The Life and Lies of Dobby, the House Elf
A creature wearing a pale, patched, dirty blue sheet over his body was standing, cowering, listening to the unpleasant sound of Mr Malfoy's loud, commanding voice.
"You stupid elf! What in the name of merlin do you think you're doing?" He demanded, following with a slight sneer. "You're an ungrateful little piece of rubbish."
"Dobby is sorry sir. Dobby will iron his hands tonight, and stick his head in the microwave." Dobby replied, looking down at the shiny, polished shoes of his master.
"If you ever, EVER, leave this house without permission, merlin forbid what will be in store for you." Dobby glanced back up at Mr Malfoy. Lucius was a proud, arrogant man, intent on treating house elves like vermin. He had blonde, now greying hair, with sharp eyes. Lucius wore a black suit, emanating from which, a dark, demeaning aroma. He raised his long, ebony, metal cane and swung down, pummelling into Dobby's already red-raw back. He cringed away from the cane, but was forced to look back and right into Lucius' eyes,
"Yes master. You are wonderfully kind and I am incredibly grateful to serve you," Dobby said, not believing and hating the words. He gave Lucius a low bow and swept off towards the kitchen.
The sound of Dobby's slight footsteps echoed through the living room, his dirty, pale skin looking shabby and unhealthy. He walked past the shiny, ebony couches, the armrests studded with silver jewels. There were three couches, with recliners on each side. Lucius had already settled nicely on the couch, with Narcissa coming to join him. Draco was elsewhere, most likely lounging in his room, coming up with an argument to convince the Slytherin team to allow him a place on the team, preferably Seeker, to show that he was just as good as Perfect Potter. A sharp, gold quill, resting on a fresh roll of parchment. It had been this way for most of the summer. Until now. All of a sudden, Draco came crashing down the stairs, yelling, "Father? FATHER!"
"Draco!" Lucius hissed, "Stop acting like such a child!"
"Father, I want to be on the Slytherin Team for Quidditch," Demanded Draco, "I don't understand how Potter gets to be on the team. He isn't even that good. The teachers just go easy on him because he's the "boy who lived." He only passes subjects because of that Granger girl."
Dobby, who had been listening from the kitchen noticed a slight change in Draco's voice when he mentioned Hermione. One of anger and annoyance, to one of hidden admiration.
"You should take a leaf out of that filthy Mudblood's book. At least she makes good use of her schooling," Lucius spat back.
"The disgusting, little Mudblood is only good at school because they teach in such a stupid, Muggle fashion." Draco cringed slightly when he called Hermione a 'Mudblood,' "Why can't I go to Durmstrang, at least THEY give a proper education. Maybe I'd learn something from subjects other than-"
"Enough! Draco, your mother wishes you to go to Hogwarts as it is far closer."
"Your father and I both went to Hogwarts, and we are still a respectable family." Narcissa spoke quietly.
"Fine then mother." Draco retorted, and walked briskly out of the room.
Dobby could hear him stomping up the stairs, kicking the wall ferociously and slamming the door shut. Dobby stared around the large, spacious kitchen, until his eyes rested on the oven. He crawled timidly over to it, patting his scarred, white hands.
"Get on with it, vermin!" Lucius called out from the living room.
Dobby sighed, and braced himself. He pulled open the oven, which had heated up to 250oC and stuck his hands in. The pain seared through his pointy fingertips, up his long fingers and spread around his hand. The heat rose upwards, warming his arms. It spread all over Dobby's petite body, even though only his hands were in the torturous grasp of the oven. He was halfway through the time. The heat rose up intensely, making his body feel as though he was on fire. Dobby ought to scream and cry out in pain but he would never give the Malfoy's that pleasure of hearing his agony. In fact, it was only Lucius and Draco who really enjoyed Dobby's pain. Narcissa thought it was cruel but necessary. Dobby yanked his flaming red hands out of the oven. He glanced at his hands noticing the blisters beginning to form. Dobby inspected his palms, which were starting to peel. His flaky skin hurt like hell, burning and burning even though they weren't in the oven anymore. Dobby ran over to the magnificent kitchen sink and clicked his fingers. This sent bolts of pain up through his hands and he winced a little. The tap was now running, the cold water gushing out and cascading into the sink below. Dobby plunged his hands into the cool refreshing water. The pain flared at first but then settled as the reliefs of the water kicked in. Sighing, Dobby stood there for a couple of minutes, hoping that his warning to the great Harry Potter was understood. As long as Harry Potter stayed at home, he would be safe from the evil, dark magic that was set to invade and threaten Hogwarts School. Dobby didn't mind burning his hands if it meant Harry Potter was safe.
Dobby removed his hands from the sink and dried them gently on his fraying pillowcase. He summoned some bandages from the cupboard and wrapped it around each individual finger and his hands. The bandages were fresh and clean, a sight unusual to Dobby. Dobby was only allowed to use the supplies from his cupboard. The bandages he owned were grotty and well-used. So where had these ones come from? Perhaps Lucius didn't want his grotty bandages getting in the way of cooking dinner. Maybe Narcissa felt as though Dobby should get slightly better living conditions. Draco probably couldn't care less.