It was half-past seven in the evening when at last they heard their mother's voice calling them downstairs. Arabella had gone through with wearing the dress her sister had complimented earlier that day, while her thick messy black hair was smoothed and tucked back into a neat braid that fell down her back. Lyla had opted for a brilliant forest green dress she particularly liked and had curled her dark red hair into loose ringlets that fell gently about her face. When Petunia saw her girls, she gasped and covered her mouth in delightful surprise.
"Oh, don't you two just look elegant!" she fawned, admiring how the two presented themselves. "You look like long-lost royalty!"
Lyla beamed while Arabella fiddled with the frills of her skirt. Dudley came waddling in moments later looking a bit like a stuffed pig in Arabella's opinion, but smart nonetheless (if pigs looked smart, anywho). On top of the counter stood the night's pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. A loin of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.
"Quickly, quickly," said their father, straightening his bowtie and smiling at himself in a mirror. "I want—"
"Yes, dad, we know," said Lyla warmly, wrapping a slender arm around his rounded waist, "absolutely perfect! We remember everything."
Dudley snorted before rushing to the front foyer to await the Mason's arrival, fingers tugging at his bowtie. Right as the girls had finished setting the table, the doorbell rang.
"Everyone, in your place now!" said their father as he cleared his throat, straightened up, and headed to the front door. The girls quickly shuffled into the living room with their mother and settled themselves. They heard the door open and voice drift, though it was difficult to hear exactly what was being said. Soon, their guests made their way into the room and beamed at the three figures waiting. The Mason's were thin and sickly looking people who gazed around the Dursley home with appreciation and approval
"We're so pleased to have you here," said Petunia sweetly, gesturing for them to sit. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Vernon's told me all about you and your lovely wife. I'm Petunia Dursley."
Arabella and Lyla both gave quick bows before smiling up at the Mason's.
"Hello," greeted Arabella brightly, "I'm Arabella Dursley."
"And I'm Lyla," chirped in Lyla with twinkling eyes, "it's truly a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Mason."
"Oh, what polite children you have," Mr. Mason said, turning to Vernon with a nod. "I sometimes wish Archie was as well mannered as your son, Dudley."
"Oh, he's ghastly to be around sometimes," added Mrs. Mason with a shudder. "He ought to take a leaf out of your book, son."
Dudley was glowing with pride.
As the group of seven settled comfortably, champagne and wine was offered around to the adults.
"I really find your earrings quite eye-catching," said Arabella with a sweet smile. "Just what kind of flower are they meant to be?"
It was a pleasant hour of conversation, and the children mainly kept quiet and listened to the adults speak of work and life. Lyla wasn't a huge fan of adult-oriented conversations and decided to keep her mouth shut, only responding when spoken to directly. Dudley on the other hand was animated as he told the Mason's about his year at Smeltings, and how he thoroughly enjoyed the sports programs offered.
"Do you do any sports?" asked Mr. Mason, looking at Lyla.
"Basketball," she responded with a blinding smile. "Though, I'm not very good."
"And you, dear?" Mrs. Mason asked Arabella.
"Tennis," she said. "I'd say I'm the best."
Everyone chuckled at that.
"My, you have quite a diverse family, Vernon," said Mr. Mason eagerly. "Dudley, did you say you were interested in wrestling? Our boy Archie will be attending his first year at Smeltings this upcoming term. I hate to ask for things on behalf of our boy, but he is… well…"
"A loner," suggested Mrs. Mason. "I think he's called what most would agree as an introvert, doesn't have a lot of self-confidence, our boy…"
She dabbed at her eyes and sighed.
"I'd be happy to mentor your son," said Dudley, looking anything but happy about the assignment he'd just been given. "It would be an honor," he added with a pinched smile.
Suddenly, a muffled thumping could be heard coming from upstairs, right inside the room that was Lyla and Arabella's. It sounded like someone was throwing very heavy things against the wall.
"Oh, dear," said Vernon through a forced smile, "it would appear our cat has gotten into a bit of trouble upstairs. Uh, Lyla darling, would you please sort things out before dinner?"
"Of course, daddy," she replied, flashing a small smile at the Mason's before getting to her feet.
Lyla scampered up the stairs as quietly as she could, and reached for the doorknob that led into her shared room with Arabella. She could think of nothing that could make such horrible thuds and was a bit worried as she pushed the door softly open. The moment she touched the door, the bumps had stopped, and when she flicked the lights on, a very bizarre sight met her. It took almost all her strength not to scream.
Someone was sitting on the edge of her bed. The little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes. They stared at each other, and Lyla felt at a loss for words. Without any warning, the strange fellow slipped off the edge of her bed and bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. Lyla noticed that it was only wearing what looked like an old stained pillowcase, with rips for arm and leg holes.
"Hello," she whispered, shutting the door softly behind her. "What—"
"Lyla Potter!" said the small creature in a high-pitched voice. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, ma'am… Such an honor it is…"
"Well, um, th-thank you," Lyla said, edging along the wall and sinking into her chair. "What— who are you, exactly?"
"Dobby, ma'am. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," said the creature.
"Oh— really?" she asked, frowning. "Er— well, I don't want to be rude or anything, but— this isn't a great time for me to have a house-elf in my bedroom."
Somewhere downstairs, her mother laughed. The elf hung his head in embarrassment.
"Not that I'm not pleased to meet you," said Lyla quickly, "but, uh, is there any particular reason you're here?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am," said Dobby earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you, ma'am… it is difficult, ma'am… Dobby wonders where to begin…"
Glancing at the clock that hung above her door, she nodded.
"Why don't you sit down and explain," Lyla said politely, pointing to the end of her bed. To her horror, the elf burst into tears— very noisy tears.
"S-sit down!?" he wailed. "Never… never ever…"
Lyla faintly heard the voices downstairs falter.
"Dobby! Please be quiet!" she whispered frantically. "I didn't mean to offend you or anything—"
"Offend Dobby!?" choked the elf breathlessly. "Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a witch or wizard— like an equal—"
"Shhh! Dobby, we've got very important company tonight, please, shh!"
He seemed to heed her words then and was ushered onto the bed where he sat hiccoughing, looking like a large and very ugly doll. At last, he managed to control himself and sat with his great eyes fixed on the redhead in an expression of watery adoration.
"You just haven't met the good wizards and witches," she said, trying to cheer up the sniffling elf. Dobby nodded his head.
Then, without warning, he leaped up and started banging his head furiously on the window.
"Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!" he wailed.
"Dobby! Please be quiet!" Lyla pleaded again, not sure if she should grab for the creature or not. In all honesty, she didn't really want to, as he was indeed quite filthy. Both Nicolas and Merlin had woken and hooted lowly and threateningly.
"Dobby must punish himself, ma'am," said the elf, who had gone slightly cross-eyed. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family…"
"Your family?"
"The wizard family Dobby serves, ma'am… Dobby is a house-elf— bound to serve one house and one family forever…"
"Uh, do they know you're here?" asked Lyla curiously.
Dobby's entire body shuddered.
"Oh, no, ma'am, no… Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, ma'am. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, ma'am—"
"But won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?"
"Dobby doubts it, ma'am. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, ma'am. They lets Dobby get on with it, ma'am. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments…"
Lyla gasped. Whoever Dobby was under servitude, they sounded terrible.
"Why don't you leave?" she urged, "escape?"
"A house-elf must be set free, ma'am. And the family will never set Dobby free… Dobby will serve the family until he dies, ma'am…"
Lyla frowned, not sure how to respond.
"C-can't anyone help you? Can I help you in some way?"
Almost at once, she wished he hadn't spoken. Dobby dissolved again into shrill wails of gratitude. Merlin opened his black beak and screeched horribly, beating his wings wildly against the bars of her cage.
"Please!" hissed Lyla frantically. "Please be quiet! Please, Dobby!"
"Lyla Potter asks if she can help Dobby… Dobby has heard of your greatness, ma'am, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew…"
"Whatever you've heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish."
"Lyla Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby reverently, his orb-like eyes aglow. "Lyla Potter speaks not of her triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—"
"Voldemort?" said Lyla quizzically.
Dobby clapped his hands over his bat ears and moaned, "Ah, speak not the name, ma'am! Speak not the name!"
"Sorry," said Lyla quickly. "I know lots of people don't like it. I'm very sorry."
Dobby leaned toward Lyla, his eyes wide as headlights.
"Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Lyla Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago… that Lyla Potter escaped yet again."
She nodded and Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears.
"Ah, ma'am," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. "The Potter twins is valiant and bold! They has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect them, to warn, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later… Lyla and Arabella Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."
Looking up at the clock once more, Lyla realized with a shock how long they had been speaking.
"I don't know what you're on about," she said, standing and turning, "but Arabella and I will be going back— term starts on the first of September."
No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "Lyla and Arabella Potter must stay where they is safe. They is too great, too good, to lose. If they goes back to Hogwarts, theys will be in mortal danger."
"What?" said Lyla, stopping and turning to face the little elf. "I beg your pardon?"
"There is a plot, ma'am. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, ma'am, The Potter twins must not put themselves in peril. They is too important, ma'am!"
"Terrible things? Who's plotting them?"
Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head frantically against the wall.
"Alright!" cried Lyla, grabbing the elf's arm and wrenching him back. "You can't tell me. I understand. But why are you warning me?"
A sudden, unpleasant thought struck her.
"Hang on— this hasn't got anything to do with Vol— sorry— with You-Know-Who, has it? You could just shake or nod," she added hastily as Dobby's head tilted worryingly close to the wall again.
Slowly, Dobby shook his head.
"Not— not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, ma'am—"
But Dobby's eyes were wide and he seemed to be trying to give the twelve-year-old a hint. Lyla, however, was completely lost.
"He hasn't got a brother, has he?"
Dobby shook his head, his eyes wider than ever.
"Well then, I can't think who else would have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts," said Lyla shrugging. "I mean, there's Dumbledore, for one thing— you know who Dumbledore is, don't you?"
Dobby bowed his head.
"Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, ma'am. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But, ma'am—" Dobby's voice dropped to an urgent whisper, "— there are powers Dumbledore doesn't… powers no decent wizard…"
And before Lyla could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed, seized Arabella's desk lamp, and started beating himself about the head with ear-splitting yelps of pain. A sudden silence fell downstairs. Two seconds later, Lyla heard light footsteps race upwards towards her. It was Arabella, and as she opened the bedroom door, she shouted, "Dudley must have left his television on again, so sorry for the disturbance!"
She looked furious.
"Just what is going on—"
She abruptly stopped and stared at Dobby with a mixture of horror and disgust. Shutting the door firmly behind her, she turned her dangerous gaze on her sister with narrowed eyes. This was going to be a long night…
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