Chapter Text
It was a day like every other this summer. Harry was woken up abruptly and called downstairs. But not to cook breakfast, like he used to during all the previous years living with the Dursleys. The family was on a diet since Dudley grew too big for his own good, and the comments of the school nurse basically forced Aunt Petunia to relent and change all of his favourite foods to rabbit food, as Uncle Vernon called it.
This morning, Uncle Vernon just finished chewing on some celery, gulped down his coffee, and stood up as if unhappy to sit by the table, offering no real food. Before leaving, however, he shot Harry an especially nasty look.
‘"Don’t you slack off, boy!’ He snapped and slapped Harry on the head as a preventive measure. "You know what to do?"
"The same as every day," Harry rolled his eyes, matching his Uncle's stare. "Weed the flowers, water the garden, and so on..."
"What so on, boy?" The question came out as a bark.
"Vacuum, grate dust, go to the store, help with dinner," Harry recited, thinking that it's rather 'make the dinner' as Aunt Petunia would most likely go to Mrs Next Door for some gossip.
"And clean the oil stains from the driveway!" Uncle Vernon added, pointing his car keys at Harry. "Bloody Robinson drives a rust bucket!"
Uncle Vernon's expression indicated that he considered driving such a car to be one of the greatest crimes a decent man could commit. Still muttering about it, he left for work.
Just a moment later, Aunt Petunia handed Harry a carrot before pushing him out of the kitchen. Closing the doors, Harry heard how Dudley dragged his arse downstairs, moaning over his dietary breakfast.
So Harry undertook his daily struggle of making the front garden pristine. He had already pulled out the miserable weeds that had sprouted in the last two days and took out the brand-new garden hose to water the plants. It wasn’t hard work. Just tedious. He could let his mind flow freely while squeezing the nozzle to let the water sprinkle with the pleasant noise of little droplets resting on the leaves and petals.
Just two days ago, he again asked his friends for food to ease the dietary restrictions, and he mused about what Hedwig could bring him back. He dreamed about Mrs. Weasley's pasties, the delicious treats on the tables in Hogwarts’ Great Hall, and even Hagrid’s treacle fudge. What just made him think about the treacle tart…
Bang!
He almost jumped as the doors to the house slammed with force after spitting Dudley outside.
“A delightful breakfast,” Harry remarked cheerfully, casting a playful glance at his cousin’s large frame.
“At least I ate it at the table,” Dudley snapped back, “Not like you, eating rabbit food like a rabbit on the grass. Got a burrow around?”
“I would rather be in the Burrow than in your pigsty,” Harry laughed, and Dudley launched at him with a growl. Meaty feasts swung in the air, and Harry ducked, pointing the garden hose at him.
“Better watch out, Piglet,” he said, jumping backwards as Dudley snorted under the spray of ice-cold water. “You know my godfather is a convict, don’t you? He could drop by and…”
Harry didn’t finish because Dudley knocked him onto the grass, and Harry needed to twist and slip out of reach of Dudley’s arms as fast as possible to avoid getting punched in the face or the stomach. Dudley was fat and clumsy on the wet grass, so Harry escaped with only two whacks to his arm. He massaged it, looking down at Dudley struggling to stand up.
“He was convicted of the murder of thirteen people, you know? Turning you into a pig would be really easy…”
Dudley finally managed to get on his feet, looking equally pissed, scared, and hungry.
“He doesn’t care! He doesn’t even want you!” He blurted out.
“He’s on the run!” Harry screamed back.
“Nobody wants you!”
“Boys! Boys!” someone shrieked behind them, and Harry spun on his heel, seeing Mrs Figg standing just on the other side of the low fence. A flowery shopping trolley stood proudly next to her leg. “Whatever is it about?!”
“Nothing, Mrs Figg,” Harry responded quickly. “Just a misunderstanding.”
“A big one, for that,” she grumbled, eyeing their wet and dirty clothes. “Come, Harry, help me with my groceries.”
So Harry dragged himself to help with pulling the surprisingly heavy trolley. He hummed absentmindedly to whatever, hearing stories Mrs Figg told him about the cats and cat food, and got a pack of old biscuits for his trouble.’ And when he got back to the garden, Dudley wasn’t there.
In the evening, Harry received a new food package from Hermione, so it was time for tooth-friendly snacks. He read her letter, biting on the bag of peanuts. As always, Hermione spent her Summer on the trip with her parents and buried herself in books for the rest of the time. But she also confirmed that she could go if Mr Weasley gets tickets for the Quidditch World Cup. Harry hasn’t asked the Dursleys yet. He was afraid that Uncle Vernon would later hold it over his head, and he would be denied at the end for some reason, as it happened with the permission slip for Hogsmeade. It was safer to ask at the last minute.
He hasn’t had much to write back. He read no interesting books (where would he get them?), he went nowhere (as if the Dursleys would take him anywhere further than the supermarket…), and he hasn’t felt like sharing details about his daily bickering with the Dursleys (whatever for?). It was similar when he wrote to Ron, although with Ron, he could speculate about Quidditch and ask about previous matches and other championships.
Other than chores and letters, Harry hasn’t had a lot to do, especially after completing his summer homework. It was thanks to Sirius that he had his trunk with him, as Harry conveniently forgot to mention to Dursleys that his godfather, a convicted murderer, was innocent. And he wasn’t above mentioning here and there that he ‘writes a letter to let him know how the Summer is going.’ Even if, in reality, he received only one letter from Sirius up to date, delivered by the most beautiful bird Harry had ever seen.
A couple of dates were getting closer with each (sluggishly) passing day: Harry’s birthday, the World Cup, and the new school year. Each set is firmly on a particular day. But Harry was most impatient for something entirely different: the last day on Privet Drive.
The unknown date was the one that he couldn’t really influence. Ron had already invited him over, but somehow, it was interlinked with the tickets to the World Cup (and Harry didn't want to impose by asking), and Sirius couldn’t invite him anywhere. Harry sometimes entertained the idea of running away to the Leaky Cauldron. He knew that the Dursleys wouldn’t care. They would even be happy about him leaving. But it wasn’t the Dursleys that stopped him. It was Albus Dumbledore. He felt that the headmaster would disapprove. And so, without any pretext or explanation of at least a little merit, Harry decided against breaking free.
But Harry thought about it. About sleeping for as long as he liked, eating to his heart's content, enjoying Fortescue's ice cream, and all the stores at Diagon Alley that he could browse… Of course, he could use some new robes and other supplies for Hogwarts, but most of all, he enjoyed soaking in the wizarding atmosphere and finding the most peculiar things. Sometimes, Harry entertained the idea of visiting Knockturn Alley to explore whatever curiosities were hidden there. Last summer, Harry made a promise not to go there or to the Muggle London, but it was a promise limited to one summer only, and the request was made because of Sirius. So he could wander around Diagon, Knockturn, and Muggle London… He really wanted to go to McDonald’s. And to the cinema. And to all other places that were there, so close and yet…
Harry enjoyed those dreams, especially after a more serious conflict with one of his relatives. Like today. It’s been a week since his last serious argument with Dudley, the one broken by Mrs Figg. Harry wandered to the park nearby and got cornered by Dudley and his band. They landed quite a few punches before Harry managed to escape through the spinney… straight into the clutches of Aunt Petunia.
She was absolutely furious about the state of his clothes (rags) and completely ignored the black eye and the scraped knees, not to mention hidden bruises or the persistent ache in his abdomen, where Pierce landed a solid kick. No, she didn’t care. She handed him the box with needles and threads and locked him in his room without supper.
Harry had hidden supplies, and sewing wasn’t a problem, but everything hurt. He needed bandages or at least to clean himself, but that wasn’t an option. So he just did what he could and sat down to repair his clothes, daydreaming about the fast foods of Muggle London, the bathroom in the Leaky Cauldron, and the mysteries of Knockturn Alley.
It was an early evening, and the smells of dinner slowly faded when the absolutely normal doorbell got ignored, and someone knocked fiercely, impatiently.
Knock, knock, knock.
Knock, knock, knock.
Uncle Vernon never moved from the living room, where he watched his evening news.
Knock, knock.
Of course, Dudley couldn’t care less about the visitor. But Aunt Petunia was quickly shuffling out of the bathroom, irritated by the interruption to her evening routine.
Knock!
Knock!
Knock!
“Good evening!” Aunt Petunia said in her snippysniped tone, reserved for uninvited guests. “May I help you?”
Harry heard the answer through his open window. The voice belonged to a woman. It was melodious and warm, but—as was the knocking—fierce and quite impatient.
“And good evening to you. Do I have the pleasure of meeting Petunia Dursley?” The woman asked and must have received a nod or other non-verbal confirmation as she continued, “Wonderful! I hoped to speak to you, your son, and your nephew. May I come in? That is entirely too long a conversation to have on the doorstep!”
“What is it about? Isn’t it too late for the lengthy conversations?” Petunia’s tone of voice grew curious but also sharper.
“Gather your family, dear Petunia,” the voice moved inside the house, “I would hate to repeat myself. And don’t you worry, dear, I will make myself at home. Thank you!”
“I don’t think including a child would be necessary,” Petunia argued, and their voices grew too distant for Harry to understand words. Curious, he stood up and pressed his ear to the doors, trying to catch something more. Unfortunately, he only grasped a few lonely words, which made little sense. But only minutes later, Aunt Petunia's steps sounded on the stairs. Harry darted to the bed as quickly as his scraped knees allowed, pretending not to listen. It seems he was hurrying without an apparent reason as Aunt Petunia first stepped to Dudley. He was still whining, ‘But I don’t want to…’ when the locks on Harry’s doors clicked one after the other.
The sneer on Aunt Petunia’s face expressed clear disgust as she looked at Harry.
“Downstairs, boy,” she snapped, “And clean yourself!”
“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry answered quickly, too curious to waste time on anything, really. As she took Dudley downstairs, Harry quickly and not carefully took care of himself before following their suit.
Who would simultaneously have business with Aunt Petunia, Dudley, and Harry? While completely ignoring Uncle Vernon? If it were years earlier, Harry would assume it was about school, but now? Barely anyone in the Muggle world knew about Harry’s existence and cared enough to mention him in any conversation that did not feature ‘the freak of number four.’ While in the Magical world, a handful of people knew about the Dursleys, and they weren’t talked about if not necessary (so also hardly ever).
As Harry entered the living room, he was surprised to find all the Dursleys squeezed on the couch, looking utterly uncomfortable. The telly was off, and a woman stood in the centre of the room. The wand she was waving in the air caught Harry's eye first. Not a classic, slim, and polished or lacquered wand. It much more resembled a debarked twig with all its curves and unevenness, and even had a few green leaves and little fruits hanging from the handle on the delicate leather strap. Even considering Harry's limited knowledge of trees, he guessed it was linden. The charms made Aunt Petunia’s tea set float and organise itself on the coffee table. Just as Harry entered, they landed and started steaming.
The woman was quite short and had a gentle build, but her movements looked surprisingly dexterous. Even though she wore Mugglemuggle clothes, something was off. Yes, it was a long, honey-coloured dress, but it looked rather medieval than modern, with gentle embroidery on the hems and an animal-shaped buckle on the black belt. Her hairdo strengthened the medieval impression. She wore long hair, braided with a woven gold ribbon standing out from her chestnut hair. And a headband, keeping hair from falling on her thin, amiable face. However, her facial features were quite sharp. She had a slim, pointy nose, high cheekbones, and well-defined lips. She looked at the world with the warmest honey-brown eyes. When she smiled at Harry, the smile was so heart-warming that Harry smiled back before he could even note that he was doing so.
“And you must be Harry!” she said happily, “Finally, a wizard! I must admit I started to worry, seeing how cautious your uncles are regarding magic.” The Dursleys cringed visibly. “Come in further, don’t be shy!”
“I’m not shy,” Harry said instantly, stepping in further. “We’re usually not using such words as magic in this house. And I’m quite certain you just expelled me from Hogwarts, ma’am.”
“Expelled from Hogwarts? Absurd! Why would you say that?”
“Well… I’m the only registered wizard in this house, and I’m underage, and the magic used here goes on my head. I got the warning for breaking the decree for the restriction of underage magic… or something like that… when the house elf used a hover charm here…”
The woman blinked at him a couple of times, bemused. Finally, she shook her head and wanted to wave it off, but at precisely this moment, an owl flew inside, causing Aunt Petunia to shriek and Uncle Vernon to scream, ‘Owls!’
Harry grabbed and opened the letter. He was exactly correct in his assumptions.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We have received intelligence that multiple charms (including levitation charm, water-heating spell, and summoning charm) were performed at your place of residence at thirteen minutes past eight this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of Muggles.
As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).
As you have already received an official warning for a previous offence under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your suspension from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 10.30 a.m. on the 19th of July.
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
Improper Use of Magic Office, Ministry of Magic
He barely managed to read the contents, feeling his stomach squirm angrily when the woman took the letter from his hand.
“You’re spied on!” She exclaimed. “That is preposterous! A hearing ! Well, that is just unacceptable! Don’t worry, Harry dear, I will take care of that. Sit, drink some tea,” she said and… levitated a cup towards him. Harry wanted to protest, but the woman sat him down. She was surprisingly strong and smiled kindly at him, once again saying, ‘Don’t worry, dear.’ Disarmed, Harry sat and held the cup.
“Now, you must all wonder why I am here, and I have yet to introduce myself,” she said gently, claiming an armchair for herself. “My name is Helga Hufflepuff…”
The Dursleys didn’t react in the slightest, but Harry choked on his tea and started coughing violently. Now, Aunt Petunia jumped up, seeing the tea and spit defiling her table and floor.
“What do you think you’re doing, boy?!
“Now, now, dear Petunia, there’s no need for concern,” the woman waved her wand again, and every trace of Harry’s shock disappeared, although he was still coughing, which only intensified the pain in his abdomen.
“Harry, I know very well how unbelievable it must sound, but I assure you it’s absolutely true. I hereby swear to you on my life and magic that my name is Helga Hufflepuff, and I am one of the four founders of Hogwarts.”
Nothing happened. Harry had the same stupid face as the Dursleys, having no idea what to expect or whether it actually meant something. The woman, in the meantime, looked at him expectantly.
“Well, Harry?” she said.
“Erm…”
“Are you not familiar with the magical oaths?”
“Erm…” Harry repeated stupidly.
“Well…” she sighed, “This is the oath of truthfulness that calls on Magic to verify the words of the sworn. If the sworn lies, he will suffer the consequences. I, traditionally, have sworn on my magic and life, which would be taken from me if the statement were false. Always swear on both. Life without magic is not worth living. Just imagine!” She laughed softly. “But, if the words were true, the Magic would give you the certainty that the sworn is, in fact, honest in his words. For it to work properly, after the words of the oath are said, you are supposed to say, ‘I hereby accept your oath and call you upon it.’ Shall we go again?”
“Yeah, sure…” Harry said, not really certain if he believed her. He had no knowledge about the existence of such a thing as the oath of truthfulness. But Magic surprised him repeatedly, and the Magical World proved him ignorant so often that he wouldn’t dare to voice his doubts. He will find out. Right? He will say the words and see what happens. If anything. And so he did. As the woman said the words again, Harry responded as she had told him to.
And something happened then. The air seemed to thicken and still, seemingly able to strangle them all. The words spoken by Helga Hufflepuff echoed in the air, this time in a dispassionate, distant voice. As it rang out, Harry just knew that it was true. There was no doubt left. The woman sitting before him was, in fact, Helga Hufflepuff, one of the four Hogwarts founders.
“H-how?” he asked slowly.
“Well, that explanation will have to wait. More people need to hear it in the following days, so there’s no reason to repeat that over and over again. What you need to hear is why I am here. And that story deserves a cake." And she used her wand again, summoning plates and forks, unshrinking a box with an actual cake that she levitated on the plate and cut into even pieces. Just as Dursleys were served, another owl entered the living room, breaking Uncle Vernon's patience.
“Enough of this nonsense!” He stood up abruptly, red with anger, his palms fisted. “Enough! We don’t want anything of the sort in this house! No freakishness! No more bloody owls!”
Harry, used to this sort of behaviour, only looked at Helga Hufflepuff apologetically. But she seemed unmoved.
“Is it another warning for you, Harry dear?” She indicated the letter.
“Erm…” Harry looked at the letter on his lap. It was addressed with the flowing cursive of Albus Dumbledore. He opened it hastily, ignoring further screams of his uncle.
Dear Harry,
I have been informed by the Ministry about the use of magic in your house, and I am certain that you have received the same information. I plan to visit you tomorrow morning to discuss this matter further. I kindly ask that you refrain from any further use of magic in order to avoid exacerbating the situation.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
“It’s from Professor Dumbledore, ma’am,” he explained. And then handed her the letter, as she extended her hand expectantly.
“He plans on visiting you? How curious…” she mused over the parchment.
“No more freaks, boy!” Vernon shouted, “You write him back and say that he is not…”
He fell silent. His lips were sealed as – apparently – Helga Hufflepuff lost her patience. Harry observed the woman as she mused over the letter. He now knew that she was indeed one of Hogwarts’ Founders, but the rest of the story behind her presence at 4 Privet Drive, of all places, during the summer of 1994… Even trying to come up with some explanation boiled Harry’s brain.
‘Magic,’ he thought, ‘The explanation is Magic, and that’s it.’
Acceptance of this explanation brought Harry a shred of peace of mind. However, what happened around him was far from peaceful. Uncle Vernon was now immobilised on the couch after trying to charge at Helga in anger over the sealed mouth. Aunt Petunia hyperventilated beside him, and Dudley, pale and shivering, squeezed himself into the corner.
Helga looked at them, astounded.
“How are you so scared of magic while living with a wizard?” she asked finally.
“How are we scared?!” screamed Aunt Petunia in response. “My husband can’t talk or move! This freakishness caused my sister-in-law to inflate and fly out of the house last year! A year before, some freakish thing threw a perfect dessert on the head of an important guest! And the owls! And before? The giant caused my son to grow a pigtail! This freak talked with a python and set it free in a zoo! And all the other things! Hair growing back during the night, walking on the roofs, changing teachers' hair, shrinking things! Not to mention all the dishes that this freak broke during the years he spent here without touching them!”
Aunt Petunia sucked in a deep breath and kept ranting, now standing tall over the coffee table.
“Countless glasses and plates! Even as a baby, this boy constantly disappeared from the crib and kept blowing the food in on my Ickle Dudleykins’ face! And he kept screaming for attention, forcing us to buy a set of new windows twice ! And my sister? Before this freakishness killed her, she and other freaks like her constantly disrupted our lives, broke things, and caused the normalcy of our lives to evaporate! We have all the reasons to hate all of that . We never wanted this boy in our house! We never wanted to see him, hoping my sister and her good-for-nothing husband would keep their distance! But no,” she laughed bitterly, without amusement, “No, this old fool left the boy on our doorstep with the letter that explained nothing and gave threats, saying that if we didn’t accept him here, some other freaks would come and kill us! Vernon and I have decided to take the boy to try and raise him normally, strip him of the freakishness, but no matter what we did, it clung to him.”
She drew in another breath, raising her chin.
“We want to be rid of this freakishness and never see any more of it in our lives. But we’re stuck with this boy, his impertinence, and his kind coming here like they own the place.”
A long silence followed her last words. Harry was fuming inside, wanting to scream in his own defence, to say that all of it wasn’t his fault, that he never wanted to have his parents killed to land at their doorstep… But he said nothing because… well, because Helga Hufflepuff was sitting beside him, and at this point, she looked a little scary.
“Well, that changes plenty,” she declared. “Please sit down, Petunia. I will leave your home shortly.”
Aunt Petunia sat down with a scowl on her face.
“Before I leave, I must explain a few things to Harry. I intended to explain that also to your son and yourself. However, that seems irrelevant, as you wish to remain distant from magic and all that is magical. You must know that your mother's family, Petunia, is a squib line. That means that your ancestors were wizards. Sometimes, wizards have a child who cannot wield magic, and those children tend to leave the magical world and live among other non-magical people. They, however, have the potential to have children who are able to wield magic. Your sister was one of these children. And there will be more of them, maybe your grandchildren or great-grandchildren. I’m unable to say.”
Harry listened with interest, questions building in his head. But as much as he was interested, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were visibly terrified by such a perspective. Maybe for this reason, Helga added, “It is possible to give up such a child, to let it grow up in the magical family. I am confident it would be better for all involved.”
“Definitely,” muttered Harry quietly, but Uncle Vernon must have heard him as his face reddened with anger.
“That’s all you need to know. Please let me talk with Harry at your home, but you may leave us.”
“We certainly will,” snapped Aunt Petunia, and Dudley was already halfway to the doors. “Just… just… fix Vernon!”
As soon as Uncle Vernon could walk and talk, he stood up and pointed his finger at Harry.
“You write this freak back and say that we want no more freaks in this house, boy! This is the last time we allow any of your kind in this house! Better remember my words and say this clearly to all of those… those…” he looked at Helga, huffed, and allowed Aunt Petunia to take him out of the living room.
Harry almost instantly looked at the woman sitting beside him.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly.
“No matter, Harry dear, no matter.” She waved it away, her face bright once more. “Now, have some cake and listen so we can solve your accommodation problem.”
Harry obediently reached for his plate. The dessert was delicious. Way better than anything that Aunt Petunia ever made. It was even better than the confections in Hogwarts.
“I will try to make the story as short as possible and fill in the details at a later date,” Helga informed him. “I am not the only founder who came back. We were all resurrected by one of our heirs a little over two weeks ago based on his belief that Hogwarts and all the magical world are in a terrible state and need help. Judging by what I saw in this short time, I must say that I agree.”
Harry didn’t know. For him, the magical world was just that: magical. Although witnessing what he did, he could point out some things that could be improved. Was it so bad that there was a need to resurrect the four founders? How was it even possible to resurrect someone? And who resurrected them? He wanted to ask, but Helga kept talking.
“We first wanted to reconnect with our heirs. That is why I am here, Harry. You and your family are my descendants…”
“What?” Harry blurted out. “But… I’m a Gryffindor. And the Sorting Hat wanted me in Slytherin!”
“Harry, dear, it’s over a thousand years! I wouldn’t expect my descendants, especially those from the squib lines, to hold the same beliefs as mine and be my exact copy. Moreover, the Sorting Hat was… deprived of its usual function recently. But about that, we might talk later.”
Harry nodded. That was good. Everything was enough as it was without him having to pretend to be someone else to fulfil the expectations of the resurrected relative. Why was his life so messy? What has he done? Was it because of those broken windows? Or was it a hereditary mess?
“So… you were resurrected. And other founders as well, by one of your heirs to fix the magical world,” he summarised.
“Exactly,” she smiled so warmly that despite all the mess she made of his head, he smiled back instantly.
“Now is when, according to the plan, I was supposed to invite you to a little Hogwarts family reunion next Saturday. However, considering everything I saw and heard here today, I must ask if you would like to leave this place permanently and…”
“Yes!” Harry said quickly and hurriedly added, “If I don’t have to be here, then I don’t want to.”
“Wonderful!” She exclaimed enthusiastically. “I would love to get to know you better! But it seems that you have an evening full of revelations…”
“Oh, that’s fine. It’s just my life,” Harry waved it off. “Just over a month ago, I discovered that my allegedly murderous and treacherous godfather is not murderous and treacherous but innocent and wanted for the crimes he never committed. And I knew that I even had a godfather for a couple of months only… He asked me to live with him, but he’s still on the run, so I had to return here. So, really, your visit tonight is pretty standard happening in my life.”
“I see…” she chuckled, although her gaze was inquisitive. “Well then, gather your things, and we’ll leave your uncles to live the peaceful, normal lives they wish to have. I’ll talk to your aunt. And you could write this letter, as your uncle… suggested. Inform the headmaster about the change of address.”
“And what will be the new address?” Harry enquired, already standing up as Helga did.
“I don’t think I would like him to visit just yet. You may inform him that you will stay with the magical side of your family,” she gave him a jolly smile.
Harry didn’t waste time. As he wrote the letter, he wondered whether he was acting stupidly by going away with a stranger. But honestly, Harry would go if Voldemort stood at the door of number 4 Privet Drive, declaring that he wouldn’t kill him and offering him a summer stay in the Dark Lord's den (or wherever the Dark Lords resided in their free time). Either way, he had a poor chance of landing in a place worse than the Dursleys. And Helga Hufflepuff was far from being a Dark Lord.
Dear Headmaster Dumbledore,
Yes, I’ve got the letter from the Ministry with the date of the hearing. I wasn’t the one to use magic here tonight. It was...
Harry stopped writing for a moment. Should he mention who exactly was responsible for his mess with the ministry? For some reason, he felt like he shouldn’t. He could explain to Professor Dumbledore everything at a later time, when he himself would know more. No need to alarm him unnecessarily.
...a family member who came to meet us tonight. Aunt Petunia wasn’t pleased about the visit, and Uncle Vernon asked me to send you a letter saying not to come. He said that magical people are not welcome here, including me.
Well, maybe Uncle Vernon hadn’t said that precisely, but Harry knew he meant it. And it served as a reasonable explanation as to why he was moving out.
I’m moving to live with my other family, so I won’t be here anyway. My family will come to the Ministry with me to explain the situation, so I’m not worried about the suspension.
In fact, Harry was a little worried, and he had no idea how exactly Helga intended to deal with the problem. However, she was one of Hogwarts' founders, so she probably had more to say than the Ministry.
Harry ended the letter with ‘ Yours sincerely ,’ as Dumbledore did, signed it, and stepped to Hedwig. He was lucky she was still home and had not yet flown on one of her nightly hunts.
“Would you mind taking that to Headmaster Dumbledore for me?” he asked softly. She hooted back a little drowsily and stuck her leg out so he could tie the letter. “Thanks. And I won’t be here when you come back. I’m not sure where I’ll be, but you can always find me, can’t you?”
She answered with another hoot, gently pinched his finger, and flew out, leaving Harry alone. He also needed to write to Sirius, but that would have to wait a couple of days.