Harry vented to Asclepius in the cupboard under the stairs, his Parseltongue hissing like a draft to the unaware.
"Muggles are trash. They locked me up without listening… Dobby's the real culprit…"
Asclepius tilted its head. "Dobby's got a master pulling strings, right? Some reason behind it."
"He said he acted alone to protect me from someone trying to kill me—by socially killing me! How stupid is that?" Harry's rage targeted Dobby too, for stealing his friends' and Sirius's letters, triggering a Ministry warning. He'd love to blast Dobby with Incendio.
With Azrael's July 20th party days away, Harry was trapped, confined except for bathroom breaks. Missing the party terrified him—betraying friends could end their bond. Azrael wouldn't forgive him. Harry wondered if Azrael felt this dread last year.
On the fourth morning, time blurred, Harry awoke to Vernon arguing.
"Wait, this is my house! You can't barge in!" Vernon bellowed.
"Where's my son? Why can't I see him? Why no letters? Something's wrong!" Sirius's voice.
"Mr. Dursley, we're here to collect Potter. No harm intended. May we see him?" A stranger's voice.
Harry leapt up, swapping into Dudley's oversized hand-me-downs—his decent Muggle clothes confiscated. "Help! Sirius, I'm here! Locked under the stairs!" he shouted.
Seconds later, a thud, then the lock rattled. The door opened, light blinding Harry. Before him stood Sirius, his savior, in a sharp Muggle suit. Beside him, an older man in a suit and hat, looking weary.
"Good morning, Harry Potter?" the man said, tipping his hat.
"Y-Yes. Good morning," Harry replied, bowing.
"This is Jurgen Smirnoff, Ministry Child Welfare. With his approval, I'll care for you this summer," Sirius said.
"I won't allow it!" Vernon roared. "I saw a creature bow to that boy! A twelve-year-old worshipped like that isn't normal! I won't entrust him to your kind!"
"Mr. Dursley, locking a child away and restricting their social ties is abuse," Smirnoff countered.
"It wasn't us! A ragged creature stole his letters—I heard it from the car! A filthy dwarf! We're targeted by your monsters because of your negligence!" Vernon raged. "The boy's changed! Not like our Dudley, not childlike. He judges us while acting obedient. He wasn't like this!"
"Harry's my pride. Watch your insults, Vernon," Sirius said, restraining himself.
Smirnoff studied Harry, waved his wand, and tidied his appearance. "Sadly, Mr. Dursley, investigating that creature isn't my jurisdiction. My duty is clear: Harry shouldn't stay here."
Vernon cursed Smirnoff's bureaucracy. "You've no right! You neglected him until now!"
"As explained, Sirius, Harry's godfather, has the right to raise him. He was recently freed," Smirnoff replied, magically restoring the Dursleys' home. The cupboard gleamed.
Vernon relented, not from reason but fear of Smirnoff's wand. Harry thought, Magic silences those who won't listen. Muggles fear wizards.
Harry gave a perfunctory bow to the Dursleys and left with Sirius, ignoring Petunia's stunned gaze.
"Thank you, Sirius, Mr. Smirnoff," Harry said, smiling genuinely for the first time since returning. Asclepius hissed, "Good for you."
"Sorry for the delay, Harry. Permissions took time," Sirius said. He'd grown suspicious when Harry's letters stopped, spotting Dobby stealing them and using magic. "The Ministry insisted a house-elf wouldn't act without orders. I got Smirnoff through Arthur Weasley. They saved you."
"I just did my job," Smirnoff said.
"Mr. Smirnoff, can't you better identify who used magic?" Harry asked.
"The Ministry tracks underage magic, but it's imperfect," Smirnoff admitted.
Harry fumed. A false warning, nearly expelled for another's magic—it was unfair.
"If a Muggle sees magic, it risks exposure. It's unavoidable," Smirnoff said.
"Why care about Muggles? I suffered, and others might too," Harry protested.
"If an adult wizard's nearby, can't you tell if a kid used magic?" Harry pressed. "Is it ignored then?"
Smirnoff's silence confirmed it. Harry's anger surged. I restrained myself, but others can cast freely?
"It's unfair for Muggle-borns, but it protects wizards," Smirnoff explained. "Magic mishaps without adult supervision can be deadly."
Harry recalled Zabini's failed spell causing burns, untreatable by Muggle means. The rule made sense but felt unjust. Only wizards could access potions like Zabini's, leaving Muggle-borns vulnerable.
Smirnoff drove them to Diagon Alley without interference. "No disruptions this time," he noted.
He was looking for the culprit, Harry realized, his respect for Smirnoff rising.
"Thanks, Jurgen. Without you, I might've cursed them," Sirius said.
"Mind the child," Smirnoff replied. "Harry, we strive to keep kids safe and happy. Contact us if needed. I hope for no bad news. Sirius, keep up your reports."
"Got it. See you, Jurgen," Sirius said.
Smirnoff tipped his hat and left. Harry moved into Sirius's borrowed home, their new life beginning.
Jurgen Smirnoff parked at a supermarket, smoking. His new role exposed him to vile households, requiring a cigarette to cope.
"The wizarding world's savior, a Muggle bigot. Not funny," he muttered. Vernon's words stung—Smirnoff knew the Ministry's negligence. Funded by pure-bloods, Muggle welfare was understaffed. Without reports, he couldn't act. He accepted being a cog in a flawed system.
Sighing, he extinguished his cigarette, cleared the smell with Scourgify, and disapparated to help the next child. The wizarding world's order rested on unsung workers like him.
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