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Old December 4th, 2012, 10:58 pm
jmunay10  Male.gif jmunay10 is offline
First Year
Join Date: 01st September 2012
Posts: 59
Re: Harry Potter and the Hellfire Potion

Chapter 29 ~ To SPEW Or Not To Spew?

“Are you out of your minds?” gasped Mrs. Weasley.

Harry had managed to drag Ron home from the hospital for the first time since Hermione had taken ill, and they were having a quick dinner at the Burrow before returning to St. Mungo’s. They had begun talking about the best way to move their things to Grimmauld Place when Mrs. Weasley had dropped her fork in astonishment.

“How can you think of moving out now? Hermione’s in the hospital, you’ve not been to work for weeks and Harry hasn’t even begun his studies for his NEWT’s! You need to stay here – you don’t want to be fussing over running a household with all that’s been going on!”

Ron was about to answer when Harry intervened.

“Er, actually Mrs. Weasley,” he began, pushing his haddock around his plate, “we have someone to look after the house for us.” Harry looked up at her sheepishly.

“We do?” asked Ron in surprise.

“You do?” asked Mrs. Weasley at the same time.

Wisely, Mr. Weasley remained quiet, deciding he would be better off helping himself to more potatoes than to get involved.

Harry cleared his throat. “Yeah! Dobby’s going to work for me – us.”

“We’re getting a house-elf?” Ron crowed in delight, momentarily forgetting his worries about Hermione.

Harry nodded, pleased to see his friend so happy.

“You’re getting a – do you mean to tell me – a house-elf?” sputtered Mrs. Weasley. “How on earth did you manage that?”

Harry shrugged. “Dobby heard that we were moving out, and he said he wanted to come and work for me, so…” he gave Mrs. Weasley a lopsided grin, hoping that a bit of charm would get him out of trouble.

She took a deep breath, about to retort when Mr. Weasley hastily stepped in.

“Well! I think that sounds like a fine idea, don’t you Molly? Now we don’t need to worry about the boys not eating properly,” he speared a piece of broccoli onto his fork, “and I suspect that they will always have clean underwear.” He nodded solemnly at his wife, whose lips were pressed into a tight line, eyes narrowed, obviously not in agreement with the situation, but knowing when she was beat.

“Well,” said Ron, hastily gulping down the last of his supper, deciding it was time to hotfoot it out of there, “thanks for the food mum. I’m going back to St. Mungo’s – you ready?”

Harry nodded, pushing his chair back and quickly getting up from the table. Within minutes, they had Apparated to London and were sliding through the entrance to the hospital.

They checked on Hermione, who was still lying quietly in her bed. She reminded Harry of the Muggle story, Snow White – not that Aunt Petunia had ever read it to him, but he had flicked through it once when the Dursley’s were out and had forgotten to lock him in his cupboard. Flanked by her sleepy looking parents, Hermione’s room was now overflowing with flowers and get-well cards, and a light floral perfume hung in the air. Tugging Ron out of the room, Harry reminded him that they were due to start plans for the redecorating of Grimmauld Place.

“… and Dobby’s coming to meet us,” he consulted his watch, “in five minutes! We’re meeting him in the tea-room.”

As they climbed the stairs, Ron looked troubled.

“What’s the matter?”

“Harry,” Ron frowned, ignoring the portraits that were trying to get them to stop and tell them the story of Voldemort’s defeat, “maybe it’s not such a good idea to have a house-elf…”

“Eh? Why?” Harry asked, perplexed by Ron’s sudden change of heart.

“Come on, Harry! Have you forgotten that we’ll be living with the great elf crusader?”

“How could I forget? Don’t worry, I’ve explained to Dobby that Hermione’ll want him to have good wages, holidays and all that stuff.”

“How did he take it?”

“Well, he reckons Hermione is mad,” Ron snickered, “but he says he'll do whatever’s necessary.”
“Harry Potter, sir! Master Wheezy! Dobby is here sirs!”

Giving a slight wave of acknowledgement, Harry and Ron wove their way between the tables in the tearoom, to where Dobby was bouncing up and down on his chair. Keeping his eyes averted from the curious stares of other witches and wizards, Harry hissed at Dobby:

“All right, Dobby! We see you! Sit down!”

Obediently, the little elf dropped into the chair, his eyes barely able to look over the top of the table. Harry sighed to himself, wondering if this was in fact such a good idea, while Ron collected a stack of trays for Dobby to sit on, elevating him so he could participate in the discussion.

“Thank you, Master Wheezy!” Dobby exclaimed, his ears waggling in excitement. “Is you wanting Dobby to fetch you some tea, sirs?”

“Nah, that’s all right Dobby, you sit tight – I’ll get them,” said Ron, guessing correctly that Harry didn’t want Dobby attracting any more attention than he already was. Dobby gasped and leant in towards Harry, who had taken a seat opposite.

“Harry Potter! Your greatest friend Master Wheezy is so kind, so generous, so”-

-“Calm down, Dobby – he’s only gone to get some tea.”

But Dobby was positively trembling with excitement, wriggling about in his seat.

“Look,” said Harry, as Ron returned with a tray of tea and biscuits, “you need to get used to the fact that we’re not like your old masters – we’re not even your new masters! We’re going to pay you to work for us, because we like you”-

At these words, Dobby let out a cry of happiness that he quickly smothered with his little hands, staring at Harry, his eyes growing ever larger the longer he sat there.

-“And you don’t have to call us master, or sir; Harry, Ron and Hermione will do.”

“Oh no, Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is never calling you that! It’s not befitting the most righteous, selfless, noble heroes! Dobby might be taking wages and p-p-pension,” he wrinkled his nose in distaste at this dire thought, “but you must be addressed rightly, sir!”

Harry sighed and poured three cups of tea. “Come on, Dobby! We’re only eighteen – we’re too young to be saddled with titles!”

“Well, I don’t mind…” said Ron nonchalantly, popping a biscuit into his mouth whole.

Dobby beamed.

“Ron! You were the one that said Hermione would go spare! How do you think she’ll feel if Dobby’s running around calling us master?”

Ron paled slightly. “Oh yeah, good point. Ron will do just fine, Dobby.”

“Now, let’s get a few things straight, Dobby,” Harry continued firmly but not unkindly, “No masters, no slavery, ten Galleons a week,” Dobby looked nauseous at this, “every Sunday off and a proper bedroom – no sleeping in a weird nest or anything like that.” He stared hard at Dobby, who had tears leaking from his eyes.

“What’s up, Dobby?” asked Ron, who didn’t have as much experience with elves as Harry.

Wiping his watery eyes, Dobby took a shaky breath. “Dobby is not taking all of Harry Potter’s money! I is getting one Galleon a week at Hogwarts and even that is more than Dobby needs! And I is not taking every Sunday off! People will think Dobby is a bad elf! Dobby is a good elf!” his squeaky voice was attracting attention again.

“Dobby,” Harry whispered urgently, reaching out to pat the elf’s spindly arm, “We don’t mean to insult you – but you are very good at your job,” he paused while Dobby gave a watery sniff, “and you deserve to be paid properly. Besides, you know that Hermione will insist on it, and trust me, you don’t want to get into an argument with her. You’ll only get me and Ron into trouble if you don’t accept our terms.”

Ron nodded his agreement vehemently. “If it makes you feel any better,” he added, “you can have the smallest bedroom,” Harry nodded at this suggestion, “and you can make me breakfast on Sunday mornings – you know, so the day’s not totally wasted…”

“Oh thank you, Master Wheezy! You is a great and”-

-“Before you get going again Dobby,” Harry interrupted quickly, “here is the address.” He handed the elf a small piece of parchment. “Once you’ve memorised it, destroy it. I still want the location of the house kept a secret.”

Dobby nodded solemnly, swallowing the parchment without another word. “Dobby is proud to keep Harry Potter’s secrets, sir!”

Harry stared at the elf for a moment. “Er, good. Well, are you ready for your first job?”

“You just names it sir!” Dobby’s eyes were alight with excitement.

“Right! I want you to get over to the house and clear out every last remaining bit of horrible furniture, Dark wizard stuff and Kreacher’s bed. It’s in the boiler cupboard, and I don’t want any traces of it left. Me and Ron are going to go shopping for some new stuff.”

“Yes sir, Harry Potter!” cried Dobby happily, leaping to his feet and saluting them both.

“And pick yourself out a bedroom – there are at least eight to choose from.”

And with that, Dobby disappeared with a sharp crack, leaving a bemused Harry and Ron to finish the biscuits.
“So if you have this room, I’ll have this one, and Hermione can have that one?”

Harry and Ron were sitting at Hermione’s bedside in the little hospital room, a large blueprint of Grimmauld Place between them. The Grangers’, a bit more relaxed now that they knew Hermione would be okay, had gone home to get their first good nights sleep in four weeks. Loathe to leave her alone, Harry and Ron had been making plans for the house at her bedside, relaying ideas to Dobby who had taken up the challenge with great gusto. The house was nearly ready now, and as a surprise for Hermione, they had transformed the large drawing room into a miniature version of the Gryffindor common room. It contained four overstuffed, squashy armchairs, (one for each of them and one for a visitor) each with its own scarlet and gold covered cushion, made lovingly by Dobby; a wide basket, lined with fluffy blankets for Crookshanks and a tall stand with a perch each for Hedwig and Pigwidgeon. They had covered three of the four walls with floor to ceiling bookcases, and with Mr. Granger’s help, had transported Hermione’s considerable book collection, plus Harry’s more modest selection and one or two Chudley Canons books that belonged to Ron, so every inch of the bookcase was full. Fred and George had contributed by building them a levitating ladder that would enable Hermione to reach even the highest book. Above the welcoming fireplace, Harry had placed framed photographs of their families and pictures taken of the three of them throughout their years at Hogwarts. Dobby had surpassed himself by knitting an enormous scarlet and gold rug that reached to the far corners of the room, matching his woolly cushion covers and in keeping with the Gryffindor theme. Dobby had also framed Ron and Hermione’s NEWT certificates and, to his great embarrassment, Harry’s Order of Merlin First Class.

“Dobby, is this really necessary?” Harry had whined, when he saw what Dobby was intending to do.

“Yes Harry Potter! Dobby is very proud of his new master! Dobby wants all Harry Potter’s visitors to know what Harry Potter did!”

“I’m not your master, Dobby!” Harry sighed, snatching a cutting from the Daily Prophet out of Dobby’s hand. “And no newspaper cuttings! I know Hermione still reads it, but I don’t have any time for this paper – they printed nothing but lies about me when I was at school.”

Dobby’s eyes widened in surprise. “Then Dobby is having no time for it either Harry Potter, sir!” He balled up the article about Harry defeating Voldemort and threw it in the bin, but remained resolute in his insistence that the Order of Merlin go on display. Harry had given in rather than argue the point further – sometimes there was no winning with Dobby. Despite a few more disagreements with the elf, who would happily have plastered the house with pictures of Harry if he could, he and Ron had managed to have fun fixing up the old house. Even Mrs. Weasley had come round to the idea now, and had gone shopping with Dobby to make sure they had practical things, like new bedding and kitchen utensils. And so, a few days later, Harry and Ron found themselves at Hermione’s bedside, whispering ideas back and forth, torn between worry for Hermione and impatience; when would she wake up and see all their hard work? Harry had tried to broach the delicate subject of Neville, but Ron determinedly feigned deafness every time the name was mentioned. Harry had reluctantly decided to leave it alone for now, until Hermione awoke, whenever that would be, and instead, brought up the other issue that was troubling him.

“She’ll kill me, won’t she?”

“Harry, we’ve been over this a million times!” Ron hissed softly, “Will she kill you? Probably, but I reckon Dobby’s doing all right out of us! Ten Galleons a week is not to be sniffed at! Plus, we already decided; Hermione gets to set up a little pension fund and mum told me his room is really nice – we’ll just have to convince Hermione that Dobby is the role model for all aspiring house-elves who’ve lost their minds and are in love with spew!”

Harry smothered a laugh. “I know, can you imagine? We’ll probably have elves coming and going at all hours of the night, popping in for the latest spew t-shirt”-

-“Yeah, and getting all sorts of spew-ing advice from the queen of all things spew”-

-“Telling her how spewtiful she is”-

Ron snorted with laughter, causing the pumpkin juice he was sipping to squirt out of his nose, while Harry wiped hysterical tears from his eyes. They had had so much pent up worry over Hermione for so long, that it was a relief to laugh now, albeit quietly.

-“Or how spewpurb her organisation is”-

This was too much for Harry and Ron. They cracked up, forgetting to keep their voices low. At first, neither of them noticed the murmur from Hermione’s bed.

“It’s not…”

Harry and Ron stared at each other in astonishment; had Hermione just spoken? Ron dropped to his knees by the side of the bed, clutching her hand, while Harry looked on anxiously.

“Hermione? Hermione?”

“It’s not…” her voice was growing sturdier.

“Hermione, are you in pain?” asked Harry, alarmed. He and Ron leaned in as close as possible, to try and catch what she was saying. “Shall I get the Healer?” Harry asked, nervously. Hermione groaned, and Harry and Ron froze. She spoke again, in a stronger voice:

“It’s not spew it’s S.P.E.W!”

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