The start of December brought wind and sleet to Hogwarts. Drafty though the castle always was in winter, Lyla was glad of its fires and thick walls. Every time she passed the Durmstrang ship on the lake, pitching in the high winds, its black sails billowed against the dark skies. She thought the Beauxbatons caravan was likely to be pretty chilly too. Hagrid, she noticed, was keeping Madame Maxime's horses well provided with their preferred drink of single-malt whiskey; the fumes wafting from the trough in the corner of their paddock was enough to make the entire Care of Magical Creatures class light-headed. This was unhelpful, as they were still tending the horrible skrewts and needed their wits about them.

"I'm not sure whether they hibernate or not," Hagrid told the shivering class in the windy pumpkin patch next lesson. "Thought we'd jus' try an' see if they fancied a kip . . . we'll jus' settle 'em down in these boxes. . . ."

There were now only ten skrewts left; apparently their the desire to kill one another had not been exercised out of them. Each of them was now approaching six feet in length. Their thick gray armor; their powerful, scuttling legs; their fire-blasting ends, stings, and suckers combined to make the skrewts the most repulsive things Lyla had ever seen. The class looked dispiritedly at the enormous boxes Hagrid had brought out, all lined with pillows and fluffy blankets.

"We'll jus' lead 'em in here," Hagrid said, "an' put the lids on, and we'll see what happens."

But the skrewts, it transpired, did not hibernate and did not appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes and nailed in.

"Don' panic, now, don' panic!" Hagrid was soon yelling while the skrewts rampaged around the pumpkin patch, now strewn with the smoldering wreckage of the boxes. Most of the class had fled into Hagrid's cabin through the back door and barricaded themselves in; Lyla, Daphne, Arabella, and Hermione, however, were among those who remained outside, trying to help Hagrid. Together they managed to restrain and tie up nine of the skrewts, though at the cost of numerous burns and cuts; finally, only one skrewt was left.

"Don' frighten him, now!" Hagrid shouted as Ron and Blaise used their wands to shoot jets of fiery sparks at the skrewt, which was advancing menacingly on them, its sting arched, quivering, over its back. "Jus' try an' slip the rope 'round his sting, so he won' hurt any o' the others!"

"Yeah, we wouldn't want that!" Ron shouted angrily as he and Blaise backed into the wall of Hagrid's cabin, still holding the skrewt off with their sparks.

"Well, well, well . . . this does look like fun."

Rita Skeeter was leaning on Hagrid's garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. She wore a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm.

Hagrid launched himself forward on top of the skrewt that was cornering Ron and Blaise and flattened it; a blast of fire shot out of its end, withering the pumpkin plants nearby.

"Who're you?" Hagrid asked.

"Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter," Rita replied, beaming at him. Her gold teeth glinted.

"Thought Dumbledore said you weren' allowed inside the school anymore," said Hagrid, frowning slightly as he got off the slightly squashed skrewt and started tugging it over to its fellows.

"What are these fascinating creatures called?" she asked, as though she hadn't heard what Hagrid had said.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts," grunted Hagrid.

"Really?" said Rita, apparently full of lively interest. "I've never heard of them before . . . where do they come from?"

Lyla noticed a dull red flush rising up out of Hagrid's wild black beard, and her heart sank. Where had Hagrid got the skrewts from?

"They're fascinating, aren't they?" Arabella said quickly. "Aren't they, Lyla?"

"What? Oh yeah . . . ouch . . . interesting," said Lyla as her sister stepped on her foot.

"Ah, you're here!" said Rita Skeeter as she looked around. "So, you like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favorite lessons?"

"Yes," said Lyla and Arabella firmly. Hagrid beamed at them.

"Lovely!" said Rita. "Really lovely. Been teaching long?" she added to Hagrid.

Lyla caught the reporter's eyes travel over to Dean (who had a nasty cut across one cheek), Lavender (whose robes were badly singed), Draco (who was nursing several burnt fingers), and then to the cabin windows, where most of the class stood, their noses pressed against the glass waiting to see if the coast was clear.

"This is o'ny me second year," said Hagrid.

"Lovely. . . I don't suppose you'd like to give an interview, would you? Share some of your experiences with magical creatures. As I'm sure you know, the Prophet does a zoological column every Wednesday. We could feature these — er — Bang-Ended Scoots."

"Blast-Ended Skrewts," Hagrid said eagerly. "Er — yeah, why not?"

Lyla had a very bad feeling about this, but there was no way of communicating it to Hagrid without Rita Skeeter seeing, so she had to stand and watch in silence as Hagrid and Rita Skeeter made arrangements to meet in the Three Broomsticks for a good long interview later that week. Then the bell rang up at the castle, signaling the end of the lesson.

"Well, goodbye, Lyla and Arabella!" Rita Skeeter called merrily to them as they set off with the remainder of their friends. "Until Friday night, then, Hagrid!"

"She'll twist everything he says," Theo said under his breath.

"Just as long as he didn't import those skrewts illegally or anything," said Daphne desperately. They looked at one another — it was exactly the sort of thing Hagrid might do.

"Hagrid's been in loads of trouble before, and Dumbledore's never sacked him," said Ron consolingly. "Worst that can happen is Hagrid'll have to get rid of the skrewts. Sorry . . . did I say worst? I meant best."

Everyone laughed and, feeling slightly more cheerful, went off to lunch.

Surprisingly, Lyla thoroughly enjoyed Double Divination that afternoon; they were still doing star charts and predictions.

"I would think," she said, in a mystical whisper that did not conceal her obvious annoyance, "that some of us" — she stared very meaningfully at Lyla — "might be a little less frivolous had they seen what I have seen during my crystal gazing last night. The urge to consult the orb overpowered me as I sat here, absorbed in my needlework. I arose, I settled myself before it, and I gazed into its crystalline depths . . . and what do you think I saw gazing back at me?"

"An ugly old bat in outsize specs?" Draco muttered under his breath.

Lyla fought hard to keep her face straight.

"Death, my dears."

Everyone stared at her, unphased.

"Yes," said Trelawney, nodding impressively, "it comes, ever closer, it circles overhead like a vulture, ever lower . . . ever lower over the castle. . . ."

She stared pointedly at Lyla, who yawned very widely and obviously.

"It'd be a bit more impressive if she hadn't done it about eighty times before," Daphne said as they finally regained the fresh air of the staircase beneath Trelawney's room. "But if Lyla or Arabella dropped dead every time she's told us, you two would be walking medical miracles."

"You'd be a sort of extra-concentrated ghost," said Theo, chortling, as they passed the Bloody Baron going in the opposite direction, his wide eyes staring sinisterly. "At least we didn't get homework. I hope Hermione and Blaise got loads off Professor Vector. I love not working when they have things to do. . . ."

But Hermione nor Blaise didn't appear at dinner, nor were they in the library when they went to look for them afterward. The only person in there was Viktor Krum, which made Daphne burst into small fits of giggles. Ron and Draco hovered behind the bookshelves, watching the Durmstrang champion, debating in whispers whether they should ask for an autograph— but then Draco Realized that six or seven girls were lurking in the next row of books, debating exactly the same thing. The boys lost their enthusiasm for the idea.

"Wonder where they've got to?" said Arabella curiously.

She had just finished talking when the sound of racing feet behind them announced their friend's arrival.

"Guys!" Hermione panted, skidding to a halt.

"Arabella, Lyla, you've got to come! " huffed Blaise, clutching at his side. "You've got to come. The most amazing thing's just happened!"

He seized Arabella's arm and started to try to drag her back along the corridor.

"What's the matter?" Lyla asked.

"We'll show you when we get there," said Hermione, reaching out and latching herself to Lyla. "Oh, come on, quick—"

Lyla gave Arabella a dubious look, who gazed back with equal an equal amount of confusion.

"Okay," she finally said, starting off back down the corridor with Blaise dragging her along.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked after a few minutes of walking in silence.

The two led their friends through six floors and started down the marble staircase into the entrance hall.

"You'll see, you'll see in a minute!" said Hermione excitedly.

She turned left at the bottom of the staircase and hurried toward the door through which Cedric had gone the night after the Goblet of Fire had regurgitated his and Lyla's names. She had never been through here before. They followed Blaise and Hermione down a flight of stone steps, but instead of ending up in a gloomy underground passage like the one that led to Slytherin dungeons, they found themselves in a broad stone corridor, brightly lit with torches, and decorated with cheerful paintings that were mainly of food.

"Oh, hang on . . ." said Arabella slowly, halfway down the corridor. "Wait a minute. . . ."

"What?" said Blaise, turning around to peer at his friend.

"I know what this is about," said Arabella.

She nudged Lyla and pointed to the painting just behind Hermione. It showed a gigantic silver fruit bowl.

"Hermione!" said Lyla, cottoning on. "You're trying to rope us into that spew stuff again!"

"No, no, I'm not!" she said hastily. "And it's not spew, Lyla—"

"Changed the name, have you?" asked Ron, frowning at her. "What are we now, then, the House-Elf Liberation Front? I'm not barging into that kitchen and trying to make them stop work. I'm not doing it —"

"And we're not asking you to!" Blaise said impatiently. "We came down here just now to talk to them all, and found — oh, come on, we want to show you!"

He seized Lyla's arm again, pulling her in front of the picture of the giant fruit bowl, stretched out his forefinger, and tickled the huge green pear. It began to squirm, chuckling and suddenly turned into a large green door handle.

Hermione seized it, pulled the door open, and pushed Arabella hard in the back, forcing her inside. Lyla followed swiftly.

She had one brief glimpse of an enormous, high-ceilinged room, large as the Great Hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls and a great brick fireplace at the other end, when something small hurtled toward him from the middle of the room, squealing, "Lyla Potter, ma'am! Arabella Potter! It's the great Potters!"

In the next few seconds, all the wind had been knocked out of Arabella as a squealing elf hit her hard in the midriff, hugging the girl so tightly she thought her ribs would snap.

"D-Dobby?" Lyla gasped.

"It is Dobby, it is!" squealed the voice from somewhere around their navel. "Dobby has been hoping and hoping to see the Potters, ma'am, and now they has come to see him, ma'am!"

Dobby let go and stepped back a few paces, beaming up at the sisters, his enormous, green, tennis-ball-shaped eyes brimming with tears of happiness. He looked almost exactly as Arabella remembered him; the pencil-shaped nose, the batlike ears, the long fingers, and feet — all except the clothes, which were very different.

When Dobby had worked for the Parkinson family, he had always worn the same filthy old pillowcase. Now, however, he was wearing the strangest assortment of garments Arabella had ever seen; he had done an even worse job of dressing himself than the wizards at the World Cup. He was wearing a tea cozy for a hat, on which he had pinned a number of bright badges; a tie patterned with horseshoes over a bare chest, a pair of what looked like children's soccer shorts, and odd socks. One of these, Arabella saw, was the black one she had removed from her own foot and tricked Mr. Parkinson into giving Dobby, thereby setting the creature free. The other was covered in pink and orange stripes.

"Dobby, what're you doing here?" Lyla said in amazement.

"Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, ma'am!" Dobby squealed excitedly. "Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby and Winky jobs, ma'am!"

"Winky?" asked Arabella. "She's here too?"

"Yes, ma'am, yes!" said Dobby, and he seized the girls around their wrists and pulled them further off into the kitchen between the four long wooden tables that stood there. Each of these tables, Arabella noticed as she passed them, was positioned exactly beneath the four House tables above, in the Great Hall. At the moment, they were clear of food, dinner having finished, but she supposed that an hour ago, they had been laden with dishes that were then sent up through the ceiling to their counterparts above.

At least a hundred little elves stood around the kitchen, beaming, bowing, and curtsying as Dobby led the group of fourth years past them. They were all wearing the same uniform: a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest and tied, as Winky's had been, like a toga.

Dobby stopped in front of the brick fireplace and pointed. "Winky, ma'am's!" he said.

Winky was sitting on a stool by the fire. Unlike Dobby, she had obviously not foraged for clothes. She was wearing a neat little skirt and blouse with a matching blue hat, which had holes in it for her large ears. However, while every one of Dobby's strange collection of garments was so clean and well cared for that it looked brand-new, Winky was plainly not taking care of her clothes at all. There were soup stains all down her blouse and a burn in her skirt.

"Hello, Winky," said Lyla softly.

Winky's lip quivered. Then she burst into tears, which spilled out of her great brown eyes and splashed down her front, just as they had done at the Quidditch World Cup.

"Oh dear," said Hermione. "Winky, don't cry, please don't. . ."

But Winky cried harder than ever. On the other hand, Dobby beamed up at them with great pleasure.

"Would the great Potters like a cup of tea? And their friends?" he squeaked loudly over Winky's sobs.

"Okay, sure," said Arabella

Instantly, about six house elves came trotting up behind them, bearing two large silver trays laden with a teapot and cups.

"Good service!" Theo said in an impressed voice. Hermione frowned, but the elves all looked delighted; they bowed very low and retreated.

"How long have you been here, Dobby?" Arabella asked as Dobby handed around the tea.

"Only a week, ma'am!" said Dobby happily. "Dobby came to see Professor Dumbledore, ma'am. You see, it is very difficult for a house-elf who has been dismissed to get a new position, ma'am, very difficult indeed —"

At this, Winky howled even harder, her squashed tomato of a nose dribbling all down her front, though she made no effort to stem the flow.

"Dobby has traveled the country for two whole years, ma'am, trying to find work!" Dobby squeaked. "But Dobby hasn't found work, ma'am, because Dobby wants paying now!"

The house elves all around the kitchen, who had been listening and watching with interest, all looked away at these words as though Dobby had said something rude and embarrassing.

"Good for you, Dobby!" said Blaise.

"Thank you, sir!" said Dobby, grinning toothily at him. "But most witches and wizards doesn't want a house-elf who wants paying. 'That's not the point of a house-elf,' they says, and they slammed the door in Dobby's face! Dobby likes work, but he wants to wear clothes, and he wants to be paid. . . . Dobby likes being free!"

The Hogwarts house-elves had now started edging away from Dobby as though he were carrying something contagious. Winky, however, remained where she was, though there was a definite increase in the volume of her crying.

"And then, Dobby goes to visit Winky and finds out Winky has been freed too ma'am!" said Dobby delightedly.

At this, Winky flung herself forward off her stool and lay face-down on the flagged stone floor, beating her tiny fists upon it and positively screaming with misery. Hermione hastily dropped down to her knees beside her and tried to comfort her, but nothing she said made the slightest difference. Dobby continued with his story, shouting shrilly over Winky's screeches.

"And then Dobby had the idea, Miss and Miss Potter! 'Why doesn't Dobby and Winky find work together?' Dobby says. 'Where is there enough work for two house-elves?' says Winky. And Dobby thinks, and it comes to him, sir! Hogwarts! So Dobby and Winky came to see Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Dumbledore took us on!"

Dobby beamed very brightly, and happy tears welled in his eyes again.

"And Professor Dumbledore says he will pay Dobby, sir, if Dobby wants paying! And so Dobby is a free elf, sir, and Dobby gets a Galleon a week and one day off a month!"

"That's not very much!" Hermione shouted indignantly from the floor over Winky's continued screaming and fist-beating.

"Professor Dumbledore offered Dobby ten Galleons a week, and weekends off," said Dobby, suddenly giving a little shiver, as though the prospect of so much leisure and riches were frightening, "but Dobby beat him down, Miss. . . . Dobby likes freedom, but he isn't wanting too much, he likes to work better."

"And how much is Professor Dumbledore paying you, Winky?" Hermione asked kindly.

If she had thought this would cheer up Winky, she was wildly mistaken. Winky stopped crying, but when she sat up, she glared at Hermione through her massive brown eyes, her whole face sopping wet and suddenly furious.

"Winky is a disgraced elf, but Winky is not yet getting paid!" she squeaked. "Winky is not sunk so low as that! Winky is properly ashamed of being freed!"

"Ashamed?" said Blaise blankly. "But — Winky, come on! It's Mr. Crouch who should be ashamed, not you!"

But at these words, Winky clapped her hands over the holes in her hat, flattening her ears so that she couldn't hear a word, and screeched, "You is not insulting my master, sir! You is not insulting, Mr. Crouch! Mr. Crouch is a good wizard, miss! Mr. Crouch is right to sack bad Winky!"

"Winky is having trouble adjusting," squeaked Dobby confidentially. "Winky forgets she is not bound to Mr. Crouch anymore; she is allowed to speak her mind now, but she won't do it."

"Can't house elves speak their minds about their masters, then?" Lyla asked.

"Oh no, ma'am, no," said Dobby, looking suddenly serious. "'Tis part of the house-elf's enslavement, ma'am. We keeps their secrets and our silence. We upholds the family's honor, and we never speaks ill of them — though Professor Dumbledore told Dobby he does not insist upon this. Professor Dumbledore said we is free to — to —"

Dobby looked suddenly nervous and beckoned Arabella closer. She bent forward. Dobby whispered, "He said we is free to call him a — a barmy old codger if we likes!" Dobby gave a frightened sort of giggle. "But Dobby is not wanting to, ma'am's," he said, talking normally again, and shaking his head so that his ears flapped. "Dobby likes Professor Dumbledore very much and is proud to keep his secrets and our silence for him."

"But you can say what you like about the Parkinson's now?" Arabella asked him, grinning.

A slightly fearful look came into Dobby's big eyes.

"Dobby — Dobby could," he said doubtfully. He squared his small shoulders. "Dobby could tell Lyla and Arabella Potter that his old masters were — were — bad Dark wizards!"

Dobby stood for a moment, quivering all over, horror-struck by his own daring — then he rushed over to the nearest table and be- gan banging his head on it very hard, squealing, "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

Draco seized Dobby by the back of his tie and pulled him away from the table.

"Thank you, sir, thank you," said Dobby breathlessly, rubbing his head.

"You just need a bit of practice," encouraged Arabella.

"Practice!" squealed Winky furiously. "You is ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dobby, talking that way about your masters!"

"They isn't my masters anymore, Winky!" said Dobby defiantly.

"Dobby doesn't care what they think anymore!"

"Oh, you is a bad elf, Dobby!" moaned Winky, tears leaking down her face once more. "My poor Mr. Crouch, what is he doing without Winky? He is needing me, he is needing my help! I is look- ing after the Crouches all my life, and my mother is doing it before me, and my grandmother is doing it before her . . . oh what is they saying if they knew Winky was freed? Oh, the shame, the shame!" She buried her face in her skirt again and bawled.

"Winky," said Hermione firmly, "I'm quite sure Mr. Crouch is getting along perfectly well without you. We've seen him, you know —"

"You is seeing my master?" said Winky breathlessly, raising her tearstained face out of her skirt once more and goggling at Hermione. "You is seeing him here at Hogwarts?"

"Yes," said Hermione, "he and Mr. Bagman are judges in the Triwizard Tournament."

"Mr. Bagman comes too?" squeaked Winky, and to Harry's great surprise (and everyone else's, by the looks on their faces), she looked angry again. "Mr. Bagman is a bad wizard! A very bad wizard! My master isn't liking him, oh no, not at all!"

"Bagman — bad?" said Lyla.

"Oh yes," Winky said, nodding her head furiously. "My master is telling Winky some things! But Winky is not saying . . . Winky — Winky keeps her master's secrets. . . ." She dissolved yet again in tears; they could hear her sobbing into her skirt, "Poor master, poor master, no Winky to help him no more!"

They couldn't get another sensible word out of Winky. They left her to her crying and finished their tea while Dobby chatted happily about his life as a free elf and his plans for his wages.

"Dobby is going to buy a sweater next!" he said happily, pointing at his bare chest.

"Tell you what, Dobby," said Ron suddenly, who seemed to have taken a great liking to the elf, "I'll give you the one my mum knits me this Christmas, I always get one from her. You don't mind maroon, do you?"

Dobby was delighted.

"We might have to shrink it a bit to fit you," Arabella told him, "but it'll go well with your tea cozy."

As they prepared to take their leave, many of the surrounding elves pressed in upon them, offering snacks to take back upstairs. Hermione and Blaise refused, with a pained look at the way the elves kept bowing and curtsying, but Draco, Daphne, and Ron loaded their pockets with cream cakes and pies.

"Thanks a lot!" Arabella told the elves clustered around the door. "See you, Dobby!"

"Lyla and Arabella Potter. . . can Dobby come and see you sometimes, ma'am's?" Dobby asked tentatively.

"Of course," said Lyla brightly, and Dobby beamed.

"You know what?" said Ron once he and the rest had left the kitchens behind and were climbing the steps into the entrance hall again. "All these years I've been really impressed with Fred and George, nicking food from the kitchens — well, it's not exactly difficult, is it? They can't wait to give it away!"

"I think this is the best thing that could have happened to those elves, you know," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Dobby coming to work here, I mean. The other elves will see how happy he is, being free, and slowly it'll dawn on them that they want that too!"

"Let's hope they don't look too closely at Winky," muttered Theo.

"Oh, she'll cheer up," said Hermione, though she sounded a bit doubtful. "Once the shock's worn off, and she's got used to Hogwarts, she'll see how much better off she is without that Crouch man."

"She seems to love him," said Draco thickly (he had just started on a cream cake).

"Doesn't think much of Bagman, though, does she?" said Lyla. "Wonder what Crouch says at home about him?"

"Probably says he's not a very good Head of Department," said Blaise, "and let's face it . . . he's got a point, hasn't he?"

"I'd still rather work for him than old Crouch," said Ron. "At least Bagman's got a sense of humor."

"Don't let Percy hear you saying that," Hermione said, smiling slightly.

"Yeah, well, Percy wouldn't want to work for anyone with a sense of humor, would he?" said Ron, starting on a chocolate eclair. "Percy wouldn't recognize a joke if it danced naked in front of him wearing Dobby's tea cozy."

P.S. If you could, if one has the time, please leave

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