Chapter 63: Dobby the House-Elf
"Tell me why you're here!" Harry didn't lower the chair, even though the creature didn't seem to intend attacking him. But if he dared to put it down casually, George would surely punish him by making him run ten laps around the school. Worse, Malfoy would follow behind, mocking him as he ran.
"Harry Potter!" the creature squealed, loud enough for the whole house to hear. "Dobby has longed to see you, sir—it is a tremendous honor!"
"Don't interrupt me. Tell me why you're here," Harry said coldly. If it had been an ordinary person, he wouldn't have been so curt. But this was an unknown magical being; he had to protect himself, especially now that he was determined to face Voldemort in battle.
Harry's indifference seemed to give the creature confidence. Humbly, it said, "Sir, my name is Dobby. I am a house-elf."
Harry remained cautious. He said nothing, letting the elf speak—his training had taught him that silence often made the other party more forthcoming.
"House-elves are slaves to their masters. They serve wizarding families and never disobey orders," the creature explained.
"Who is your master?" Harry immediately asked, catching the key piece of information the elf had revealed.
The small creature trembled. "Oh, Dobby cannot say his master's name… they do not know Dobby is here. Dobby would face severe punishment for disobeying. Dobby… Dobby would rather put his head in the fireplace."
The elf's fear made Harry feel a wave of disgust. "You dare speak your master's name? You are certainly not from my friends' households. Hermione's parents are Muggles. Ron told me about his family—he knows every mouse in the house. George would never send someone like you."
Harry recalled the last time George's raven delivered a letter to him. Even his pets bore George's unmistakable style. He hadn't chosen an ordinary owl as a messenger, but a raven whose bright eyes seemed almost alive, as if it had become a beautiful bird of George's own creation.
Harry could instantly recognize the raven's distinct personality and mark. Though he still preferred Hedwig, he had to admit that George's raven was stunning.
Harry lifted the chair and slowly approached the door, remaining hyper-vigilant. This little creature before him was no friend of his.
"House-elves are slaves to their masters and never disobey orders. Since you aren't from my friends' household, the most likely explanation is that you belong to my enemies. Could it be… Voldemort, who dares not speak his own name?" Harry murmured as he edged closer to the door.
The elf flinched, and Harry immediately charged downstairs, wand in hand. At that moment, he paid no heed to any rules.
"Ah, sir! Don't say that name! Don't say it!" the elf cried, clutching his ears.
"Bang!" Harry pushed the door open, slammed it shut, and then dashed downstairs like a whirlwind. He collided with Uncle Vernon.
Vernon was furious. He was telling a riveting story, and Harry had interrupted him at the crucial moment. He strode toward the boy, fuming, "Who do you think you are? What are you eating and drinking? You're consuming things nobody else wants!"
Harry had no idea what the fat man was up to. If the house-elf from Voldemort's household attacked, he needed his wand—and he needed to be ready to flee. Thanks to George's careful guidance and the abundant meals at Hogwarts, Harry had grown into a strong, semi-grown boy.
Though he had recently returned to Privet Drive and had lost some weight, his stamina was not weak. Anxiety and fear consumed him; he had no time for anything else. With a single push, he knocked Uncle Vernon to the ground and raced to the cupboard under the stairs, shattering the glass to retrieve his trunk.
Finally, wand in hand, Harry's heart began to calm. The house-elf hadn't pursued him.
Uncle Vernon sat stunned on the floor, unable to believe what he had just seen. How dare this child? He had disappeared for a year last time and returned a formidable wizard, but he was still only eleven!
How dare he? This boy had always been timid, enduring endless punishment over the past eleven years. Yet now… he had defied him. Vernon was so furious he nearly leaped at him to punish the audacious child.
Before he could even rise, he saw Harry like a phantom, storming to the cupboard under the stairs, shattering the glass, dragging out his trunk, and brandishing a black wand.
Vernon's rage evaporated. It felt as though he had been doused with a bucket of icy, gravel-filled water under the summer sun. His anger, unspent, was sucked away as if by a black hole. He felt only the piercing cold of the ice against his skin.
Then he remembered the deepest fear he had buried within himself: "He's a monster. Even at eleven, a monster knows no age."
He finally regretted his previous arrogance, muttering, "How stupid of me to provoke this monster. He could turn our entire family into roast pork and carve us up one by one."
The house fell silent.
Vernon only saw the bespectacled little boy before him as a demon, perhaps plotting… something terrible. He dared not speak, hoping the "monster" was distracted by something else.
Dudley saw his father on the floor and wanted to help him up. But seeing Harry, he shrank into a corner, trembling, too terrified to move.
Dudley realized that Harry was no longer the weak, skinny boy he could bully at will. After disappearing for a year, Harry had returned not as a scrawny child but as a strong, semi-grown boy. If it weren't for the familiar scar on his forehead and his black-rimmed glasses, Dudley might not have recognized him at all.
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