Thanks to my Beta, NinjaDevil2000
4. Draco
Dobby's face contorted in agony, and he twisted his fingers as he ironed them. He squealed desperately, but of course, there was no one who would come to the rescue. After all, the master himself had ordered him to punish himself.
For a brief second he lifted the iron from his hands and took a deep breath. It would be fine. He knew that in the end, he always was fine to work again. As long as you could work, there was no reason or justification for complaint.
Even though the burning brought tears into his eyes, Dobby gritted his teeth and brought the iron down on his hands again. It would be even worse if the master discovered he was not obeying his orders. Dobby was not eager to make him furious.
When his hands were all red and he had burning marks all over his fingers, he put the iron away and wiped his face off on the towel he was wearing. Then he took a last deep breath to go back to work – just when the door got opened again.
Dobby immediately ducked his head as he saw the movement in the door. Carefully, he raised his face to see who was had entered the room. It was Draco, the young master. Not for one second was Dobby relieved that it wasn't Lucius, for the boy was almost as bad as his father, even though he was only nine years old.
He wanted to walk out of the room in silence, but of course, Draco didn't simply let him go. 'Oi, Dobby,' he said in a demanding voice.
Dobby carefully looked up. 'Yes, master?' he squeaked in a frightened voice. Draco looked at Dobby in disgust.
Draco was looking down at the house-elf thoughtfully, then, suddenly, his expression changed to a smile. 'I need to get something from Hogsmeade, elf,' he said. 'Go and get it for me, will you?'
Dobby stared at him, suspiciously. Draco never was that friendly towards him. 'Of course, master,' he squeaked carefully. Draco smirked. 'Good,' he said, 'get me a bottle of Rosmerta's firewhiskey, and be back here quick!' He threw some Sickle coins on the ground
Dobby bent down to pick them up and then looked thoughtfully at Draco. 'Hasn't master Malfoy said yesterday you is not allowed to - '
But before he could end his sentence, Draco gave him a kick. 'Shut it,' he snapped furiously. 'Do as you're told. And no word to father.'
Dobby nodded slowly, rubbing his back. 'Of course, master,' he said, and made a bow. Draco watched him as he disapparated out of the room, and then turned around carefully, to make sure no one had overheard the conversation. The smirk had not faded from his face.
.
Dobby reached the Three Broomsticks without problems and Rosmerta handed him the firewhiskey without really looking at him. All she said was to say hello to Mr. Malfoy for her. Dobby had swallowed, nodded, and then had been off.
It was true what he had said to Draco before – he wasn't so sure about this. Draco usually didn't gave him any shopping orders, that was his father's job, and yesterday, at dinner, Draco had been moaning about not being allowed to drink any of the whiskey. It seemed odd to Dobby, but what could he do about it?
He had to obey every order he was given without request.
But he was sure that this wasn't the end of this.
.
When he apparated back into the house, the bottle in his hand, the living room wasn't empty. Dobby gasped for a second when he realised that he hadn't put away the iron – surely the master would be furious with him again.
Him and the mistress were both standing in with their backs to him, and as they turned around, their expressions were indeed furious.
'Dobby!' spat Mr. Malfoy, and Dobby backed away. 'Where do you think you're going?'
Dobby looked down on the ground, holding the bottle of firewhiskey tightly. As Mr. Malfoy spotted it, his expression became, if possible, even angrier.
'Dobby!' he shouted, 'where have you been, and why?!'
Dobby looked into the man's eyes, not knowing what to do. The young master had ordered him to say nothing to his father. He swallowed hardly.
'Dobby, I'm ordering you to tell you where you've been,' he snarled. Nervously, Dobby tripped from one foot to the other, uncertain which order he should obey. Finally, he spoke.
'I is doing an order from the young master, sir,' he squeaked quietly. Mr. Malfoy's eyes flashed.
'And what order would my son give you?' he asked angrily.
Dobby squirmed. 'To get something for him, sir.' He pointed at the bottle. Mr. Malfoy's eyes widened, then, with a sudden movement, he grabbed the bottle out of Dobby's hand and kicked the little elf on the ground.
'Draco, down here!' he shouted loudly, and left the room, not without hissing at Dobby: 'You stay there.'
Frightened, Dobby sat on the ground. The mistress followed her husband, and on her way, she gave Dobby a smack with her hand. Dobby squeaked.
Now he was alone again, and he looked nervously at the door. He could hear what they were saying without any problems, even though he couldn't see them.
'Draco, what has gotten in your head?' Mr. Malfoy snarled. 'How dare you even send this elf away without my permission, and how dare you try to get yourself a bottle of firewhiskey without me being aware of it!'
Dobby heard a loud smack and flinched.
'There was a reason I told you to keep your hands of the whiskey last night, son,' said Mr. Malfoy, and another smack followed. 'Now go to your room, and stay in there until dinner.'
Dobby heard steps and realized that Mr. Malfoy would probably be coming back to him now. He drew back as the door got pushed open.
'You,' bellowed his master. 'Go and iron those hands of yours until your bones start melting, and I warn you, Dobby, if you do such thing ever again... And then, get back to work, you are way behind your work.' He gave Dobby a last loathsome look, and smacked his head, before he stormed out of the room again.
Dobby was in tears as he got up and crawled towards the iron again. He didn't want to, he didn't want to anymore. If only there would be somewhere to come for his rescue.
He cried in agony, and squirmed, but all that awaited him once he had finished ironing his hands, was his chores and work. He cried until there were no more tears to cry, and the aching in his hands stopped at least a little bit. Dobby tried not to let go of the hope that maybe one day he was freed, but this hope faded a bit more with every day.