I own nothing but the plot, and not even all of that.
Sirius Black marveled at how much the past ten years had changed him. As a young man, he would have thought that sleeping on a cot inside a trunk which was hidden in the woods to be the very definition of 'roughing it.' After running away and sleeping on his best friend's couch for a couple of summers, his opinion would have been very little different. Ten years in Azkaban adds a bit of perspective. The trunk was clean and dry, warming charms provided by James's wand kept him from freezing, and all the rabbits Padfoot could catch turned this trunk in the woods into a palace. Fortunately it was a portable palace.
He was hesitant to use too much magic outside of the trunk. He knew Mad Eye would be tracking him, and would know he had a wand. He probably had a good idea of whose wand he had, too. Trying to avoid being seen, he moved only at night. His animagus form was well suited towards stealth, but he was still being cautious. Every night he travelled a little closer to Hogwarts. He was somewhat hindered by not knowing precisely where it was. He could apparatus to the front gates easily enough, but he might as well ring the doorbell. He figured with his knowledge of the secret passages he could make an entrance far more worthy of a Marauder.
It had taken him several months, but he finally caught a glimpse of the castle. He shed some tears at the sight of it. The castle represented the best years of his life. Free of the effects of the dementors, he was having trouble not letting bursts of joy overwhelm him.
He found it very difficult to sleep that day. He was close to Harry, and he had so many questions about what had happened. He needed to know where he had disappeared to, why it had happened, and if Harry was happy.
He spent that night probing the boundaries of the castle, feeling for the ward lines. The Forbidden Forest was as accessible as it had ever been, as long as you were quick enough to avoid the acramantulas and centaurs. He found a small cave on a hill bordering the forest where the entrance was fairly well hidden. He decided to use it as his base of operations. From there, he could observe both Hogsmeade and Hogwarts while still remaining out of sight. He spent some time adding to the foliage around the cave entrance, making it harder to spot, and digging a hole inside that he could hide the trunk in during the day. He'd still keep it with him when he left the cave, though, as he didn't want to risk losing it if he had to make a run for it.
He crept into Hogsmeade at dawn, intent on getting more information as to the happenings in the school. Just as he was about to snatch a discarded paper, he heard someone shout out.
"Hey!" The voice shouted, "there he is! It's Black!" Padfoot abandoned the paper and scurried away, dodging left and right to avoid any incoming spells. Strangely enough, there wasn't any. He retreated back to his cave, taking a winding route in case he was being followed. He put the shrunken trunk in the hole he had dug and enlarged it. Climbing in, he covered the hole with a bed of vegetation he had prepared, and closed the trunk.
For the rest of the day, Sirius tossed and turned on his cot. Something was bothered him, but he couldn't quite place it. It wasn't until night fell and he was getting ready to try Hogsmeade again that he realized what it was. They had seen Padfoot and called him Black. His big secret was out.
Ron Weasley couldn't sleep. After learning from his brothers that Dumbledore had been suspended, he was terrified. Worse, Malfoy's father was now something called the High Inquisitor. Ron didn't know what that meant exactly, but if it involved the Malfoy family, it couldn't be good.
What was keeping him up, though, was a nightmare he was having about his sisters diary. He dreamed it kept talking to him, causing him to toss and turn all night. Eventually, Seamus had grumbled that Ron should go down to the common room if he couldn't lay still.
Ron decided he'd try to get some hot chocolate to settle his nerves and sleep on a couch in front of the fire. He was just entering the common room from the stairwell when a book slowly drifted in front of his face. Ron looked around him with his mouth hanging open. Dozens of books, quills, ink pots, parchment and cushions were slowly rotating around the common room. In the center of all of this was Harry Potter, calmly sitting on the ceiling.
Harry's eyes were closed, and he looked supremely peaceful. He was sitting cross-legged with his arms folded in front of him. The thin braid of hair he wore hung down, but it was apparently the only thing in the room that was obeying gravity. Ron wasn't even sure if Harry was aware of all the floating books and stuff. He didn't want to call out to Harry, worried that it would make him fall. His fears were relieved when Harry, mindful of the late hour, spoke in a quiet voice.
"Trouble sleeping?" Harry asked. His eyes were still closed, but clearly he was still aware of his surroundings.
"Yeah," Ron answered. "Why are you on the ceiling?" Ron wished he could have asked that in a way that didn't make him sound stupid, but was short on sleep which tended to make him blunt.
"Just doing my excercises," Harry answered, opening his eyes. The floating objects flew back to where Ron supposed they started from. Harry began to slowly descend. With a graceful flip be righted himself before his feet touched the ground again.
"You do know it's only three in the morning, don't you?" Ron asked.
"I could ask you the same thing," Harry said, smiling. "It's the only time I really have available to do my Jedi excersises. Normally, I'd do these on the grounds, but I'm not allowed until this creature business is dealt with."
"Do you miss him?" Ron asked. "Toma, I mean."
"Of course," Harry answered. He didn't really want to talk about it, though, at least not with Ron Weasley. "So," Harry said, changing the subject, "what's keeping you up?"
Ron told Harry what his brothers had said about Dumbledore being suspended, and Mr. Malfoy being something called a High Inquisitor. He then described the nightmare he had about Ginny's diary.
"It's weird," Ron finished. "Ginny is obsessed with it. I only held it for a moment, and now I'm having nightmares about it talking to me."
"Do you remember anything that it said?" Harry asked.
"Not really," Ron said. "Just that it was angry."
"We've been wondering about that diary as well," Harry said, thoughtfully. "Someone told us they thought they'd seen Ginny arguing with it." Harry stood up. "Mr. Malfoy," he exclaimed, angrily. "This all has something to do with him."
"What do you mean?" asked Ron. "He's only been in the school less than one night."
"Yes," Harry responded, "but he owns Dobby."
"Isn't Dobby that House Elf?" Ron asked.
"He's the Malfoys House Elf," Harry answered. "He tried to warn us about the attacks this year, but couldn't tell us anything specific. He's been trying to keep me safe, though he seems to have some odd ideas of what safe means. He keeps trying to help me, even though that means disobeying his master." Ron's eyes widened.
"It takes a lot to make a House Elf even try to disobey," Ron said in a whisper.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, "he seems to be abused pretty badly."
"You don't understand," Ron said. "House Elves are bound to their families. They can't disobey their masters. The few times I've even heard of it happening it's been little stuff. Overcooking the meat, or pouring a different wine than the one they knew their master wanted. This is way bigger than that!"
"Does your family have a House Elf?" Harry asked.
"No," Ron said, a trace of longing in his voice. "I wish we had, he could de-gnome the garden for me. Mum wouldn't think of it, though. Anytime we'd mention getting an elf, even as a joke, she'd have a fit." He changed his voice to a falsetto, imitating his mother. "We are not enslaving a helpless elf just so you can skip out on chores, Ronald Weasley!" Both boys laughed at the less then flattering voice Ron used.
"She does have a point, though," Harry said.
"I know," Ron sighed. "I don't really want a slave, of course. I just hate de-gnoming the garden. Most people who have elves don't treat them like slaves, anyway. They treat them like members of the family, for the most part. Mum still wouldn't get one, though. Elves love to cook and clean, and can get funny about things if you try to do them yourself. Mum would never let one take over her cooking."
"Where did you learn about elves?" Harry asked. "We haven't covered them in any of our classes yet."
"We're pure-bloods," Ron said, with a blush. "Not that we think that means anything, mind you, but it does mean I've grown up around magic."
"Why wouldn't that mean something?" Harry asked.
"All it means is that I've had nothing but witches and wizards all the way up through both great grandparents," Ron explained. "Some people, like the Malfoys, put a lot of value on being a pureblood. They lord it over anyone who isn't. They call us Weasleys blood-traitors, because we've never held with that nonsense. It's whether you have magic that makes you a witch or wizard, not your blood. And my dad's facinated with muggles. He loves them. People like the Malfoys hate all things muggle."
"I think your family has the right of it," Harry said.
"Hey," Ron said, "do you think Draco is involved?"
"I doubt it," Harry said.
"He did conjure that snake that bit you," Ron argued. "The whole school has been calling him the Heir of Slytherin."
"That was Dobby," Harry explained. "He changed the spell trying to get me to leave.
"Have you tried calling Dobby?" Ron asked. "I don't know that much about elves, but if he's disobeying that badly, his bond to the Malfoys must be pretty weak."
"How would I call him?" Harry asked.
"You just call his name," Ron explained. "Elves can hear their name being called from anywhere. Mind you, they don't have to answer, not unless their owned by you. Here at school, you can just ask for an elf, though. You don't need to know their name. They don't always come for students, though. Watch, I'll call one."
"What, now?" Harry asked.
Ron spoke as if he were talking to the whole room. "Can a Hogwarts elf bring us two hot chocolates, please?" he called out. With a slight pop, a small, female elf appeared in the common room. She had a tray with two mugs of steaming hot chocolate, which she served to the boys.
"Young sirs should be sleeping at this hour," she admonished them."
"Sorry," Harry apologized. "Ron was having trouble sleeping."
"Topsy thinks it would be easier for sir to fall asleep if sir were in his bed," the elf insisted. Ron took a big gulp of the hot chocolate.
"I definitely feel a lot better," Ron said in an unconvincing voice. "This is really helping a lot."
"Drink your chocolate," Topsy said," and gets back to bed." She popped away, leaving the two boys trying not to laugh at her stern expression.
"Like I said," Ron said with a guffaw, "they get funny about things."
"So," Harry said, looking at the clock. "Do you think I should call Dobby?"
"He's not your elf," Ron said, considering, "so he probably won't answer. Even if he does, the Malfoys would be offended if they ever found out about it. They're gits, though, so their opinion doesn't matter. Call him, see what happens."
"Dobby," Harry said, softly.
"No," Ron said. "You can't just say the name. We've said his name half a dozen times, but he wouldn't have heard them because we were just talking about him, not to him. You have to call out like you were calling him." Harry nodded and tried again.
"Dobby," he called out. With a louder than normal crack, Dobby appeared on the floor in front of the boys. To their horror, they realized that only half of Dobby had appeared. Where his legs had been we're just two bloody stumps.
"Harry Potter," Dobby said, weakly, holding out one hand to reach for Harry. Then Dobby passed out.