Chapter 8: House-elves

We can, I think, safely gloss over the last few weeks of my first year at Hogwarts. Plenty of interesting stuff, of course, but you don't absolutely need to hear about the frankly ridiculous levels of totty I was getting. I made sure to focus my efforts on the seventh years, since it was of course quite probably the last time I was going to see any of them. Some of course were a little too prudish to consider a first year (never understood why; I was legal and willing, wasn't I?), however famous, brave and handsome I was, but to each their own.

By the time the end of term rolled around, I was actually sorry to be leaving Hogwarts. I know, I was surprised as well. It wasn't as if I'd been looking forward to going there particularly. However, it had rather grown on me. Oh, I still found the magic frustrating and largely pointless, but that aside it had been damn good fun. A plentiful supply of firewhiskey, plenty of willing totty, and the single best sport I had ever had the privilege of playing – ye gods, when I compared Quidditch to cricket!

And somewhat surprisingly, I found myself in two minds regarding my return to Privet Drive. The life of luxury I led there had been incredible, but muggle luxury did rather fade into insignificance next to the splendours of a Hogwarts party. Petunia would never be able to rustle up anything approaching the quality of food served at the castle, and although tormenting Dudley would pass the time, it wasn't quite the same.

In short, Privet Drive was…dull.

Well, you might think, knowing what I've already revealed about my character and what really happened that night in the dungeon, that a period of inactivity and dullness would hold significant appeal. And in a way you would be right; I had absolutely no desire for anything so invigorating (not my own phrase, of course, but Longbottom's. What did you expect?). That said, I had become accustomed to rather more fun than was currently looming on the horizon.

I needed advice, and on such matters there was only one place worth going: the Quidditch Collective.

You'll remember them, of course – the informal little club made up of the wealthiest, most talented, most famous and most fanatical Quidditch fans in the castle. While Quidditch was their life blood, I had learnt a lot about more esoteric pleasures there. On most matters relating to entertainment I would have headed straight to the Weasley twins, Ron's older brothers, but while they were smashing fellows in many respects, I wasn't quite sure I trusted them to help me out away from Hogwarts. They had a mischievous sense of humour – to put it mildly – and given the rather more rigorous legal restrictions placed on under-age wizards away from school, I was reluctant to push the boat out too far.

So I went to Cormac McClaggen instead.

He was a good egg, McClaggen. Shame what happened to him, but he would keep taking those bets. Chronic gambler, you see. A sad loss… Ah well, ancient – and irrelevant – history now. Anyway, I went to have a word with him a couple of days before the end of term.

"Harry old man, how're you? Ready for a summer's freedom?" In all the years I knew him, Cormac was never to be seen without a hearty grin. Almost as ubiquitous was a pint mug, which was generally filled with something stronger than you would generally find in such a vessel. Had a great head for alcohol, did Cormac. I'm not ashamed to admit that he could, and frequently did drink me under the table.

"Oh absolutely, Cormac, absolutely. Get away from the grindstone for a few weeks, eh? Shame about Quidditch though, it'll be a real wrench."

"Pah!" Cormac spat, waving a hand airily. "Never you mind about that, Harry, we'll have a little get together at some point. Always do – can't go that long without a good game and a piss-up!"

"Really? Excellent, that's capital news!" Unusually for me, I was being sincere. "But – well, the Muggles, you know…"

"What's up with them?" he enquired, confusion furrowing his brow.

"They're just so dull. I thought you might know a couple of decent hang outs for a man about town, hmm?"

Never let it be said he couldn't pick up a hint when it was dropped from a great height. His eyes gleamed. "I know just what you mean, old man. Here you go." He scribbled something on a piece of parchment, and handed it over to me with a roguish wink. "Everything you could dream of, and they don't even want identification! It's pricey mind," he warned me. "Worth every knut, of course, but still."

"You let me worry about that," I assured him. "Money isn't a problem, believe me."

"Didn't think so, didn't think so. Enjoy it – might even see you there myself!"

As I wandered away to try and harass Ron into packing my trunk for me, I looked at the parchment he had given me. Moor Alley – allegedly just off Knockturn Alley. I had never actually been to Diagon Alley's bastard brother, and in all honesty I had no real wish to. It had a reputation as an especially seedy part of the wizarding world, and while I rather enjoyed a seedy night out, Knockturn Alley also had a reputation for violence of a darker sort. I had been assured that this was exaggerated, but owing to my…cautious nature, I was reluctant to experiment. Moor Alley though sounded promising. I resolved to explore it at the first opportunity.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

To be fair, my first summer as a wizard did get off to a decent start, at least. As I led the way out of the portal to Platform 9¾, Ron dragging both our trunks behind him, I was greeted by a glimpse of a pleasingly perky pair of breasts, just below eye level. They were attached to Ron's sister, who had clearly had a bit of a growth spurt since September. God bless that country air. She flashed me a wicked little grin, before turning to welcome the twins with a toss of her hair. I'll admit, I've always had a bit of a thing for redheads, and I vowed there and then that I was going to have her. But that will come later, of course.

It was at that point that I noticed the Dursleys. They were looking distinctly uncomfortable, which of course drew a huge smile from me. It would give me the advantage that I desperately needed. You see, although I was clearly no great shakes at magic, the days of what I now knew as merely accidental magic were long behind me. I won't say that I had perfect control over my magic, of course, but I couldn't rely on it to stage incidents to intimidate my loving family further. And of course, using my wand was out of the question. Sliding the shaft into my hand surreptiously, I approached them with a jovial grin.

"Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, hello there! So good to see you again, I must say."

"Oh. R-really?" Petunia stammered, flustered by my apparent good will. I flashed her a smug grin that I'd been working on, which showed more of my teeth than anything else. I thought it rather unnerving myself, and it achieved precisely the intended aim. They both blanched, taking a step away from me as if I'd sprouted horns. Under the pretext of shaking my uncle's hand, I showed them my wand.

"Remember what I could do before I went to Hogwarts?" I enquired, still speaking in excessively polite tones. They both nodded, uncertainly. "Well, just think what I can do now…"

Petunia clutched her husband's arm tightly, whimpering to herself, and I grinned at her again. "Glad to see we're on the same wavelength, aunty. Do tell dear Dudders what I had to say, won't you?"

"Of course," she whispered.

"Excellent! Just off to say goodbye to the chaps, back in a minute. Watch the trunk for me, won't you?" I left them standing there without a backward glance, inwardly chortling to myself. It looked like I had won myself two months or so of peace, and only with a few carefully chosen words. At times, I even amazed myself. I swaggered over to Ron and his family, looking very pleased with myself, and insinuated myself into the group.

"Mrs Weasley, an absolute pleasure to see you again!" I bent over and placed a quick kiss to the back of her hand. She clearly appreciated the gesture; for a woman so clearly past her best, she giggled like a schoolgirl.

"Oh, it's good to see you too, Harry – may I call you Harry?"

I didn't give a damn what she called me, if I was perfectly honest, but it seemed in my best interests to flash an agreeable smile at her. "Of course, ma'am."

"Ron's told us so much about you, I can't thank you enough for taking him under your wing." She ruffled his hair, every inch the stereotypical loving mother and dumpy housewife. How utterly ghastly. "He's a nice lad, just needs a bit of oomph, don't you, Ronald?"

"Gerroff, mum," he muttered, ducking away from her. I almost pitied him for a moment; even his mother thought he was a waste of space. Still, at least she was honest with him. Many children have gone wrong through dishonest parents (and yes, I have occasionally wondered what my parents would have said about me. From what I know of my father, I suspect he would have heartily approved of my course through life. My mother…not so much. Hey ho.)

"Oh, he's been a good pal, Mrs Weasley, one of the best. He'll go far in life, you'll see."

She beamed at me. I'd judged her well; a bit of old fashioned smarm, and a couple of nice comments about her family, and she was wrapped around my little finger.

"It's so nice of you to say so my dear – you'll have to come and stay for a while over the summer!"

Success! "Oh, thank you very much Mrs Weasley, very kind of you!"

"Please, call me Molly. You've met my daughter, I think?"

"Hi, Harry," Ginny all but purred at me. "I'm a big fan. A very big fan."

Even more success! I did my best to contain my grin, and shook her hand warmly. "Always a pleasure to meet a fan. Always."

"I'm sure you'll all be best of friends!" Molly trilled inanely behind me. I was tempted to ignore her, but a lesson I'd picked up from my friends – and I hope you take it to heart – is that if you keep the parents sweet, you will have unfettered access to their daughter's pants. I smiled at her. "I'm sure we will, and believe me, I look forward to meeting the rest of the family."

"I'll send you a letter in a couple of weeks, ok, Harry?" Ron piped up. I'd almost forgotten he was there, but I nodded at him.

"Cheers mate, I appreciate that. Do keep in contact, won't you?"

"Of course!" He hugged me. It was a manly hug, credit where it's due, but still. He hugged me. "I'll hear from you soon, yeah?"

"Oh, absolutely," I told him. And I actually did, believe it or not. Had to keep up with the Quidditch scores somehow, didn't I? And yes, I'll admit – glorified valet though he may have been, I knew I would go crazy without some form of magical contact over the summer.

As I sauntered back over to my aunt and uncle, I happened to pass Hermione and Neville, who were saying a friendly farewell (nothing dirty; this was Longbottom, after all. Actually, despite Hermione's fetish for Quidditch players, I genuinely do not know whether she ever even tried it on with Neville. They were close friends though.) Neville turned to acknowledge me as I passed, and he grabbed my hand, pumping it up and down vigorously.

"Take care, Harry! Sure we'll see each other soon enough, don't worry. Off for a few weeks backpacking in the Alps before I do anything else, old friend of my parents – Alastor Moody, I'll have to introduce you. Capital fellow, you'll get along like a house on fire."

(Newsflash. We didn't.)

"And no adventures without me, you hear!" he continued with an easy grin. "Dashed brave of you of course, but you might let a few others in on the fun."

"Neville, I'll do a deal with you. If I happen across another adventure, you're welcome to them," I told him, sincerely. "Honestly, they're all yours."

"Well, that's very decent of you old chap!" He clapped me on the back, nearly knocking me to the floor. "Anyway, must dash! Take care, Harry, Hermione; I'll send you a postcard!"

I watched him go, trying to ignore the sharp pain in my back. "Pillock."

"Be nice, he's a decent guy. Unlike some I might mention," Hermione retorted pointedly.

"I don't know who you could be talking about," I told her, but my heart wasn't really in it. I'd given up hope of charming her successfully, but strangely I didn't seem to need to. She hung around me anyway, and I got the impression it was only partly because of the access to Quidditch beefcake. She'd been far nicer to me since my encounter with Quirrell.

"Well, maybe you don't. Maybe you do have hidden depths."

"Why do you say that?"

"You didn't have to cross that bridge." There was a strange smile on her face. It was almost friendly, which under the circumstances I found more than a little infuriating.

"I bloody well did," I spat at her under my breath. "You'd have told everyone what happened if I hadn't!"

"They probably wouldn't have believed me. But even so, you didn't have to. You still stepped up and took on You-Know-Who yourself. Maybe there's a decent person in there after all." She smiled at me again. "Have a good summer, Harry. I'll write to you."

I watched her go, nonplussed. For someone so bright, she was apparently an extremely poor judge of character. I shrugged to myself, and rejoined the Dursleys. "Come on then, let's go. Grab my bag, would you uncle?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

I'd expected to be bored almost from the moment I finished unpacking, but in actual fact, Privet Drive had changed for the better. In my absence, it seemed that rumours had started up about me. I'd apparently gone from being the rather stuck up boy who lived with the Dursleys to being the mysterious figure attending a secretive Scottish academy. This clearly suggested two things about me: that I was highly intelligent, and that I was loaded. Naturally, this made me rather popular amongst the well to do of the area, and I didn't lack for social invitations.

I didn't accept many of them, of course. Just enough to keep people sweet while still keeping life bearable. And while the air of mystery that surrounded me did garner me some feminine interest, I rejected all such offers out of hand. I was used to a finer crop than the scruffy, chubby little tarts who hung around the local pub, let me tell you! Nevertheless, it amused me to wander around the park of a morning, pretending not to notice the curious stares.

I couldn't really mention any of this to the few people I bothered to keep in contact with though. The great Harry Potter, reduced to preening in front of Muggles? Even I couldn't pretend there was anything terribly dignified about it. Relief came in the form of an invitation to the Davies estate, home to Roger Davies of Ravenclaw. The whole Collective was descending there, and while I didn't really know Davies all that well – I thought him rather vacuous, although I'm told he did well in classes – the chance to catch up with what I was increasingly thinking of as the real world was not to be missed.

It was a glorious week. Davies' parents had bunked off to Sweden for a safari (yes, in Sweden; magical creatures like a colder climate, for the most part. Merlin only knows why), so we had the sprawling manor house to ourselves. It was a bloody impressive pad, let me tell you! I tried not to seem too envious, but I thought it prudent not to mention that I was living in a semi-detached in urban Surrey. The setting inspired us to ever more Bacchanalian excesses, playing Quidditch all day and drinking till dawn. By the time I sloped off back to the Dursleys', my eyes seemed to have turned permanently red. A characteristic sign of good living, I've always held.

Somewhat to my displeasure, I found that there were guests occupying the front room as I arrived. Some deathly dull couple who Vernon was greasing up in hopes of signing a deal with – Mason, Basin, something like that. I popped my head round the door, just to see what Vernon would do now that the freak was around to make mischief.

"Ah, Harry. You're back early," he said, voice brimming with disappointment. His guest looked disapprovingly at him, and his wife politely enquired as to my name and health.

"Harry ma'am, delightful to meet you. Just got back from hols with the lads, you know."

"Are you joining us?" Petunia asked through gritted teeth. I let her hang in anticipation for a second, then shook my head.

"Dreadfully long trip, I'm afraid. I'm just exhausted. I'll probably head straight to bed, if that's alright…"

They were hardly going to say no, and Vernon hustled me out of the room as fast as he decently could. Smirking to myself, I wandered upstairs, and nearly had a heart attack when I spotted the hideous creature perched on my bed. Have you ever seen a house-elf? Wonderful creatures, but honestly, they look like the bastard offspring of a diseased monkey and a flobberworm.

"What the bloody hell are you?" I cried out, dropping my trunk.

"Oh, Master Potter, sir, I is Dobby the house-elf," the wizened little thing said, bobbing up and down in what I think was supposed to be a bow. "Dobby has a message for the great Harry Potter, sir."

The great Harry Potter, eh? I liked him already, even if I didn't know what a house-elf was. "Who from?"

The elf's bulbous little eyes crossed in confusion. "From Dobby, sir!"

"Oh…right, well get on with it then."

"Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts!" he told me in very serious tones.

I snorted derisively. "Bollocks to that. D'you really think I'm staying here? Why shouldn't I go back?"

"Because Harry Potter will be in great danger!" he cried, his eyes like saucers.

Well, ok, that gave me pause for thought. As you may have gathered, the thought of danger did not fill me with satisfaction and pleasure. Still, I didn't know the bugger from Adam – it was possible, even probable, that he was telling me porkies. "And how do I know you're telling me the truth?"

"Oh, Dobby could not tell a lie to the great Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter is the house-elves champion! Dobby has heard so much about you from the elves at Master Davies estate!"

I frowned. I hadn't seen anything like this creature while I'd been away, and I told him so.

"That is because Biffy is a good elf, sir," Dobby informed me a little reproachfully. "Tis the mark of a good elf, sir, not being seen."

As I opened my mouth to reply, the door crashed open. "Potter, what the hell is all this rack…"

Dobby and I both turned to look at my uncle, who was standing there opening and closing his mouth soundlessly. I gulped, but rallied. "Was there something, uncle?"

"There's…what…"

"It's an elf, uncle."

Vernon shuddered – which went on for a while, given the amount of blubber he was lugging around – and gave Dobby a look packed full of fear. Then he smiled at me nervously. "I er…I don't suppose you'd mind keeping it down a little?"

"I'm sure that can be arranged, yes," I told him gracefully, and he nodded thankfully at me.

"Excellent, excellent…sorry to disturb you…"

Out of respect for his good nature, I held my laughter in until I was sure he was downstairs. Dobby seemed to find this very odd.

"So, a house-elf, hmm? What does one of them do then?"

"We serve, sir! We cook, we clean, we iron…we do anything that is asked of us!" He actually seemed pleased about this. How interesting.

"And what's the going rate for this service?" He looked confused, so I elaborated. "How much do you get paid?"

The eyes did their saucer impression once more. "Dobby does not get paid, sir! I am a house-elf, I would not want pay." He actually spat the word, as if it was incredibly distasteful. A magical servant who found the idea of pay abhorrent? I had to have one!

"Say, Dobby, how would you like to come and work for me?" I asked him. His mouth dropped open."

"Work…work for Harry Potter, sir? Dobby would be honoured! Oh, that would all of Dobby's dreams come true!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, quite…well, when can you start?"

He drooped. "Dobby is not free to leave unless permitted by his owner, sir. Dobby will have to punish himself for disobeying them already – but Dobby could not let harm come to Harry Potter!"

"Yes, you said…what harm, precisely?" I tried to sound as if I didn't really care, but obviously I cared a great deal.

"Dobby cannot say, sir. Dobby has already said too much, cannot betray his master, sir, however much Dobby would like to."

Hmm. An unknown, possibly non-existent danger – let's face it, Dobby clearly wasn't mentally stable – against the various pleasures and amenities of Hogwarts. No contest, really. I shook my head at him. "I'm sorry, Dobby, but I'm just going to have to go back. I couldn't stay here. And I'm terribly sorry you can't come and work for me – look me up if you're ever at a loose end, alright?"

I meant it. All the aforementioned qualities, plus an apparently inbuilt inability to break my trust, and he was clearly obsessed with me. A more perfect servant I could not imagine. And that was that. Expecting some ridiculous sob story about him trying to get me done for under-age magic? Well, he probably could have done, of course – house-elves are pretty damn good at magic, in their own way – but as I said, he was obsessed with me. The idea of me getting into trouble with the law because of his actions…well, such a thing would have been painful for him to even think of. He would probably be very offended by the portrayal of him in those stories, but it's not like he can read.

I settled back on the bed with my pipe, and inhaled with a sigh. It had been a great week, but I needed a couple of days rest. I'd arranged with Cormac that he was going to show me Moor Alley, and he'd promised me a show I would never forget.