Team: Wigtown Wanderers
Position: Beater 2
Prompt: Character: Dobby
Additional Prompts: 9. (creature) Jarvey, 10. (dialogue) "If you are going to breathe down my neck, at least have a mint", 13. (object) banana
Words: 1794
Thanks to Aya for betaing!
Harry Potter is sleeping upstairs; Dobby saw him safe and sound, and the temptation to collapse Harry Potter's bed over his sleeping form was too much. Dobby wrings his hands… why is the boy still here? After everything Dobby has done: he was sure that the Bludger would have sent Harry Potter home!
He thinks of the iron back at Malfoy Manor. He needs to punish himself again: for leaving the Manor, for failing to collapse Harry Potter's bed—but he can't hurt Harry Potter! Even if it is for his own good, causing so much pain to such a kind boy—the kindest wizard he's ever met—causes Dobby more pain than anything Mr. Malfoy can do.
Dobby shudders as he remembers his master. What he wouldn't do to have Harry Potter as his master… but bad Dobby!
He lets out a wail and frantically darts his eyes around for a heavy book.
AHA!
Dobby runs over, tripping over his own feet as he does so, already stretching his arms out for the thick textbook on one of the tables. Dobby will give it back to the student who left it in the Common Room, and will punish himself accordingly for taking it without permission.
The book is heavy in his hands, and Dobby drops it on his head, though he expected to hit himself at least three times. He sits up, dazed, prepared to do it again.
"What are you doing?"
Dobby shrinks away from the horrified voice. When the student sees what he's done, the voice is going to become angry. The student might even call a teacher—would be right in doing so—and that teacher would call Mr. Malfoy.
"Oh, Merlin… that's my book!"
There it is. Dobby hangs his head as he holds out the book in his shaking arms. The boy will take his book and… Dobby doesn't want to think about that.
There's a pause after the boy takes the book. Is he checking for damage?—Dobby doesn't dare look. A braver elf, a disobedient elf, would escape. But Dobby is a good elf! Except when he isn't: when he's standing in the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room, when he's been caught taking a student's property without permission.
"Why did you have my book?"
Dobby slowly lifts his head. The voice isn't angry, it's curious. His eyes, wet with tears of fear, meet the student's eyes: the boy is wearing glasses, but he's older than Harry Potter and his hair is red and curly.
"Dobby was punishing himself!"
"Dobby?" The student puts his textbook back on the table. "That's your name? Are you one of the Hogwarts house-elves?"
"No, Sir." Dobby shakes his head. "Dobby is Master—no, no, no! Dobby is bad elf, Dobby must punish himself, Dobby must—"
He lunges up at the table for the textbook, but the student is quicker, snatching the book out of the way. Dobby finds himself halfway on the table, his legs hanging in midair, his hands clutched around a banana.
Dobby moans in distress, but the banana… if he can stick it in his eye—but before he can act, it's snatched out of his hands. Dobby gives a loud wail and whacks his head on the table.
He hears a crash, then the boy's face is next to his. "Dobby, please stop that! You'll wake up half the house—please!"
Dobby moans, but sits up. The boy isn't angry. He's not authoritative, he's… tired. There's a desperation in his voice not unlike the one in Harry Potter's whenever Dobby talks to him, but this boy's eyes are drooping, his words sound messy and mumbled.
Dobby looks up, tilts his head. The boy's glasses are lopsided, just a tiny bit; his curls are dishevelled on one side; there's a line on the side of his face… he was sleeping.
"If Sir doesn't mind…" Dobby begins timidly. "Was Sir sleeping here? Dobby's Master doesn't like Dobby reminding him, but Sir? It's very late, it's—"
Dobby breaks himself off. He's said too much, asked too much of a superior. He looks around: the book and the banana are gone, and it's too dark—even for him—to find another object. If he's fast enough… but no. The boy dropped the book and banana in his haste to quiet Dobby, but they're still too close for Dobby to attempt to reach them.
"You're right." The boy doesn't sound mad. He sounds more tired than before, though, and drags his feet as he sits down. "I should go to bed, I was just…" He leans down and picks up both the book and the fruit. "I have an exam tomorrow, Care of Magical Creatures, and I need to learn—well, I need to learn everything."
Dobby turns over to face him. "Sir?"
"I need to do well on this. I need to do more than well. More than good. We've started studying for NEWTs already, and I—" He sighs. "I'm sorry, I just get nervous."
He opens the book. There's a creature staring up at him and Dobby: a ferret-like thing smugly stalking around the page. "This is the Jarvey. It is one of the only beings classified as 'creatures' that speaks English and is capable of learning other languages. Despite that, it only uses this skill to taunt people with rude words and phrases. Thus, the Jarvey's intelligence is often questioned and debated, as experts are unable to decide whether this is a sign of sentience or ill-will towards humans."
He sounds as if he's reading from the book, but he's looking at Dobby. The smug ferret hisses and flicks its tail, then hits its nose on the edge of the textbook picture it's stuck in and bares its teeth in and pain and annoyance.
"I…" The boy bites his lip. "I think I know it. I just…"
He shakes his head and bends down again to pick up the banana. He worries it in his hands until the skin breaks. Dobby follows his gaze to the rip—the boy isn't doing anything. He's too tired, too nervous. Dobby's seen his young Master Malfoy act the same way, usually before there's a large party in the Manor.
Dobby stares at the banana. It's the closest he's ever been to one outside of the Manor's kitchen. Before he can think further, the boy holds it out.
"Do you want it?" His fingers move as if to worry the fruit's skin again, but he stops himself. "I'm sorry about the hole, but…"
Dobby nods. He hasn't eaten in days, not between protecting Harry Potter, servicing the Malfoys, and punishing himself for behaving inadequately on both counts. He reaches out for the banana, touches its skin—and tears himself away. What is Dobby thinking, taking such a treat from a wizard?
"Please, Dobby?" The boy is still holding it out. "I know you're not allowed to, I've read about house-elves, but it's going to go to waste if you don't take it. Should I… should I order to you take it? I don't want to, but if it's easier for you…"
He trails off as a sound comes from above. Dobby hears it, too: it's not nothing, it's footsteps. Worse, the footsteps are approaching. They're coming. They're going to see!
Dobby grabs the banana and Disapparates to the other end of the room. If the boy is in trouble for being out of bed, Dobby will think of something. It's the least he can do after the gift and the kind conversation—both of which he will have to punish himself for. House-elves are not supposed to enjoy their existence.
The boy doesn't look as scared as Dobby is, even turning away from where the footsteps are coming to focus on his textbook. Dobby watches as someone emerges, another boy; watches with bated breath as the second boy approaches the first.
There's silence as he settles over the boy's shoulder.
Dobby wants to shout a warning. He knows all too well the kind of punishments that can be delivered when one is unprepared and facing the other way.
It's the first boy that speaks: "If you are going to breathe down my neck, at least have a mint."
The second huffs out a laugh.
Dobby swallows. Their postures are easy and their voices are soft: the only reason he can hear them so clearly is because he's an elf. The first boy doesn't sound as tired as before, but Dobby knows the truth; young Master Malfoy does the same at the large parties, though his clever and cutting words hide nervousness instead of fatigue.
"Come to bed, Perce," the second boy says, leaning on the chair. "It's three in the morning."
"Like you don't stay up worrying about Quidditch."
Dobby hears the authoritative note in his tone. Had he been greeted like that earlier, he would have been scared—the boy's messy hair and exhausted eyes would have convinced him of safety, however. Now, the yawn that threatens to break from the boy's lips is enough to make his friend laugh again.
"You're going to be fine tomorrow. More than fine." The second boy is already levering his friend from the chair. "Sleep, just for a bit." He trails his hand over the first boy's cheek, where Dobby saw a crease earlier. "And I don't mean on a textbook."
"Oliver…" the first boy draws out against another yawn, but the authority and sarcasm is gone and he is once again the overworked student that Dobby talked to minutes ago. "I need to study…"
He's already walking, however, letting himself be lead away from the table and textbook. Dobby watches him retreat up the stairs to his dormitory. Harry Potter is up there, too, somewhere, sleeping soundly and completely unaware of the danger that awaits him.
Dobby clutches the banana and looks up, worry gnawing at his heart. He can't stay in the castle any longer: there are chores to do at the Manor, breakfast to be made for his Master and Mistress, and multiple punishments to inflict upon himself for the day's infractions.
He tiptoes over to the table, where the boy's textbook lies open and the Jarvey snarls up at Dobby, its mouth forming around silent insults. Dobby shuts it carefully and moves it farther away from the edge of the table. He pushes the chair in and rights the carpet where he disturbed it.
The silent Gryffindor Common Room looks back at him—and then Dobby is looking at the inside of Malfoy Manor, and he doesn't have the time to think of the kind redheaded boy he met at Hogwarts; Mr. Malfoy is shouting for him.