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“Dobby is delivering messages, sir!” the elf squeaked from his perch, snapping his fingers and causing Harry’s glasses to rise off the floor and float to him. “Professor Dumbledore says that he needs Harry Potter, sir. That only Harry Potter can help him with his task, so Dobby volunteered to retrieve him for Professor Dumbledore. Dobby is also to tell Harry Potter that he is not to be worrying about his Wheezys. They will be… ‘well looked after’,” the elf said, after taking a moment to remember the appropriate phrase, “while they are away.”
“Away?” Harry said anxiously. “Ron’s leaving?” he asked, clearly worried in spite of Dobby’s message. “Are they taking him to St. Mungo’s?” he asked, jumping out of bed fully dressed. His trousers were filthy, his shirt was wrinkled, and his shoes were missing entirely, but he didn’t care. “What’s wrong with him?” Harry shouted as he ran for the door.
“Wait,” Harry said to himself, stopping short and spinning around to search for Dobby after he reached the common room. “You said they,” he said, looking impatiently at the staircase, “‘they will be well looked after’. DOBBY!” Harry shouted, when the elf didn’t chase him down the stairs as he expected. “They who?” he demanded, turning to his right when the air beside him cracked and the house-elf materialized out of thin air. “Is it George? Is something wrong with him as well?”
“George?” Dobby repeated, rolling his large green eyes skyward as if momentarily confused. “No, sir,” he answered. “Your Wheezys!” he said, as if that explained everything. “The one that gave Dobby the jumper,” he added when Harry continued to look baffled. “And the one that left the hats for Dobby and Winky! Your Wheezys, sir!”
“Ron and Hermione? But what’s wrong with them?” Harry asked, when Dobby nodded his head.
“Nothing, sir!” the elf assured him. “Dobby has already given his message. Harry Potter is not to worry because there is nothing to worry about.”
“Then why are they leaving?” Harry demanded. “Where are they going? Is Ginny going with them? Is that where she is? Have they already left? When will they be back?”
“Dobby is not knowing how to answer those questions, sir,” the elf said regretfully, his batlike ears drooping as he bowed his head in shame. “Perhaps Harry Potter should ask Professor Dumbledore when he sees him,” Dobby suggested. “But Harry Potter will be needing his shoes first,” the elf said. And no sooner had the words left his mouth, than a pair of trainers appeared on Harry’s feet. He didn’t even have to bend over and tie them because Dobby took care of that as well. “Professor Dumbledore is waiting for Harry Potter in his office, sir!”
Then he can keep waiting, Harry thought, because I’m going to the Hospital Wing.
But before Harry reached the portrait hole, it opened of its own accord. At least, that’s what he thought until Professor McGonagall stepped through, looking haggard and harried.
“Potter?” she said in surprise when she looked away from the oversized painting she had just levitated through the opening and saw him staring at her. “What are you doing down here at this hour?”
“What’s that?” Harry countered, pointing at the painting before changing his mind and jumping to an entirely different topic. “Where are Ron and Hermione going?” he asked, before McGonagall had a chance to do more than open her mouth to reply to his first question. “Is something wrong with them? What about George? Is he…”
“Slow down, Potter,” McGonagall said, holding out one hand in front of herself. “You’re working yourself up over nothing,” she said. “The last I heard, your friends were surprisingly fit, all things considered. They do have a few personal matters to attend to, however,” she said, flicking her wrist so the hovering painting tilted upright to reveal a man sitting in a rather uncomfortable looking chair with an oversized book on his lap.
“Away?” Harry said anxiously. “Ron’s leaving?” he asked, clearly worried in spite of Dobby’s message. “Are they taking him to St. Mungo’s?” he asked, jumping out of bed fully dressed. His trousers were filthy, his shirt was wrinkled, and his shoes were missing entirely, but he didn’t care. “What’s wrong with him?” Harry shouted as he ran for the door.
“Wait,” Harry said to himself, stopping short and spinning around to search for Dobby after he reached the common room. “You said they,” he said, looking impatiently at the staircase, “‘they will be well looked after’. DOBBY!” Harry shouted, when the elf didn’t chase him down the stairs as he expected. “They who?” he demanded, turning to his right when the air beside him cracked and the house-elf materialized out of thin air. “Is it George? Is something wrong with him as well?”
“George?” Dobby repeated, rolling his large green eyes skyward as if momentarily confused. “No, sir,” he answered. “Your Wheezys!” he said, as if that explained everything. “The one that gave Dobby the jumper,” he added when Harry continued to look baffled. “And the one that left the hats for Dobby and Winky! Your Wheezys, sir!”
“Ron and Hermione? But what’s wrong with them?” Harry asked, when Dobby nodded his head.
“Nothing, sir!” the elf assured him. “Dobby has already given his message. Harry Potter is not to worry because there is nothing to worry about.”
“Then why are they leaving?” Harry demanded. “Where are they going? Is Ginny going with them? Is that where she is? Have they already left? When will they be back?”
“Dobby is not knowing how to answer those questions, sir,” the elf said regretfully, his batlike ears drooping as he bowed his head in shame. “Perhaps Harry Potter should ask Professor Dumbledore when he sees him,” Dobby suggested. “But Harry Potter will be needing his shoes first,” the elf said. And no sooner had the words left his mouth, than a pair of trainers appeared on Harry’s feet. He didn’t even have to bend over and tie them because Dobby took care of that as well. “Professor Dumbledore is waiting for Harry Potter in his office, sir!”
Then he can keep waiting, Harry thought, because I’m going to the Hospital Wing.
But before Harry reached the portrait hole, it opened of its own accord. At least, that’s what he thought until Professor McGonagall stepped through, looking haggard and harried.
“Potter?” she said in surprise when she looked away from the oversized painting she had just levitated through the opening and saw him staring at her. “What are you doing down here at this hour?”
“What’s that?” Harry countered, pointing at the painting before changing his mind and jumping to an entirely different topic. “Where are Ron and Hermione going?” he asked, before McGonagall had a chance to do more than open her mouth to reply to his first question. “Is something wrong with them? What about George? Is he…”
“Slow down, Potter,” McGonagall said, holding out one hand in front of herself. “You’re working yourself up over nothing,” she said. “The last I heard, your friends were surprisingly fit, all things considered. They do have a few personal matters to attend to, however,” she said, flicking her wrist so the hovering painting tilted upright to reveal a man sitting in a rather uncomfortable looking chair with an oversized book on his lap.
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