Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Midnight came and went while Harry was reading and rereading a passage about the uses of scurvy-grass, lovage and sneezewort and not taking in a word of it.

These plants are moste efficacious in the inflaming of the brain, and are therefore much used in Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts, where the wizard is desirous of producing hot-headedness and recklessness…

…Hermione said Sirius was becoming reckless cooped up in Grimmauld Place…

…moste efficacious in the inflaming of the braine, and are therefore much used…

…the Daily Prophet would think his brain was inflamed if they found out that he knew what Voldemort was feeling…

…therefore much used in Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts…

…confusing was the word, all right; why did he know what Voldemort was feeling? What was this weird connection between them, which Dumbledore had never been able to explain satisfactorily?

…where the wizard is desirous…

…how Harry would like to sleep…

…of producing hot-headedness…

…it was warm and comfortable in his armchair before the fire, with the rain still beating heavily on the windowpanes, Crookshanks purring, and the crackling of the flames…

The book slipped from Harry’s slack grip and landed with a dull thud on the hearthrug. His head lolled sideways…

He was walking once more along a windowless corridor, his footsteps echoing in the silence. As the door at the end of the passage loomed larger, his heart beat fast with excitement… if he could only open it… enter beyond…

He stretched out his hand… his fingertips were inches from it…

“Harry Potter, sir!”

He awoke with a start. The candles had all been extinguished in the common room, but there was something moving close by.

“Whozair?” said Harry, sitting upright in his chair. The fire was almost out, the room very dark.

“Dobby has your owl, sir!” said a squeaky voice.

“Dobby?” said Harry thickly, peering through the gloom towards the source of the voice.

Dobby the house-elf was standing beside the table on which Hermione had left half a dozen of her knitted hats. His large, pointed ears were now sticking out from beneath what looked like all the hats Hermione had ever knitted; he was wearing one on top of the other, so that his head seemed elongated by two or three feet, and on the very topmost bobble sat Hedwig, hooting serenely and obviously cured.

“Dobby volunteered to return Harry Potter’s owl,” said the elf squeakily, with a look of positive adoration on his face. “Professor Grubbly-Plank says she is all well now, sir.” He sank into a deep bow so that his pencil-like nose brushed the threadbare surface of the hearthrug and Hedwig gave an indignant hoot and fluttered on to the arm of Harry’s chair.

“Thanks, Dobby!” said Harry, stroking Hedwig’s head and blinking hard, trying to rid himself of the image of the door in his dream… it had been very vivid. Surveying Dobby more closely, he noticed that the elf was also wearing several scarves and innumerable socks, so that his feet looked far too big for his body.

“Er… have you been taking all the clothes Hermione’s been leaving out?”

“Oh, no, sir,” said Dobby happily. “Dobby has been taking some for Winky, too, sir.”

“Yeah, how is Winky?” asked Harry.

Dobby’s ears drooped slightly.

“Winky is still drinking lots, sir,” he said sadly, his enormous round green eyes, large as tennis balls, downcast. “She still does not care for clothes, Harry Potter. Nor do the other house-elves. None of them will clean Gryffindor Tower any more, not with the hats and socks hidden everywhere, they finds them insulting, sir. Dobby does it all himself, sir, but Dobby does not mind, sir, for he always hopes to meet Harry Potter and tonight, sir, he has got his wish!” Dobby sank into a deep bow again. “But Harry Potter does not seem happy,” Dobby went on, straightening up again and looking timidly at Harry. “Dobby heard him muttering in his sleep. Was Harry Potter having bad dreams?”

“Not really bad,” said Harry, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “I’ve had worse.”

The elf surveyed Harry out of his vast, orb-like eyes. Then he said very seriously, his ears drooping, “Dobby wishes he could help Harry Potter, for Harry Potter set Dobby free and Dobby is much, much happier now.”

Harry smiled.

“You can’t help me, Dobby, but thanks for the offer.”

He bent and picked up his Potions book. He’d have to try to finish the essay tomorrow. He closed the book and as he did so the firelight illuminated the thin white scars on the back of his hand—the result of his detentions with Umbridge…

“Wait a moment—there is something you can do for me, Dobby,” said Harry slowly.