Chapter Twenty-Five: Fame Isn't Everything

Harry yawned and closed his trunk, finally finishing packing up for the school year. As he returned to his bedroom, he was surprised to see a house elf on his bed. The house elf did not wear the same outfit as the Potter Manor elves – instead, he wore a rather dirty pillowcase.

The house elf jumped off his bed and bowed low to him. "Harry Potter, such an honor it is."

Harry didn't know how to answer, and his face turned hot. It was the first time anyone had bowed to him, at least in his recent memory. "Erm…thank you," he said awkwardly. "Who are you?"

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house elf," the house elf said eagerly. "Dobby has wanted so long to meet you, Sir - "

Harry's observant eyes shot to Dobby's poorly bandaged hands. Between the wraps, he could tell the fingers were severely burnt. "Your hands," he breathed, interrupting Dobby. "Stay still." And with that, he yanked open one of the drawers of his bedside table and pulled out a small jar of burn-healing paste. "What happened to your hands?" he asked as he knelt down in front of the shocked elf. "Here, this will heal the burns - "

Dobby leaped up out of Harry's reach and retreated even as he looked at Harry with an adoring gaze. "Harry Potter humbles himself to kneel in front of Dobby. To heal his hands! Dobby had heard of your greatness, Sir. But of your goodness and humility, Dobby never knew!"

"Look, I just want to put this paste on your hands," Harry said exasperatedly. "It's not going to hurt, I promise."

"Harry Potter must not trouble himself with Dobby's deserved punishment. Dobby had to iron his hands to come see you, Sir," Dobby said, still refusing to let Harry heal him. "If Dobby's hands are healed, Dobby must do another punishment, Sir, to make up for it, Sir."

Harry raised an eyebrow before closing the jar and returning it to the drawer. "Who are your masters?" he asked, frowning. "Do they know you're here? If they sent you as a messenger, why are they punishing you for it?"

"Dobby's masters do not know, Sir. Dobby came of his own will…against his master's will…" Dobby suddenly looked fearful, and he began to bang his head against the wall. "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

Alarmed, Harry ran over and forcefully pulled the self-abusing creature away from his wall. He thought quickly and said, "So why did you want to see me so bad?"

His question successfully distracted Dobby, who stopped struggling in his arms, allowing for Harry to put him down. Rubbing his hands nervously, Dobby said, "It is difficult, Sir. Dobby doesn't know where to begin. He had never been in the presence of so great, so good, so humble a wizard..."

Harry wanted to offer Dobby tea to calm his nerves, but he was afraid that if he did, Dobby would go off on another tirade of how great and good and humble he was. He opted for a safer option. "Would you like some water? It might help you get your bearings," he asked politely.

Dobby stopped mid-sentence. Then he began to sob loudly.

What did he do this time? Harry thought to himself. None of his house elves acted this way. He was completely lost as to what to do.

"Harry Potter is too good," Dobby wailed. "Too noble! He speaks not of his triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! He speaks not of the good he has done for house elves! Instead, he offers Dobby water! He mustn't return to Hogwarts this year! Dobby can't let him! Not after he had been so kind to Dobby!"

"What?" Whatever message Harry had been expecting, it certainly wasn't that.

Dobby hiccuped. "Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts. Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger. There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year."

There was a silence as Harry processed the news. Finally he said, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't do that. But why don't you come with me to warn Dumbledore?"

Dobby pulled on his ears. "The plot will be too great for even the powerful Dumbledore," he whispered. "He will no longer be Headmaster after this year."

"What?" Harry stood up, his eyes wide. "What's going to happen to him? Is someone planning to kill him?" His stomach clenched at the idea of one of the most important adult figures in his life dying. "What is this plot?"

Dobby shook his head unhappily. "Dobby can't say, Sir!"

Harry stared at him hard. Finally, he said, "Fine. If there's nothing more you want to say to me, you can go back to your masters. As for me, I'll return to Hogwarts, warn Dumbledore, and face this 'plot' like everyone else. My life is no more important than anyone else's."

Dobby looked resigned before he said, "Then Harry Potter has given Dobby no choice. Dobby must protect Harry Potter." With a snap of his fingers, Harry was thrown back into a chair behind him before rope appeared, tying him to the chair.

"Dobby, what are you - ?" Harry began. But before he could finish, Dobby apparated them both to what appeared to be a cave set in the middle of a forest.

"It is only for tonight and tomorrow, Sir," Dobby assured him quickly. "Then Dobby will let you go. Dobby will bring food in the morning, Sir..."

"Why?" Harry interrupted him. "Why are you doing this?"

Dobby curled in on himself, as though to make himself as small as possible in Harry's presence, before he said, "No wizard has ever treated Dobby so kindly as you did, Sir. He's usually treated as...as vermin, Sir. Harry Potter must not get angry with Dobby. Dobby means no offense. Dobby only wants to protect him, someone who is so good as to concern himself with the welfare of a lowly house elf..." He trailed off, wilting under Harry's gaze before snapping his fingers and disappearing into thin air.

Harry didn't think he could get angry at Dobby even if he wanted to. Dobby's actions and words made a lot more sense to him with the explanation. And Harry was moved - it was like looking at his childhood self. Treated like 'vermin.' Constantly trying to make himself as unobtrusive and inoffensive as possible. Being in awe at the smallest kind gesture.

Harry sighed, shaking his head. Of all the bizarre things that could happen to him…

Dobby's warning set him on edge. While he had no interest in wizard politics (and in truth was rather bad at understanding it), he was not completely ignorant of it, and he knew that the present atmosphere was rather tense. A plot? Could it be revenge against Arthur Weasley? There were a lot of pieces and not enough connections.

"Aurora," he called out. "Could you take me out of here please?"

…

"Mum gave dad an earful when we came home last week," Ron told Harry as they awaited their turn at the barrier. "She wasn't too happy with him losing his temper. Mind you, he has every right to."

"What happened?" Harry asked. "He usually seems cool-headed." It felt strange to him to be going to the station with the Weasleys instead of Madam Malkin. However, a family visiting from France had stopped by the shop, and the older daughter had been so critical of British tailors that Harry insisted Madam Malkin stay and "show her just how wrong she is."

"He is. Usually," Ron said. "But last year, when he wrote up the Muggle Protection Act, apparently Malfoy Sr. tried to pressure him to drop it by bribing his superiors to cut funding to his office and put the money into the Auror Department instead. Of course there's no proof, but well... Before, we were okay even if we had to deal with secondhand stuff, you know. But now..." His ears turned red. "Dad pushed the law through anyway, but he's worried that Malfoy could bribe his superiors to disperse his department permanently. It's not big - who cares about two employees, you know?" He fiddled with the edges of his robes, worn with age.

Harry didn't know how to respond. He had never been one for politics - the tension, the corruption, the backdoor dealings and scandals, the connections...they were all too confusing for him to think about. He preferred to stay away from all that - just avoiding breaking the law was all he aimed for, and maybe keeping up with the current news. But now that the political atmosphere was affecting the well-being of those he cared about, he wished he understood all these things - the big names and their relationships and motivations - a bit better. Maybe he could help somehow... Feeling a headache coming on, he switched the topic to Dobby's visit to him the day before.

"A house elf named Dobby told you not to come to Hogwarts?" Ron asked as he and Harry approached the barrier. "He's a complete nutter I tell you."

Harry shrugged. "I wished he gave me more info though. About this plot and me in mortal danger. Ready?" And with that, they both ran through the barrier.

Ron snorted. "That's one way to get people to trust you telling them they're in mortal danger. Tie them up and leave them stranded in some cave in the middle of nowhere." As they boarded the train, he said, "Bet you anything when Lockhart finds out you're Harry Potter, you will be in mortal danger."

"Ron, he's a great wizard." Hermione had appeared. "And you'll see it on the first day of class. And if you can bring yourself to focus, maybe you'll learn a thing or two."

"I'll learn how to sign autographs," Ron snorted as they settled down into a compartment. "And how to pose in front of the camera."

"There's nothing wrong with being famous. Harry's famous - "

"There's nothing wrong with being famous. Lockhart's just obnoxious," Ron said.

"Well, so are you, Weasley, but I don't see you kicking yourself out the door," Draco drawled as he opened up the door and entered.

"How did you find us so fast?" Ron asked, surprised.

Draco gestured carelessly to the floor, where Sasha was coiling up underneath their seats. "A snake showed me." He plopped down next to Hermione. "So what did I miss?"

"Besides Ron complaining about Lockhart, not much," Harry said. He paused thoughtfully before asking, "Draco, do you by any chance know of a family who owns a house elf named Dobby?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Dobby's our house elf. Why?"

Harry paled. The information solidified his suspicions.

Draco gave him a look. "How do you know about him anyway?"

Harry debated telling them about Dobby's warning, as well as his suspicions. He really didn't want to stress Draco out or Draco and Ron to get into a fight due to their fathers. Deciding on a middle ground, he said carefully, "A house elf named Dobby came to me yesterday night warning me not to come to Hogwarts because I would be put in danger…"

Ron smirked. "And tied you up and hid you in a cave in the middle of nowhere."

Draco frowned. "I don't know anything about this," he said honestly.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Ron said. "Your father's planning to kill Harry." He paused. "And probably all the muggleborns while he's at it."

Draco glared at him. "Weasley, say one more thing about my father, and I will - "

"No," Harry said, interrupting Draco. "Draco's father isn't planning to kill me." He knew that, to Lucius Malfoy, he was his favorite playtoy. He wouldn't want to kill him. And if he really wanted to kill him, he had his opportunities. Whatever the plot was, it was something that would remove Dumbledore from his place as Headmaster, either by death or by board action. It would most likely be revenge against Arthur Weasley, perhaps by shaming him or his family. Or by harming them. And from the way Dobby spoke, Harry concluded that he was not necessarily a target - he would just be in proximity of the danger.

"How do you know? The house elf said - "

" - that there is a plot and that I would be in mortal danger," Harry said. "Nothing about his owners. For all we know, he could have overheard another family planning to kill me."

Ron shrugged as Draco shot him a smug look. "If you say so, mate."

"Harry, how have the lessons with Mr. Flamel been?" Hermione asked, clearly wanting to change the subject.

Harry grinned. "Very well. It's amazing what that man knows."

"Well, go on. Tell us!" Ron urged.

"We've been working on elemental magic, specifically fire. And he's been teaching me how to increase the power and strength of my spells," Harry explained.

"How are you supposed to do that?" Ron asked. "Doesn't it just depend on the wand?"

Harry shook his head. "That was what I thought, too. And to some extent, it does. But it actually has more to do with your willpower. The stronger you will the spell, the more powerful it is. The problem is that for most wizards and witches, they get so used to magic that they do it without putting in much effort. As a result, they never realize how powerful their magic can be. And the thing is, the will is like a muscle. If you don't use it, you lose it. Then when they need the power, they wonder why their spell is so weak even when they're concentrating. They don't realize that their will had weakened. To strengthen your will, you have to use it. Consistently." He showed them his wand.

Draco gawked. "You can't be serious."

"Flamel's bonkers," Ron said, staring at the small ring near the tip of Harry's wand.

"What is that?" Hermione asked.

"It's a Wand Handicap Ring," Draco said. "Wizards usually use it if they know their wands are prone to accidents. It limits the power of spells to a certain extent, so that an accident that could set a house on fire might just create a small flame." He looked up at Harry. "Why the hell would Flamel want to handicap your wand? Can you even do any magic with it on?"

Harry nodded. "It took most of the summer, but I've gotten the hang of it. It forces me to strengthen my will in spellcasting, to operate always at full power."

Draco's eyes gleamed as he stared at Harry almost hungrily. "Show us. Your full power."

Ron snorted. "You just love a show of power, don't you, Malfoy?" He hesitated. "But, yeah, show us."

"I'd rather not," Harry said uncomfortably.

Draco huffed in disappointment before rolling his eyes. "Right. You don't like showing off. Honestly, everyone knows you're good at magic. It's no use hiding."

Harry fingered his wand. "I'm not hiding. If I ever need to use that power, I'll use it. Just not like this. Nicolas isn't training me for this."

Ron sighed. "And here I thought you can't be a worse teacher's pet than Hermione."

...

As they got off the train, rather than getting into boats this time, they got into carriages. Harry didn't say anything when Hermione mentioned how they must be bewitched to move on their own. He could see the thestrals perfectly fine.

It was interesting being on the other end of the Sorting ceremony. When Ginny sat down next to him at the Gryffindor table, he smiled at her, and she promptly knocked over a goblet. Harry pretended he didn't see.

Before he could get a single bite in, a flash of bright light blinded him. When his vision finally returned, he saw a rather short boy in front of him. The boy had mousy brown hair and brown eyes. Colin Creevey if he remembered correctly. "I'm - I'm Colin Creevey. We met at Madam Malkin's, but I didn't know - d'you remember me? D'you think - would it be all right if - can I have a picture? So I can prove I've met you. I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you, and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead..."

Harry's mouth fell open, and he closed it multiple times to the laughter of those around him. "Do I even have a choice? I think you took one already," he said weakly. He definitely remembered Colin. The boy was practically bouncing in the robes shop. He had been one of the most difficult customers Harry had ever dealt with, simply because the excitable wizard would not remain still long enough for Harry to read the numbers.

"Can I have an autograph then?" Colin asked hopefully.

Struggling for an excuse, Harry mumbled, "My handwriting isn't that good. It'll...er...ruin the photo..." He stopped, noticing the nervousness in Colin's posture and the hopeful look in his eyes. Mentally sighing, he smiled and, to everyone's surprise and to Colin's excitement, nodded. "Just one," he said quietly. "And only if you promise not to take any more photos of me. I'd like to think I make better company than photos and autographs."

Colin nodded eagerly and gave Harry the picture he had just taken of him. "Thanks, Harry!" When Harry handed him the signed photo, he shifted back and forth, as though uncertain what to do.

Harry gestured to the empty seat, ignoring Ron and Draco's attempts to signal to him not to. "You're welcome to sit down." He could barely rein in his laughter when they both smacked their foreheads in exasperation.

Colin plopped himself down, grinning like there was nothing in the world he would rather be doing. As promised, his camera remained on the table, although he kept glancing at it every so often.

"So what's with the pictures?" Harry asked curiously as he cut into his steak.

"My parents are Muggles, you see," Colin said quickly and breathlessly. "And I have a brother too. His name's Dennis by the way. I want them to know what's going on here. They've never seen Hogwarts. And my parents, my dad especially, worry about me here. Because they can't do anything to help, even give advice, if I need it..."

Colin rambled on, and Harry nodded as he continued eating. Harry felt a mischievous sense of satisfaction seeing Draco and Ron look like they were about to manhandle the first-year into shutting up. Personally, he found Colin's reasoning quite inspiring. Perhaps he should take up photography and send some pictures to Madam Malkin. She would love being a part of his life in such a way. Now that he thought about it, he should start filling out the album that Draco gave him for Christmas. There was something rather nice about photos that made them preferable to the Pensieve.

"Colin, can I borrow that?" Harry asked, pointing to the camera.

Colin immediately handed over his camera.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. He had never worked a camera before, and this camera appeared higher-end than most. "Er...I don't know how to use this," he said sheepishly.

"Would you be okay if - I can show you," Colin said. At Harry's nod, he began teaching him the basics.

Humming to himself, Harry turned to his friends. "Guys, smile," he said, grinning, and clicked. Ron's cheeks were stuffed like a chipmunk's, fork and knife in hands, his eyes wide in surprise. Draco looked half-horrified, half-disgusted, as though he was worried his best friend would merge into their current object of annoyance. Hermione had quickly covered her face with her hand from embarrassment. "Colin, would you be okay with me keeping this photo?"

"No problem," Colin said quickly. Harry was quite certain that he didn't even hear his question.

As they headed up to their dorms, Colin continued to follow Harry and his friends, telling Harry about how excited he was about his classes the next day, how excited he was to take pictures of everything, how excited he was to send his first letter back to his family with an owl, how excited he was...about everything really.

"Can't you tell him to go away already?" Ron finally whispered when they reached the common room. "Or is he planning to follow us to our dorm too?"

Harry turned to Colin. "Colin." The boy shut up immediately. "I'm rather tired. You should go to bed too." His words didn't seem to register because Colin was still staring at him with an awestruck expression. He turned to his friends. "If we run really fast..."

...

The next morning, it seemed that Colin interpreted his promise to Harry to last only for the previous day. When Harry came down for breakfast, his vision turned white before he started seeing spots.

"Hiya, Harry!" Colin chirped, camera in hand.

Harry's shoulders drooped. "Morning."

Ron sniggered. "That's what you get for being nice to the pipsqueak."

"Just hex him," Draco said. "Or I can do it for you."

Harry sighed and proceeded to carry on his day, hoping that eventually Colin would stop seeing him as a novelty item. However, it appeared not to be so. It only got worse when they were going to Defense Against the Dark Arts. To his mortification, they crossed paths with Lockhart, who saw Colin taking pictures of Harry and was only so happy to join in when he learned that he was Harry Potter.

"You look familiar, Harry. Have we met before?" Lockhart asked amiably once Colin had finished taking the pictures.

"Of course not, Sir," Harry said quickly and ducked into the classroom, cheeks flushing red from embarrassment.

As promised, Lockhart gave out a quiz on his books. And Harry was not too shocked to find out that most of the questions were on the man himself. It was quite possibly the first quiz he had ever failed since coming to Hogwarts. He hadn't done that badly even when he was dozing off in Quirrell's class.

As their teacher tsked and tutted about them not remembering his favorite color, Draco sneered, "And here I thought I was the most narcissistic person in this school. Looks like I'll have to deal with second place."

Harry would have laughed. Except he was dozing off, as was often the case when a class was going too slowly for his mind to pay attention. He was woken up abruptly when Draco shook him awake.

"Harry, a practical!"

Harry was wide awake then. A practical? He was always up for a practical. He leaned over his desk to see a cage full of pixies.

" – they're not very – dangerous, are they?" Seamus choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be! Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, upended the waste bin, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window. Within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the candelabra in the ceiling.

"Come on now, round them up, round them up, they're only pixies!" Lockhart shouted. He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand and bellowed, "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!" It had absolutely no effect - one of the pixies seized Lockhart's wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the candelabra gave way.

"What the actual fuck!" Draco hissed, ducking under a desk and just barely missing having his hair splattered with ink. He grabbed a book and smacked a pixie away from his bookbag.

"Immobulus!" Hermione cried, freezing two pixies that were yanking on her hair.

"What am I supposed to learn again, Hermione?" Ron whacked away another pixie. "I'm paying a lot of attention right now! Where's Harry anyway?"

Suddenly all the chaos in the classroom stopped. The pixies stopped what they were doing and, as though hypnotized, flew towards the cage in the front of the classroom, where Harry was shooting white sparks out of his wand between the bars of the cage. They entered the cage and happily danced around in the sparks.

As the last pixie returned to the cage, he calmly closed the door of the cage and ended the spell. He looked up to see the entire classroom staring at him. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Er...pixies are attracted to chaos, even if it's as minor as sparks, and they also don't have much of an attention span."

And with that, class ended.

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