Harry was feeling somewhat disoriented, still trying to piece together the strange chain of events that had carried him from last night into this morning. His mind refused to settle. He felt as though he was caught in some invisible storm, each gust of memory pulling him in a different direction.
To make matters worse, the Dursleys had chosen today to leave the house altogether. Vernon bellowed through the locked door that they were going to watch Dudley compete in some championship event. As usual, Vernon's last words to Harry were a gruff threat: he was not to touch the house or do anything suspicious, or he'd "get the same treatment as last night."
Harry barely listened. His uncle's words fell flat against the heavier storm already swirling in his mind. What were the Dursleys compared to phoenix fire, Horcrux destruction, and Hedwig's sudden revelation that she could speak?
He muttered a distracted "Okay" and drifted to the window, letting his thoughts churn while the summer light poured across the floor.
He wanted to talk to Hedwig again. He wanted answers. Now that he knew she could speak, questions pressed at him from all sides. Where was she? Why had she stayed silent all these years? And what exactly had Fawkes meant when he said:
"There are allies waiting to stand with you, if you choose to trust them."
The words refused to leave him. They echoed in his head until he muttered aloud, "Allies? Who? Ron and Hermione? That can't be it… that's too obvious."
He was still brooding when a sharp tap on the window jolted him back to the present.
Hedwig.
Harry scrambled from the bed, fumbling with the latch to let her in. She soared through the window gracefully, brushing against his ear with a playful nip before flying straight to her perch. She fluffed her feathers, perfectly at home.
Harry, however, stared at her with the weight of everything unspoken.
"Er… Hedwig," he began cautiously.
She turned her amber eyes on him, unblinking.
"If you could speak all along," he asked hesitantly, "why didn't you say anything before?"
Her reply was curt. "It wasn't necessary until last night. You were slipping into a coma. I could not let that happen."
The words hit Harry with more force than he cared to admit. His chest tightened. "Thank you," he whispered. "For saving me." He offered her an owl treat, his gratitude awkward but sincere.
She accepted without fuss, then fixed him with another piercing look.
"About what Fawkes said," Harry pressed. "When he said I have allies… what did he mean?"
"You really are dense sometimes, Potter," Hedwig said dryly, her voice edged with the sharpness of truth. "Think. Who has stood by you without being asked? Or better yet, who have you helped? True power lies in selfless acts. Those acts forge bonds stronger than blood."
Harry frowned, running through the memories in his head: Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Hagrid, even Buckbeak. He thought of the dangers he'd faced for them, the times they had stood with him. But were those truly selfless? Weren't those just… friendship?
Then his mind snagged on one memory.
The Chamber of Secrets. A trembling elf. A sock slipped into a diary.
"Dobby," Harry breathed. "Fawkes meant Dobby, didn't he?"
"Yes," Hedwig replied simply. "You freed him without expecting anything in return. But you also endangered him."
Harry's brow furrowed. "Endangered him? How?"
"Elves are bound to wizards for a reason," Hedwig explained, her tone softer now. "Their magic draws strength from that bond. Without it, their power fades, until even their lives begin to wither. When you freed Dobby, you freed him from servitude, yes—but you also stripped away the bond that fed his magic."
Harry's stomach lurched. "But the elves at Hogwarts… they're not bonded. How do they survive?"
"They draw on Hogwarts itself," Hedwig said. "Old magic lies in its stones, sustaining them. But it is shallow. Enough for food and cleaning, not enough for true strength. Dobby does not share even that connection. He is free… and fading."
A heavy silence fell. Harry's pulse quickened.
"Try calling him," Hedwig said at last. "See for yourself."
Harry swallowed hard. He licked his lips nervously before clearing his throat. "Dobby!"
With a sharp crack, the little elf appeared in the center of the room.
He wore his usual odd assortment of garments—patched cloth wrapped loosely about his small body, mismatched socks pulled up proudly on his feet. His tennis-ball eyes widened with joy.
"Harry Potter has called Dobby! It is the greatest day of Dobby's life!" the elf squeaked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "What can Dobby do for the greatest wizard of our time?"
Harry smiled weakly at the enthusiasm but noticed at once that something was off. Dobby looked older. Frailer. His skin sagged, his hands trembled slightly, and though his voice brimmed with excitement, his body did not match.
"Dobby," Harry said carefully. "How are you?"
"Dobby is free and happy at Hogwarts, Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said quickly. But even as he spoke, he pinched his ears, and his gaze dropped to the floor.
Harry's throat went dry. "You look… different. Older. What happened to you?"
Dobby's ears drooped. His voice came out thin, cracked with weariness. "Dobby's magic is fading, Harry Potter. Fading without a bond. Hogwarts keeps Dobby alive, but slowly, slowly… Dobby grows weaker. Elves without masters do not live long."
Harry's heart sank like a stone. Hermione's voice echoed in his mind—her passion for S.P.E.W., her insistence that elves deserved better. Ron's laughter had always brushed it aside. But standing here, seeing Dobby tremble, it no longer felt like one of Hermione's eccentric causes. It was life or death.
Harry asked quickly, "Why not bond with a kind family? Someone who'd respect you?"
Dobby shook his head, tears shining in his eyes. "Dobby will not be a slave again. Dobby wants freedom. Wages. Choice. But wizard families sneer. They call Dobby unnatural. They turn him away."
Harry clenched his fists. Anger rose hot and sharp in his chest. "That's not fair. You deserve better."
Hedwig, silent until now, tilted her head. "Why not ask Dumbledore to bond with you?"
At once, Dobby stiffened. His ears flattened. His voice dropped to a fearful whisper. "Dumbledore… did not want to. He said it was better for Dobby to stay as he was."
Harry blinked, confused. "But… why?"
Before Dobby could answer, his small body shuddered violently. He clutched his chest, staggering forward. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor with a gasp.
"Dobby!" Harry shouted, dropping beside him.
The elf's breaths came shallow and ragged. His fingers twitched, sparks of unstable magic flickering weakly at his fingertips before fizzling out.
"His magic is burning away," Hedwig said urgently, wings flaring. "If nothing is done soon, he won't last the summer."
Panic surged through Harry. He looked at Dobby's pale, trembling form and felt a surge of guilt like a knife to the gut. I freed him. I did this without even knowing what it meant.
"No," Harry whispered fiercely. "I won't let this happen." He looked at Hedwig, desperation in his eyes. "What do I do?"
"There are answers in places wizards rarely dare look," Hedwig said gravely. "You must seek the truth in Gringotts. Only there will you learn how to save him."
Harry tightened his grip on Dobby's frail hand. "Then I'll go. Whatever it takes. I'll fix this."
Dobby's wide eyes fluttered open, tears slipping down his cheeks. "Harry Potter… is too kind. Dobby… trusts Harry Potter."
Harry swallowed hard, determination blazing through his fear. He would not fail him.
But in the corner of the room, unseen, a faint shimmer of silver light flickered and then vanished. Somewhere beyond Privet Drive, far away, another wizard stirred as if noticing something slipping beyond his control.
Somewhere, far from Privet Drive, another man shifted uneasily in his chair. Severus Snape scowled at the empty glass in his hand, as though its lack of firewhisky were the true source of his restlessness. But he knew better.
The blasted boy.
He told himself it was irritation that Harry Potter had once again managed to take up residence in his mind. Potter, with his father's face and arrogant stance, flaunting his existence as though the world owed him adoration. Yet… Snape could not banish the image of the boy at the end of the Triwizard Tournament: bloodied, shaking, clutching Diggory's corpse with eyes too old for fifteen.
Snape sneered. Foolish sentimentality. Potter had survived — barely. That was the boy's specialty, after all. And yet… the silence from Dumbledore gnawed at him. The Headmaster had spoken of "monitoring the boy's recovery" with infuriating vagueness. Too vague. And whenever Snape pressed, Albus shifted the conversation elsewhere, eyes twinkling with that infuriating I know best look.
What if Potter truly wasn't being tended to properly?
No. Impossible. The boy was coddled, overprotected, likely lounging in comfort while the rest of them suffered under the Dark Lord's return. That was the more logical picture. That was what James Potter's son deserved.
And yet… another thought wormed its way in, unbidden and unwelcome. Lily. Her eyes — Potter's eyes — hollowed with the weight of things no child should see. Snape gripped the arm of his chair hard enough that his knuckles whitened. He despised how often those cursed eyes forced his own hand.
"Sentimentality is weakness," he muttered aloud. His voice was low, sharp, but it didn't stop the thought that perhaps — perhaps — a visit to Privet Drive was in order.
Not out of concern. Never that.
He could frame it as necessary surveillance, a reminder to the boy of who truly kept him in check. Harassment, not protection. That was safer to admit. And if he found… if he discovered…
Snape rose, robes snapping behind him. He told himself it was only to put restlessness to use, only to ensure the Golden Boy hadn't somehow endangered them all again. He told himself he would take a small measure of satisfaction in Potter's discomfort.
And still, he could not entirely banish the bitter taste in his mouth — nor the sharp, quiet dread that perhaps the boy was already worse off than Dumbledore allowed anyone to see.
Fawkes's soft trill broke the silence. The great phoenix reappeared in a swirl of gold and crimson flame, his feathers catching the dim light with an almost defiant brilliance. His dark eyes studied Harry for a long moment, and then shifted toward Dobby, who was sagging, pale and trembling, against Harry's side.
"Fawkes…" Harry whispered, relief loosening something in his chest. Hedwig ruffled her feathers but gave a sharp approving hoot as though she had summoned him herself.
The phoenix lowered his head, extending one wing to shelter both boy and elf. The note that escaped him was low, urgent — a sound Harry had never heard before but understood all the same. Not here. Not safe. You must come.
Harry tightened his hold on Dobby, who was growing colder by the minute. "Gringotts," he said quietly, almost to himself. The thought had been planted in his mind the night Fawkes first healed him, and now it pulsed like certainty. "That's where we'll find answers."
Hedwig hopped onto the arm of the sofa, her eyes glinting fiercely, as if daring anyone to try and take Harry from her again.
Fawkes spread his wings wide, fire beginning to crackle along their edges. The warmth chased away the shadows of Privet Drive, filling the small room with light.
Harry nodded once, his decision made. "Take us."
The phoenix gave a single piercing cry — and the world dissolved into fire.