Chapter 10. Later than planned, but better late than never!
Enjoy!
A Study in Friendship
Chapter Ten
Thanks, Harry, I owe you!
Tom grimaced as he put down his quill. How humiliating, needing to ask Harry for help! Well, it was far better than asking any of his Death Eaters, Tom cringed at the thought.
Sighing, he put the roll of parchment down, and leaned his head against the cold stone wall in back of him. He was thankful that he had managed to cast the spell designed to keep all physical objects out before the walls closing in on him had crushed him to death, but he couldn't help thinking that if only he had cast the spell a few seconds sooner, before the ceiling had descended so low, he would have been able to stand instead of sitting in such a cramped style. And he was liable to have to keep this position for a couple of hours to come.
Even after Harry came to this place, he wouldn't be able to just break the walls down with a 'Bombarda'. These walls were under very heavy enchantments, and resistant to almost any magic. He'd have to talk a fifth-year student through a highly complex magical ritual, and it would probably take quite a long time.
He couldn't even call his house-elf, because the old wizard who used to own the house had set up not only anti-apparition and anti-portkey charms, he had also set up charms that prevented house-elves from popping in. It was quite a shame, as most wizards always forgot to put up those types of charms, house-elves were easy to overlook.
Come to think of it, had he put up anti-house-elf charms around the traps on his Horcruxes? He probably had, he would be foolish not to. But three of his Horcruxes had been hidden by himself in one of his periods of insanity. His insane alter-ego tended to make stupid mistakes when overcome by anger or fear. He had trusted Lucius Malfoy with one of his Horcruxes for crying out loud! He really did need to remember to get that Horcrux sometime and find somewhere safer to hide it….
Tom pulled an empty piece of parchment out of his bag, and stated writing down a list of things he needed to do, which quickly degraded to a game of tic-tac-toe with himself as he became more and more bored. Finally, after about an hour and a half of waiting, and just as Tom was slipping into sleep, his eye caught the movement of new writing being scribbled onto an empty space in the parchment.
Okay, Tom, I'm here. At least I think I am. We're pretty sure that this is the right place, because I'm seeing a house, but Sherlock's seeing waste-management factory. Oh yeah, Sherlock's here too. He said he didn't want to miss out on an adventure if this ended up being one.
Anyways, we need to know where in the house you are
Tom rolled his eyes, but grinned.
Then, feeling a bit silly he cast the illusion spell that made him look like his 16-year-old self again. He was quite glad for the closed space he was in at the moment, which meant that no one witnessed how vain he was being.
Now feeling ready to be seen, he bent back over the parchment and wrote his reply.
Sherlock might well end up getting his adventure. Who knows what booby traps the crazy old man put in here, even if you do manage to break down the wall.
What crazy old man? This time, it was Sherlock's spiky handwriting.
I'll explain later. Right now, let's get a move on, my legs are seriously cramping. Now, as far as I can guess, I'm in the northern corner of the house. So go there first thing. Tell me when you get there.
Less than a minute later, writing appeared again on the parchment.
We're there.
Now came the difficult part, mused Tom.
Okay, now the next ritual depends on the angle of the sun in the sky, so I need you to measure the shadow that the wall is casting on the ground, and the angle of that shadow. Now there's a very simple spell for determining the length, I'll teach it to you in just a minute, but getting the angle is a bit more complicated. Have you learned any Arithmancy in school? Because that will really help.
Actually, Tom, read the parchment in Harry's handwriting again before you start with all the instructions, there's just one thing I need to ask you: You have some kind of shield up that prevents any solid object from entering, right?
Yes, Harry he replied but that's hardly relevant now since
That was as far a he got before an enormous crash sounded to his right, and pieces of debris started flying all around him. None, thankfully, entering through his shield.
Once the little pieces of brick stopped flying around his head, and the dust settled a bit, he looked up to see one of the weirdest pieces of machinery he had ever seen. It was yellow, and reminded him a bit of carriages in that it had wheels, but it was all the wrong shape. In addition, it had something like a huge arm with a shovel attached to the end of it. Sitting inside this vehicle were Harry and Sherlock who were both whooping with excitement.
"Man, what a rush!" cried Harry "Did you see that? Two seconds, and we decimate a building that must have taken months to build, how cool is that?" he leaned out of the vehicle and looked down at Tom. "Are you okay?"
"You didn't use the ritual" muttered Tom vaguely, still a bit stunned.
Harry's gaze turned sheepish. "Yeah, well, the way you described it made it sound like hard work, and there was a house just down the road that was undergoing construction, and Sherlock saw the bulldozer… Oh, and you're going to need to cast a couple of Obliviates once this is done, by the way."
"It was resistant to all that magic, but never safeguarded against physical blows?" Tom was half incredulous at the prospect that the wizard, with all his great protections, never thought of protecting it against bulldozers, and half incredulous that he hadn't thought of trying that before resorting to magical enchantments.
"It was my idea." Said Sherlock smugly "I've observed that wizards are usually so dependent on their magic, that they will usually only look for the magical solution to things, without once thinking about muggle means that are just as useful. It's an inherent flaw in all of you. My theory is that your lack of common sense is genetic, and it's nature's way of not giving you too much of an edge against muggles."
Tom wasn't sure if Sherlock seriously meant that or was only taunting him, but he nodded seriously, and tried to stand up, only to fall back down with a yelp at the pins and needles running through his legs. Sherlock snickered, and Harry elbowed him, and went down to help Tom, but Tom noticed his lips twitching as well.
He scowled at them both. "It's your fault my legs are like this, do you know how long they've been cramped up? What took you so long?"
"Well," answered Harry "First I needed to figure out a damn spell that would make my face looked different, since after all the articles last year, I wouldn't be able to catch the Knight Bus without being recognized, wait for the hallway that has the opening to the secret passage out of school would be empty, and then I needed to sneak out of Honeydukes unseen, which is much harder when it's not packed with Hogwarts students, and then, there were about five passengers before me on the Knight Bus who needed to get off. So I think all thing considered you should be thanking me. Do you know what I endured to get here? That bus is a bloody nightmare! I have a huge bump on my head from when it jerked to a sudden stop and threw me against the window!" and he lifted his fringe to reveal a rather nasty-looking bruise forming on his forehead.
Tom rolled his eyes, but touched his wand gently to the bruise and healed it. "Why didn't you apparate?"
"I don't know how" replied Harry, scowling "I'm only fifteen."
"I can teach you" suggested Tom "It's really not that hard, and as long as you don't splinch yourself, the chances of you getting caught without a license are infinitesimal."
Harry looked excited at the suggestion, but Sherlock scowled, unhappy about being left out.
"Sorry, Sherlock" said Tom "I'd teach you too if it were possible."
Sherlock waved his hand as if to show that it didn't matter, and instead proceeded to ask Tom how he had gotten stuck in his current situation.
"Well," said Tom slowly "I suppose I can tell you two, I trust you to a certain extent, and even if you did tell anyone else, which you can't, I don't see what harm it can do. I'm looking for a way to move a Horcrux from one vessel to another."
"Horcrux?" interrupted Harry.
"That's what my safeguards against mortality are called. They're objects in which you put a bit of your soul using a certain ritual. The piece of soul links you to this world, so you don't pass on even after you die. The problem with them is that if they're destroyed, you become mortal again. Unfortunately, I put my Horcruxes in rather obvious and significant objects, and I want to move them to something innocuous and less likely to be discovered."
Harry nodded his understanding, while Sherlock impatiently prodded Tom for the rest of the story. Tom proceeded to tell them about looking for a book for answers, and finally resorting to breaking into the most well-guarded collection of books in the whole of Britain.
Sherlock questioned Tom on the different traps that Tom had had to overcome in order to reach the library, and then taken great delight in pointing out much simpler and less magical ways that would have gotten Tom through as well.
Harry was more interested in the spell Tom had used at the end, to block the walls from closing in on him. "I've never even heard of it! You think it'd be useful enough that it would be taught in Defense, but I've never seen it in any book, and I researched a lot of Defense spells last year for the Triwizard Tournament."
"I'm not at all surprised," answered Tom "it's quite a useful spell, but it does have one serious disadvantage. The second you cast the shield spell, you can't cast anymore spells without the shield falling. Since magical duels usually use spells, and this shield only blocks solid objects, this makes it rather useless in most duels.
"For these reasons, the spell fell out of practice many years ago, and it's not taught at Hogwarts. I myself learned it from an African witch doctor during my travels around the world in my twenties. He used to use the spell to keep away dangerous animals when they attacked the village." Tom cracked a smile "He was a very interesting individual. He used to live in the magical world, but left it so that he could live with this muggle tribe, where he was viewed as a god and given free reign at all their women."
Harry chuckled at that, but Tom saw Sherlock grimace in distaste.
Tom turned to look at the ruins of the manor he had just escaped, and felt his mood sink. All he could see was rubble, and beyond that, empty grey rooms. No library. The library must be ensconced in a magically guarded area, not reachable by muggle means. With the wizarding ability to manipulate space, any on of the small shards of rock in front of them could contain the whole library in it. He was never going to find it!
All that work to get to the damn library, and for nothing! And now, he was also feeling stupid after Sherlock and Harry had gotten to him so quickly, using only common sense. Maybe Sherlock was right about wizards not being able to think sensibly. It didn't matter though, decided Tom, next time he needed to get through some extremely complicated trap, he could just bring Sherlock along to think of all the easy ways to solve the problem. Speaking of which, maybe he'd be able to find a solution for this.
He turned to Sherlock who had followed his gaze, and was now staring at the ruins of the empty house contemplatively. "Any ideas on how to find the library?"
"A couple," answered Sherlock "but they're all a bit of a long shot. Let's start with the one most likely to work. Summon a gramophone, or whatever wizarding equivalent you have, and just should 'Romeo' and see if the password opens any portholes to the right room."
Tom tapped his throat and quickly cast the Sonorus spell. Feeling a bit foolish he looked out at the rubble in front of him and called out "Romeo!"
Several pieces of the rubble lying on the floor vanished, and were replaced with glimpses of a lit-up room that had lots of books in the background. Unfortunately, the big rock that had obviously held the entrance to the room had shattered and was scattered all over the ground, causing the room that was revealed to look like a jigsaw puzzle scattered on the ground, not forming a complete picture.
Tom approached the nearest piece of room he could find, and then signaled Harry and Sherlock to follow him. Once they had neared him, and they were all standing around the piece of rock through a glimpse of a bookshelf could be seen, Tom pulled out his wand, and without warning, wordlessly performed the shrinking spell on Harry and Sherlock. He then turned the wand on himself, and shrunk himself down as well.
He looked around to see Sherlock examining himself in fascination, and Harry, who's face was still blank in surprised, and then back to the opening he was facing. An opening he was now small enough to enter through.
He stepped into the lighted room, only to find himself falling sideways and landing painfully on his arm. He got up groaning, and a second later saw Harry and Sherlock fall from somewhere near the middle of the doorway down to the floor. They all laid there for a second as they caught their breaths and stopped groaning, and then finally Tom got up and cast the enlargement spell on himself and on Harry and Sherlock.
Looking around, they finally had the time to take the place in. It was amazing. Tom had absolutely no trouble believing that this was the largest store of magical books in the world. Shelved upon shelves lined the walls, and the spiraling staircase in the corner indicated that this certainly wasn't the only floor in the library.
Tom loved books. True, the first thing he loved was power, and knowledge was power, but he also loved books in their own right. Every book was an opportunity to learn something new. Something exciting and interesting that he had never known before, and this library was filled with thousands and thousands of these opportunities. He felt a delighted grin spread across his face.
He turned to look at his friends. Harry was looking around him with an expression of awe, though he didn't seem nearly as delighted as Tom was, but Sherlock was looking less than impressed. "What's the name of this book you're looking for?" he prodded "In a library of this size, finding it can take quite a considerable amount of time."
"Can't you take a break from criticizing me for a second " Tom growled "to admire this amazing library? Stop raining on my Quidditch field!"
"I can't." replied Sherlock "I'm much too practical."
Harry laughed, and Tom suppressed a grin.
"Well, I don't think finding the book can be that difficult. The shelves must be divided by subject, we just need to find the right shelf and start looking through it till we find a promising title."
Harry yawned at the prospect, but agreed good-naturedly to help. Sherlock said he'd also help if he got to take home any book that he thought looked interesting. Cheered at the prospect of having company while sorting through the huge library, Tom approached the first shelf he saw, and started digging.
As Tom had expected, Harry was the first to lose patience with the task. About an hour into their search, he flopped down on the floor near the shelf next to the one Tom had been sorting through. They had lost Sherlock around twenty minutes ago to a book about the greatest wizarding criminals of the Nineteenth Century. He had sat down and begun to read, ignoring all requests from Harry and Tom that he continue to help them look.
"That's it!" said Harry "I can't go through anymore shelves, I'm tired, my neck hurts, and I feel like we've been at it for at least four hours!"
Tom glanced at his watch. "Only one hour, actually, it's half past six now."
Harry sighed. "I need to start coming up with an excuse to tell Ron and Hermione about where I've been these past hours, so I should probably head back anyways."
Suddenly, he sat up, looking very pale. "Oh god! I forgot! I have detention with Umbridge tonight at seven! I'll never get there in time, I'm screwed!"
Tom's lips twitched "Detention? On the first day of school? What did you do?"
Harry groaned "Shouted at her. Don't look at me like that, you'd shout at her too if you'd been there. God, she's despicable."
Tom raised his eyebrows.
"Don't ask." Replied Harry to his unspoken question "If you ever meet her, you'll understand what I mean."
"Well," said Tom "I can apparate you back to Hogsmeade, that'll save you time. You might even get to the detention in time if we leave right now. Come!"
Harry looked back "I should probably go tell Sherlock."
"You don't really have the time." replied Tom "You'll barely make it as it is. Sherlock's too absorbed in his book to notice you're gone, I'll go back and explain to him once I'm through."
Harry shook his head "I won't be seeing him again till Christmas break, I'll just say goodbye really quickly."
Tom rolled his eyes, but went back with Harry to call Sherlock and explain that they needed to leave.
It really was sweet, how close they were, mused Tom, watching them hug, even as he mimed tapping his watch at Harry, telling him that his time was running out.
Exiting the library was a disorienting experience, as they both stumbled out of different pieces of rubble into the ground, and Tom quickly wrapped his arms around Harry, and disapparated to the Cellar of Honeydukes.
He nodded when Harry thanked him quickly, and watched as Harry rushed off as if he were being chased by a dragon.
That teacher of his must be quite strict, mused Tom, apparating back to the library, to sort out the mess they had made getting into it.
Sherlock lay on his bed, bouncing a rubber ball off his ceiling, as he waited for Harry to reply to the message he had just written him.
It had been two days since their mini-adventure with the hidden library, and Sherlock hadn't written till now because it seemed redundant to write to Harry so soon after he had seen him.
Two days had passed, though, and Sherlock deemed that long enough of a wait. He wasn't sure what news Harry could possibly have to report so soon after having seen him, but the truth was that he didn't care. He simply missed Harry. It really was ridiculous, this little crush he had on Harry, and Sherlock hoped that it would pass soon.
Meanwhile, he impatiently waited for Harry to answer his short message asking about his day. Sherlock knew that Harry had detention that night from seven, and, having decided that three hours was the maximum length of time a reasonable detention should take, had waited till ten until writing to Harry. He expected to get an answer at any second.
As it turned out, Harry's answer only came a short while after midnight. Sherlock was playing on his violin when his sharp eyes caught the movement of ink over parchment as Harry penned his reply.
It was a short greeting, and a friendly inquiry about Sherlock's day. What bothered Sherlock was the handwriting in which it was penned. Harry's handwriting was messy and hard to decipher at best, but now it seemed more shaky than messy. As if Harry was in pain.
Sherlock asked Harry what he had been made to do during the detention, and received the short answer: She had me writing lines. I don't really want to talk about it.
That explained much. Writing lines wasn't too bad of a detention, but that awful teacher had had him writing since seven. After five hours, Harry's arm was bound to be painful, tired and shaky.
It also explained why Harry didn't want to talk about it- writing more was probably the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. Sherlock decided that as Harry's friend it was his duty to do most of the talking tonight, and try to entertain Harry after what must have been five hours of mind-numbing boredom.
He selected one of the most interesting and exciting serial killer cases he had read about, and related it to Harry in great detail, pointing out hints and clues that lead to the killer along the way. The exciting conclusion of the story earned him a badly drawn smiley face from Harry, but as Sherlock bid him goodnight and tried to settle down and go to sleep, he couldn't help but feel like there was still something wrong.
Harry heaved a deep sigh, and sank into the big couch in front of the fireplace in Gryffindor common room.
He stared at his hand morosely. The words I must not tell lies flashed in front of his eyes, and he once again felt his anger bubbling up at the injustice of it all. How he hated Umbridge! He hated the condescending way she spoke, the way her tone overflowed with honey while she made him carve his hand open, and he hated how helpless he was against her.
The scars on his hand had not faded this time. In all the previous nights he had had detention, the scars had faded in the time it had taken him to go back to his dormitory, but not this time. The scars were still there, and that somehow made everything worse.
It felt as if now that the scars weren't leaving, he could no longer ignore and forget what he was going through. The scars were a humiliating reminder of what his teacher was making him do to himself, and he hated that they hadn't faded away yet.
A sudden pop startled Harry. He got up from the chair he had sunk into, and looked around trying to locate the source of the noise.
There, in front of the fireplace, was Dobby, standing with his back to Harry, but still recognizable through the tea-cozy on his head.
"Dobby!" cried Harry, cheered by the colorful sight of his friend.
Dobby spun around, and a huge grin broke out on his face as he saw Harry. "Harry Potter sir! Dobby is being very happy to see Sir! Sir has not come to visit Dobby since school began, but Dobby was hoping to meet Harry Potter Sir sooner or later, that is why Dobby volunteered to clean Gryffindor common room!"
Harry's face fell. "Sorry for not visiting you, Dobby, I've been having detention for hours and hours every night, and then needing to stay up till really late to do my homework, I really didn't have any time to visit you."
"Dobby does not mind, Sir, Dobby gets to see Harry Potter now! Maybe Dobby can help Harry Potter Sir with his work?"
"I don't think so," answered Harry "but thanks anyways, Dobby. How are you doing?"
Dobby beamed "Dobby is doing fireplace, Sir, and then cleaning floor. After that, Dobby has permission from Headmaster Dumbledore to leave castle, and Dobby will go visit Dobby's friend Yorry!"
"You're meeting up with Yorry?" asked Harry, grinning "Are you sure she's your friend and not something more?"
"Dobby is be trying to win Miss Yorry's heart, Harry Potter Sir, Yorry is pretty elf, and she think Dobby interesting for wanting to be free." Dobby was smiling, and his ears waggled in excitement.
Harry smiled "I'm rooting for you Dobby! Good luck!" after a second's pause he added "Actually, maybe there is something you could do for me."
"Dobby would do anything for Harry Potter Sir!" the elf exclaimed emphatically.
Harry laughed. "I don't think this should be too much trouble for you. Back during the summer, Yorry transported Sherlock and I to Malfoy Manor. Can you also transport people from one place to another?"
Dobby nodded enthusiastically "Yes, Sir! Dobby can be doing this Harry Potter Sir!"
"Great!" grinned Harry "Because things have been kind of awful lately here at school, and I think I could handle all the stress and those damn detentions if I could just see Sherlock once in a while and talk to him."
Dobby's face fell. "Dobby does not think he can be doing that, Harry Potter Sir. In summer, when little wizzies not learning at Hogwarts, Dobby can go away and do whatever Dobby likes, but after the students be coming back, Dobby must ask Headmaster Dumbledore Sir for permission before leaving school. When Dobby say he want to leave to visit pretty elf friend, Headmaster Dumbledore Sir smile and wink at Dobby and say yes to Dobby leaving, but if Dobby say he want to take Harry Potter Sir out of school, Dobby don't think Headmaster will be smiling and winking." Dobby hung his head sadly. After a few moments' contemplation he slowly said "Maybe Dobby will take Harry Potter without telling Headmaster Dumbledore Sir, he would only need to punish himself after…"
"No!" Harry yelped "Don't punish yourself! Don't do anything that would make you feel compelled to punish yourself! Forget I said anything, Dobby. It doesn't matter."
Dobby looked torn between relief at not needing to disobey Dumbledore, and the desire to help Harry "But Dobby does want to help Harry Potter Sir, if he can. Harry Potter Sir has been great friend to Dobby, and Dobby wants to help him. Maybe Dobby can help with something else?" he asked hopefully "Harry Potter Sir say things in school have been awful, maybe Dobby can do something to fix that?"
"It's just Professor Umbridge." said Harry "She's making me do this to myself during detentions" he showed Dobby the scars on his hand "but I don't think there's anything you can do about it. You're not allowed to do anything to teachers, are you?"
Dobby took Harry's hand carefully in his, and examined the scar. His huge eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head mournfully. "Dobby may not do anything against teacher's wishes. Dobby cannot even heal scars for Harry Potter Sir. Dobby is sorry!"
"It's not you fault, Dobby." sighed Harry, and patted the elf, who had meanwhile started sniffling, on the shoulder. Dobby's sniffles became more hysteric, and before Harry knew it, they had turned into sobs.
"It's really okay!" insisted Harry earnestly, hoping fervently that Dobby would stop crying "I'm fine, it's not that bad, I'm actually really touched you care this much Dobby, but try not to worry about it."
Dobby's sobs became wails, and he flung his arms around Harry's middle, before disappearing with a pop.
Feeling slightly bewildered but touched at how distressed his friend was, Harry headed up to bed.
Dobby popped into existence just outside the house in which he knew Yorry's master resided, and took a moment to compose himself. Dobby was quite the intelligent elf, he always had been, though he often let his emotions cloud his mind.
There was a downside to being more intelligent than most elves, Dobby knew, and it was that he could look beyond the desires of his master, and see the bigger picture. Most elves never bothered thinking about anything but what their masters told them to do, they obeyed their orders, and took pleasure in feeling useful and needed.
Dobby, though, had always been able to see beyond the fact that Lucius Malfoy was his master, and understand the fact that he was also a bad man, and that following his orders caused bad things.
When he was a little elf, Dobby had always thought that this was a curse. While the other elves he had known had been blissfully happy just going about their day and serving their masters, Dobby could not feel happy. Dobby liked to help, but he did not want to help the evil Lucius Malfoy. Serving Mr. Malfoy had made him feel frustrated and sad.
Many times, Dobby used to wish that he could be as simple and stupid as the other elves, simply happy to do what he was told. Now, though, after the last few years, Dobby was happy for being a smart and independent elf. He was free, he got to pick his master, and he picked the best master he could have to serve, and he even had a human friend! Such a kind and great human friend, too!
Harry Potter was his superior in intelligence, as all humans were, but he still treated Dobby as a friend, and despite Dobby's inborn loyalty to his master, Dobby was even more loyal to Harry Potter.
So though Dobby knew that the great Headmaster Dumbledore probably wouldn't be too happy about what Dobby was doing, Dobby knew that it would make Harry Potter happy, so Dobby would do it.
House-elves were born with the ability to sense the desires of humans, the better to serve them. Many times, Dobby anticipated what Lucius Malfoy wanted before he had even said anything, and preparing things to his master's satisfaction before his master even asked, had saved him many punishments and beatings.
So Dobby knew what Harry Potter desired, though Harry Potter might not even know it himself. Harry Potter wanted his friend Sherlock. That wasn't the only thing he desired, there was another desire, clouded a bit by self-doubt and confusion, but Dobby could still sense it. Harry Potter also held the desire for Yorry's master.
And Yorry's master wanted Harry Potter back. It wasn't the same kind of desire Dobby usually sensed- the desire for food, drink, or physical comfort. It felt different: deep, and beautiful, and it made Dobby very sad and very happy at the same time.
Dobby had occasionally felt this desire from Lucius Malfoy when he looked at his wife, and during those moments Dobby found that he couldn't truly hate Lucius Malfoy, despite his evilness.
So Dobby would use this knowledge to make his friend Harry Potter happy. It could be Dobby's secret present for Harry Potter- a small reward for what Harry Potter had done for Dobby by freeing him.
It took some considerable effort, and using every single bit of cunning Dobby possessed, but in half an hour's time, Dobby had come up with a brilliant plan.
Straightening himself out, Dobby started by sorting out his appearence. Dobby had been quite upset at what awful things Harry Potter had to do to himself in detention, and he had felt quite helpless, and there were still dried tears of sadness and frustration on his face. Now that he had a plan in action to help Harry Potter, Dobby felt much better, but since looking upset was vital to his plan, Dobby needed to start crying again. Dobby pinched himself as hard as he could until tears of pain appeared in his eyes, and then directed his magic to pop him into existence by Yorry's side.
He stumbled a bit upon landing, but once he had gotten his bearings, Dobby looked around. Yorry was walking around a big room with bookshelves, a fireplace, and a couch, and was dusting the books. Her master was reclining on the couch, reading something from a scroll of parchment.
Dobby gave a little sob, and arranged his face into the most heartbroken expression he could manage.
"Dobby!" cried Yorry, as she caught a glimpse of Dobby's tear-streaked face and distressed expression, then she quickly glanced at her master, scared of angering him with the disturbance.
The master merely looked curious, though. "Harry Potter's elf?" he smirked "Is that the visitor you asked permission to see? You are excused, Yorry, the bookshelves don't need dusting all that much. Go do whatever you want, and don't bother me."
Oh no! Dobby was hoping to have some private time with Yorry later, but first, he needed the master to be there so he could put his plan into action.
Thinking quickly, Dobby flung himself onto the carpet, and started wailing. He caught Yorry's master's face twitch with irritation before burying his face in the carpet.
"Dobby come!" Yorry sounded distinctly panicked now "You is disturbing Master! Yorry and Dobby must go somewhere else, and there Yorry will try to help Dobby, but first you must go, before you get Master angry!"
"Oh, poor Harry Potter!" sobbed Dobby dramatically "Poor, poor, Master Harry!"
Sneakily peaking at Yorry's master, Dobby saw him sit up tensely.
"What's wrong with Harry?" he demanded.
"Poor Master Harry!" cried Dobby "Is being forced to punish himself over and over, and Dobby is not being allowed to help. Dobby must stand by while poor master Harry punishes himself, and has no friend in the world to help! Master Sherlock is not being able to come help master Harry, and poor Master is alone with no friend, only pain!"
Yorry's master had risen from the couch and was standing directly over Dobby. "Tell me what happened!" he demanded.
Dobby allowed his sobs to slowly subside, and Yorry's master awkwardly patted him on the shoulder to calm him down. Dobby could sense his impatience, though. At that moment, his greatest desire was to hear what had happened to Dobby's friend Harry Potter and help. Perfect.
Dobby slowly raised himself into a seated position, and wiped stray tears from his eyes, hiccupping.
"Master Harry is be having lots of detentions and Professor Toady is be making Harry Potter Sir hurt himself in detention. Master Harry is sad and wants to see his friends, but Dobby is not being allowed to bring him friends without Headmaster Dumbledore's saying he can, and Headmaster Dumbledore will never be letting Dobby bring Harry Potter's friends into Hogwarts to visit him! Poor Master Harry, all alone and in pain, and Dobby can do nothing to help!" he finished tragically.
"Well," said Yorry's master slowly "luckily for Harry, my elf isn't required to ask Albus Dumbledore for permission before doing anything. Go spend time with Yorry, Dobby, and stop worrying about Harry. Just leave it to me."
Dobby nodded gratefully, took Yorry's offered hand, and allowed her to pop him to her own personal quarters.
It was a small room with a bed and a bathroom and not much else.
Yorry and Dobby sat down side by side on the bed, and Yorry patted Dobby on the back comfortingly. "It is being okay, Dobby. My Master Lord is going to be helping, and he is very smart Master. Yorry knows that he can help."
"Dobby knows so too." replied Dobby "That is why Dobby pretended to cry, so that Yorry's Master will decide to help Dobby's friend Harry Potter."
Yorry stopped rubbing Dobby's back, and gaped at him. "Dobby! You is such a bad elf!" she giggled, her face a mixture of awe at Dobby's audacity and terror at the thought of being so cheeky.
"Dobby will show Yorry just how bad an elf Dobby can be!" announced Dobby, daringly taking hold of Yorry's hand.
"Oh, Dobby!" Yorry giggled.
Another tragically un-betaed chapter! I really appreciate reviews pointing out mistakes and offering constructive criticism. Obviously I appreciate review telling me you love the story even more, but both are welcome.
Have a nice day!
