Chapter 150. Goodbye, Dobby
When every spectator was wholly fixated on the pitch, Adrian Wesson's gaze was fixed instead on the rogue Bludger.
He had already noticed something amiss.
The Bludger was, in all likelihood, being controlled by someone.
And he could easily guess who.
It was recorded in the original story.
Besides Dobby, that House-Elf, who else could it be?
Dobby wanted to control the Bludger to knock Harry off his broom, so that Harry would be badly hurt and sent home to recuperate—kept far away from Hogwarts.
Honestly, Wesson felt that this House-Elf must be quite unwell in the head.
Is this truly the sort of plan a person could come up with? It was utterly absurd.
Well, Dobby wasn't a person; he was a House-Elf.
Perhaps House-Elves' thought processes were simply like this—vastly different from humans'.
Wesson looked around, carefully scrutinising every corner of the stands and the edges of the pitch.
Dobby had to be nearby; he needed to be within a certain range to control that Bludger precisely.
Where would he be hiding?
Wherever he hid, the view must be excellent—he needed to track every move in the match—yet also out of sight of those around him.
That narrowed the possible hiding spots considerably.
Wesson stood up at once.
Professor McGonagall noticed and immediately asked in a low voice, "Professor Wesson, where are you going? This is a crucial moment—Harry is about to catch the Golden Snitch!"
Her voice was very low, her eyes still fixed on the pitch.
"I have something urgent. I'll be away for a moment," Wesson replied briefly.
Professor McGonagall meant to say more, but just then Oliver Wood made a hair-raising catch of the Quaffle, leaving her no time to concern herself with Wesson's movements.
Quietly, Wesson slipped down the steps at the edge of the stands.
The space beneath the stands was his first suspicion: not large, not small, usually used to store spare equipment and odds and ends, seldom noticed by anyone, but with an ideal position—good sightlines to the pitch and excellent for concealment.
It would, however, take some time to check every stand.
At the door beneath the first stand, his footsteps were as light as a cat's. He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, quietly opened the door, and slipped inside.
Lady Luck, long absent, had returned to Wesson's side.
He had only just entered when he keenly caught sight of a small, squat figure.
Dobby was standing on a low stool, pressed close to the steps of the stand, peering through a gap between two wooden boards, staring intently at the pitch outside.
His ears twitched; his hands waved and gestured—clearly he was working some magic.
Wesson didn't rush to act. He leaned into the shadows and watched for a few seconds.
Plainly, Dobby was far too absorbed to realise there was an uninvited guest standing behind him.
Wesson would have only one chance to cast a spell; if he missed, Dobby could apparate away to somewhere else with a snap of his fingers.
At the same time, he couldn't harm Dobby. Though Dobby's conduct was questionable, he bore no actual malice.
So Wesson used the spell he was most adept at.
"Incarcerous!"
Wesson's wand flashed. Dobby's ear-tips twitched; he seemed to sense something amiss and whirled around.
But it was already too late.
In an instant, several chains coiled around his limbs and hoisted him into mid-air. He dangled like a marionette, even the smallest movement of a finger becoming exceedingly difficult.
"Mm—" Dobby gave a muffled grunt, his eyes going perfectly round, clearly not understanding what had just happened.
Now that he couldn't move, he couldn't use magic either.
Wesson unhurriedly stepped up to Dobby.
"Dobby," he said, brushing dust from his shoulder, his tone calm, "you're not easy to catch."
Hearing Wesson speak his name, Dobby froze.
His eyes grew even wider; his mouth worked soundlessly for a moment.
At last he trembled and managed, "Y-you… how do you know Dobby's name?"
In truth, Dobby had already recognised Wesson—this was the wizard he had run into at the station, the one who had disrupted the magic Dobby cast at the entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
However, he had not let Wesson see him then, nor had he spoken a word to Wesson.
"I'm Harry's teacher. He mentioned you to me," Wesson said, flicking his wand so the chains binding Dobby tightened a little.
The moment he heard Harry's name, Dobby grew excited.
"Harry Potter, sir… Harry Potter, sir has spoken of Dobby?!" he squeaked.
Wesson nodded lightly. "Ah, yes. He said he once met a House-Elf called 'Dobby' in a bookshop."
"Then… then what does the great Harry Potter say about Dobby?" he asked anxiously.
"He said you're a strange fellow," Wesson shrugged. "All right, we're not here to discuss that.
I only want to give you some advice: stop pestering Harry, will you?"
Dobby's ears drooped at once.
His eyes filled with tears. He gulped and said, "Dobby… Dobby only wants to keep Harry Potter, sir, from harm! Hogwarts—Hogwarts is very dangerous this year, very dangerous! Bad things are coming. Dobby must protect Harry Potter, sir!"
Wesson knew that the "bad things" Dobby spoke of meant the diary Lucius Malfoy had secretly slipped to Ginny.
However, that diary had already been destroyed by Wesson.
This year at Hogwarts would no longer be dangerous—
—there were still some unforeseen events.
After all, the Basilisk had started roaming again, just as in the original story.
Wesson looked at Dobby in silence and said evenly, "Harry doesn't need your protection, Dobby. Your actions will get him hurt. I don't think that can be called protection, can it?"
Dobby was struck dumb for a moment, his eyes full of remorse and pain.
Wesson thought that, if not for the chains, Dobby would certainly have tried to smash his head against the floor.
"Dobby… Dobby didn't think that far," Dobby said in fits and starts. "Dobby only, only…
wanted to make Harry Potter, sir, leave here; even if… a little hurt, it is better than…"
As he spoke, tears pattered down his cheeks.
Wesson sighed. That was House-Elves: emotions wildly unstable.
"Look out!"
A cry of alarm rang from outside.
Wesson stepped quickly to Dobby's side and peered through the gap. The Bludger was still hounding Harry, chasing him like mad and refusing to let up.
"Cancel your magic, Dobby," Wesson said in a low voice.
Dobby looked at the chains suspending him, then at Wesson.
"Dobby cannot!" he shrieked, his voice full of despair. "Dobby must protect Harry Potter, sir. Dobby must—"
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