Harry Potter: Master of Talismans

By April, new growth edged the path near the greenhouses. On the fourth, I turned thirteen, and Emma’s letter arrived at breakfast with enough concern tucked between the birthday wishes to make it clear that she had not forgotten January. I wrote back that evening, after Harry and Ron had spent the day referring questions to me as though the extra year supplied a professional qualification.

It did not improve my marks automatically. I still made mistakes in lessons, although I had better notes about some of them and more opportunities to discover what had gone wrong before it tried to kill me.

Spring became summer, and Gryffindor won the House Cup. Ron went back to inspect the hourglasses after the result was announced, apparently unwilling to believe we were allowed both the Cup and a year without school examinations. Hermione had found other things to worry about, including next year’s subjects and a folder which she carried to several meetings with McGonagall.

I asked about it while we packed. ‘The special arrangements have been approved,’ she told me, closing the folder before I could see much beyond a timetable. ‘There’s Ministry permission as well. I can’t discuss the details yet.’

That sounded ominous enough for me to say so. Hermione reminded me that she was arranging lessons, and I let her put the folder away. Whatever it involved would begin in third year; for once, a mystery might reasonably wait until September.

At the platform, Hagrid helped with our trunks and reminded us to write. Ron promised to inspect the owl before entrusting it with anything important, receiving instructions to give Errol a rest. I left them discussing the bird’s summer plans and boarded with Harry and Hermione.

Once my things were stowed, I went to find Luna before the corridor filled completely. We had talked about meeting during the holidays; now we chose a day to write with final arrangements after checking at home. She repeated the day as I turned to leave, and I promised I would remember.

Harry was explaining telephones to Ron when I returned. He had a number written on a piece of paper and was tapping it with one finger while Ron tried to establish how someone at the other end would know that he was speaking to them.

‘They answer,’ Harry said, looking relieved to see me. ‘You don’t have to shout. That’s the important bit.’ Ron objected that he had only been asking how far away they might be.

Hermione glanced up from her folder. ‘Please tell me you can help,’ she said, moving her bag so I could sit beside the window.

I suggested making sure Ron knew to dial before introducing himself to the receiver. He protested that he was asking sensible questions, and Harry assured him that he wanted every one of them asked before the first call.

‘I’d like to speak to someone this summer who isn’t Dudley.’ Harry slid the number towards me, and I took a copy while Hermione checked hers against it. Ron watched us write, then tucked his paper away with unusual care.

I told Harry we would check what had happened if he stopped answering. We knew where he lived, and a telephone which went unanswered for days would be a reason to do more than keep dialling.

‘I know.’ He folded his copy slowly, pressing the crease against his knee. ‘I’d just rather not need another rescue.’

Nobody had a particularly good joke for that. The train began to move, and I turned towards the window in time to see Hagrid raise one enormous hand above the crowd. We watched the platform slide away before Hermione asked where I had been.

Ron looked up as soon as I mentioned Luna. Harry’s smile returned, acquiring an expression which made me regret giving them such a short answer.

I explained the plan to write after we had checked dates at home. ‘A date to arrange a date,’ Ron observed, settling back comfortably. ‘Very organised.’

I suggested he might learn something from it. He ignored that and began telling me what people at school had been saying, so I stopped him before he reached the part I expected.

‘If you’re about to repeat the name they call her, leave it out.’ Ron closed his mouth, then said he had not been calling her that himself. I told him he did not need to pass it on either, and he looked down at the paper in his hand.

Harry asked whether we were going out. ‘We’re friends, and I like spending time with her,’ I said, leaning against the window. ‘That’s as much as you need for your report.’

Hermione put her folder on the seat beside her and suggested they ask me about something I wanted to discuss. I thanked her, which turned out to be premature; she had a question of her own and waited only long enough to glance at the compartment door.

‘What do you think about house-elves?’ Harry’s smile faded, and she nodded when he asked whether she meant Dobby. ‘And the others. I’ve been looking into it.’

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I had told her how we had freed him after she woke. She had asked about the sock, the book and what Lucius had done, then borrowed several books about wizarding households. I had seen them on her desk between notes for subjects she had not even started yet.

She described what she had found, turning one hand over on her knee as though trying to put the arrangement into an order which made sense. Elves worked and obeyed, while somebody else decided whether they could leave. Lucius had been able to hit Dobby and expect him to follow.

‘He did follow,’ Harry said, looking down at his hands. I reminded him that Dobby had left once he no longer had to, and Harry nodded without looking up.

Ron shifted against the seat. ‘They don’t all want clothes,’ he said. ‘Some would be horrified if you suggested sending them away.’ Hermione turned towards him, and he hurried to explain that Dobby was unusual.

I asked whether an elf had told him that. Ron hesitated, then admitted it was what people said about the ones who worked in old houses. He asked whether I thought they would all tell us they wanted to leave.

‘I don’t know what they’d tell us. That’s why I’d rather ask them.’ The train rocked round a bend, and Hermione caught her folder before it slid to the floor. Ron steadied the bag beside it, still frowning over the question.

Hermione said some of the elves worked at Hogwarts. We had been eating meals they prepared for two years, she pointed out, without giving much thought to the people doing the work. Harry looked towards the door and asked whether we could talk to them when we returned.

‘That’s one of the things I want to do.’ Hermione drew the folder onto her lap, but Ron held up a hand before she opened it. He thought walking into the kitchens and announcing that everyone was going to be freed might produce something other than gratitude.

‘I’m not going to throw socks at people,’ she told him. I looked out of the window and remarked that my contribution had gone, making Harry laugh. Even Ron smiled before Hermione reminded us that she was serious.

I turned back towards her. ‘So am I. Dobby wanted to leave Lucius. Somebody else might want to stay in the same kitchen and still be able to say no to being hurt.’ Ron considered that for a moment, then said it was different from sending them away.

Hermione leaned forwards. ‘But if they say everything’s fine, do we just accept it?’ She had opened the folder now, and one finger rested beside a page of notes.

I remembered the way Dobby had looked at Lucius before answering almost anything. We could ask what would happen if they changed their minds, I suggested, and whether they could refuse an order. We also needed somewhere they could answer without watching a master’s face.

‘Dobby could throw Malfoy into a wall,’ I added. ‘That didn’t mean he could make himself walk out of the house the day before.’ Harry nodded, remembering an elf who had heard of danger and had been unable to explain it plainly.

Ron reminded him that Dobby had nearly killed him. ‘I know,’ Harry said, lifting his head. ‘We talked about that. I still want him to have a better life than the one he had there.’

Hermione looked at me and asked whether I would help. I agreed before she could begin another explanation, and she paused with her hand halfway to the paper. Apparently she had been expecting more resistance.

‘You haven’t asked me to overthrow every old family in Britain before teatime,’ I told her. ‘You’ve asked whether we should try to do something useful.’ She smiled, then glanced at Harry, who said she could count him in too.

Ron picked at a loose thread on the seat. He did not want anyone treated badly, he said; he thought it would be difficult, and he wished we would stop looking as though that was a remarkable objection.

I asked him to tell us where he thought the plan might go wrong. That would be more useful than waiting until afterwards to say he had known it would, and he considered the offer before agreeing. Hermione took out a fresh sheet, leaving space at the top for a title.

‘Start with Dobby,’ I said before she wrote one. ‘Ask whether he wants to talk to us about it. He might know people we don’t, but helping him once doesn’t mean he owes us a job explaining every elf in the country.’ She nodded and wrote that in her own words.

Harry suggested asking Dumbledore about meeting some of the elves at school in a place where they could speak freely. Ron wanted to know which parts of the bond were magical; a promise from a wizard might not alter what an elf could refuse. That was a good point, and Hermione added it beneath the others.

By the time the countryside beyond the window had changed, we had a page of questions and very few answers. Hermione read it through, pausing to squeeze another question into a gap, then said that someone ought to try.

Harry pointed out that we were trying. She smiled at him and bent over the page again, looking happier than she had over any of her finished revision plans. I held the corner steady as the train swayed, waiting while she completed the line.

The rest of the journey passed in a mixture of food, visitors and discoveries that something essential had been packed at the bottom of a trunk. Ron went to show his brothers the award he was taking home before returning it to the trophy room next term. I asked whether he intended to sleep holding it, and he answered by checking the wrapping again.

At King’s Cross, we took our luggage through the barrier into a crowd with no reason to look twice at returning schoolchildren. Trolley wheels rattled across the floor, parents called names, and a little girl ran at her older brother so enthusiastically that he almost dropped his case.

Harry stood beside his trunk and searched the crowd. After a while he stopped, resting his hand on the handle instead of moving towards anyone.

‘They haven’t come.’ Hermione looked towards the station entrance and suggested they might be late. Harry agreed that they might, in a voice which said he did not believe it.

Emma knew I intended to telephone before making my way home. Hermione had her own arrangements with her parents, but neither of us was ready to leave Harry standing beside an owl cage with nobody expecting him. I offered to take him with me while we worked out what happened next.

‘I need to go back.’ He gave a small, tired smile and mentioned the Hogsmeade form. Third-years could visit on permitted weekends if a guardian signed; Harry’s form already had the creased look of something he had worried over without finding a useful answer.

I shifted my bag higher on my shoulder. ‘You don’t have to settle the whole summer beside a luggage trolley. Let’s find a telephone first.’ He looked towards the signs above the crowd as Ron came through the barrier with his brothers and Ginny.

Ron saw Harry’s face, glanced at the empty space around us and set down his own trunk. For a moment, with everyone else moving towards the exits, none of us made a move to leave.