trigger warning: slight allusion towards abuse (towards azzie). tread with caution, you're always more important <3 and we're back with a new installment so yeah, a new warning for swears.

THE AFTERNOON SUN blinded Castor. He didn't care though — it was a nice day, a nice picnic with a nice girl. 

It wasn't something he'd initiated, but he did want something like this. It was his birthday — the first chapter in the fifteenth volume of his life. And he couldn't help the fact that his father could read him like a book. 

Just that morning, his father had announced — rather regretfully, for some reason — that most of his afternoon would be spent in the conference room with the Monegasque prince who had been misinformed of the conference being held on 31st July, instead of 3rd August. 

How it happened, they didn't know. Anyway, Castor didn't mind — they celebrated his birthday at dinners anyway. 

But then Prince Alexandre showed up with his daughter, Emilia, and Castor was sure she could see the hearts in his eyes. 

And so, while the fathers discussed whatever it was they needed to discuss — Malcolm had shared the details with Castor but why would he care enough to listen? — the kids were in the garden, initially having a picnic, then running around and causing a bloody ruckus, then snogging behind a tree. 

And when they had dinner in their parents bedroom that night, munching on burgers and pizza and all different kinds of fast food, he couldn't have wised for a better fifteenth birthday. 

The same couldn't be said for Azalea Potter. 

She laid on her back in her room, gazing out of the window, squinting at the wild afternoon sun that she could not enjoy. Not anymore, since she was admitted the Hogwarts. The only time she was allowed out of the house anymore was when she had to attend summer school. 

And what made it worse was the fact that none — absolutely none — of her friends had written to her. Not a single letter. All summer long. 

What a miserable life she led. She sighed as she rolled on her side and stared pitifully at Estrella all locked up in her cage. Vernon hadn't been very kind to Azalea, so it was borderline insane to think that he'd be kind to her pet. 

She had to make up an excuse of having to have a mandatory pet just so Vernon wouldn't kick the poor owl out of the house. 

She might as well have stuffed her face in the pillows and suffocated herself when Petunia called out for her. 

"Coming, Aunt Petunia!" she screamed back when Petunia called for her for the third time. 

Dragging her half dead body out of bed, she made her way to the kitchen, tying her untamed waves in a low knot on the way. 

Back to work. 

Three hours of cooking and baking and grilling and cleaning, and she was free to go. 

She wanted to laugh. Free? In this house? Never. 

Azalea grabbed a few scrap newspapers to do origami with, almost tripping on her way up the stairs, resisting the urge to flip Dursley off when he laughed at her. She had barely stepped a foot in the room when Estrella squawked excitedly at seeing her. Her smile vanished when Vernon called her again, and this time, she groaned loud enough for it to be heard downstairs. 

"What was that, you brat?" 

"Nothing, nothing at all!" Azalea threw the papers on her bed, making her way down the stairs once more. "Coming, uncle Vernon!"

"I warned you, girl. If you can't control that bloody bird of yours, it will have to go." Vernon didn't even turn around to acknowledge her presence as she came down. He was buttoning up Dudley's shirt, then passed a long red fabric towards her to tie it up in a Windsor knot for Dudley's thick neck. 

Azalea pitied the poor cloth. It might just suffocate to death. 

"She's bored," Azalea spoke, feeling satisfied internally when Dudley winced at the harsh movements of her hands. Petunia was tying up Vernon's tie. "If I could just let her out for an hour or two—"

"And have you sending secret messages to your freaky little friends!" Vernon backed up, smoothening his red tie. "No sir!" 

"But I haven't got any messages. From any of my friends." Azalea finished tying up Dudley's tie, just a little tighter than she was supposed to. He didn't dare say a word — he was more or less scared of growing another tail. "Not one. All summer." 

She tried hiding the disappointment in her voice. She failed, for Dudley was smirking away in the corner. All she had to do was narrow her eyes and settle for an angry frown, and he scuttled away like a scared little rat. 

Suits him right. 

"Who'd want to be friends with you?" Dudley felt invincible when he was next to his mother, and why shouldn't he? All Azalea would gain from speaking against Petunia would be extra dishes to clean and perhaps even dusting the attic.

"I could ask you the same." Azalea had the upper hand when Petunia momentarily walked away from her son, into the kitchen to check on her cake for the night. Azalea had baked it, but of course, why would she be on the receiving end of credit? 

"Now, now." Vernon gave her a glare, his bleary eyes barely visible as he squinted at her. "I should think you'd be more grateful. We raised you since you were a baby, gave you food off of our table, even let you have Dudley's second bedroom. . . purely out of the goodness of our hearts."

Petunia wasn't a threat. Deep down, Azalea knew that Petunia wouldn't hurt her, that she saw something of her sister in this reckless, rebellious little girl. Why else would she ever take her in? But Vernon. . . he was horrible, and she knew. Azalea knew that she shouldn't cross the line with him. The little scars on her thighs warned her. 

"I thought she got the second bedroom because mum was afraid she'd turn us into a dung beetle." 

Ah, Dudley. It was always fun to mess with him. 

Petunia walked back into the living room, right on time as if on cue. She exchanged a look with Vernon, her pale face paler than usual. When she saw Dudley's fat finger reach out for the pudding in her hands, she snapped out of whatever was brewing in her head, pulling the plate away from her son. 

"Not yet, popkin. That's for when the Masons arrive." 

"Which should be any moment!" Vernon clapped his hands. It was amusing to see him so enthused. "Now, let's run through our schedule one more time. Petunia when the Masons arrive, you will be. . ." 

"In the lounge, waiting to welcome them graciously into our home." Petunia's smile couldn't be faker. 

"Good. And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley puffed his chest out, looking an awful lot like an oversized pigeon. 

"Ah." Vernon nodded. Then, in perfect synchrony, the three turned towards Azalea, disgust written on their faces as if she'd crawled out a gutter. "And you?" 

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I don't exist." 

"Perfect!" Vernon grinned, his yellowing teeth making Azalea wince. It didn't last for long, though, because the doorbell rang only a few seconds later, and he was already ushering her up to her room, Dudley to the door and Petunia to the lounge. 

She sighed, tempted to drag her feet up as slowly as possible just to piss Vernon off, but she was too tired to deal with his tantrums. 

She entered her room and closed the door, eyes shut, leaning her weight against it before sliding down. 

Just another birthday, right? She sighed, eyes opening slowly before widening to the size of bloody saucers as she saw the creature on her bed, bouncing happily, like a toddler on a trampoline. 

She paused for a second, taking a deep breath. She studied in a world of ghosts and ghouls, a tiny little creature with big floppy ears was probably nothing, right? 

The creature turned around, his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. She'd just finished revising about the skeletal system, and maybe that was what influenced her to wonder what this creature skull looked like. What about his brain? 

"Azalea Potter!" the creature seemed to be as intrigued with her as she was with him. "What an honour it is!" 

He was more excited than intrigued. 

"Wha—. . ." She paused. Referring to a living, breathing creature as a 'what' was rude, wasn't it? "Who. . . are you?" 

"Dobby, ma'am. Dobby, the house elf!" 

She smiled at his excitement, but then the Masons laughter filtered through the door and she was brought back to reality. She sighed, a sad smile lingering on her peach lips, "Dobby, I see. I really do not wish to do this, but you'll have to leave. This isn't exactly a great time for me to have an owl in my room, let alone a house elf." 

"Dobby understands, madam!" he nodded, floppy ears moving with his movement. Azalea smiled, a real one this time. "It's just that. . . Dobby has come to tell you. . . it is difficult for Dobby to . . . Dobby wonders where to begin." 

Azalea sat down on the bed, eye level with Dobby now. He was still standing. 

"Hmm, why don't you start with sitting down?" 

Dobby's eyes widened, and he stuttered, the playful energy in his limbs gone, "S—Sit down?" 

Azalea raised her eyebrows. Perhaps she shouldn't have —

Dobby burst into tears. Loud tears. 

"Fuck." 

She tried to reach out for him, to console him, to shut him up, anything. He just caged himself away from her touch, palms of his bony arms reaching to wipe the salty tears. 

"Dobby, I'm sorry!" Azalea's voice was a desperate plea. "I didn't mean to offend you, or anything—" 

"Offend Dobby?" Dobby stopped, incredulous. "Dobby has heard of your greatness, ma'am, but never been asked to sit down by a wizard. . . like an equal. . ." 

"You can't have met many decent wizards, then." 

Azalea cracked a little smile when he stopped sobbing to nod, then groaned and pulled her hair, for Dobby had suddenly leaped off of the bed and started banging his head against a dresser. 

"Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby—" 

Azalea wondered what the scene was like downstairs. Maybe they were having a loud conversation and couldn't hear the commotion upstairs. Yes, that was wishful thinking, but what was the harm in thinking such way? 

Dobby stopped a few seconds later, legs shaking and eyes spinning dizzily. Azalea held the urge to reach out in concern — who knows how he'd react? It was almost sad. 

"Are you. . . are you alright?" 

"Dobby had to punish himself, ma'am. Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, madam." 

"Your. . . family?" Azalea was confused and concerned. Was he stuck in a situation like hers. Because she knew it sucked. 

"The wizard family Dobby serves, ma'am! Dobby is bound to serve one family forever. If they knew Dobby was here. . ." 

Dobby spaced out for a minute, shaking his head as he probably imagined his punishment. He snapped out of it as quick as he got distracted. 

"But Dobby had to come, you see." He spoke in an urgent whisper, urging Azzie to listen carefully. "Dobby has to protect Azalea Potter — to warn her. Azalea Potter must not return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year." 

Azalea raised her eyebrows, letting out an incredulous chuckle. Even Estrella had stopped ruffling her feathers, "Not return to Hogwarts? That's. . . I can't do that, Dobby." 

"There is a plot, Miss Potter. A plot to make the most terrible things happen. If Azalea Potter goes back to Hogwarts, she will be in great danger." 

"Well, that's nothing new, now, is it?" Azalea pinched the bridge of her nose. Hogwarts was the only thing she'd been looking forward to these past days, and she would not let some house elf make her stay back. No matter how adorable it was. "What terrible things, anyway? Who's plotting them?" 

Dobby paused, making a funny noise, something between choking and gagging. He couldn't say anything, how amazing. 

"Alright, I understand! You can't say anything —"

Too late. Dobby had started hitting himself in the head with Azalea's bedside lamp, creating an awful lot of chaos. God, was she screwed. 

She wrestled the lamp of Dobby's hands, which was surprisingly difficult considering Dobby barely reached up to waist. 

"You're one hell of an elf, dear God." Azalea pulled Dobby by his. . . attire and pushed him in the cupboard, having heard Vernon's thundering footsteps approach her room. 

"Keep quiet, Dobby, please."

As if on cue, the door to her bedroom swung open, the rapidly reddening face of Vernon Dursley popping in with a nasty, angry grimace on his face. 

"What the Devil are you doing up here?! You just ruined the punchline of my Japanese golfer joke!" 

"I—I was ju—" Azalea sighed, hands hiding the lamp behind her back. "I'm sorry." 

"One more sound — just one — and you'll wish you'd never been born, Potter." 

The door shut. 

"I do that on a daily basis already— ah!" 

Dobby had started pushing against the cupboard doors as soon as he heard the door close. Azalea pushed herself off of the door and sat on the poor excuse of a bed, Dobby wasting no time in jumping out of the tiny cupboard. It must have been insanely suffocating inside. 

"Do you see why I've to go back? I can't stay here, Dobby." Azalea laid down on her back, staring at the ceiling as had become her new norm. "Hogwarts is where I belong. The only place where I have friends." 

"Friends who don't even write to Azalea Potter?" 

"I mean, I'm sure they have th—" Azalea looked at Dobby suddenly, as if just now realising something. She raised her eyebrows and sat up such that she was leaning her weight on her elbows. "How'd you know my friends haven't been writing to me?" 

Dobby shrunk back, trying to make himself invisible. A rational Azalea would've understood the feeling, but now, she was kind of, sort of just a little bit angry.

"Azalea Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby." Dobby walked backwards, raising his little palms cautiously. The left one held a stack of letters, no doubt the ones that were addressed to her by her friends. Dobby let out a little nervous chuckle. "Heh. Dobby thought that if Azalea Potter hadn't received any letters from her friends. . .that if Azalea Potter had thought that they had forgotten her. . .well, then maybe Azalea Potter wouldn't want to return to Hogwarts anymore." 

Only a fool would say that Azalea possessed a saintly temper. And so, it was only Azalea being Azalea when she stood up to her full height — which wasn't much, but enough for Dobby to feel scared — and walked towards him with deadly calm. 

"Give me those, now." 

"No." Dobby would remind himself that denying Azalea Potter of her wants was a very courageous thing to do. Courageous and stupid, because that night, Azalea Potter chased Dobby down the stairs and into the kitchen, the oncoming punishment from her family be damned. 

"Dobby, I swear to Merlin—" Azalea huffed, trying to keep her voice down. For someone with toothpicks as legs, Dobby was fast. 

As soon as she made it down, Dobby disappeared with a snap of his fingers. He reappeared only a few milliseconds later, apparating behind her. 

She turned around to glare at Dobby, but one second he was there, and the next, he disappeared into thin air, re-apparating into the kitchen. 

Azalea eyed the pudding, praying to God that Dobby wouldn't touch it. She would be a dead girl walking if he did. 

Dobby followed her line of sight. And as he tip-toed near the pudding, he seemed to be full of regret. 

"Dobby, no. Please."

"Azalea Potter must say that she isn't going back to school!" 

She considered lying. She wasn't very good at it. 

"And she mustn't lie." Dobby looked at her knowingly, and she groaned. 

"I can't." Azalea pulled at her hair. "You know I can't." 

"Then Dobby must do it, ma'am." Dobby snapped his fingers and the pudding started levitating mid-air, heading towards the kitchen. "For Azalea Potter's own good." 

And with that, Dobby disappeared again, this time for good.

And only a few seconds later, she heard Vernon apologise profusely — something extremely new for her ears. 

"I'm so sorry, it's my niece! She's very disturbed. Meeting strangers upsets her — that's why we keep her upstairs!" 

The visiting couple nodded and took their leave, Vernon running after them to ask them to stay for dinner. They didn't come back. 

She was fucked. 

.  .  . 

LATER THAT NIGHT, CASTOR SAT ON HIS TABLE. 

With a pen and a notepad in hand, he scribbled away, writing yet another letter to Azalea. It was the third time he re-wrote it. 

He didn't have any need to be nervous, did he? It's not like she was replying to any of her letters anyway. 

Still, it was their birthday. Her birthday. And considering what her family sent to her for Christmas, he could tell it wasn't a very happy birthday. 

He let his head rest on his desk, closing his eyes for a few seconds. Emilia and Prince Alexandre were staying for the night, and leaving the next morning. Just like him. 

It didn't make any difference, did it? It was almost midnight, and he'd see her on the train tomorrow anyway. 

Before he could overthink it, he re-read the letter, then sealed it off in an envelope, his messy scrawl writing down the name and address from memory. 

Rather than handing the envelope to his owl, Brownie, (his mother named her) he held on to it, keeping it in his trunk amongst the sweaters. 

What if her family was why she wasn't receiving letters? Maybe they were keeping the letters with them. . .

Anyway. The letter was a gift to her, and he wasn't about to lose it. So, without any other second thoughts, he kept it in his trunk, turned off the lights (except for the little moon lamp on his bed-side table, because. . . yes.) and went to sleep. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he'd be back home.