Disclaimer-If you like it, assume I don't own it. The Potterverse belongs to JKR, Steve Klowes, Scholastic and WB. Fanon belongs to the multitude...I'm simply paying homage. Most of this scene is from GoF by JK Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
Author's Notes—Progress has been a lot slower in this work, but I hope you'll all stick with me anyway. As you all know, I may not own it, but I work hard, and I love it, so if you read it and enjoy it, please review it! Please don't print or post this elsewhere without my knowledge.
Congratulations, all! Book 6 is on the way! Yay!
Good news to all of you...chapter 42 should be on its way shortly...say absolutely no later than the middle of May, no matter what...I hope I haven't said too much...grins and knocks wood
Rayny—Sorry for being MIA for so long...I really hadn't forgotten Ginny—or her great reviewers! Hopefully I'll be able to post a little more frequently over the summer...crosses fingers In the meantime, I hope the next chapter helps make up for the famine you've been forced to undergo! Look forward to hearing from you! Winks
EEDOE-- I think JK does show a few moments like that—where do you think I got the idea! coughs and looks innocent, then grins I adore Fred and George, and I wish I could write them more often...or at least READ about them, hint, hint...Thanks for all your input! Hugs
Bill-- I LOVE it when you review. You always make me feel so good about myself. grins and winks I do indeed believe that a) I could wield quite the deadly purse, and b) Lee does have rather an inclination Ginny-ward and a much stronger fear of Fred and George...perhaps I might elaborate on that later...and, then again, perhaps not! Grins I love hearing from you...please don't leave me hanging long! Hugs
Ginny's fingers had barely brushed the surface of the pear in the painting Lee had shown her (in the course of her first year at Hogwarts) before the handle emerged. The painting itself popping open in such close succession Ginny didn't even have time to react. She didn't think she'd ever met the house elf who emerged, but that was hardly surprising, considering the number of elves it took to run a place the size of Hogwarts.
"Oh...um...hi," Ginny said as the elf seized her hand and pulled her unceremoniously into the kitchen.
"Dobby was hoping for visitors today. Indeed he was, Miss," the elf informed her happily.
"Um..." Ginny said, completely at a loss. She'd never had a house elf ask her anything except what they could do for her. "As a matter of fact . . . it is. . . . I'm --" she broke off suddenly, hit by the belated realization that the house elf had mentioned a name that seemed familiar. "I'm here . . . Dobby, was it?" She rolled the name over her tongue, as if she could feel the source of its familiarity in shaping its sound. "Because we . . . that is . . . the students in Gryffindor, are throwing a party for Harry, and -- "
"A party for Harry, Miss?" The elf asked, leaning forward so enthusiastically that Ginny nearly fell over the stool that one of the less obtrusive elves had thoughtfully provided for her to sit on. "A party for Harry Potter, Miss?"
"Yes," Ginny said slowly, still stunned by the presence of an elf who asked questions instead of bustling efficiently about. "Harry Potter...he's one of the Champions, and he got his egg away from the dragon--"
"Oh, Miss!" The elf gasped happily, clasping his hands before him in obvious glee. "Dobby knew he would, Miss! It's a great wizard Harry Potter is, Miss! A great wizard!"
"Dobby!" Ginny shouted suddenly.
"Yes, Miss, Dobby the House Elf, Miss," the Elf said, nodding so violently it was a wonder his head didn't fall off and roll away.
"You're the elf Harry told Ron about!"
"Ron, Miss?" The elf, Dobby, asked blankly.
"Ron — Ron Weasley — my brother, Ron," Ginny said wildly.
"Oh! Wheezey!" Dobby nodded sagely. "He wrote letters to Harry Potter, Miss. Dobby was seeing them, Miss."
"I know," Ginny said, rubbing her temple as it were some sort of spell to force him into making sense. "I'm Ginny. Ginny Weasley? Ron Weasley's my brother?"
"
Oooh...you is related to Wheezey?" Dobby looked momentarily surprised. "So you is a friend to Harry Potter, too? Dobby wasn't seeing letters from any other Wheezey, Miss."
"Well, Ron is closest to Harry," Ginny admitted. "But the rest of us are still his friends, and . . . You know that . . . thing . . . you tried to warn Harry about?"
"Oh!" Dobby nodded.
"Well," Ginny rushed to say before he could mention what it was, "Harry saved me from that. He and my brother Ron . . . I'm only here because of them."
"Oh! Me too, Miss! Me, too!" Dobby shrilled excitedly. "Harry Potter set Dobby free, he did, Miss! Dobby's master was a bad, bad man, Miss," he said, and several of the other elves leaned away from them moaning uncomfortably. "But Harry Potter set Dobby free, and Dobby came here with Winky, Miss," he pointed toward what looked like a pile of rags in the corner. "And Professor Dumbledore, he gave us jobs, Miss, and he even offered to pay us, Miss. . . . All because Harry Potter is a great wizard, Harry Potter is, Miss!"
"Yes," Ginny said dazedly, "he is. If he wasn't, he wouldn't have been able to defeat the dragon --" Let alone the basilisk, or Tom. . . .
She broke off as Dobby leaned forward again, looking for all the world like Ginny and her brothers had when they were little and mum used to gather them all around her and tell them stories. "You don't know what happened?"
"Dobby had to work, Miss," the elf said sadly. "Today isn't being Dobby's one day off a month, Miss."
Come to think of it, I didn't get House Elves even got time off,so of course he would have to work instead of watching the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Ginny thought with a burst of guilt for not having realized it sooner.
"Well, Dobby, Harry's performance was the best of any of the Champions," Ginny said. "First, Cedric Diggory. . . ."
By the time Ginny had finished recounting the nerve-wracking events of the day, taking special care to render Harry's performance in minute detail, the rest of the elves, having heard her mention a party, had assembled a prodigious number of rolls, pies, and cakes as well as several tall, frosty flasks of pumpkin juice.
"Will Miss be needing anything else?" an elf near her elbow inquired.
"No," Ginny laughed. "No, thank you," she added gravely, inclining her head to the elves at large. "This is far more than I expected — it will probably last all night! — You've done a wonderful job."
The elf who'd spoken bowed low and every elf in the kitchen beamed with pride. Then the food disappeared with a pop. Ginny blinked; she'd known the elves routinely apparated food onto the tables of the Great Hall -- she just hadn't imagined they would apparate similar amounts directly into Gryffindor Tower.
"Will Miss be coming after the next Task?" Dobby asked, looking anxious.
"I'm not sure, Dobby," said Ginny. "Someone from Gryffindor probably will but why…I'm sure Harry will tell you all about it himself when he gets time."
"Dobby knows a great wizard like Harry Potter has more important things to do with his time," the elf said wistfully.
It occurred to Ginny that perhaps she ought to be offended, as it obviously hadn't occurred to the elf she might be important enough to be busy, but she couldn't really begrudge Dobby for thinking Harry was special.
"I'm sure Harry will think visiting you is important, Dobby," she assured the elf. "But just in case he can't make it, I'll come tell you about the Tournament." After all, she added to herself, it's the least I can do to thank you for trying to protect Harry from Tom's diary. I wish someone had been able to protect me . . . or that someone had at least tried to warn me about the damage I would do because of Tom and his diary. . . .
Dobby wrung her hand with such gratitude it throbbed dully the entire way back to the Tower. Ginny trudged through the labyrinthine hallways and climbed far too many staircases, feeling as though Tom had loomed out of the past, just as he'd emerged from the pages of his old diary, to lurk over her shoulder. She wondered if Harry, the only person short of herself to see Tom as he had been, preserved in its pages, would be able to see the shadow he cast over her now. She couldn't decide if she more hoped he wouldn't, because she didn't want him to think of her like that; as Tom's companion, or his victim, or if, she more hoped he would, because he was the one person who might — just might — be able to dispel it.