The warning of trouble-maker dobby - book two
Harry barely managed not to shout out. The little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. Harry knew instantly that this was what had been watching him out of the garden hedge that morning. As they stared at each other in awkward silence, Harry heard Dudley's voice from the hall.
"May I take your coats, Mr and Mrs Mason?" He said, on cue.
The creature-- that Harry presumed was a house elf-- suddenly slid off the bed and bowed so low that the end of its nose touched the carpet. It was wearing what looked like a suit for a baby, a house crest pinned to it's shoulder.
"Er-- hi?" Harry whispered nervously.
"Harry Potter!" said the house elf, in a high-pitched voice Harry was almost sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir... such an honor it is..."
"Th-thank you," said Harry confusedly, edging along the wall and sinking into his desk chair, next to Hedwig. Hydrus had been hissing threats at the house-elf from across the room ever since Harry noticed him. "Who are you?"
"Dobby. Sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house elf," said Dobby.
"Yes, I know you're a house elf, but--" stammered Harry. "Um-- it's just- so, this isn't a great time for me to have a house elf in my bedroom."
Petunia's high, false laugh sounded from the living room. The elf hung his head.
"Not that I'm not pleased to meet you, I promise," said Harry quickly, "But is there any particular reason you're here? Maybe you could come back, er, when I'm not supposed to be very quiet."
"Oh, yes, sir," said Dobby earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you, sir... it is difficult, sir... Dobby wonders where to begin... it cannot wait..."
"Sit down, please," said Harry, pointing at the bed. To his horror, the elf burst into tears-- very noisy tears.
"Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry! Don't cry, I can't be making any noise right now! Can't!" Harry said quietly, trying to get Dobby to stop crying. He ought to strangle him, but that may only make him louder. Creatures normally only got louder when they were attacked.
"Please," Harry whispered frantically, "Pretty please-- just stop crying! Just- be quiet! L-look, if there's something I can help you with, or... just, if the Dursleys hear anything-- if they know you're here, and--"
"Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby... Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew..."
Harry, who was feeling incredibly embarrassed, said, "Whatever you've heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish, I swear. I'm not even top of my year at Hogwarts--"
"Harry Potter is humble and modest, and smart," said Dobby, seeming amazed, his orb-like eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,--"
"But I didn't. Vold-- I'm sorry, I shouldn't say the name..." Harry cut off.
Dobby clapped his hands over his ears, horrified, and said, "Ah, speak not that name, sir! Speak not the name!"
"Quiet! Okay, quiet! It's-- I-I'm sorry, Dobby, I know lots of people don't like it. My friend Padma--"
He stopped again. Thinking about them would only make the summer longer. Dobby leaned towards Harry, his eyes wide as headlights.
"Dobby, heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago... that Harry Potter escaped yet again."
Harry nodded and Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears. Harry felt his ears burn and they had fallen-- "Ah, sir," Dobby gasped, dabbing his face with his sleeve. "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has smart and kind-- but Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him... Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."
There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and forks from downstairs and the distant rumble of Vernon's voice.
"What? I've got to go back-- I don't have anywhere else to go. I can't stay here, I have to go to Hogwarts. It's all that's keeping me going. You don't know what it's like here-- I don't belong here. I belong in your world-- at- at Hogwarts. I- I'll die if I stay here, I'm sure of it." Harry stammered out.
"No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flashed by. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, to good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."
"Safe? Safe? No more danger than I'm in here!" Harry said. "I would rather die at Hogwarts than die from- from starvation, or if I get beat to death! I can't stay here!"
"There is a plot, Harry Potter! A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly shaking. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"
"What terrible things?" asked Harry silently. "Who's plotting them?"
Dobby made a weird choking noise and went to bang his head against the wall. Harry caught his wrist just in time.
"Okay, I won't ask. But I can't stay here. I have to go back to Hogwarts. Whatever's happening, I-- I promise, I'm safer there during that than I would be here- safer than I'd ever be while I'm here. Look, here they-- they- they beat me, and hit me, and starve me... at Hogwarts, that wouldn't happen, none of it," Harry explained desperately.
"Dobby is sorry, sir. Dobby has something to admit..." Dobby said, looking horribly ashamed. With the snap of his fingers, he held an abundance of letters in his hand. "Harry Potter must promise that he won't get mad. Dobby only did it for the best, Dobby promises." He said.
Harry took a deep breath, and nodded.
"I won't get mad. Don't interpret my tone as anger. It's not anger." He said slowly. He was trying his hardest to not sound angry, because he was very angry, but if he got angry, he'd get loud, and Dobby would start trying to beat his head on this or that.
"Dobby has been stopping your letters, but only for the best! Dobby wants only to protect Harry Potter. Dobby has heard of your genius, your greatness- Dobby does not want you hurt!" Dobby said, putting the letters before Harry's face.
"May I have my letters, Dobby?" Harry asked, looking through what he could. He could see Ron's messy writing, Hermione's cursive, Padma's handwriting-- though it looked much more like a scribly attempt at cursive-- whatever Lisa's scribble was, and the letters he saw the most of-- letters signed in Draco's name.
"No, sir, Dobby has kept them for the best! Dobby hoped if Harry Potter thought his friends forgotten him, then you wouldn't want to go back to school... Harry Potter may have his letters if he promises to not return to Hogwarts." Dobby said.
"Okay. I-- I promise. I promise I'll try to not go to Hogwarts, okay?" Harry said, putting his hands out.
"Harry Potter has to promise he won't,"
"Fine. Fine, fine-- fine!" Harry snapped. "Are you listening to me? I - won't - go to Hogwarts! Now give me my letters before I hurt you and take them!"
He could promise. He could easily promise. Promises were something very easily broken, and it was nothing he'd feel bad about. And something else he wouldn't feel bad about was if he hurt Dobby. He'd feel bad, eventually, but he had a good reason not to right now.
"Yes, sir. Here, Harry Potter, sir."
"Thank you," Harry muttered. He grabbed the letters as quick as he could before Dobby could redecide.
"You know, Dobby," He said, skimming through them and dropping them on his bed. "I can't not go to Hogwarts. I can say I won't, but it's not my choice. Dumbledore 'll send someone to get me. And, you know, you could tell someone who could stop the, er, bad things from happening before I even get there. Then I can go to Hogwarts and I'm not in danger. You could do that, you know."
"Dobby will not," squeaked the elf, looking panicked. "If Dobby goes to the great Dumbledore, then Dobby's family will be in trouble!"
"Well, what if I told on your family?"
Dobby looked absolutely mortified. "No, Harry Potter cannot! Harry Potter cannot go to Hogwarts!"
Maybe he should've just kept his mouth shut. Dobby lunged for the door, looking at Harry with sorrowful eyes. "Dobby has no choice," he said sadly, and disappeared out of sight. Harry sprang after him, trying not to make a sound. He jumped the last six steps, landing on the tips of his toes on the hall carpet, looking around for Dobby. From the dining room he heard Vernon saying, "... tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr Mason. She's been dying to hear..."
Harry ran up the hall into the kitchen and went unbelievably pale. Petunia's 'masterpiece' of a pudding, a mountain of cream and sugar violets, was floating up near the ceiling. On top of a cupboard in the corner crouched Dobby.
"Dobby," Harry begged, his teeth gritted. "Please... t- they'll kill me. Don't. Please?"
"Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school--"
"Dobby... Please..."
"Say it, sir--"
"I did, Dobby-- I promised, even! If you drop that pudding I will be dead before school even begins!"
Dobby gave him a tragic look.
"Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."
The pudding fell out of the air with a heart-stopping crash. Whipped cream splattered the windows and walls as the dish shattered. With a crack like a whip, Dobby vanished. There were screams from the dining room and Vernon burst into the kitchen to find Harry, rigid with shock, covered from head to foot in Petunia's pudding. It looked as though, with enough luck, Vernon would manage to gloss the whole thing over.
"Just our nephew-- very mentally ill, very disturbed, you see. Meeting strangers upsets him, so we keep him upstairs...." He said as he shooed the shocked Masons back into the dining room, promised Harry he would flay him to within an inch of his life when the Masons had left, and handed him a mop. Petunia dug some ice cream out of the freezer and Harry, still shaking and crying-- though, really, he couldn't tell if it was because there was ice cream in his eyes and glass lodged in his skin or the fact that he'd be dead before tomorrow-- started scrubbing the kitchen clean.
He was still dragging the mop back and forth, even after he'd cleaned up the kitchen, and he just barely caught sight of the Masons leaving, staring at him through the hallway. Vernon had still been able to make his deal, but he was much more than furious, and his face turned an unhealthy shade of red. He didn't bother to find the words as he dragged Harry up the stairs. He couldn't even find it within him to try and make an excuse.
That evening-- Harry had gotten the worst beating he ever had.
He just narrowly heard Vernon yelling as he left, "No meals for two weeks!", for his ears had been ringing loudly.
He laid on the floor, bloody and battered, watching miserably as an owl got a letter in through his closed window. For the next day and a half, however, it sat unread. Harry's limit had been reached, it seemed, for his body healed slowly. He knew magic would heal him, bit by bit, but even it was tired. It wasn't working as effectively it usually did. He remembered from Padma that, apparently, witches and wizards had magic in them that would-- normally-- heal them, or as much as magic could do.
And for that entire time, the only thing he had to listen to were not his own thoughts-- no, he had to listen to the stupid voices-- for an entire day and a half. If he didn't actually end up dead, he was sure he'd go insane.
Meanwhile, Vernon had gotten someone to install bars on the windows of Harry's room, and Petunia had Vernon put a cat-flap on his door for food, and the only times he was told that he would be let out was in the morning and evening for the bathroom. It was miserable.
By the time Harry had been even able to sit up without falling back down in pain, Petunia had pushed a small tray through a crack in the door; Two cold cans of soup, a piece of bread, and something that looked like an undercooked biscuit. If it could even be called that. It may have looked partially inedible, but it was food, so he ate, as thankful as he could be. He split up the food, like he did almost regularly now, and let Hydrus out of his case-- the Dursleys wouldn't dare threaten a snake. Sly had grown accustomed to getting lots of sleep, and eating lots of food. She barrelled through her half-can of soup and even tried to reach for the biscuit.
Harry poured the remainder of the first soup can into Hedwig's food tray, but she turned her beak up and looked at him, incredibly disgusted.
"There's no use turning your nose up, and you know it," Harry said. "I can't get you any better, you can't leave, and Hydrus isn't going to be bringing you anything either."
After a bit more convincing, finally, although indignantly, she obliged, but the way she ruffled her feathers was an obvious sign that she was much more than displeased. Harry sighed, taking up the letter that had been dropped off who knows how many days ago.
Dear Mr Potter,
We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine. As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).
We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.
Enjoy your holidays! Yours sincerely, Mafalda Hopkirk
IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE, MINISTRY OF MAGIC
Harry tossed the letter to the side. As if he even cared. The Ministry was stupid anyways. Everything was just very stupid. He muttered, walking to sit on his bed, feeling even hungrier than when he ate. He almost thought about eating the second can of soup, but he knew better than to waste food so selfishly.
Would he even still be alive in four weeks, when term started? What would he do if Sly, and Hydrus, and Hedwig went hungry? If the school sent someone to check on him, and all that remained were just starved, formally-alive creatures? Or if they all lived; Would anyone be able to make the Dursleys let Harry go? Hagrid certainly wouldn't have a problem, but what if it wasn't Hagrid that came?
He thought until the room went dark, the sun shining against the bars on his window. Petunia hadn't come back to give him dinner, and he wouldn't have said it impossible for her to have forgotten. Or maybe she didn't feed him on purpose.
The next morning, Petunia cracked the door open and peeked into the room. Harry wasn't on his bed, or anywhere else in sight; He was sitting against the wall beside the door, feeling as he looked-- very miserable.
"Aunt Petunia, I'm sorry," he said, his head on his knees. He hoped that if he said it enough, her heart would atleast beat and she'd give him a bit more food. It was unlikely, but it was worth a shot. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." He mumbled, and though she left the tray and went back out, ,he still heard her standing at the door. Her heels retreated down the hall without a word, just over a minute later.
He knew much better than to be hopeful-- yet another thing for the voices to scold him over. They never stopped, really, it was amazing he could even focus on anything when they never stopped talking. It was his own fault that he'd gotten put in this situation, anyway. If he'd just stayed quiet, which was easy for him, then he wouldn't be in this situation. If he just hadn't said another word to Dobby-- stupid, annoying, stupid, stupid Dobby, why couldn't he just have been quiet?
And then there was Harry himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He's a stupid boy. It was all his fault, anyways. It was always his fault, he was always in the wrong, no matter what. The voices were right, they always were. He knew better, but they knew best.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The letters were in a neat pile on his desk, but he couldn't bring himself to read them, despite wanting to. He felt too tired and weak. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. He was hungry, still, but every time Petunia brought him food, he just pushed it over to Sly and Hedwig. Hydrus hadn't returned yet-- but it was fine. He was a very, very capable snake.
Harry couldn't really think, he couldn't make himself get up and not feel bad, he couldn't even find the energy to eat. He never didn't feel bad.
He was just very tired.
The days passed. He couldn't count how many, but he could tell they had. For the first time he could remember since his punishment started, he finally fell asleep for more than a mere moment. His dream had been quite the opposite of pleasant, however.
He dreamed that he was on show in a zoo like Hydrus once was, with a card saying 'UNDERAGE WIZARD' attached to his cage. People goggled through the bars at him as he lay, starving and weak, on the cold ground. He saw Dobby's face in the crowd and shouted out, asking for help, but Dobby said, "Harry Potter is safe there, sir!" and vanished with a loud crack. Then the Dursleys appeared and Dudley rattled the bars of the cage, and banged on them, laughing at him.
"Stop it..." Harry muttered as the rattling pounded in his ears. "Leave me alone... stop..."
He opened his eyes, gasping as he sat up, his back aching. Moonlight was shining through the bars on the window, the only light in the room. He could still hear rattling bars. It was so annoying.
"Stop," He muttered weakly, putting his hands over his ears.
"Harry! Harry, you're not dreaming!"
Harry looked around, confused. But then he saw the window. And it wasn't just anyone pulling at the bars, staring at him: a freckle-faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone.
Ron Weasley was outside Harry's window.