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MuchChapter 136 — A Kid Shouldn't Carry This Much
The letter, of course, wasn't sent.
Harry would never let Darren do something that reckless. And it was only a warning anyway — they weren't going to expel him over a first offense.
He'd only panicked earlier because Dobby's stunt had landed the blame on him.
That part still made him furious.
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were furious too once the Masons left.
They didn't believe Harry had done it on purpose, but they blamed him for "bringing trouble into the house," as usual.
Even after Darren explained again and again that it was a mischievous house-elf, they insisted Harry must have provoked the creature somehow.
"Why didn't it play a trick on Darren then?" they argued.
In their eyes, Harry was always the one disasters followed.
They didn't yell or punish him — something worse happened.
They simply stopped speaking to him. For days.
If they had to address him at all, they'd call him only to hand him chores…
Or ask Darren to pass along the message.
It stung more than Harry expected.
He'd started to think things at the Dursleys were getting better.
Now everything felt cold again — familiar, heavy, suffocating.
Sometimes, lying awake, he wondered what would happen if he really couldn't return to Hogwarts.
Would he spend every September watching Ron and Hermione board the train, watching Darren wave at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters…
while he stayed behind with the Dursleys?
Darren tried to comfort him, saying that as soon as Paggie found which family Dobby belonged to, they'd understand what was going on — maybe it was just a misunderstanding.
But every update Paggie brought back only made things worse.
House-elves belonged almost exclusively to old pure-blood families.
They never wandered far from home.
No house-elf was ever "loaned out."
So unless they knew exactly whose elf Dobby was, Paggie couldn't confirm anything.
Darren suggested writing to his Slytherin classmates to ask quietly — but Harry refused.
If Dobby was telling the truth, then whoever was behind this didn't want Harry coming back.
And Darren… Darren wasn't good at hiding his emotions.
If he accidentally alarmed the wrong person, they could lash out at him.
Harry refused to take that risk.
Darren, being Darren, accepted Harry's refusal with complete trust.
He always did.
Sometimes that made Harry's heart ache.
If Harry couldn't return to Hogwarts, what would Darren do?
He was too soft. Too easy to manipulate.
Someone would swindle him blind while he apologized for it.
Maybe Nicolas Flamel would adopt Darren — Paggie had mentioned it more than once, pride practically radiating off her. She said the Potter family portraits were discussing it and felt confident it would happen.
Harry had listened in shock.
The portraits said that if Flamel wanted Darren, they wouldn't stand in the way.
He was, after all, a legend… an alchemist beyond compare.
Harry wasn't surprised they liked Darren.
Everyone liked Darren.
But then came the part that stung.
The portraits had originally wanted Darren to become head of the Potter family — but Dumbledore insisted Harry needed the Invisibility Cloak to survive Voldemort.
Since that cloak was a Potter heirloom, Harry had to remain the official heir.
The portraits had reluctantly agreed, though it was clear they felt guilty.
They adored Darren.
They spent their days watching the footage Paggie brought of the boys, talking endlessly about Harry and Darren, proudly debating whose laugh or smile came from which ancestor.
And now Flamel wanted Darren.
They were anxious. Proud. Sad.
Even as painted ancestors, they felt torn in half.
Harry understood.
He admired Nicolas Flamel deeply, and if Darren went with him, Darren would become great — truly great.
But Harry… wouldn't have a brother anymore.
That fear lodged itself in his chest and stayed there.
He dreamed about it constantly.
Nightmares.
He dreamed of being locked in a zoo cage while people pointed and whispered.
Dobby stood nearby shouting, "Harry Potter is safe there!"
Safe behind bars.
Then the scene shifted — Darren was walking away with two elderly wizards.
They looked back at Harry, cold and distant.
"We're taking your brother. You must never see him again."
Harry woke shaking every time.
He wanted to tell Darren, but he was terrified of influencing him.
What if Darren turned down the opportunity of a lifetime because Harry was being selfish?
Even when Darren swore he wouldn't go with Flamel, Harry stopped him — told him he needed to think.
That some chances never came again.
Harry hated himself for it.
But he loved his brother too much to let him throw everything away.
Now, lying on his bed, Harry covered his face with his hands.
He was twelve.
He shouldn't be making decisions like this.
He shouldn't feel like the world was crumbling every day.
He felt too young, too scared, too… alone.
Until—
"Harry!"
Harry jerked upright.
That was Ron's voice.
He scrambled to the window as the glass rattled.
He stared in disbelief.
Ron was leaning out of a turquoise flying car — hovering outside his window — grinning like an idiot.
Fred and George were in the backseat, waving as if this was perfectly normal.
"You— Ron… how on earth did you get here?!"
The car bobbed in midair, as if proudly showing itself off.
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