particularly like."
Dobby's eyes widened at Luna's perceptiveness. "Miss is very clever! Yes, Dobby is bound to a family that is most cruel, but Dobby cannot say more—house-elves must not speak ill of their masters—"
"Then don't," Ethan's calm voice cut through the elf's distress. He'd approached silently, his dark amber eyes fixed on Dobby with that peculiar intensity that meant his True Sight was active. "Simply tell us what danger you believe awaits Harry at Hogwarts. Be specific, if you can."
Dobby wrung his hands, his large ears drooping. "Dobby cannot say too much—the magic of his binding forbids it—but terrible things are planned! Terrible things that will put Harry Potter in danger! The Great Seer must keep Harry Potter safe, must not let him return—"
"What terrible things?" Harry pressed, his earlier wariness giving way to genuine concern. The elf's distress was palpable and clearly genuine.
"Dobby cannot say!" the elf wailed, beginning to pull at his ears in clear distress. "Dobby has already said too much—master will punish Dobby terribly—but Harry Potter must be warned! Plot, there is a plot—"
Ethan's wand moved in a subtle gesture, and suddenly Dobby froze mid-wail, not petrified but... calmed. It was as if the elf's panic had been gently dampened, allowing rational thought to surface.
"Dobby," Ethan said gently, kneeling to put himself at the elf's eye level, "I appreciate your courage in coming here, in trying so persistently to warn Harry despite obvious risk to yourself. That speaks to genuine care and bravery."
Dobby's eyes filled with tears. "The Great Seer is too kind to poor Dobby—"
"I'm observant," Ethan corrected mildly. "And what I observe is a house-elf bound to the Malfoy family—don't bother denying it, I can see the magical signature of the binding—who is trying desperately to protect someone he's never met because he believes that person to be in danger."
Dobby's hands flew to his mouth in horror at being identified, but Ethan continued before the elf could panic further.
"I also observe," Ethan said, his True Sight still active, reading layers of magic and compulsion surrounding the trembling elf.
Dobby's eyes were huge now, tears streaming down his face. "The Great Seer sees all! Dobby did not need to say—Dobby has not betrayed master—but yes, yes, terrible danger for Muggle-borns, for all students! The object must not reach Hogwarts!"
Harry's mind was racing. Something at Hogwarts? Something that endangered Muggle-borns? Hermione was Muggle-born. So were several of his other classmates.
"What object?" Harry demanded.
But the elf was shaking his head frantically. "Dobby cannot say more without betraying master! Already Dobby has said too much, confirmed too much! Dobby will be punished severely, but it was worth it to warn Harry Potter!"
Ethan's expression had gone contemplative, his analytical mind clearly working through possibilities. "An object. Dark. Old. Something Lucius would risk using despite knowing the consequences if discovered. Something specifically designed to target Muggle-borns." His eyes sharpened. "A cursed artefact, perhaps? One with enough intelligence to act semi-autonomously?"
Dobby's desperate expression was answer enough, even though the binding prevented verbal confirmation.
"Right," Ethan said decisively. "Dobby, listen carefully. I will not force you to violate your binding—that would cause you genuine harm, and I have no desire to hurt someone trying to do good. But I will investigate this matter thoroughly. I will ensure that whatever Lucius Malfoy is planning does not succeed in harming students."
"The Great Seer will protect Harry Potter?" Dobby asked hopefully.
"I will protect all the students," Ethan corrected. "Harry included. You have my word as a Seer and as an Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries."
The weight of that oath settled over them—not a magical binding, but a promise given with full intent and power behind it. Dobby clearly felt it, his trembling easing slightly.
"Thank you, Great Seer," Dobby whispered. "Dobby is grateful, so grateful—"
"Before you go," Ethan said, pulling out a small card from his pocket—one of Atid Stella's business cards, Harry noticed. "Take this. If you discover more information that you believe I should know, or if you find yourself in danger from your master's wrath, tap this card three times and speak my name. It will alert me, and I will come."
Dobby took the card with shaking hands, staring at it as if it were the most precious gift imaginable. "The Great Seer is too kind—Dobby does not deserve—"
"You deserve basic decency and the opportunity to do good without being punished for it," Ethan said firmly. "Now go, before your absence is noted. And Dobby? Thank you. Your warning may well save lives."
With a final, tearful look at Harry, Dobby Disapparated with a soft pop.
Silence settled over the park. Luna broke it first.
"He was terrified," she said quietly, "but he came anyway. That's rather extraordinary bravery for such a small creature."
"It is," Ethan agreed, standing and dusting off his knees. His expression had gone distant, calculating.
Ethan said grimly. "Come. We're returning home immediately. I need to consult some references, and I need to send some very carefully worded messages to certain individuals at the Ministry."
As they gathered their things and prepared to leave, Harry couldn't shake the image of Dobby's desperate, tear-filled eyes.
'Something terrible is coming to Hogwarts,' he thought with growing dread.
He glanced at Ethan, who was already composing messages on enchanted parchment that would send themselves the moment they returned home. His father's expression was focused, determined.
Whatever was coming, they would face it. They would stop it.
They had to.
Because the alternative—students hurt, Hermione in danger, chaos at Hogwarts—was simply unacceptable.