Snape wasn't seen for a couple of days. A lot of people thought that he'd been fired, but return he surely did, although he looked rather thinner and more drawn. The incident appeared to have shocked him badly. Few dared to speak to him. They had seen a side of their teacher which they all might have suspected was there but would never have believed was there so violently. Poor Neville went into hysterics at the sight of him, if Storm hadn't got in the way who knows who might have been on the receiving end of that attack. He felt as though he owed the rith something for distracting Snape during that fateful lesson.

Storm had become all introverted again and was refusing to look at or greet anyone, she was almost constantly curled up in the dungeon despite having been given free run of the castle. Harry was sure that it was more than the curse which had done this to her.

He found out what it was on a cold night two days later. He was walking past the trophy room on his way back to the Gryffindor common room when he noticed something strange.

The door was slightly ajar and standing alone, looking at the pictures, was Storm. She stroked the glass of one particular picture and let the tears flow unchecked onto the wooden floor.

Harry managed to get right behind her before she knew he was there. When she turned to look at him her bright blue eyes were full of such sorrow that it wrenched his heart.

He looked at the photo she had been so absorbed in and saw a quidditch team - the Ravenclaw quidditch team of sixteen years ago when Ravenclaw last won the cup. The team were celebrating and two in particular were the focus - a wiry, fair-haired boy wearing the gauntlets that Harry well knew belonged to a Seeker and a slim girl with long black hair and stunning features wearing the Captain's robes. Sometimes the girl would wince when patted on the back or shoulder, but still carried on smiling her dazzling smile and laughing off any concerns about her health.

Harry read the plaque underneath the photo, a list of all the team members; CHASERS: Enyana Barrett (capt.) David Kindersley, Geraldine Patterson. BEATERS: Allan Leonard, Les Yates. KEEPER: Brian Lowestoft. SEEKER: Falco Shealey.

Beneath this was an additional note, obviously added by a proud Professor Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw House (is it? I don't know!): "It was not discovered until several hours later, and well into the victory celebrations, that the Captain, Enyana Barrett, had sustained a broken collarbone and several fractured ribs from a bludger whilst aiding our Seeker, Falco, in capturing the Snitch and leading us to an outstanding victory. Far from wanting to see Madam Pomfrey, Enyana insisted that the bones heal naturally as a mark of honour and that the pain would remind her of the proud day when Ravenclaw won the Quidditch Cup. This news was received by cheers from the house that roused the entire castle."

Enyana, where had he heard that name before? Of course! That was who Snape was talking about along with that weird werewolf cult. It's not a name that's all that common. But her face was familiar too, although he didn't know why. But reading this he understood why Dumbledore was so protective about her name. It was also on the raven-haired girl that Storm fixed her attention.

'Did you know her?'

Nod.

'Did you belong to her family?'

With a trembling lip she nodded again.

'What happened to them?'

This time it was a shaking paw that reached out and touched him on the forehead, right on the scar. He understood what the gesture meant.

'Then they killed your family too.' It wasn't a question, but the rith nodded again, her eyes closed and the tears welling out from under the tightly shut lids and soaking her fur.

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Harry could not have felt more depressed. He had finally found someone with worse luck than himself - at least Snape couldn't put the Cruciatus curse on him. But he was more puzzled about where he knew Enyana's face from, and how Storm had known his father's name.

He'd just finished his Divination assignment using the usual methods he applied to the subject of making it up. As long as it had lots of bad things happening then Professor Trelawney would be none the wiser.

He was staring blankly at the finished parchment and flicking his quill absent-mindedly creating irritating swishing noises. Hermione looked up from a complex book of Arithmancy. Harry had told her all about Storm, and the mystery of Enyana Barrett.

'Come on, Harry, it's not doing you any good moping all day. Why don't we go and visit Dobby, we haven't see him all term.' If anything would take his mind off his troubles, a mad house-elf was a sure fire solution.

'Sure. Ron, are you coming?'

'Yeah, hang on. What do you reckon this means?' Ron held up a tarot card.

'No idea. Make something up. As long as it's bad she won't notice.'

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They made their way down to the kitchens, tickled the pear in the painting until it turned into a handle and entered the massive room. Everywhere they looked there were house-elves doing something, peeling, chopping, cooking and cleaning. One of them looked at them with a slightly hostile expression, they had obviously not forgotten the SPEW campaign last year and didn't want a re-enactment.

Eventually one of them came over, 'Can I help you, sirs and miss?'

'We're looking for Dobby.'

The hostile expression did not leave the elfs' face, in fact it grew worse. Dobby was also not a popular subject, a house elf getting paid put the others to shame in their skewed outlook on life.

'It's his day off,' other elves looked over in disgust.

'Where is he?'

'He's in his room. I shall take you.'

The elf led them through the huge kitchen to a small back corridor. The elf gestured to a small door before hurrying off to carry on with his duties. Harry knocked on the door and a very familiar face appeared at it - a face with tennis ball sized eyes and a long pencil-shaped nose. Dobby.

'Harry Potter! Dobby is most pleased to see you, sir, and you too, sir and miss. Come in, come in, Dobby will show you his room!'

The three had to bend down to get through the door before the free house elf showed them his room with a great deal of pleasure. It was really rather small with no windows and very little furniture - the tiny chest of drawers, child-sized bed, bookcase and chair were all rather battered and tarnished, but they didn't dare to say so to the elf. He was really very proud of his poky room and meagre possessions. Even the few books on the bookcase were falling apart.

'It's, er, very nice, Dobby,' said Harry eventually. Dobby's green eyes filled with tears of gratitude.

'Does Harry Potter really like it? Most house elves do not get their own room, the others sleep in the kitchen, but I asked Professor Dumbledore and he tried to give me a larger room, but I said it was too grand for a house elf, so I chose this room. I bought the furniture myself with my wages.'

'That's really nice, Dobby, I'm glad you're happy,' said Hermione with a smile on her face.

'Dobby could not wish to be happier.'

Dobby brought them all manner of cakes and snacks from the kitchens, happy that he was able to entertain guests in his own room.

'I didn't know elves could read, Dobby,' said Ron looking at the books on the case.

'Most can't, sir, most don't want to learn, but Dobby's friend taught him while he was still a bound elf, sir.'

'Who was that, another elf?'

'Dobby cannot say, sir.'

'Why?'

Dobby chewed on his lip and a tight expression crossed his face such as that when he used to punish himself for saying something wrong when he was a slave of the Malfoys. Harry saved the situation quickly, 'Don't worry, you don't have to tell us.'

'Thank you, sir.'

They stayed for a little while longer, sitting on the bare floor for fear of breaking the already decrepit furniture. Hermione looked at Dobby's books and suddenly let out an exclamation, 'Harry, come look at this!'

Harry went over to where Hermione was. She drew something out that was propping up a line of books.

It was a silver wolf.