So this is a little one-shot for the Unlaunched Ships challenge at the Character Sketch's forum. It's Dobby and Winky, before DH (sob, Dobby, sob). There aren't really any warnings... Oh! I'm, uh... not very sure if house-elves have hair, but Winky does.


He watches as her grip on the bottle loosens, as her short, chubby fingers let the glass jug fall to the floor. Her small body rocks in a hiccup, and her large ears wobble drunkenly. She closes her eyes, her big, brown eyes, and slowly falls to the floor. Her hair cascades over her face like a wave, and her little mouth opens slightly. But she is still beautiful to him.

He picks her up, and kicks away the bottle that had rendered her so helpless. She leans against his chest, and snores softly, in her drunken stupor. She isn't heavy; she's like carrying a down pillow. Dodging the angry glares of his fellow house-elves, he leans on the portrait door, and slides out into the night in the castle.

He watches her face as his feet carry him to their destination. She fidgets a moment in his arms, and turns so that she faces his chest. Her little hand plucks feebly at the front of his maroon jumper, and then clutches at the knitted fabric. She's drunk, and unconscious, but she is still beautiful to him.

He walks several times past the same wall, each time, casting furtive glances at the plain stone. The third time, he stops, and stares as the wall gives birth to a small door. He turns the handle, slowly, and walks into the room. If a human looked at it, they would consider it small, but in the house-elf's point of view, the room is perfect.

His face is illuminated by the fireplace's glow, and the light catches on her wavy blonde hair. He brushes a strand away from her face, and watches, tenderly, as she frets in his arms. She hiccups, and her body rocks in his arms, but she is still beautiful to him.

He closes the door behind him with his sock-clad foot, and shushes her as she whimpers against the noise. If he looks back, he is sure that the door would be gone, but he doesn't want to drag his eyes away from her face.

She murmurs incoherently, but it's all music to him. He draws back the covers on the little elf-sized bed, and gently eases her into it. She gently releases her grip on his jumper, and the hand falls to her side. She hiccups again, but more quietly than the first, and sighs contentedly. Her clothes are dirty, stained and ripped, burned all to bedlam, but she is still beautiful to him.

He sits beside her, watching her skin's glow in the crackling firelight. She turns her face, and hair tumbles over like a curtain. He kisses her cheek, and stands up. His hands linger on her face.

The linen sheets fold over her prone body, and she sighs again. Her pudgy, childlike, beautiful hand clasps the covers, and she snuggles deeper into their folds. He searches the small oak cabinet, and tugs out a bottle. The seal has been broken on the plain black bottle, and he unscrews the top tenderly, wrinkling his nose at the smell. He snatches a spoon from the drawer, and turns to face her. She is asleep, drooling, and snoring, but she is still beautiful to him.

He pours some of the sticky liquid on the spoon, and crosses the room once more. He lifts her head, strong, child-like hands holding her up, she protests quietly, and opens her mouth. The spoon slides in, and the black syrup disappears. He sits to watch her, in the firelight.

She is small, helpless, and hurt, but she is still beautiful to him.


And? Your opinions really matter to me, so please review and tell me what you think!