Unexpected Visitors

"I'm afraid I don't have any presents for you -"

"It's really alright," he said with a little bit of a laugh. For some reason, Tom had become more insistent on things like presents in the last couple of years. Harry wasn't going to complain.

"But we can pick one up next time we're in Diagon Alley."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Really."

"Now, are you going to open the present from the mudblood?"

Harry sighed. "Her name's Hermione, Tom..."

"I am aware," Tom replied carelessly.

Harry rolled his eyes, and then reached under his bed to retrieve the two presents Hermione had given him the week before.

"Hmmm..." he mused, "Which to open first..."

One was clearly a book, and the other...well, he had no idea what to think of that one.

He settled on the one that looked like a book. After removing the bright red, glittery wrapping, he let out a gasp of excitement.

"A Structural Analysis of Magical Contracts, by Eviatar Erlinger!"

He flipped through the pages excitedly. "It looks so complicated and hard and amazing!"

He glanced over at Tom, who actually looked quite impressed.

"Perhaps I don't give the mudblood enough credit."

Harry smirked at him. "No, perhaps you don't.," he said, ignoring the pain in his head. "She probably remembered the argument we had over the blood oath I took."

"Which you were a fool for taking."

"It was the only way I could ethically practice legillimency."

"Ethics," Tom scoffed.

"I wonder," Harry said thoughtfully, reverently placing the book on the bed beside him, "What's in the other package. It looks like a shoe box."

Curiously, Harry picked up the other box and cautiously unwrapped and opened it, finding a pair of headphones, a discman, and a few of CDs inside.

He blinked. "Muggle music technology," he said in surprise. He looked at the CDs. One had Bach – Preludes and Fugues I written on it, and another Bach – Preludes and Fugues II; the others were Bach – Cello Suites parts I and II.

"What's Bach?" wondered Harry.

"A wizard who lived approximately approximately two and a half centuries ago. A world-renowned composer."

Harry blinked. "Oh, like music."

"Yes, Harry," Tom said patronizingly, "Like music."

"Oh, well that was awfully nice of her."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "I doubt she knows, though, that he was a wizard. There have not been many prominent musicians in our history, and he's even more well known in the muggle world than he is in the magical one."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Oh, so I bet this is part of her no doubt impending plot to make me like muggles, then."

"I would imagine so."

"Well, it was very nice of her anyway."

Tom looked at him blandly. "Indeed."

"Anyway, when will we next visit Diagon Alley?"

"A week or two. It depends on when you get your letter with your book list. You likely won't need any new books for most of your classes, but the Defence against the Dark Arts curriculum will no doubt be chosen by your new professor."

"Oh, right, Professor Quirrell is..."

"Dead. You killed him."

Harry hung his head, looking very ashamed at that. "I really didn't mean to. I still feel very awful about it."

Tom looked at him disdainfully. "He was a poor excuse for a substitute horcrux. Good riddance."

"Tom, that's a horrible thing to say."

"Sometimes I fall under the impression that you have forgotten that I used to make a name for myself torturing and murdering 'innocent' people. If you can really call them that," he added on darkly.

"Well, it's easy to forget. I mean, you're so nice to me," Harry said earnestly.

"And sometimes I forget how starved for affection you are."

Harry frowned. "Well, that's not a very nice thing to say."

Tom scoffed at him.

Meanwhile, Harry yawned. "I think I'll take a nap now, actually. Perhaps I can sleep through the Durselys' dinner party."

"It's probably for the best."

He stood up and closed his curtains. "Goodnight, Tom."

"It's not night, you stupid child."

When Harry woke up, there were two enormous green-ish yellow eyes staring down at him, opened impossibly wide until they were just about the size of tennis balls.

"Hello," Harry said cautiously, not moving. "My name's Harry, who are you?"

The creature, which had perhaps the largest, pointiest ears Harry had ever seen, jumped off his bed and onto the carpet, bowing so low that its long, thin nose touched the ground.

"Harry Potter!" it exclaimed, and Harry winced, hyper-aware of how jarring the small creature's voice was.

"Muffliato," he whispered performing a vague movement with his hand, hoping the spell would have at least a marginal effect even though he cast it without a wand.

In the meantime, the small creature was blubbering on, sounding quite star-struck. "...so long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir...such an honour it is..."

Harry blinked. Well that was...unexpected. "Mr. Dobby -"

"Oh, just Dobby sir. Dobby the house elf," the creature said, wringing its long, bony hands a bit.

Harry's eyes widened. He'd never met a house elf before. Tom was quite clear on the fact that Harry was treated like a house elf, but he'd never actually met these creatures he was always compared to. This was a house elf? This is what Tom was always comparing him to? He didn't want to insult Dobby or anything, but...he couldn't help but feel a little insulted, himself, about the comparison.

"Alright, well, Dobby, it's lovely to meet you -"

The creature looked at him with eyes filled to the brim with wonder and excitement. "Harry Potter...says...it's lovely to meet Dobby..." Tears were gathering in the elf's eyes.

Harry nodded absently, still at least somewhat oblivious to the small creature's fragile mental state. "Indeed it is. Now, Dobby, may I ask why you're here?"

"Oh yes, sir," Dobby said, pulling himself together. "Dobby has come to tell you, sir...it is difficult, sir...Dobby wonders where to begin..."

....

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