The Room of Requirement
I have to mentally restrain myself from shouting in alarm the next night, as Sirius's head appears suddenly in the flames I've been absentmindedly watching.
The last of the Gryffindors have been gone for about half an hour. Fred and George are miffed at Hermione and avoiding her as much as possible, so even they are in bed already.
"Hello, Ari," Sirius says with a friendly smile. "Haven't seen you lately. Are the others around? Ah, yes, I see them there. Hello everyone."
"Hi," they all chorus back.
"Look, Sirius, it's nice to see you and all," Hermione begins, "but it's not safe for you to be here. Our letters are being tampered with, and even without that, you showing up here is too risky as it is."
"You worry too much," he tells her, humour in his tone. "It'll be fine. No one will know what I meant in that letter anyway. It's a good thing I was so vague."
"Hermione's right," Harry tells him quietly. "It's too dangerous, Sirius."
"Where's your sense of adventure?" Sirius asks incredulously. "The Harry I know would love the risk, the edge of danger here."
"Not if it means putting your life at risk, Sirius," Harry tells him. "If they catch you –"
"Yes, yes," Sirius interrupts disgustedly. "I've heard it from everyone else, don't you start. You're not as much fun as I thought. Your father would have loved this sort of meeting."
"Well, Harry's not James, Sirius," Hermione says firmly.
"If anyone wants to know why I risked stopping by," Sirius says brusquely, "I'll tell you quick before I return to my prison."
"Better that than Azkaban," Hermione can't help but remind him. His expression visibly darkens at her nagging. I jab her with an elbow for silence.
"Ron," Sirius begins, "your mother wants me to tell you – expressly forbid you, I believe was the exact phrase – that you're not allowed to join the secret defense society. She wanted me to make it clear to the rest of you that she doesn't approve of your involvement, though she doesn't have any authority over your actions."
"Wait," I say, breaking my silence. "How does she know about that?"
"You lot should be a little smarter about where you're holding your meetings. Mundungus Fletcher was at the Hog's Head on the weekend – dressed as a witch, seeing as how he's banned from the place – and overheard some of what you were saying. You're lucky it was someone from the Order who overheard you, or you'd be in much worse trouble than a warning from your Mum."
"So you think we should just give up on the idea," Harry says dully.
Sirius raises his eyebrows quickly at that. "Of course I like it! That bit was just me passing on Molly's message to you. Truthfully, I think most of the others are impressed with your tenacity, kids. What you'll need is a better place to meet."
"Do you know of any?" I ask, perking up.
"The shrieking shack is one idea…"
Harry shakes his head immediately. "There are twenty-eight of us. No way we'd all fit in there and still have room to practice."
"Hm," Sirius says, thinking for a moment. "I remember there being a large space behind a mirror on the fourth floor."
It's my turn to shake my head. "Fred and George told me that it caved in."
"You'll think of something," Sirius says brightly. "Say, while I'm here, I was wondering –"
Suddenly his eyes go wide, and with a popping sound, he disappears from sight. Almost immediately, a clawing hand, covered in rings and wrinkles, shoots upward, reaching around in the flames, as if it's trying to find Sirius's head. We all scramble away from the reaching claws, Hermione and I darting towards our dorm while Ron and Harry scramble to theirs.
"That was close," Hermione whispers once we're tucked into bed.
My heart still racing, I retort, "that was creepy."
"Didn't you recognize the hand?" Hermione asks in a hushed tone. She doesn't wait for a reply. "That was Professor Umbridge's hand – I recognized the rings. If she would've caught him…"
She trails off, though I know both of us are finishing the awful thought in our heads. Sleep is a long time coming tonight.
About a week or so later, late one evening, Hermione and Ron are down in the library, Hermione having offered to help Ron with some sort of assignment. Harry and I are entertaining ourselves in the common room chatting about the recent matches between professional Quidditch teams.
"I won't admit it near Ron," I say grinning, "but Krum's been playing some of the best games of his life lately. It's no wonder Bulgaria's an early favourite to win the Cup."
"I still think England has a chance," Harry says. "Teams have gone on to win the Cup after worse starts than this. If only we had Krum for a Seeker, instead of Parkin. You've never said which team you cheer for, Ari."
"Oh," I say with a shrug. "I thought it was obvious. Canada does have a national team, you know. We won the Cup in '90 against the Scots. That was the first year I even knew Quidditch was a sport, so you can imagine I was over the moon when we won it all that year."
Harry laughs, just as a small creature appears in the room just in front of us, mop and pail in hand.
"Master!" it – a house elf, I realize – exclaims excitedly at Harry. "Harry Potter! I was wishing to get to see you!"
"Dobby!" Harry greets him, obviously familiar with the friendly elf. "How have you been?"
Judging by the way he's dressed, this Dobby fellow is at least a little mentally unstable. He's got a tea cozy on his head like it's a hat, and the garishly yellow sweater he's sporting looks like its days were over about a decade ago. It's his socks, though, that really catch my eye. One is completely normal, a black woolly thing that comes up to the little elf's knees. It's the other sock that really catches one's attention. Stripes of very colour imaginable run up and down the fabric, enchanted to spin the colours up and down the material. I can feel a headache coming on the longer I stare at the sock, so I bring my eyes back up to Dobby's friendly face.
"I has been very good, sir," he enthuses. "Dumbledore is very well-treating of his staff, he is. I had been hoping to find you here, sir. It is Dobby who is cleaning the Tower every night, you see. Maybe one day I would be seeing you here, too. I is seeing you sir!"
"It's very nice to see you, too, Dobby," Harry says as the elf pauses for breath. Harry notices the way Dobby's gaze settles on me then, as if he's only now noticing me. He probably is. "Dobby, this is my friend, Ari. She's new here this year."
"Nice to meet you," Dobby says breathlessly, giving a cute little graceless bow. He seems flustered by the introduction. "Master's friends are mine friends, too."
I hesitate, unsure how to reply to the gesture, but ultimately I stand and bow back to the creature. If he was flustered before, he's almost beside himself now. "Very nice to meet you, Dobby."
"Mistress is too kind!" he says, putting a hand to his cheek. "Such very nice friends Master makes!"
"Dobby," Harry interrupts him. "Did you say you're the one who cleans the Tower every night? Do you have to do it all by yourself?"
"Well, sir," Dobby answers, turning back to Harry, "the other elves is not liking the tricks with the clothes that is going on here, sir. They refuse to clean here. It's okay, though, sir, because Dobby has been sharing of the clothes with Winky, sir. And I have been hoping to get to see Harry Potter again, too."
"You don't have to wait to run into me," Harry tells him kindly, "you can come see me just to visit anytime you like. How has Winky been getting along?"
Dobby positively beams at Harry's invitation. "Winky is not very good, sir. She is still at the drink much of the time. I am looking out for her, though, sir! Winky has to get used to her new life here. I wish only that I could be more helping of Harry Potter, sir, if you ever need helping."
"Actually, Dobby," Harry says, suddenly inspired, "do you know of any rooms big enough to fit a class into, somewhere where no one or not very many people know about?"
Dobby's little eyes light up. "Dobby is knowing of a room, sir – a wonderful room! It makes itself into whatever you need! I am hiding Winky there sometimes, when she is having too much to drink, sir."
Harry and I both lean forward at the revelation.
"Do you remember where it is?" Harry asks.
"I do, sir. It is on the seventh floor, across from the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy, sir. Just think of what you are needing and it will appear, easy."
"The Room of Requirement," Harry muses softly to himself. "You're the best, Dobby," he says to Dobby, and the friendly little elf glows at Harry's praise.
Harry turns to me. "Now we just have to tell everyone where to meet us."
