Chapter 6
"Dobby won't clean!"
"He gives himself a name," a house elf hissed.
"He tries to wears clothes," said another one with a loathing voice.
"He won't work."
Close to two hundred awfully thin elves gathered in one very cramped room. Pots and pans dangled from the high ceiling which soared three stories up. The other floors had several rooms, each with a locked door.
The group of elves cornered Dobby against a low stove. As they moved in closer, Dobby was forced back, and his hands slipped onto the lit stovetop.
"Ah!" he yelled and quickly pulled his hands away.
"Where do you think he came from?"
"He's so strange."
As the group continued to study and mock Dobby, a taller house elf entered the scene and jumped on top of a wooden counter. You couldn't even tell it was a female until she spoke in a very high, squeaky voice.
"Why aren't you working!?"
They stopped in their tracks and turned around. At an amazing speed, they ran back to their stoves, counters, fridges and tables. Each house elf grabbed something to do, leaving Dobby alone rubbing his burnt hands.
"You there, what's wrong with you?" the female asked and leapt forward toward him.
"Dobby hurt himself… Dobby doesn't belong here."
The female looked down at his reddened hands. "You're right. You don't belong. Why do you refuse to work?"
"Because Dobby is free!" he yelled.
The room was silent; no pan was scrubbed; no meat was chopped; no soup was poured; no floor was swept.
"Free?" the female whispered in a very shocked voice. "No one here is free. You lie. He lies!"
"No! Harry Potter freed Dobby!"
"Who is this Harry Potter?" asked the female.
Dobby stood at the faces of so many wide-eyed elves. They truly never heard his name before. The concept of freedom was completely foreign, which is expected from house elves.
"You will never speak that foul word again, D-o-b-b-y," she said. "You will never have a name. You will never be free!" She turned her head and glared at the room. "What are you all doing?"
Immediately, the noise clattered once again. The female turned her back on Dobby and left the room. She must have been some sort of keeper. This wasn't very normal of typical house elves to have a leader, unless it was their master. Things were very different here.
But Dobby knew he was free. He wouldn't go back to work without pay. It was as if he were back in Hogwarts… If only they had some clothes to pick up. Dobby continued to rub his hands and stood there as dozens of elves rushed by with bowls and spoons. He had to convince them he was free… He had to find the one who freed him. He had to find Harry Potter.
"How do you think they escaped?" asked a red haired guard.
"They didn't," said a blonde haired one. "I shouldn't have to remind you. No one escapes."
"Have you forgotten the Riddle man in the late 1800s? Or do you believe, Demora, that he just died, and we never got his body? You're stupid if you do."
Miriam drank down a glass of purple wine, letting some of it drip onto the center of her robe. Just as she was about to try to blot it, Demora reached across the table and grabbed her wrist.
"You speak of things you shouldn't around here. You always have. If Arianna hears you talking about prisoners escap—about you know what, she'll question us. And you will be the one saying something, and I'll be killed for it."
Miriam laughed. "You can't die here. How long have we been working here? 600, 700 years now? Ever since this place was built."
"Seven hundred and twelve actually. You're losing count," said Demora, swiping her blonde hair out of her chicken and rice. "I was here a few months before you just when they started recruiting guards from around the world. I should read the contract more carefully."
"You knew this job would your only and last one. Don't try to tell me that you didn't," said Miriam. "This island gives not only our prisoners immortality, but us as well. Anyone who touches this soil."
"Unless it's a Muggle…"
"We stopped doing that a long time ago."
"Under a new order that we never wanted," Demora said and then spat out a chicken bone. After some silence, Miriam spoke once again.
"I still wonder. How did Arianna get that Riddle man to escape, and why did she do it? Her father nearly killed her for it. I wish he did."
"Shut it, Miriam," hissed Demora. "You see this is what I'm talking about. You say these stupid, stupid things out loud!"
"It's nothing more than the truth."
"The truth can still kill you… What was that?"
Dobby fell to the ground and crawled throughout the kitchen. Wobbling knees and shaking legs kept bumping into his head. A few spoons here and there fell, smacking Dobby's already injured hands.
There had to be a way out without that female elf seeing him. Even though house elves look the same to most wizards, one elf can easily tell the difference from another. Dobby would be spotted on sight if he tried to use one of the doors.
Unless he decided to work. It went against all the freedom he had been given, to become a slave once again. He just told himself it would be temporary. Just until he found Mister Potter and brought him back so he could tell the other elves he was innocent.
But he had no idea where to start looking. He didn't even know where he was, or if Harry was on the island. More than likely, he was in one of the towers. Dobby couldn't ask anyone without looking suspicious… Or could he?
Dobby got off his knees and grabbed a bowl off the table. It was full of some dreadful looking soup with dirty brown, round globs of gunk stuck to the bottom. Carefully, Dobby picked it up, his hands blistering beneath it, and hurried behind a group of elves with similar bowls out the door.
He followed the group down a very windy corridor and then to an arched door. The first elf held out his hand and placed it on slate attached to the doorframe. There was a long handprint etched into the stone, and when the elf pressed his hand into it, the door slid into the ground below.
The elves ran across wet, soggy sands that tickled beneath their feet. They continued to quickly run for a few minutes until another tall tower came into view. It was at least fifteen stories high with absolutely no windows whatsoever. There was only one door into the tower with the same funny, slate panel.
Dobby turned his head to see almost a dozen towers surrounding the island. Four of them were on the opposite side from him, two of them northern and then there were some surrounding the one he was just about to enter. They all looked exactly the same except for the two northern ones. They each had one window on the top with a glowing, beacon like light shining.
When Dobby turned his head again, the group of house elves was gone already, and the door had reappeared. He ran toward it, throwing down the bowl of disgusting soup and knocked with his fists. But nobody answered.
Ever so carefully, Dobby slid his hand into the handprint and pressed. He closed his eyes, unsure if it would work or blare alarms at him.
When he reopened his eyes, he found that the door had disappeared. Dobby ran forward, just as it started to rematerialize. He rolled forward, tucking in his knees and smashing his head into the ground. When he lifted his head again, he was inside the tower, all in one piece.
But where to go now? The walls were barren, dark and cold. Nothing hung from them, or gave any clue as to what direction to go in. Dobby would have to visit many rooms, hundreds of them, if he were to ever find Harry.
"You there," a woman's voice said.
Dobby's heart pounced. He tried to calm himself and hid his burnt hands behind his back. Someone stood nearby him. He could feel their breath.
"Are you the one they found on shore?"
When Dobby turned his head, he saw a woman with slit eyes and dark, black hair. She wore an oversized robe with a golden threaded belt hanging along her curvy waist.
"Well, are you the one they talk about?" she asked.
Dobby shook his head. "Talk? No time for talk. Must delivery soup."
"Where is your bowl then?"
Dobby looked down and realized he had dropped it before he entered. He hesitated to answer. Something about the woman knotted Dobby's stomach. Instead of answering, Dobby ran his head into the wall. If the house elves were anything like the ones in Britain, they deserved punishment if they did something wrong. He knew from experience.
"Stop doing that," she ordered. "No need to kill yourself over it."
But Dobby continued smashing his baldhead into the bricks. It wasn't until the woman literally lifted Dobby up off the ground that he stopped.
"All you elves are alike… Go back to work."
She threw Dobby to the ground and walked toward a brick wall. Dobby watched intensely from the floor, his chin lying on the cold stone, as the woman's feet entered the wall and were gone.
There was no one else around. So, Dobby got up and ran forward into the exact same spot, hoping to find himself somewhere lit and warm. Instead, he plowed into the very solid bricks hard, cutting his lip open and causing a line of blood to flow from his nose.
He fell backwards and onto the ground, his body badly hurt. He stayed that way until a group of house elves passed by several hours later with empty soup bowls in their hands. They picked Dobby up over their shoulders and slowly carried him out of the tower.