Two days later, Mr. Weasley successfully brought Harry back.
However, the interaction didn't go smoothly. According to Harry's uncle, Vernon Dursley, Harry had ruined an important business deal for him.
Vernon had been negotiating a lucrative drilling project for some time, a deal he believed was his ticket to a promotion, a raise, and his grand dreams of becoming a CEO and living the high life.
But Harry had, apparently, dared to ruin it all by causing a pudding cake, meticulously prepared that afternoon, to fall from the ceiling and splatter all over the Mason couple.
As if that weren't enough, an owl had then appeared, enraging Mrs. Mason, who was allergic to birds.
Furious, she stormed out.
According to Mr. Weasley, Vernon was so angry he feared that if Vernon had been a wizard, he might have cast Avada Kedavra on Harry right then and there.
Mr. Weasley tried negotiating for a long time, but the Dursleys refused to let Harry leave.
Finally, around lunchtime, Vernon and Petunia, worried that Mr. Weasley intended to stay for a meal—or worse, that their neighbors might notice a "weird man" visiting—reluctantly allowed him to take Harry, likely relieved to have him gone for a month.
…
"I didn't do it!" Harry protested loudly, sitting in William's small courtyard.
He quickly recounted everything about Dobby and the elf's warnings.
When he finished, there was a long silence in the courtyard.
"Very suspicious," Fred said.
"Definitely odd," George agreed, "He wouldn't even tell you who's behind it?"
"I don't think he can," Harry said, "Every time he was about to reveal something, he started banging his head against the wall."
"House-elves can't disclose their masters' secrets without permission," William explained. "It's part of their magical binding, and they punish themselves if they try."
Fred and George exchanged a glance. "Exactly," Fred said. "Clearly, he disobeyed his master by warning you. That's completely out of character for a house-elf."
"What, you think he's lying to me?" Harry asked.
"Well," Fred said, "let's put it this way—house-elf magic is quite powerful, but they can't use it without their master's approval.
"Going to warn you without their master's knowledge? Sounds like someone sent Dobby to mess with you, feeding you those warnings on purpose."
"Do you have enemies at school?" George asked.
"Yes," Harry and Ron immediately answered in unison.
"Draco Malfoy," Harry explained, "He hates me."
William sipped his tea, raising an eyebrow. Malfoy would probably feel deeply wronged hearing this—he might not exactly like Harry, but orchestrating such a scheme seemed beyond him.
"In fact, finding out whose house-elf Dobby is would be quite simple," William said.
"How?" Everyone turned to him expectantly.
"Just ask the house-elves in the Hogwarts kitchens," William said with a shrug.
"The kitchens are full of house-elves. They often chat with each other, exchange cooking tips, and compete over cleaning techniques.
"Someone there is bound to know Dobby."
"Of course!" Fred clapped his hands in realization.
Harry nodded enthusiastically. Sharing the problem had made everything seem so much simpler.
"What? Hogwarts has house-elves too?" Hermione frowned.
She had just realized that Dobby didn't fit her understanding of house-elves.
At Nicolas Flamel's estate, the elves were polite, well-dressed, and even carried wands.
But Harry's description of Dobby painted a much miserable picture.
And now she was hearing that Hogwarts employed a lot of house-elves.
She had never seen them.
"Obviously," Fred said, "Hogwarts has over a hundred house-elves. They carry our luggage to the dorms and prepare all the food for the feasts."
"I've never seen a single one!" Hermione said.
"They rarely leave the kitchens during the day," George explained, "At night, they come out to clean and tend the fires… but you're not supposed to notice them.
"The mark of a good house-elf is that you never know they're there. Mum's always wanted one."
"Do they get paid?" Hermione asked with a frown.
"Do they get holidays? –And sick leave? Pensions and all that?"
Ron burst out laughing, nearly falling off his chair.
"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione. House-elves don't need sick leave or pensions.
"They love working for wizards."
"Nonsense!" Hermione snapped, "I've seen plenty of house-elves at Nicolas's estate, and they all had holidays all kinds.
"Mercury even asked us for positive reviews, he said it affected his year-end bonus. I wrote him quite a lot of reviews.
"Isn't that right, William?"
William quickly recounted the setup at Nicolas Flamel's estate, agreeing with Hermione's points.
"But they're rich," Ron muttered, "Sure, the Philosopher's Stone is gone now, but Nicolas Flamel doesn't care."
Dumbledore had publicized the destruction of the Philosopher's Stone, though it might take a century for people to realize Nicolas had likely faked it.
Harry, not wanting the argument to escalate, interrupted, "Let's not debate this now. We still have plans to go to the Weasel Mountain. Are you coming?"
"No," Hermione said, spreading open her textbook. "We're studying."
Harry looked at the four odd individuals sitting around the small table.
William was engrossed in a thick book with a cover inscribed in strange, incomprehensible script.
Hermione was working her way through her Potions textbook, seemingly nearing the end of second-year material.
Annie was diligently completing homework Hermione had assigned.
And Luna, holding a magazine upside-down, was immersed in its pages.
"Merlin's beard! Is this even summer vacation?" Harry muttered to himself.
No, he couldn't stay here any longer—he'd feel too guilty for wasting his summer.
The twins seemed to share his sentiment and quickly excused themselves.
After everyone left, Hermione grabbed William's teacup and drained it in one angry gulp.
"This is slavery! Pure exploitation!" she fumed.
"It's not entirely that simple, Hermione," William said, closing his book.
"You heard what I said about Dobby. Punishments like his are common in old wizarding families.
"But that's not the case at Hogwarts. I've seen the house-elves in the kitchens—they're happy there and don't want to work in wizarding homes."
"But…"
"Do you know how long it took Nicolas to eliminate the house-elves' servile mentality at his estate?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Six hundred years."
"A house-elf lives about two centuries. Nicolas spent three generations transforming the culture at his estate.
"Do you have that kind of time?"
"But we could start advocating for better treatment, to improve their conditions," Hermione said earnestly.
William shook his head and said softly, "History teaches us that top-down reforms rarely succeed easily.
"Power isn't granted by those in power, it's taken by those who demand it themselves."