This summer had been far too ordinary. I only spent two weeks with Luna, and even that felt rushed. She barely had time for me—her dad had roped her into planning an expedition that was set to leave in early July, and they wouldn’t be back until just a week before the new school year started. I was gutted, to say the least.
"Dad’s friend, Mr. Carlo, wrote to us," Luna explained one day, showing me a sketch of a massive beast in her scrapbook. It looked like a cross between a rhino and a whale. "He said there’s been a sighting of an Explodipotomus in Africa, east of Uganda. The last time one was seen was sixty years ago."
"But isn’t that dangerous?" I ventured, a chill running down my spine at the thought of Luna wandering off to some remote corner of the world with her eccentric dad.
"Oh, not at all," she said serenely, smiling dreamily. "It’s going to be a massive expedition, with experts from all over the world. Dad’s been invited as Britain’s representative—both as a journalist and a rare-creature researcher. He says there used to be a nesting ground for the Wrackspurt-Horned Crumple near there. Imagine if they find one…"
"I mean, I’m happy for you, Luna," I admitted, unable to hide my disappointment, "but I really wanted to spend this last summer with you. You’re off to Hogwarts this year, and on top of that, my family’s invited Harry to stay with us at the end of the holidays."
"I’d love to spend more time with you too, Ron," she replied softly, her voice tinged with sadness. "But when I go to Hogwarts, Dad will be all on his own. I want to make the most of the time we have now so he won’t feel too lonely once I leave." She gave me a gentle smile. "But I’ll write to you. Let’s not be glum—why don’t you tell me more about your adventures with Harry?"
And so, for what felt like the hundredth time, I launched into a dramatic retelling of how we’d defended the Philosopher’s Stone, embellishing a few bits here and there to make it more exciting.
"You know, I’m not surprised you two became friends," Luna mused thoughtfully when I finished. "Harry’s playing too, even if he doesn’t quite realise it yet. The current sweeps him along, but you—" she smiled at me with quiet pride "—you’re already learning how to guide the flow. You’re clever, Ron. But you should play as if he’s the captain and you’re the helmsman. That way, you’ll steer exactly where you need to go." She sighed wistfully. "Your game sounds fascinating. I wish I could join in. Maybe one day."
Lately, Luna had become obsessed with books about pirates and sea voyages, and her imagination had transformed her playroom into the deck of a grand ship. There were sails, a wheel, and scattered across the floor were maps, sextants, a brass spyglass, and all sorts of navigational oddities.
"What about Hermione?" I teased with a grin. "She’s part of the crew too."
"Oh, she’ll make a brilliant navigator someday," Luna replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "But she’ll never feel the current or see it. She’ll understand it, though—she can read it on the maps. Now, shall we have a snack? I’m absolutely starving." She changed the subject abruptly, leaving Hermione behind as a forgotten afterthought. It struck me then—was Hermione unable to sense the flow because she was Muggle-born and too stuck in Muggle thinking?
Playing with Luna always left me with new questions. Even the smallest thing she said was packed with meaning, and her games made me think in ways I never had before. I loved it.
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In the kitchen, a house-elf was bustling about. Strange creatures, house-elves. They weren’t quite human but weren’t entirely something else either—like a caricature brought to life, with exaggerated features for comic effect. This one wasn’t wearing a pillowcase but a toga-like garment, fastened at the shoulders with knots.
The moment we entered, the elf gave a low bow and vanished with a loud pop. I’d seen her a couple of times before, but now she reminded me of Dobby.
"Luna, can you tell me about house-elves?" I asked while we drank tea.
"I’d rather not, Ron. It’s frightfully dull," Luna replied, wrinkling her nose. "They’re not interesting at all, even if they are hardworking and kind. You should read about them yourself—I’ll lend you a book."
The book was a slim one, and I finished it in an hour while Luna coloured star maps and plotted a course to the Land of the Fae. But instead of answering my questions, the book gave me even more to think about. That led me to read The Principles of Magical Synergy and Magical Energy: Foundations.
Magic, as it turns out, is a form of energy born deep within the earth, near its core, from disturbances in the mantle. It flows like magma or rivers, sometimes bursting to the surface in powerful eruptions called leyline surges. These rare surges create “places of power” where ancient wizards built sacred sites, portals, or temples, like Avalon.
Hogwarts was built on one such place. The ambient magic from the leyline overwhelms individual magical signatures, making these areas neutral and sacred. It’s also why magical illnesses heal faster there, and why students can perform spells all day without exhausting themselves. In the past, witches and wizards used these places to summon entities, craft runic artifacts, and perform feats of magic impossible today. It made me realise how critical these places are—no wizard’s magic alone could sustain such work.
To contain an open source, a special stone is used to diffuse the magic, sealed with a wizard’s spell. Unchecked, raw magic is destructive, attracting both light creatures like unicorns and phoenixes and dark ones like Dementors.
More often, though, the magic doesn’t breach the surface but flows close to it. These weaker sources are ideal for wizarding estates, where the energy supports wards, magical farming, and breeding magical creatures.
The Burrow’s leyline, though… something felt off about it. It seemed faint, almost like it didn’t belong here, yet strong enough to sustain the nearby magical forest. I resolved to ask Dad about it later.
As for house-elves, they’re incorporeal spirits formed from the surplus magic of contained sources. Binding them makes them physical—hence their togas, which bear the seal of their master’s family. You can only kill them with enchanted weapons in their material form; otherwise, they’re immortal. Freeing an elf isn’t as simple as tossing them a sock, either. The wizard has to revoke the binding, remove the family seal, and replace it with ordinary clothing. Once freed, an elf has limited time to find a new master, or their magic fades, and they return to the magical ether.
Which meant… Dobby couldn’t have been helping Harry of his own accord. That was worth thinking about.
July 3rd, I saw Luna off and found myself bored stiff. Sure, I worked in the shop from ten to two every day, but after that, I’d trudge home to do absolutely nothing. Mostly, I spent my afternoons flying around under an invisibility charm, reminiscing about books I'd read and plotting out plans for the future based on them.
It was a shame I couldn’t do magic. Dad hadn’t taken my wand, but he’d made me promise not to use it.
The twins, meanwhile, were utterly consumed with their experiments. I tried hanging around for a couple of days, hoping to suss out how they came up with their pranks, but I soon gave up and left them to it. They had their own language, practically talking in grunts and half-words only they could understand. Standing around and watching them muck about with cauldrons and powders wasn’t exactly riveting.
At least they hadn’t asked to dip into my winnings yet. They’d done well enough at Hogwarts, earning a tidy sum, and were expecting more from their Pygmy Puff sales. Mum and Dad hadn’t mentioned the money, so they probably didn’t know about it. In any case, it was clear the twins had been saving up throughout the school year, which was brilliant—Ginny’s school shopping wouldn’t be a strain. That said, our parents were hopeless at budgeting. Any spare Galleon that came their way was immediately spent on small luxuries and frivolities.
Percy, unsurprisingly, was no fun either. He’d barricaded himself in his room, sending Hermes back and forth with love notes to Penelope and poring over some dreary book titled How to Climb the Ladder of Power as a Prefect.
Ginny turned out to be an unexpected headache. She was giddy with excitement about Harry’s upcoming visit and kept badgering me for stories about him. I had to sit her down for a serious chat, explaining that if she acted like a lovesick twit, Harry might just bolt the first night he arrived. She seemed to get it, thankfully. Felt pretty good, being her go-to older brother for advice.
Hermione rang the shop a couple of times, fretting about Harry. She told me she’d tried calling him but got his uncle instead, who bellowed at her and hung up. Harry wasn’t replying to letters either, and if the books were right, the enchanted notebook Hermione had gifted him was probably locked in a cupboard with his other things. Poor bloke hadn’t thought to hide the key ahead of time. Even Hedwig returned with my letters undelivered, looking a bit worse for wear—no doubt thanks to Dobby. So, the house-elf really was out and about.
Hermione was heading off to France with her parents on the 25th and was desperate to ensure Harry was alright before then. We decided to visit him together on the 21st.
The Grangers lived in a suburb near London, and I got there easily enough on the Knight Bus—eight minutes and thirteen Sickles. From there, Hermione and I caught a regular bus to Privet Drive.
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It was Aunt Petunia who opened the door. She wasn’t thrilled to see us but didn’t slam it in our faces either. To my surprise, she actually called for Harry. Her husband wasn’t home, and her kid was off somewhere, which helped. Hermione and I dressed like posh Muggles and were polite to a fault—Hermione even handed over one of her parents’ clinic business cards, which seemed to smooth things over.
When Harry appeared, I was gobsmacked. He looked even scrawnier than last time, like he’d been used as a packhorse all summer. Still, he beamed at us like we’d made his year—poor bloke was starved for company.
We chatted for about an hour, mostly about trivial stuff. Petunia even let us sit in the living room, but she kicked us out before five, clearly anticipating her husband’s return and wanting to avoid drama. Harry looked crushed when we left, especially after Petunia made it clear this was a one-off and she wouldn’t be tolerating any more visitors.
Hermione was near tears as I walked her to the bus stop. I promised her I’d sort something out and write to her if it worked.
The plan came to me almost immediately, but I didn’t act on it for two days. When I did, I headed straight to the Grunnings office on the Knight Bus—the address was easy enough to find in the workshop’s directory.
I caught Vernon Dursley at the end of his workday, just as he was leaving for the director’s car park. Predictably, he went off like a kettle.
“What in blazes are you doing loitering by my car, you little brat?” he bellowed, stomping toward me like an enraged bull and swinging his briefcase. “Clear off, now!”
“Pardon me, sir, but I’ve been waiting quite a while to speak with you,” I said, polite as you please, not budging an inch. To his credit, he didn’t actually hit me with the briefcase when he got closer—probably too shocked by my nerve. He still tried to shove me away from his Ford, but froze at my next words. “It’s about the biggest deal of your life, sir. One that involves Mr. Mason, the prominent building magnate.”
“How do you…?” he stammered, suddenly off-kilter.
“I have information that someone’s planning to sabotage the deal and ruin your reputation. But I know how to stop them.”
“I know you!” His eyes bulged as recognition dawned, and his face turned a blotchy purple. He jabbed a sausage-like finger at me. “You’re one of them! I saw you at the station with my freak of a nephew. You’re from that school of yours—for crackpots and con artists.”
“My name’s Ron, and I’m a wizard, Mr. Dursley,” I said coolly, with just a hint of frost. “Though I prefer to think of myself as a person with extraordinary abilities. Now, whether you want my information is entirely up to you. No one’s forcing your hand.”
His face was a riot of emotions—he clearly wanted to boot me across the car park, but the businessman in him wasn’t willing to ignore what I’d said.
“Suit yourself,” I said with a shrug, turning to leave.
“Wait! You—Ron, was it?” he called after me, as expected. I smirked to myself but wiped it off before turning back.
“Well?” he snapped. “Out with it, boy. Say your piece and then bugger off. You don’t exactly look trustworthy—nothing like your lot usually does.”
“Not all… erm… ‘special’ folk are spawns of the devil, Mr. Dursley,” I said with a polite smile.
“So, what’s the deal, then?” he asked, switching to a businesslike tone and leaning his briefcase against the car bonnet. “Out with it.”
“Your nephew’s quite famous in our world, Mr. Dursley. Most people are glad to have him at school, but there are some who’d rather he wasn’t there.”
“To hell with the nephew—how do you know about the deal?” he interrupted with a scowl. “I haven’t even told my wife yet.”
“Let’s just say… everyone’s got their own talents. Mine happen to include prophetic dreams,” I lied. Not like he could prove otherwise. “Best not to get into the details.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he shot back, straightening indignantly. “Why the devil should I trust you? Spill everything you saw.”
“Fine,” I shrugged. “On the thirty-first of July, you’ll be hosting Mr. Mason and his wife at a dinner party. Everything will seem to go swimmingly, but then some… creature sent to target Harry will cause a magical prank. Your guests will see it as an insult—an attempt to mock them. I don’t think I need to spell out what that’ll mean for your firm.”
“I’ll kill that little brat,” Dursley muttered suddenly, slamming a meaty fist onto the car. “It’s all his fault. That cursed freak… Soon as I get home, I’ll throw him out on his ear and be done with it.”
“I’ve already told you, Harry won’t be to blame,” I said, my patience wearing thin as I frowned at his overreaction.
“Doesn’t matter,” he retorted with a venomous glare. “That boy’s nothing but trouble and losses. I warned Petunia we should’ve never taken that little freak in.”
“It’d be unwise to anger magical folk, sir,” I said coolly, narrowing my eyes. “Believe me, if they wanted, they could force Harry back on you. You had to take him in this summer, after all, didn’t you?” I added pointedly, holding his gaze.
Dursley flushed red, huffing like a kettle about to boil over. For all his bluster, though, he wasn’t stupid. He calmed himself quicker than I expected. My guess was the wizards were paying him handsomely for Harry’s ‘care’ and stayed out of the actual upbringing. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want Harry going off to Hogwarts. Odd, though—hating magic on the one hand but preferring Harry to stay home the rest of the year. Only money could reconcile such contradictions in a man like Dursley.
“What do I have to do to stop this?” he finally asked, forcing the words out like they physically pained him.
“It’s simple, sir,” I said. “My family invited Harry to stay with us for the summer. For some reason, though, he has to spend a bit of time here. My parents were planning to collect him on the second of August, but I’ll come for him on the thirtieth of July. Without Harry, this little stunt won’t happen, and your deal will go off without a hitch.”
“This all smells fishy to me,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “If that’s true, why didn’t you just knock on the door and take the little pest away straightaway?”
“Because the one keeping tabs on him mustn’t suspect me too soon. If they do, they’ll just cook up another prank I don’t know about. And I assume you’re not keen on more losses.”
“Hmph… What’s the plan, then?” Dursley asked, his tone serious now. “I must be mad, taking help from one of you lot.”
“The main thing is, no one must know when I’m coming for Harry,” I said simply. “On the thirtieth, first thing in the morning, send Harry to the shops—it doesn’t matter for what. While he’s out, pack all his things in the car. When he gets back, bundle him in and drop him off at the old bus stop just past the park. I’ll meet him there at ten sharp. Then you can forget about him till next summer—and start packing for Majorca.”
“You know about that too?” he asked, staring at me in surprise. “Fine. But if you’re lying… I’ll have Harry’s hide.”
“You shouldn’t be so hasty,” I said without a trace of offence. “Magic’s not all bad, sir. It could even do wonders for your business.”
“Oh, spare me,” he sneered, though he seemed calmer now. “Your lot’s hocus-pocus only brings trouble.”
“Does it, though?” I smirked. “Say, if you had a wizard at a meeting who could tell if a client was lying or planning to swindle you. Or an order form enchanted to make clients choose your company over others. Maybe even a cologne with a tiny magical additive to make people favour you. Wizards have all sorts of tricks to help a business thrive.”
“And Potter can do all that?” he asked eagerly, his eyes gleaming with greed.
“Not yet—he’s still learning,” I said with a shrug. “But if you didn’t take his books away during the summer and actually let him study… and if you treated him better overall, he’d likely help you out once he’s older and done with school. Harry’s the sort who repays kindness.”
“Don’t you lecture me, you little snot,” Dursley growled as he climbed into his car. But his expression was pensive. “See you Friday.”
“At ten sharp, sir,” I called after him. “And not a word to anyone.”
He grunted irritably, started the car, and drove off, looking oddly pleased with himself.
The operation, “Free Potter,” went off without a hitch. I arrived at the designated spot just before ten and parked myself on a bench, waiting for Dursley’s car. The old bus stop and this stretch of the park had been abandoned ever since the town expanded in the other direction. Hardly anyone passed through here anymore, as it was the longer route to London.
At nine-fifty, Dursley’s Ford pulled up. The moment Harry spotted me, his eyes widened in shock, his face lighting up with a mix of joy and disbelief. We both watched as his uncle unceremoniously unloaded his trunk and other belongings straight onto the pavement. Three minutes later, Dursley was gone without a backward glance.
Before Harry could even speak, I whipped out my wand. A three-decker purple bus materialized out of thin air, standing tall and ready to take us to safety.
"Harry, keep quiet. We'll talk later," I warned, plonking my baseball cap on his head.
By the time we’d hauled his things onto the bus, Harry looked like a right dolt—mouth slightly open, eyes wide as saucers. All he needed was a bit of drool at the corner of his mouth to complete the picture.
"Oh, it’s you again, Ginger," the conductor said with a cheeky grin. "Didn’t I just drop you off a minute ago?"
"Yeah, well, had to pick up my mate," I replied, handing over the fare. "Two to Ottery St Catchpole. That’s the abandoned road about half a mile from the old bridge."
"Righto," Stanley said with a shrug. "Though it’ll take a bit longer—got to drop a wizard off in Tinworth first."
"No worries, we’re not in a rush," I said casually. "Just make sure the sticking charms on the seats are active. And secure the luggage; there’s a broom in there."
"What’s with your mate—he mute or something?" Stanley asked, shifting his gum to the other cheek as he lazily flicked his wand to refresh the seat charms. He gave Harry a bored once-over. "Quiet little thing, isn’t he?"
"Muggle-born," I explained, motioning for Harry to sit. "First time on the bus." I dropped into the seat next to him, and the charm instantly glued us in place. I smiled to reassure him when he looked a bit alarmed.
"Ah," Stan said with a knowing smirk. "Well, happy travels then, mate. Oi, Ernie, let’s get moving!"
The ride only lasted fifteen minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. The bus hurtled around like it had a mind of its own, tossing us about despite the sticking charms. Finally, it screeched to a halt, and we tumbled out onto the ground in a heap.
"That was…" Harry breathed, his voice filled with awe as he sprawled there, too stunned to stand. "Ron, what’s going on? And my uncle…"
"Nothing much," I said with a grin, pulling him to his feet and grabbing the broom while he dragged his trunk. "I told you I’d have you over, didn’t I? Gave your uncle a ring and sorted it out. Now, come on—let’s pick up the pace. Mum’s probably worrying. Didn’t tell her I was heading to fetch you. They were planning to get you next week, but I got bored just sitting around."
"Thanks, Ron," Harry said, beaming as his face flushed with excitement. "I was about ready to start howling from the boredom at the Dursleys’."
Walking along the empty road in the heat, with the river glinting beside us and the buzz of crickets in the air, felt surprisingly fun. We chatted about nothing in particular until the trees on the right gave way to reveal our “palace.”
"Here we are—the Burrow," I said grandly, spreading my arms as we approached. "Welcome home."