Lyla, sensing that their meeting was finished, gestured to Arabella and began for the door. Both had crossed, Arabella reaching for the handle. But at that exact moment, the door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall.

Lucius Malfoy and Aldrich Parkinson stood there, fury on both their faces. And to Lyla's great surprise, a cowering creature was just behind the older men. Heavily wrapped in a series of dirty bandages, was Dobby.

"Good evening, Lucius, Aldrich," said Dumbledore pleasantly.

Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Arabella over as he swept into the room. His companion looked disgustedly at the grimy children before following, Dobby scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face.

The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Parkinson's shoes. Apparently, the men had set out in a great hurry, for not only were Mr. Parkinson's shoes half polished, but his usually sleek demeanor was disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore. Mr. Malfoy's blonde hair looked as if he'd been sprinting madly down the corridors.

"So!" said Mr. Parkinson savagely."You've come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts."

"Well, you see," said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, "the other ten governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They'd heard that Isaiah Greengrass's daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too... Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn't agree to suspend me in the first place."

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury.

"So— have you stopped the attacks yet?" he sneered. "Have you caught the culprit?"

"As a matter of fact, we have," said Dumbledore, with a smile.

"Well?" said Mr. Parkinson sharply. "Who is it?"

"The same person as last time," said Dumbledore. "But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary."

He held up the small black book with the large hole through the center, watching both men closely. Lyla, however, was watching Dobby.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully on the sisters, and he kept pointing at the dairy, then at Mr. Parkinson, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

"I see..." said Mr. Malfoy

"A clever plan," said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. "Because if Arabella here —" Mr. Parkinson shot her a swift, sharp look "and her friend hadn't discovered this book, why — Astoria Greengrass might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn't acted of her own free will..."

The men said nothing. Their faces were suddenly masklike.

"And imagine," Dumbledore went on, "what might have happened then... The Greengrass family is one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Isiah and the remainder of his family, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and— killing Muggleborns... Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle's memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise..."

Mr. Parkinson forced himself to speak. "Very fortunate," he said stiffly.

And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Aldrich Parkinson, then punching himself in the head.

And Lyla suddenly understood. She nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment.

"Don't you want to know how Astoria got hold of that diary?" asked Lyla.

Both men turned their sharp gazes on her.

"How should we know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?" Mr. Malfoy asked.

"Because Mr. Parkinson here, gave it to Ginny Weasley In Flourish and Blotts. She was the intended target, I think. You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn't you? Hoping to cause harm to the Weasley Family?"

She saw Mr. Parkinson's hands clench and unclench.

"Prove it," he hissed.

"Oh, no one will be able to do that," said Dumbledore, smiling. "Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you both, Aldrich and Lucious, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort's old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think, Isaiah Greengrass, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you..."

Both men stood without moving or speaking, to which Lyla caught sight of Mr. Malfoy's right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand. Another minute passed, and then Mr. Parkinson turned to his house-elf.

"We're leaving, Dobby!"

Mr. Malfoy wrenched open the door and stormed out, pale gray eyes so much like his sons when angered, a cold flat sheet of ice. Mr. Parkinson kicked Dobby right through the opening. They could hear Dobby squealing with pain along the corridor. Lyla stood for a moment, thinking hard. Then it came to her —

"Professor Dumbledore," she said hurriedly. "Can I give that diary back to Mr. Parkinson, please?"

"Certainly, Lyla," said Dumbledore calmly. "But hurry. The feast, remember..."

Lyla grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office, Arabella hot in her heels.

"What are you doing?" Arabella asked in puzzlement

But Lyla didn't have time to give a proper response. She could still hear Dobby's squeals of pain receding around the corner. Quickly, wondering if her plan could possibly work, she took off one of her shoes, pulled off one of her socks, and stuffed it into the diary's first few pages. Then she ran down the dark corridor.

She caught up with them at the top of the stairs.

"Mr. Parkinson," she gasped, skidding to a halt, "I've got something for you—" And she forced the smelly sock into Aldrich Parkinson's hand.

"What the —?"

Mr. Parkinson threw the ruined book aside, then looked furiously at Lyla.

"You'll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Potter," said Mr. Malloy from behind his companion. "They were meddlesome fools, too."

"Come, Dobby," said Mr. Parkinson, his lip curled back in a sneer, "come now!"

But Dobby didn't move. He was holding up Lyla's sock, and looking at it as though it were a priceless treasure.

"Master has given a sock!" squeaked the elf in wonderment. "Master gave it to Dobby..."

"What's that?" spat Mr. Parkinson. "What did you say?"

"Got a sock," said Dobby in disbelief. "Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby — Dobby is free."

Aldrich Parkinson stood frozen, staring at the elf before he lunged at Lyla. "You've lost me, my servant!"

Mr. Malfoy made as if to stop his companion from charging forward, but Dobby shouted, "You shall not harm Lyla and Arabella Potter!"

There was a loud bang, and both Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Parkinson were thrown backward. They crashed down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a crumpled heap on the landing below. If the situation wasn't so serious, Lyla would have laughed.

Struggling to right themselves, Mr. Parkinson's face was absolutely livid and pulled out his wand free. But Dobby raised a long, threatening finger.

"You shall go now," he said fiercely, pointing down at the two men. "You shall not touch Arabella and Lyla Potter. You shall go now."

They had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at the pair of them, he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight.

"Lyla Potter freed Dobby!" said the elf shrilly, gazing up at the redhead, moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes. "Lyla Potter set Dobby free!"

"It's the least we could do, Dobby," said Lyla, grinning. "Just promise never to try and save my life or Arabella's again."

The elf's ugly face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile.

"I've just got one question, Dobby," said Arabella, helping the elf pull on his sock "You told me all this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named, remember? Well —"

"It was a clue, ma'am," said Dobby, his eyes widening, as though this was obvious. "Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named, you see?"

"Oh," said Arabella weakly.

"Well, we'd better get going," said Lyla. "There's a feast, and our friend Hermione should be awake by now..."

Dobby threw his arms around both girl's knees and hugged them fiercely

"You Potte's is greater by far than Dobby knew!" he sobbed. "Farewell, Lyla Potter! Farewell, Arabella Potter" And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappeared.

Lyla had been to several Hogwarts feasts before, but never one quite like the one tonight. Everybody was in their pajamas, and the celebration lasted all night. As she sat amongst Blaise, Theo, and Draco retelling the tale in hushed whispers. Draco moaned when he heard of his father and Mr. Parkinson's displays of rage, while Theo patted his back.

"Don't think too hard," he said, "our dear fathers are set in their own ways, and there's no changing that. Trust me on that, mate."

Lyla was especially surprised to see Anthony Goldstein approach her during the feast. He looked alright considering he'd just recovered from being Petrified, his usually curly hair laying flat across his pale forehead.

"Uh, hi," he said, shooting nervous glances at the other Slytherins. "I just wanted to– to apologize for, well… suspecting you… "

"And Arabella?" questioned Draco with a pale eyebrow.

"More or less," replied the Ravenclaw boy. "And I'm sorry about the others. I heard from Cho that Sue, Ernie, and Hannah said some awful things, and I– I just wanted to–"

"Oh, it's alright," said Lyla lightly. "Honestly."

"But– but I–" Anthony stammered.

"Aw, come on," said Theo with an unexpected slap to the other's back, "if she says it's alright, it's alright, mate!"

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