Chapter 134 — Sir, It's For Your Own Good!!
"Enough—enough!"
Harry practically leapt forward to stop Dobby from slamming his head against the wall again. His headache was turning into a full storm. When he finally figured out what this house-elf wanted, he would throw it out himself.
"Does your master know you're here?" Harry hissed.
"I—I don't know, sir… Dobby punished himself before coming… Dobby must punish himself for everything…"
"Stop that!" Harry snapped as Dobby tried to hit his head again.
Dobby froze, trembling, big green eyes overflowing with tears.
"Dobby came… to warn Harry Potter… Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts this year!"
Harry blinked. "What? Why not? Hogwarts is my home! And Darren will be there—"
"No!" Dobby wailed. "Terrible things are happening at Hogwarts! Harry Potter will be in grave danger!"
"Is it Voldemort?" Harry asked sharply.
Dobby shook his head violently, ears flapping—then seized Harry's desk lamp and smashed it onto his head.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"Bad Dobby! Bad, wicked Dobby for speaking ill of his masters!"
"Stop it!" Harry lunged again—
—and downstairs, he suddenly heard Darren's apologetic voice:
"Sorry, Mrs. Mason. That must be my brother upstairs—I'll check on him. Please forgive me!"
Harry's stomach dropped.
Darren was coming. Darren, who loved cleanliness. Darren, who would faint seeing this filthy house-elf sitting on his sheets.
Harry grabbed Dobby, shoved him into the closet, and whispered urgently:
"Don't you dare come out! You'll terrify Darren. Let me prepare him first!"
A gentle knock.
"Brother?" Darren called from the hallway, worried. "Are you alright? Is someone in there?"
Harry panicked and yanked open the door.
Darren's eyes were wide, anxious. "Brother, is there a bad guy here?"
"No!" Harry said quickly. "I just—knocked the closet over. It's fine. Really. Go downstairs and tell Mrs. Mason everything is under control!"
His heart clenched. Darren couldn't know a house-elf was in that closet, pressed against their folded shirts.
Darren nodded slowly, still scanning Harry as if checking for injuries. "If something happens, call me. I'll come right away."
"Just go eat," Harry urged. "Stop chatting with Mrs. Mason so much!"
Darren smiled a little. "Alright, brother."
Only once Darren disappeared down the stairs did Harry open the closet.
"Come out," Harry whispered sharply.
Dobby scrambled out, clutching letters in his hand—lots of letters. Harry's eyes widened.
"Are those—are those my letters?"
"And some for Darren Potter, sir…" Dobby admitted in a tiny voice.
Harry felt his blood boil. He recognized Hermione's neat handwriting. Ron's scribbles. And—Merlin help him—several envelopes with delicate cursive from Slytherin girls. Darren's.
"You stole my letters?! Darren's letters too?!"
"Dobby thought… if Harry Potter and his brother received no letters, maybe they would stay home… maybe they would be safe…"
Dobby's voice cracked. Then—before Harry could react—Dobby leapt onto the windowsill, holding the whole bundle hostage.
"Harry Potter must promise not to return to Hogwarts—"
"I can't promise that!" Harry snapped. "Now give me the letters!"
But Dobby's face twisted with tragic determination.
"Then… Dobby must act for your own good, sir!"
And before Harry could blink, Dobby ran—
straight toward the kitchen.
"No—Dobby! NO!"
Harry tore after him, heart hammering.
He reached the kitchen doorway just in time to see a cake—Aunt Petunia's masterpiece—floating helplessly above Dobby's head.
"Sir! This is for your own—"
SNAP.
The cake exploded like a sugary bomb.
Cream splattered across the walls, dripping from the cupboards, and sliding down the windows.
Harry stared in horror.
He heard Darren sprinting out from the living room.
"Brother!"
There he was—wide-eyed, breathless, almost crying as he saw the catastrophe.
Harry's anger deflated instantly. Darren looked like he'd take responsibility for everything. Again.
"Brother," Darren whispered, "what happened? Tell me, please."
Harry rubbed his forehead. "A house-elf came. He won't let me return to Hogwarts. He stole our letters. And he—did that."
Darren's lips twitched in a smile he quickly smothered. "Thank Merlin Page isn't like that."
Then he called softly:
"Page."
A sharp crack echoed—and their house-elf appeared, stern posture, polished apron, eyes full of disciplined dignity.
"Good evening, young masters," Page said, bowing. "How may I serve?"
Harry could have hugged him on the spot.
"Page," Darren said urgently, "my brother was threatened by a house-elf named Dobby. It stole our letters and tried to keep him from Hogwarts. Can you find out who its master is?"
Page's expression darkened—almost murderous.
"That creature… Dobby… is the disgrace of all house-elves, young master."
Harry gulped.
Darren blinked.
And Page looked as if he were prepared to hunt Dobby down himself.
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