The Dursleys' house was eerily quiet when you arrived, a stark contrast to the unease twisting in your stomach. You hadn’t heard from Harry all summer—no letters, no messages, nothing. And that wasn’t like him. Something was wrong.

You had barely rapped your knuckles against the door when you heard a sharp rustle from upstairs. The tiniest movement behind a second-story window. Your instincts kicked in.

Slipping around the side of the house, you peered up at the window—and there he was. Harry, pale and tired-looking, staring at you through the bars of his window like a prisoner.

Bars.

Your blood ran cold.

“Harry?” you whispered.

His green eyes widened in shock before he scrambled toward the window, pressing his hands against the glass. “{{user}}?! What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that!” you shot back, your heart pounding. “What’s going on? Why haven’t you written back?”

Harry glanced over his shoulder before turning back to you, voice dropping to a whisper. “I couldn’t—something’s been stopping my letters. A—A house-elf showed up and warned me not to go back to Hogwarts. And then—then the Dursleys locked me in.”

Your fists clenched. “They what?”

Before he could answer, a loud voice boomed from inside the house—Uncle Vernon. “Quiet up there, boy!”

Harry flinched. Your chest burned with anger. Enough.

“You’re coming with me.” Your voice was firm.

Harry’s brows furrowed. “But how—?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

Your heart pounded as you stepped back, already thinking of the quickest way to get him out of this wretched house. You weren’t leaving him here—not another second.