A/N: This story was written for the International Wizarding School Championship forum (a highly recommended forum!); specifically for the World Wizarding News' 'How can I be a better writer?' section/ Grammar School challenge.
School: Mahoutokoro School of Magic
Year: Part-timer
Technique: Compelling description
Word count: 976words (written on Google docs, using +10% leeway)
Additional notes: Not the best descriptions (I couldn't think how to use 'taste' save for salt) or storyline, but I tried lol. Thank you for reading! :)
Forgotten
The beach along Tinworth's coast had been blessed with another beautiful day. The endless stretch of white sand soaked up the afternoon sun, beckoning people to stroll along it. The squeals of playing children mixed with the soothing ebbing and flowing of the waves crashing against the rocks. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, frolicking around without a care in the world—except for one person.
The forty-year-old closed his emerald-green eyes against the expanse of clear, blue sky, wincing as the salty ocean spray lashed against his cheeks. Once upon a time, he'd craved the cool breeze the ocean brought with it, but now it set a chill in his stomach.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Sighing, he opened his eyes and turned to the beautiful red-head beside him. Her brown eyes shone as she watched their children building what looked like Hogwarts castle in the sand.
"I'm glad my brother invited us. It makes a nice change from the city," she said, turning to him and reaching for his hand.
He stuffed his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He kicked a shiny black pebble so that it rolled along the sand, startling a pair of seagulls scavenging for food. They flew up into the air, cawing, before settling down again.
"Why did you bring me here?" he asked, frowning.
Her eyes widened. "What? I—I just thought we could use some ti—oh… oh, Harry, I'm sorry…"
He shook his head as she clapped a hand over her mouth. Turning on his heel, he headed back up the steep incline he'd ventured down hours before in the poor attempt to escape his problems.
The sharp smell of the sea-lavender accosted his nostrils as he walked, but he didn't stop until he entered the garden of a small, whitewashed cottage overlooking the beach. Whilst pretty red and pink blossoms made the garden appealing to the most disconcerting guest, they'd outgrown their welcome. Their dark foliage clawed greedily over a worn, grey stone.
Harry bent down, his glasses providing his eyes with little protection from the stinging ocean-spray. They watered as he reached out a hand, intent on removing some of the tendrils from the stone. His hand barely brushed the leaves, however, before he retracted his hand and sat back on his heels.
What difference would clearing it away make? How could he pretend to care, when he'd let the gravestone get so overgrown in the first place?
Footsteps crunched in the gravel behind him, and soon, the red-head was by his side again. "Harry…"
The salt spray continued to sting his eyes, and he swiped at them with his sleeve. "Whatever comforting lie you're about to tell, don't. You can't fix what I've done."
His wife knelt down beside him, her hand hovering over his shoulder. When he made no movement to shrug it off, she placed it gently on it, a relieved smile on her face. Seeing it made him feel even guiltier than he already did, and he turned back to the gravestone.
"But you haven't done anything wr—"
"Exactly! I haven't done anything. I didn't stop Bellatrix from killing him—"
"Harry…"
"—But what's worse is I haven't even bothered to see him since. Dobby saved our lives, and I couldn't—be—bothered—to—see—him!" Each word was punctuated with his fist slamming into the gravel; although pain shot through his hand, he was glad it wasn't the soft, white sand of the beach.
He deserved the pain. He'd gotten Dobby killed all those years ago, and the only thanks he'd shown the loyal elf was abandoning his grave. Sure, he'd had intention over the years to visit him, but he'd always found an excuse not to in the end. There'd be a birthday dinner he'd rather attend, or he'd be so wrapped up in work that he'd crawl into bed and not bother a quick visit. It would always be the false promise of 'maybe next weekend,' until those weekends had turned into months, and those months into years. Bill and Fleur probably thought of Dobby from to time, but it wasn't their job to look after him.
It was Harry's, and yet he'd allowed Dobby to lay alone, abandoned, forgotten…
"Are you finished?" Ginny finally said, and he nodded. "Good, now read me what it says on that stone… The stone you carved by hand."
He stared at her.
She simply raised an eyebrow, however, and nodded at the stone. "Go on."
"Alright…" Using the hand that wasn't bruised, he pushed aside some of the flowers. The grave had been worn down by the wind and sand, but the words could still be made out. "'Here lies Dobby, a free elf.' So?"
When he turned to her, she was still smiling. "A free elf. Remind me, who freed Dobby?"
He swallowed. "I did…"
"And who always thought of his best interests?"
"Well, I haven't been here, so not me—"
Ginny groaned. "You did; you always did, Harry. You made sure Dobby was free from the Malfoys, you made sure that he was treated well. You made sure that he'd a nice final resting place, and yes, you may have gotten caught up, but you still care enough to think about him years later; in my opinion, that's far better than having someone polish a stone all the time.
"Dobby wouldn't have cared if you never came back. He knew you cared for him, and you're here now. What other house elf could boast that?"
He nodded, his eyes back on the grave. He still could've done so much more for Dobby, but he found the guilt easing slightly.
"I won't ever forget him," he whispered, leaning into Ginny's arms.
The calmness of the ocean breeze finally washed over him. As he listened to the waves foaming on the shore below, he vowed to visit Dobby more often.