Even among house-elves, Dobby was considered rebellious and ambitious, but truth be told, his ambitions were still quite modest.
Following Dobby's wishes, Harry thought that living freely for a while might spark more ideas in him. Perhaps Dobby would even form a longer-term plan for his future… After all, house-elves lived long lives, and Dobby had plenty of time to learn and grow.
"Yes! Master Harry!" Dobby reverted to his old way of addressing him, calling out joyfully.
"Don't call me Master," Harry said helplessly. "Just call me Harry."
"No way!" Dobby shook his head firmly. "Dobby is Harry's assistant now. This is how it must be!"
Such was Dobby's professionalism. As for Harry… he'd already given up trying to correct certain house-elf notions in the short term. It was too exhausting.
"So, do you want to change your name, Dobby?" Harry asked after a moment's thought. "Back in my hometown, people who've gone through major life changes often take a new name to show they're no longer their old selves—a way to break with the past."
"Change my name… break with the past…" Dobby's eyes sparkled with longing. "Dobby wants that too! Dobby is no longer the Malfoy family's house-elf! Dobby isn't the old Dobby anymore!!"
"Master Harry, can you give Dobby a new name?" Dobby asked, his face brimming with anticipation. "A name from the hero who freed Dobby—it's just too perfect."
"—Alfred," Harry blurted out, struck by a sudden inspiration. "How about that name?"
"Alfred… Alfred…" Dobby murmured the name a few times, then nodded vigorously. "Dobby likes it! From now on, Dobby will be Alfred!"
Master Harry and his assistant Alfred—a perfect match.
Dobby—no, Alfred—quickly got to work. All Harry had to do was call out "Alfred!" and with a loud crack of Apparition, Alfred would appear before him, ready to fulfill his every request to the best of his ability.
Honestly, Harry was starting to understand why Mrs. Weasley wanted a house-elf. He also got why wizarding society considered having a house-elf a hallmark of pure-blood nobility.
If this lifestyle went on for years, Harry genuinely worried Alfred might spoil him rotten.
Within a week, Harry had promoted Alfred to the role of housekeeper. At Harry's insistence, his wages were raised to… eleven Galleons a month.
Raising a house-elf's salary was truly a Herculean task.
Rita Skeeter's actions were slower than Harry had expected. It wasn't until the fourth day that everything Harry had told her made the front page of the Daily Prophet. That same morning, Harry received a letter bearing the Malfoy family crest, containing just one sentence:
[It can no longer obstruct you.]
Harry saw it as a boastful claim. At the same time, he felt he might have overestimated Rita Skeeter's influence over the Daily Prophet. To think she couldn't even publish a small story like this smoothly.
By contrast, her near-overt slanders against Dumbledore seemed to sail through the Daily Prophet effortlessly every day. Harry realized he might need to keep a closer eye on the Minister of Magic.
Smearing Dumbledore's achievements and tarnishing his reputation, whether subtly or overtly—what was the Minister up to? Trying to bring Dumbledore down?
The Ministry moved much faster than Harry had anticipated. By the second day after the story broke, they sent someone.
"…Tonks?" Harry opened the door, staring in surprise at the vaguely familiar woman before him. After racking his brain, he recalled her name.
"Aha!" Tonks snapped her fingers with a roguish grin. "Looks like our Bull-Headed Boy remembers me."
The visitor was none other than Nymphadora Tonks, the Metamorphmagus who could freely change her appearance and hair color—Harry's senior, who'd been interning at the Ministry. He wasn't sure if she'd gone full-time yet.
"The Ministry sent you?" Harry quickly pieced together why Tonks was standing at the doorstep of 4 Privet Drive.
"Smart!" Tonks let out a deep sigh. "It's always for stuff like this… Aha, let me think, how should I put this?"
"Dear Mr. Potter, the Ministry of Magic deeply regrets the events that have befallen you. For the past eleven years, we have worked tirelessly to ensure peace and stability in the wizarding world. We believe you understand the efforts we've made in facing complex challenges. However, we must also acknowledge that, due to certain unforeseen circumstances and… er, what was it again?"
Clearly reciting a memorized speech, Tonks trailed off, her eyes rolling upward as she strained to remember. Her eyebrows scrunched together—literally. Her features seemed to wage war with each other, one eyebrow sliding over the other, her organs twisting into bizarre positions.
"And unknown challenges?" Harry sighed, offering a guess.
"Shush, I'm thinking," Tonks said, her face snapping back to a normal human appearance—or at least close enough. "We've always strived to provide the best for all wizards, the very best—ugh, forget it, whatever!"
With an air of giving up, Tonks pulled a box from her pocket.
"Anyway, I'm here to deliver this," she said with a shrug, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders with easy familiarity. "Nice work, Bull-Headed Boy. You've got that fool of a Minister in quite a mess."
Harry paused as he reached to open the box.
"…Sounds like you're not too fond of the current Minister?" he asked casually. "I recall you were interning at the Auror Office. Are the Aurors really that fed up with him?"
"Who'd like a buffoon like him?" Tonks said carelessly. "Everyone knows how he got his job. He only stabilized his position because of Dumbledore… Honestly, I'd rather see Scrimgeour take the role—oh, you probably don't know him. He's the Head of the Auror Office. Fudge can't really control us."
Harry nodded.
Sounds like the Ministry was riddled with factions. That could be useful.
He opened the box. Nestled on a cushion of gold velvet was a deed—the deed to the Potter family's ancestral home.
Tonks, meanwhile, was eagerly describing the glorious scene of Minister Fudge being bombarded by owls.
After yesterday's Daily Prophet hit the stands, a flood of owls from wizards across Britain unleashed their fury on Fudge. According to reliable sources, Fudge's office looked like it had been hit by a storm of owl droppings. Howlers roared non-stop, keeping employees like Tonks so thrilled they barely slept.
"Everyone's behind you, Harry," Tonks said seriously, her arm still around his shoulders. "If anyone gives you trouble, just shout to the world. Even the Minister would drown in the backlash."
"…Thanks," Harry said after a pause, nodding in gratitude.
He didn't think Tonks was entirely right. These same people attacking the Minister because of the Daily Prophet could just as easily turn on him if the paper changed its tune… much like how many in the wizarding world were now targeting Dumbledore.
Still, Harry believed some would stand by him unwaveringly.
Tonks came and went in a hurry, swamped with work as a Ministry newbie.
Tucking the Potter estate deed back into the box, Harry stepped back into 4 Privet Drive.
"What took so long, boy?" Uncle Vernon grumbled as Harry entered the dining room. "The food's getting cold. I told you, if it's some pesky salesman, just say we don't need anything. The more you engage, the harder it is to shake them. I know this game."
"Sorry, you should've started without me," Harry said, slipping the box into his dragonhide pouch. "I didn't expect it to take so long."
"What was that, Harry?" Dudley asked suddenly. "That box."
Dudley looked like a completely different person from last year—not in personality, but physically.
He'd slimmed down dramatically. At a glance, he was a lean, sturdy lad—tall and well-built.
Weight-loss potions had played a critical role, to the point that Aunt Petunia had been unusually kind to Harry this summer.
"The Potter family deed," Harry said, causing his aunt and uncle's smiles to fade. "It was just delivered by someone from the Ministry. I'm afraid I won't be able to witness your big moment tonight, dear Uncle."
"Where are you off to, boy?" Uncle Vernon said, clearly irritated.
Tonight was a major event. Uncle Vernon had made that clear—it could be the biggest business deal of his life. He was hosting an important business associate at home, and everyone in the family had a role.
Harry's was to make the Dursleys' child seem erudite and worldly, despite his youth.
And now, at the eleventh hour, Harry was bailing?
"Godric's Hollow," Harry answered simply. "The Potter ancestral home is there. A friend told me the house was destroyed by Voldemort. I want to see it for myself… or something."
"Oh, er… alright, alright," Uncle Vernon said, his anger subsiding. He gestured vaguely with both hands. "So, what do you need—er, a construction crew? Housekeeping service? I can make some calls. I've got connections."
"Not yet," Harry said with a smile. "Thanks for the concern, Uncle, but I haven't decided whether to restore the house or maybe rebuild entirely… I'm not sure. I'll at least take a look first… just a look…"
Rarely, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Harry's face. In that moment, Uncle Vernon caught a glimpse of the nephew he'd known for the first eleven years.
"Why not wait a bit?" Aunt Petunia said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence at the table. "I could go with you—I mean, tomorrow? After Vernon's business is done."
Her words stunned not just Harry, but Uncle Vernon and Dudley as well.
"Are you serious, Aunt Petunia?" Harry said, floored.
In all his memories, his aunt had always avoided anything related to his family, especially magic. Yet now she was volunteering to visit his ancestral home? A place teeming with wizards?
"Of course," Aunt Petunia said, nodding firmly. She looked at her husband. "Sorry, Vernon, I just… I want to see it."
Sorrow? Regret? Remorse? Hatred? Harry couldn't pin down the emotion on Aunt Petunia's face with simple words. After all, only those who'd lived through the past could truly remember—and struggle to forget.
"Fine, fine," Uncle Vernon sighed repeatedly, muttering under his breath, too low to catch more than fragments.
"You're saying you agree?" Aunt Petunia said, her face lighting up with surprise.
She knew how much her husband despised wizards and magic. After their falling-out with Lily and James, they hadn't even attended their wedding. Then came the tragic news, and they never saw each other again.
"That's right," Uncle Vernon said, rubbing his face. "Heck, why don't we all go? Dudley's got no plans for the holidays. Call it a trip. Is it safe, boy? That… valley place?"
The last question was directed at Harry.
"Absolutely safe," Harry said firmly, though he suspected his uncle was too drained to respond.
As Uncle Vernon finished speaking, Aunt Petunia slid over and wrapped her arms around him, giving her husband a deep kiss.
Even Harry had to admit his aunt and uncle were a deeply devoted couple. Regardless of anything else, Uncle Vernon was a dutiful husband and father, and Aunt Petunia a devoted mother.
It just never had much to do with the old Harry. He sighed silently.
"Godric's Hollow," Dudley repeated, puzzled, turning to Harry. "Is there anything fun there? Like dragons? Monsters? Heroes?"
Clearly, his cousin's mind had leapt to video games.
"If all goes well, I can show you a fire drake," Harry said after a moment, giving a solemn promise.
Instantly, Dudley became the most eager Dursley to visit Godric's Hollow, practically itching to skip the evening's guests and fast-forward to tomorrow.
"If you want to ensure tonight's meeting goes off without a hitch, Uncle, I can recommend an excellent helper," Harry said after a pause. "Alfred."
Crack!
With a sharp pop, Alfred appeared in a flash.
"What does Master Harry require?" Alfred said, bowing with a proud flourish.
Alfred now wore a crisp black suit, perfectly tailored, courtesy of Madam Malkin's. He even sported a tie and a flat cap. Gone was the filthy rag of their first meeting; he now exuded a sharp, dashing air.
The day Harry promoted him from assistant to housekeeper, Alfred had been so overwhelmed with joy that he'd sobbed, tears and snot everywhere. Afterward, he'd even asked Harry to find him Muggle books on professional butler skills, determined to become a proper housekeeper worthy of the Harry Potter name.
In that suit, Harry had to admit, Alfred looked the part.
"Goblin! My God!!" Dudley finally registered the creature beside him, pointing at Alfred with a thunderous yell. "Goblins are real!!!"
He looked like a war-torn elder, chest riddled with wounds, body scarred, half his head missing.
"Alfred is not a goblin!" Alfred said, glaring at Dudley with his large eyes. "Alfred is a house-elf!"
As for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia—they were still locked in a tight embrace, but not out of love this time. They were frozen in panic at the strange, talking creature before them.
Harry was certain Uncle Vernon was fighting the urge to dash upstairs for his double-barreled shotgun.
"Calm down, everyone!" Harry stood, raising his voice. "This is Alfred, my hired housekeeper. He's a house-elf—you can't imagine how capable he is."
Not giving his aunt and uncle time to process, Harry turned to Alfred. "Show them what you can do, Alfred."
"Yes, Master Harry!"
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