I hope you had a lovely weekend.
- Luce
----0000----
Harry
"I need you to hold still." Lynne said, already taking Harry's wrist.
He barely had time to nod before she turned on the spot. The world exploded in a swirl. It wasn't like flying, or falling, or being spun, it was like all of them happening at once. His body compressed, crushed from all sides, like he'd been forced through the eye of a needle. His lungs couldn't find air, his ears rang and every part of him screamed that this was wrong.
As quickly as the dreadful sensation had set in, it banished as they hit the ground. Harry stumbled forward and fell to his knees, coughing violently. The scent of wet leaves and cold soil filled his nose. Lynne stood beside him, perfectly steady, her coat flaring slightly in the wind. She looked down at him with concern.
He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "That… was awful. What was that?"
"It gets better. Slightly. It's called Apparition, you will learn it eventually."
"I don't think I want to." Harry muttered, then he glared at her. "You could've warned me."
She looked amused for a second. "I did. I said 'hold still.'"
He groaned and pushed himself upright. Around them stretched a quiet, empty field bordered by thick woods. The sky above was pale with late afternoon light, streaked with gray clouds that hung low and heavy.
"Where are we?" he asked, adjusting his coat.
"We are a few kilometers away from the house, but I couldn't take us closer than this." she said simply. "We don't apparate near the safehouse, for safety. This travel method can be tracked by someone powerful enough. Apparating directly inside doesn't work either, too many wards. We walk the rest of the way there."
"Of course we do." he muttered, falling into step behind her.
They walked for nearly an hour, following no path that Harry could see. The landscape grew wilder with every step, grass gave way to mossy stone, the trees twisted into strange shapes, and birds he didn't recognize chirped in three-tone rhythms. Once, something long and silver darted between the trees, and Lynne didn't even flinch.
Harry kept glancing over his shoulder.
"You're twitchy." Lynne noted, glancing back once.
"This whole place is twitchy." he replied. "Where are we really?"
"I cannot say."
"Helpful."
They crossed through a dry creek bed littered with pale stones. Just beyond, the air shifted, subtly at first, like stepping through a curtain. The fine hairs on Harry's arms stood on end.
He stopped mid-step.
Lynne looked back at him. "You feel it?"
"Yeah. Like static."
"It's the Wardline. Outside of it, it's risky, inside it you will always be safe."
She stepped forward and touched her fingers to the air. There was a faint shimmer, almost like heat rippling off stone, and then the feeling vanished. She beckoned him through.
Harry followed and immediately felt the shift again. He couldn't even describe it with words.
"He built it to keep things out. Or in." Lynne said
Before Harry could ask what she meant, the trees parted. The house appeared at the far end of a sunken path, a once-grand mansion now wrapped in ivy and neglect. Its stone façade was cracked in several places, windows shuttered or fogged over. Iron spires fell from the rooftop like old trees, and vines strangled the columns framing the front entrance.
The wrought iron gate ahead bore no name. Just a crest carved into the stone: a hand, palm open, with no fingers.
"Here we are." Lynne said.
Harry swallowed. "This is your safehouse?"
"Well, not mine but for now we will make it our own, yes."
"Looks more like a haunted house."
Lynne didn't argue but chuckled slightly. The iron gate groaned on its hinges as she pushed it open.
The path up to the mansion was overgrown with grass and peppered with thorny weeds. Cracks split the flagstones like old scars. The windows above were black and dust-blind, and the stone arch above the doorway bore what looked like ancient burns. Moss grew between the bricks. Everything smelled faintly of damp and iron.
They stepped through the gate into the property. Harry hoped the inside of the house was in better shape, he had learnt that you could never know for sure with magic.
"Homey." Harry muttered.
----0000----
Lynne reached the front door and placed her metal palm against the wood. It shimmered beneath her touch, not visibly, but Harry felt it, the air shifted again, like stepping through a thin spider web. The door clicked, Swinging open with no sound.
Harry stepped inside and stopped dead. The contrast was instant, the inside was completely stunning. A 180 turn from the outside.
The entry hall glowed with polished charm. Tall ceilings arched overhead in clean stone, lit by flickering crystal sconces and a suspended chandelier of carved glass and brass. The floor was made from smooth black marble, so clean he could see his reflection stretching underfoot. Rich carpets patterned in deep navy and silver ran from the threshold into three hallways that split off like a compass.
Everything inside was immaculate, pristine. There was no dust. No smell of decay. The air was cool, dry, and faintly scented with something crisp.
It was beautiful. Harry turned in place slowly.
"This… isn't what I expected."
Lynne walked past him, not even glancing around. "He always said appearances are the first line of defense. Although the wards keep most people away, even if they spy from afar they will only see a worn out place and assume an old family house, abandoned."
Harry reached out and touched the nearest column, smooth stone. He couldn't imagine this place ever being dirty.
From somewhere down one of the halls, the sound of footsteps approached, steady, slow, marked by the subtle tap of a cane on polished marble.
Harry straightened as the sound drew closer. The man who stepped into view moved slowly, but with purpose.
His cane tapped once more on the stone as he paused at the far end of the hall. He wore dark robes, well-tailored but a little aged, with silver trim along the sleeves and collar. His face was pale, hollow-cheeked, with the kind of sharp features that looked carved rather than grown. One eye was slightly clouded, the other a piercing gray that immediately landed on Harry.
He looked tired, not weak, but worn. Like a statue that had weathered too many storms. And yet, when he smiled, his voice was warm and effortless.
"Harry Potter." he said. "At last."
"Hello." Harry said weakly.
"I'm told you've had quite the year." the man continued, walking closer. His cane made a dry, clean sound with each step. "And quite the company."
Lynne stood beside Harry now, posture straight, hands behind her back, like a soldier at attention.
"Sir." she said softly.
His gaze flicked to her, and that warm smile deepened, though Harry noticed it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You brought him here safely. Well done. As expected."
"As you instructed, mentor."
"Yes, good work. To be honest I expected a bit more of an opposition but clearly there was no one really looking after you, Harry."
He was not surprised. If someone was watching him, the Dursley wouldn't have hurt him so much. Glancing to his side, Harry felt that something was not quite right at the way Lynne looked at him in adoration. The man finally reached them and extended a hand.
"You may call me Thorne."
Harry shook it. Thorne's grip was dry and his hands felt rough.
"I imagine this house looks better inside than it does from the lane." Thorne said, gesturing around them. "Intentional, of course. Camouflage is more reliable than confrontation."
"Right." Harry said, watching him carefully.
Thorne turned to Lynne. "There's work to be done, you will help him settle in. Harry, I'm sure you're tired. You'll have your own room upstairs, east wing. Third door on the right. The house will keep you safe."
Harry blinked. "The house?"
"It's enchanted. No one would dare make a bad move inside or outside. And there is also a house elf that will be watching over."
"Thanks." Harry muttered under his breath, then after a moment asked "Wait, what is a house-elf?"
Thorne laughed, startling him. "Zicky!" he called.
With a soft pop a small creature appeared at Thorne's side. His small frame straightening with purpose the moment his feet touched the floor. His skin was the color of aged parchment, stretched tightly over wiry limbs, and his large, slanted eyes gleamed with a pale silver sheen.
He wore a deep blue waistcoat tailored from fine drapery, adorned with a silver chain and a tarnished pin shaped like an open hand, the same emblem carved into the mansion's gate.
"Yes, master?" it said. Zicky moved with solemn grace, each bow and gesture precise and practiced. His voice, though soft, carried a curiously stern cadence
"This is our guest Harry Potter, he is to be treated as if he were family. He may call you if he needs anything." Thorne said.
"You honor me with such an esteemed guest, master. The last Potter in our household! I'll be proud to serve you."
Harry didn't understand why such a creature would refer with reverence bordering on worship if they were there to work, but Zicky reminded him of a butler in movies he had seen as a kid. Not that he had seen many, but he remembered the few he did see. Maybe magical butlers were slightly different.
Thorne smiled again, then turned to Lynne, this time with a little more tooth. "How are you faring?"
"Sub-optimal, I need recalibration. It can wait a few more weeks without major issues."
"We'll fix that. In time." He turned to Harry this time. "I'm sure you are wondering what is going on, but I will explain more in due time."
"Will she be alright?" Harry finally asked.
"Yes, for sure." Thorne said, "Sometimes even steel wears down if left too long outside. You just need to maintain it." he said, almost detached.
"While you settle in, I will begin preparing what is necessary for Lynne." Thorne added, already turning toward the hallway behind him, a long corridor flanked with runes and dim candlelight. "So that she can be herself again."
"I will go ahead and help you, master." Said Zicky, disappearing again with a soft pop.
Harry looked at Thorne who, with no more words, began slowly limping away. When he turned he saw Lynne with this strange look on her face, almost as if she were a puppy looking at their owner when they had been promised a treat.
Thorne opened a door of iron and stone and disappeared behind it. The door shut behind them with a soft thud.
"Let's go, Harry, I will help you move your things."
----0000----
Thorne stood before the heavy door of the basement, one hand resting lightly on his cane, the other tracing a faint line across the edge of the stone frame.
He turned his head slightly toward Harry. "We'll be occupied for a few days. The procedure to fix Lynne needs time to work correctly. Will you be alright without us?"
Harry didn't ask what that meant. He didn't like the word recalibration, but he didn't quite understand it enough to protest.
"I will be fine." he lied.
"You won't be entirely alone. Call Zicky if you need anything and you are free to adventure through the mansion, there is a library if you want some entertainment. Surely that is something a Ravenclaw can appreciate." he said laughing.
Lynne said nothing. She stepped forward when beckoned, eyes on Thorne like a soldier awaiting orders and she didn't look back. Thorne opened the door with three precise gestures. The metal groaned softly as the hinges disengaged, and a sharp breath of cold air rose from below.
The space beyond the threshold was dark, not pitch black, but dim and endless, like a mine shaft or something deeper. Harry watched in silence as Lynne walked through without hesitation.
Thorne followed without delay, the door swinging shut behind him with a smooth, final sound. As the locks re-engaged, some symbols along the arch flared red for a heartbeat and then vanished. Harry blinked surprised. The basement door was no longer a door. It was a wall.
The house adjusted quickly to their absence. Harry wandered the polished corridors, not sure what to do. Everything here was too clean, too still. There were no creaky floorboards. No flickering lights. Just his soft footsteps heard as he moved.
Eventually, he found the library but when he was about to explore its contents, he felt quite hungry.
"Zicky?" he muttered.
Zicky appeared instantly near the far bookcase, with a soft pop, hands clasped, spine straight.
"Yes, Master Potter?"
Harry had almost forgotten that the house-elf had introduced himself the night before, proud and formal, eyes shining as he declared an honor to serve him.
"Can you guide me to the kitchen?" Harry said. "I'm hungry and I want to cook something for myself."
Zicky's long ears twitched. "It is Zicky's honor to provide for you, master potter. A meal is already in progress."
"Oh... Thanks, but you don't have to."
Zicky vanished again with the faintest breeze without an answer. Harry frowned. He then shrugged it off and turned back toward a table and chairs and sat down after picking a book about general household charms.
Within moments, Zicky appeared pushing a low tray, beside him on a side table. Fresh slices of warm honeybread, sugared blackberries, and a steaming mug of tea decorated the tray. A faint smell of cinnamon and ginger hit Harry's nose.
"If you need anything else, Master Potter just needs to ask." Zicky said as he vanished again.
He didn't know how long he sat there, but Zicky never returned. He didn't hover. He didn't check in. Harry supposed he was available when called only, but he didn't want to impose on him.
Harry wasn't used to being left alone in a place so richly cared for. It didn't make him feel entirely comfortable. Hours later he had already gone over the book and decided to visit the basement, see if maybe he could check on Lynne, but the door remained unchanged.
Harry passed by it twice that evening, each time expecting to hear something behind it, a voice, a clatter, something. But there was nothing. No light through the crack. No vibration underfoot. Only the stairs down as evidence the basement even existed in the first place.
----0000----
Harry grew bored of tracking the time of how long it had been since Lynne and Thorne disappeared behind the basement door. His pocket watch tucked away in frustration.
Still being in this house was a better arrangement for his summer. It wasn't like the Dursleys' house, where time crawled with boredom and silence. There was no one screaming at him, no one demanding him to do anything. Exploring and reading were entertaining him for now as well.
He wandered after breakfast. Zicky didn't hover, but the house-elf appeared silently whenever Harry paused near a door for too long, offering light refreshments or asking if he wished to be 'guided'. Harry always declined, he didn't want to give more work to the elf that was keeping that big of a house clean.
Most of the rooms were unlocked, but most were empty. The walls in one corridor were lined with tall glass display cases. Inside: wands that had snapped at their cores, broken broomsticks, cracked lenses from magical monocles. Silver thread coiled in glass jars, each strand labeled in sharp, tiny script. A shelf of black-and-white photographs, all with faces blurred or scratched out, and the portraits had no one inside.
Even Hedwig, perched loyally on the high window frame of the room he slept in, seemed more watchful than usual. She wouldn't go near the southern wing of the house. Whenever Harry passed through the hallway with the three long windows, she'd ruffle her feathers and hiss softly.
Still, she stayed close. That helped to feel the owl's company.
It was on the third morning that Zicky appeared at the edge of the room with something in his hands, and a peculiar look on his face.
"Master Potter." the elf said, eyes unusually wide. "Your owl has defended the post most admirably. She has attacked an intruder with precise claws."
Harry blinked. "Intruder?"
Zicky straightened. "Another house-elf. Dishonorable. Attempting to breach the ward boundary and retrieve your correspondence. But the defenses are stronger, that helped your companion."
Zicky offered him a small wooden tray. On it: three letters. Harry took them carefully. The first had Hermione's handwriting, neat and crisp. The second was from Padma, it had a faint scent of sandalwood. The third was scribbled and smudged, definitely Terry Boot.
He felt something loosen in his chest. Hermione's letter was long and full of relief. In this particular letter, she was apologizing for being angry at him for not writing, now worried. She missed him and hoped he was safe. She had a list of spells to try when school started again.
Padma's letter was shorter, more thoughtful. She hoped he was having a great summer, complained about her annoying twin, about her vacations so far and briefly thanked him again for helping her to study for the exams.
Terry's note was simple as well, just asking for his well being and giving him insight on quidditch teams he might be interested in, but outlining that the Holyhead Harpies and the Kenmare Kestrels were the best this season.
Harry laughed for the first time since arriving. He wrote back that same afternoon. Hermione got the longest reply. He didn't say where he was, as he didn't exactly know, just that he was somewhere safe, with Lynne, and no one should worry. He told Padma that he also suffered the annoyance of his cousin, but he could be bribed with food, maybe her sister could be bribed as well.
He sent Terry well wishes and that he would subscribe to a newspaper so that he could follow those teams with him in the future. He tied the letters to Hedwig's leg. She looked at him with a kind of knowing calm, then took off into the high rafters and vanished through the upper tower window.
He stood in that empty observatory for a long time afterward, watching the sky brighten. For the first time in days, the silence didn't feel like a weight and he felt hopeful.
----0000----
It was early evening when the basement door opened. No chime, just the soft creak of the lock disengaging, and the sound of a latch sliding free.
Harry stood halfway down the hall when he heard it. He turned and ran towards it. The door swung open slowly, as though on its own. Lynne stepped through looking fine, her face expressionless like when they first met.
Her posture was perfectly aligned, spine straight, limbs relaxed. Her coat had been cleaned and pressed. There was no hesitation in her steps, no stiffness. Just smooth, effortless movement.
Her look set on Harry immediately. She simply gave him a small wave and a nod, then walked past the doorway and paused at the center of the corridor, as though waiting for instruction.
Thorne emerged behind her, slower. His cane tapped once on the marble floor before he leaned heavily on it. His robes, normally so sharp and orderly, were rumpled. A deep shadow lay under his good eye, and the clouded one looked dull, almost glassy.
He didn't speak at first and he looked like he was about to faint. He looked at Harry, gave him a small nod.
"I'll be upstairs." he said. Then, with difficulty, he limped down the hall without another word.
Lynne turned to face Harry, her expression composed. Measured.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked.
She blinked once. "Yes."
There was a pause. A long one. She tilted her head slightly and finally gave him a small smile.
"I don't hear her anymore."
The sentence dropped between them like a coin into water.
Harry swallowed. "Is that… good?"
"Yes. It was scary." she nodded.
She stepped closer, glancing toward the grand staircase. "What did you do while we were away?"
"Not much," he replied. "Wandered, read some books in the library. Ate whatever Zicky threw at me. Hedwig kept me company as well. Oh, I finally got letters!"
She nodded thoughtfully. "I'm glad Harry. Zicky's always been a good cook. Better than the others."
"The others?"
"There were more elves with us, but they were very old. We moved through different houses but they would always follow him, they sadly passed away."
That hung in the air longer than he liked.
They walked slowly back toward the study, the soft thud of her boots and the sharper click of metal fingers the only sounds for a while.
"What happened to Thorne?" Harry asked finally. "His leg I mean."
"He was injured in combat. A cursed knife, one that never stopped bleeding. It took too long to close the wound, he had to consume many blood-replenishing potions. Curse wounds cannot be fully healed." she replied.
"Was it in the last war?"
"Yes." she said. "He fought against Voldemort's forces."
Harry nodded in understanding. He sighed as he saw that Lynne was back to short proposed answers, quiet observation and her features composed.
That night, Harry felt heavier again. He liked when Lynne smiled more, joked around, and now, whatever her mentor did, reverted her back to how she started the year. It was concerning.
The next morning, she insisted they begin training together again, which could be a nice distraction. She rarely laughed now, or hesitated, or even broke her composed face. He was growing fond of his friend and this version of Lynne seemed broken now. He didn't like it one bit.
----0000----
The training courtyard sat behind the mansion, hidden beyond a hedge maze that hadn't been trimmed in years. A wide stone square sat beneath the open sky, bordered by ruined statues and crumbling benches. In the far corner, a gnarled tree grew sideways from the wall like it had been half-transfigured and never finished.
Lynne stood at its center, her coat off, sleeves rolled back to reveal both her metal arms in full. Just gleaming under the sun, as if they were made new. Harry stood opposite, wand in hand.
"If you are wondering, you can use magic here." she said. "The Trace won't trigger inside the inner wards. In magical households, they usually don't bother with tracking it. No one will know."
"That's nice, although I imagine Hermione will be pissed knowing about this." he replied while laughing.
"Yes, indeed. I can imagine the ranting."
Her voice was calm, her posture formal, and although the words were adequate, there was no humour behind them, no flicker of her usual quiet empathy.
"We will do only stinging hexes today, Harry. Focus on speed."
Harry raised his wand. "Alright."
Even if she was back to her usual self, her patience was always present. Even when he missed four stinging hexes in a row without her even moving.
"You are hesitating, aim first, then focus on the speed behind your casting." she said.
"Maybe I don't want to sting you." he replied quietly.
"You don't need to worry about it, I will block them." she said while smirking.
He grinned at her small smile. For hours she advised him, on the angle of the wand flick, the breath timing, the pivot of the back foot. She never got frustrated when he failed and that pushed him to try again until getting it right.
The second day, they focused on dueling, footwork, feints, and timing. Then speed again, and the differences between dueling and combat. He felt like he was being trained extensively, but at some point he wondered why. It was fun though so he wasn't complaining, but he was sore most of the time now.
By the fifth day, he hit her three times in a row in under 2 seconds, even if she blocked them all, he felt great about himself.
"I'm finally getting better." Harry panted.
"Yes, you are getting competent. Zicky might reward you with chocolate."
He laughed, wiping sweat from his brow. "I'll take that as a compliment."
At the mention of the house-elf, he was ready with a tray with two glasses of water, which he took gratefully. She took it as well, and that was the first time he saw her drink anything.
"It's not water if you are wondering, it helps me." she said simply.
By the seventh day, they moved to practicing Depulso and Reducto. Breaking things was cathartic for Harry and he felt they were not that difficult to learn in the end. Lynne had set up old crates, even some wooden wheels that Harry wondered where they had been before, enchanted to move and evade.
He failed to hit the moving targets at first but eventually he blasted all of them, to which Lynne just nodded and repaired them without saying a word. There was no compliment but it made him stand a little taller.
One night, Thorne joined them for dinner. The table was long and unnecessary, but they sat close to one end. Zicky had prepared stew, which lay steaming in the center of the table. He served in silence, then disappeared again.
Thorne ate slowly, eyes sharp but seemingly casual. They had talked about the first year, he was interested in the Troll incident, and what it felt like. They discussed the subjects that Harry liked the best, and the study group piqued Thorne's interest.
"So, Harry…" he said, pausing between bites. "What are you looking forward to in your second year?"
Harry blinked. "Honestly? I want to keep learning magic. I think it is wonderful in itself. I also want to try out for the Quidditch team, flying made me feel so alive."
Thorne raised an eyebrow. "Ah, the noble sport of falling off a broom for glory. I was never good at it, if you can tell."
Harry smirked. "It looks more fun than that."
Thorne chuckled. "Then if you are committed to doing your best in trying out, we will need to make some arrangements."
Harry looked up. "You mean…?"
But Thorne had already returned to his stew. "Don't worry about it." he said simply.
By the evening of July 30th, the training routine had become their rhythm, sparring in the mornings, lunch in silence, magical theory in the library after dusk. Lynne's instruction remained sharp, efficient, and controlled.
She never lost patience, never praised too highly, but every correction came with purpose. And Harry was learning, faster than he ever had at school. They had covered half of the second-year curriculum, and combat spells outside of that in such a short time that he was exhausted.
That night, over dinner, the air felt different. They had delayed dinner until super late, he was almost falling asleep. When they finally head to eat, the candles on the dining table burned a little brighter. The stew was richer than usual. Zicky hummed softly to himself as he served a small sponge cake glazed with thin layers of honey.
Harry blinked.
Lynne pushed the plate toward him. "Zicky said it's a tradition."
"What is?"
"The date. July thirty-first. Happy Birthday, Harry."
Harry hesitated. "Oh. Yeah. It's my birthday."
He hadn't expected anyone to remember. Thorne looked up from his wine glass, smiling faintly.
"Hard to forget the birthday of the Boy Who Lived."
Harry made a face. "Please don't call me that."
"Very well." Thorne said with an amused nod. "Still, a birthday deserves something more than sponge cake."
He gestured to Zicky. The elf snapped his fingers with a practiced motion. A long, slender box appeared on the side table with a muted shimmer of golden light. Harry turned. It was wand box-shaped, but longer.
Lynne gave him a nod. "Go on. It's a gift."
Harry rose, walked to the box, and opened the lid. Inside rested a sleek and polished broom, impossibly perfect. On the top end, it was branded 'Nimbus 2001'. His breath caught.
"This is…"
"Of course it is." Thorne said. "You said you wanted to try out for Quidditch. No point doing it on a second-hand broom."
Harry ran a hand along the handle, reverent. "I… I've never...thank you." his vision blurred slightly but he held himself from crying.
Thorne raised his glass slightly in toast. "You'll fly well."
The next morning, he saw multiple packages carried by owls. After opening letters by his friends and housemates congratulating him, Harry headed to the back field, which was bathed in pale sun. After a few moments he was tearing across the sky like a comet, climbing, diving, twisting in the wind with a joy he hadn't felt in weeks.
Lynne watched from below, leaning against the crooked tree, arms crossed. Harry landed after an hour, sweat-soaked and grinning like mad. He stood there, broom in hand, heart hammering in his chest.
"You look lighter, happy." Lynne said.
"I am happy." he replied, with a huge smile.
----0000----
The wind curled under Harry's broom as he shot upward over the back field, the Nimbus 2001 humming softly in his grip. The broom answered every shift of his body like it had known him for years. No pulling, no lag, just pure flight.
For a while, he forgot the tension in the house. Forgot the quiet way Lynne had reemerged from the basement, too composed, too balanced. Forgot Thorne's smile that never felt quite sincere.
Up here, above the treetops and far from the dark stone walls, he could just be… a boy on a broom again. He spun into a sharp dive and skimmed the tips of the wild grass before pulling up in a wide arc. The sky stretched wide and blue overhead. A few clouds drifted like lazy ships, the sun casting soft gold across the trees.
At the far end of the field, resting in the shadow of a half-broken sundial, sat a small pile of packages and letters that had arrived with Hedwig that morning.
Hermione had sent him a slim leather-bound book. 'Advanced Defensive Charms and their Histories', annotated in the margins with her notes. Anthony Goldstein had sent a box of rosewater taffy, spelled not to stick to your teeth.
Padma enclosed two bars of imported honey chocolate wrapped in Ravenclaw blue ribbon. Terry Boot had included a single sarcastic note and a brand-new charmed quill that wrote in shimmering ink: "Because you clearly need help catching up."
And Hagrid... Hagrid had sent the one that made Harry's throat catch the most. A small photo album, bound in dragon hide, filled with wizarding pictures of James and Lily Potter.
He hadn't opened it yet. He wasn't ready with the mirror still in his mind. He flew faster, trying to get away from his thoughts. But as he rounded the far edge of the field, something strange happened.
The wind changed. A sudden jolt in the current, like someone had cast a minor squall. Then he felt feathers crashing against him, dozens of them, all fluttering too fast, too close.
A swarm of birds, tiny ones. Darting in jerky patterns. Not attacking directly, but flying just wrong enough to throw him off balance.
The broom wobbled. He cursed and adjusted, but he was drifting. Further out. The air shifted again like going through a spider web. He realized too late, and the feeling of static went through his body as he exited the wardline.
And then his broom dropped, almost violently. Just a soft, terrifying tilt and a pull toward the ground. Harry hit the field hard, rolled once, and landed flat on his back with the wind knocked from him.
A pair of feet landed beside him, small, thin, and bare. Sitting down he looked up to see another house-elf. This one in ragged clothes and almost malnourished.
"Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts!" a voice wailed, shrill and urgent. "Great danger comes! Great danger! He must not—"
"Who are you?" Harry gasped.
The elf stood, shaking, his ears twitching wildly. "Dobby tried to keep the letters away! So that maybe Harry Potter wouldn't want to return, but she interferes all the time. Dobby tried! You…"
Then a shadow fell over them both. Dobby turned, eyes wide with terror. Lynne landed hard on the field, her wand already drawn. Dobby tried to vanish, but her hex was faster.
"Incarcerous."
The air shimmered, ropes bound him mid-step, locking him in place. He fell with a thud, squealing. A rope tightened to his neck. The birds scattered into the sky with a burst of wind.
Lynne was at Harry's side in two strides, her hand on his shoulder, the other one pointed directly at Dobby's heart.
"Are you hurt?" she said, voice flat, too calm.
Harry coughed, sitting up. "A little, but... He was warning me. About danger at Hogwarts. Weird way to do it, throwing me off my broom and keeping my letters from me."
Lynne's eyes didn't leave Dobby. "Mmm…indeed it is weird..."
He didn't want the elf to suffer anymore. "Can you release him?"
At that moment Dobby freed his arm enough to click his fingers and in a soft pop he was gone. The ropes dissolved the moment he disappeared.
Harry blinked, then he felt one arm hooked under his elbow; the other grabbed his broom. In a blink of motion, Lynne dragged them both backward, stepping through the wardline like a swimmer returning to shore. The magic washed over them again. Lynne let go of Harry only once they were clear.
"You crossed the wards." she said.
"I didn't mean to…"
"You can't afford to be careless, please, Harry."
Harry rubbed his arm, breathing hard.
"Do you think he was telling the truth?"
Lynne glanced at the sky. "Maybe."
She looked at him finally. "But I think you want to go to Hogwarts anyway."
Harry nodded.
"You will have me by your side then."
----0000----
Dumbledore
A few remnants of the old Order of the Phoenix had reassembled for the third time in two weeks, and this time the tension was thinner, more brittle, like everyone had run out of rage and now sat in the hollow silence that followed it.
Moody paced near the door, his magical eye twitching. The man had gone through a bad ordeal recently and he was more paranoid than usual. Kingsley leaned on a cane that wasn't entirely decorative, reading from a crumpled list of names they'd already questioned.
Molly Weasley sat with her hands wringing a worn tea cloth, Arthur beside her trying to look composed and failing. Elphias Doge, Emmeline Vance, and Mundungus all had their usual corners, quiet, impatient, or fidgeting. Albus as usual was quiet.
"I still can't believe it." Molly murmured. "Gone. And no one saw anything?"
Minerva spoke at last, her voice cool, precise. "It's not just that he's gone. It's who took him away."
A knock on the door pulled her out of her own thoughts. Dedalus Diggle entered, cloak dripping from the rain outside.
"Got something." he said quickly, waving a folded parchment. "From the Grangers' owl box. This was there. Addressed to Hermione."
He dropped the letter on the table. Minerva opened it. As she read, the room stilled. Harry's words were clear. Vague on purpose, but unmistakable.
I'm safe, sorry for not replying. Lynne's with me and we went to her place. Don't worry about me, having a great summer.
Minerva sat stiffly at the end of the long table, the crackling fireplace behind her the only source of warmth in the otherwise cold room.
A pause. "Well, it seems he is with Miss Volant."
"Volant." said Moody. "I'm not familiar with them."
"What do we know of her?" asked Doge under his breath.
"She's a student." Arthur offered. "A child. Ron spoke about her in a letter, apparently she has metal prosthetics and is Harry's best friend."
Minerva's lips pressed together. "A child who fought a full-grown troll without flinching, maimed a seventh-year student, won a battle against a possessed teacher and walks the corridors like she was born for war at the age of eleven."
"Damn." Moody muttered. "And I thought we were finally having a good year with all those death eaters dead."
"Do we know where her family is located?" asked Molly.
"No. We don't know who her family even is. I will search for her family information. There should be records in the ministry." Dumbledore finally spoke.
----0000----
Later that night, alone in his office, Dumbledore finally sat at his desk. On top of it sat Lynne Volant's file.
He remembered weeks before how Madam Pomfrey had come to him, voice tight and eyes wary.
"She isn't human, Albus. I have checked her over, and there are more parts in her than flesh. I don't know how she got past the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance but I'm not sure she should be here."
He hadn't expelled her, or even contacted her parents. He had watched instead, helped her recover to the best of their abilities. She seemed to care for Harry. That much had been clear. But now she had taken him from the protections of the Dursleys.
He opened her file and there it was. Her parents were deceased. "Guardian: Solan Thorne." His breath caught.
"I had hoped you were dead." Dumbledore whispered. "You were never supposed to come back."