A/N:
Hello everyone! Some feedback would really mean a lot. I'm trying to keep the writing clean and avoid overly long monologues. I'm assuming that if you're reading this, you're already somewhat familiar with Harry Potter, so I'm not going too heavy on descriptions and background details.
That said, let me know—would you like more detail in future chapters? Comments, reviews, and power stones would be greatly appreciated.
Thank you for reading!
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Abraxas was wrong about one thing: the Dark Lord had never truly ceased to exist—he had always been plotting his return.
But Draco had to admit, experience counted for something. His grandfather's other assessments of the Dark Lord were remarkably close to the truth.
After all, his grandfather had always been deeply knowledgeable about Dark Magic. An interest in mysticism, alchemy, and the Dark Arts was evidently something of a Malfoy family tradition.
Thinking back over the Dark Lord's behaviour and actions, he did indeed fit the characteristics of a soul-splitter—erratic, lacking in judgement, and increasingly removed from human form. This was precisely the Dark Lord that Draco had once faced.
Draco paced back and forth in the library, turning over a possibility in his mind: that a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul might reside within Ravenclaw's diadem.
That was why, with the final battle imminent, Potter had rushed to the Room of Requirement to find that accursed diadem.
Potter must have wanted to destroy it—to eliminate the Dark Lord's Horcrux! Draco speculated.
If his suspicions were correct, the diadem would have to be destroyed. Otherwise, the Dark Lord might never truly be gone, and could return again and again. Draco frowned at the thought.
As for how the Dark Lord's soul fragment had been able to possess Quirrell—a living person—his grandfather's words had provided no satisfactory explanation.
Perhaps it was a form of Dark Magic so advanced that even his grandfather had no knowledge of it.
Draco needed to investigate further. Fortunately, the Malfoy family library contained countless magical tomes—enough to allow any wizard with a taste for the Dark Arts to lose himself entirely within its depths.
The library was vast and richly stocked, with some volumes so rare they were one-of-a-kind: copies passed down through Malfoy generations that even Hogwarts's own library could not boast. Beyond that, one of Lucius's private hobbies was acquiring strange and unusual ancient volumes through certain "special channels"—most of them sourced from fallen wizarding families, or even from those of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
These families, with their ancient traditions, had each possessed unique heritages and secrets. It would have been a tremendous loss for such things to simply vanish, and so the Malfoys had always been keen to acquire them.
Draco felt both gratified and daunted when faced with the library's sheer enormity.
Searching through such a vast number of books was clearly beyond his capabilities alone. He spent the entire morning at it without success, and finally snapped his fingers in frustration.
Dobby the house-elf appeared before him, wearing a tattered, grimy pillowcase and blinking his large, protruding eyes. He bowed low and said in his high-pitched voice, "My esteemed master, is there anything Dobby can do for you?"
To Draco's own surprise, the house-elf that had answered the summons was Dobby. The sight of him stirred something complicated in Draco—a flicker of memories from his other life, surfacing and retreating like shadows.
Given his current wretched state, no one could have imagined that this pitiful creature would one day forge a bond of life and death with Harry Potter. Draco regarded him with an unreadable expression.
Malfoy Manor had many house-elves, but Draco held a particularly vivid impression of this one.
In his previous life, Dobby had broken from the Malfoys at the end of Draco's second year. Most house-elves took pride in serving a wizarding family, but Dobby had been unwilling to accept that "honour," craving freedom—and desperately eager to receive a piece of clothing.
For many years afterward, no one had known where he had gone or what had become of him. His father had never spoken of it, as though the matter were too shameful to acknowledge.
When Draco encountered Dobby again, he had been entirely transformed. Gone was the slovenly, miserable creature; in his place stood a house-elf in a peculiar assortment of mismatched garments, who had led Potter and his companions to safety from Malfoy Manor itself. He had become one of Potter's most devoted allies.
Draco studied him, his mind running swiftly through a series of calculations. Managing Dobby was going to be a significant problem.
Dobby had served the Malfoys for years, and simply presenting him with a piece of clothing and sending him away was not the wisest course of action. A dismissed house-elf could expose years' worth of Malfoy secrets, and anyone might exploit that knowledge to strike at the family from behind.
Thank Merlin that in his past life, Dobby had only come to the Manor to rescue people and had not done anything truly damaging beyond that—that was already a stroke of luck amid misfortune.
Still, there was no guarantee that in the years ahead Dobby might not exploit his knowledge of the family to cause mischief for his former masters.
Draco, as a thoroughgoing Slytherin, utterly despised unnecessary risk. In this lifetime, he would not allow Dobby any opportunity to betray the family and bring further risk upon them.
He knew his father did not get along with the house-elf, and he wanted to manage the situation himself. His father's harsh treatment of house-elves had clearly been counterproductive, even serving to provoke Dobby's rebellious streak. Draco intended to try a different approach: without compromising the Malfoy family's interests, he was prepared to offer Dobby a small, carefully measured reward to secure his loyalty.
"Sit down." Draco had settled on a conciliatory approach. He inclined his head toward the armchair beside him and gestured for Dobby to take a seat.
"Sit—sit down?" Dobby burst into tears at the unprecedented consideration in his young master's voice, startling Draco considerably.
"The master never made Dobby sit down—as an equal—" He seemed entirely overcome, and let out a sudden, wrenching sob.
Draco did his best to arrange his expression into something soothing and whispered "Shh" to coax him into actually sitting.
Dobby settled hesitantly on the very edge of the armchair, not daring so much as to lean back. He perched there like an oversized, misshapen doll, his great bat-like ears drooping with unease, his enormous eyes brimming with tears as he gazed at Draco, still muttering and sniffling softly.
Draco felt a powerful aversion rising within him. How could there exist a house-elf so loud, so prone to overreaction, so utterly without tact? He drew a careful breath and silently reminded himself that this was not the moment to reveal his feelings, and forced his expression into something resembling warmth.
"Dobby, I asked you here because I need your help," Draco said, keeping his voice gentle.
"Help!" Dobby was so moved by the gentle tone that he let out another piercing squeal. "Dobby would do anything for his masters! And the young master asks for Dobby's help!" He wiped his face on a corner of his grimy, tattered pillowcase.
Merlin's beard, this was dreadful. Draco's face had gone nearly green with revulsion. What appalling taste in clothing. It was a disgrace to the Malfoy household.
"Wipe your hands first. I need you to find every book in this library that has anything to do with Horcruxes." Draco gave the command while Dobby was still settling himself.
"The Horcrux books... The young master commands it... Dobby will find them!" Dobby's expression turned fearful, his whole body trembling at the mere utterance of such dark words. But in that moment, no dark word could move him as much as the unprecedented kindness his young master had shown him, and so he pressed a hand to his narrow chest and made a solemn vow.
"This is to remain a secret between us. Not a word to anyone else," Draco commanded.
Dobby nodded obediently, and in moments was nimbly leaping and bounding about the library, quick fingers flipping through pages.
"What are you doing in here, Draco?" Just then, Lucius pushed open the door and stopped dead at what he saw. He looked immediately displeased.
He had not expected to find a house-elf like Dobby in his magnificent library.
"Look at the state of it." Lucius's expression was one of profound distaste, as though someone had placed dragon dung directly under his nose. "Why isn't this house-elf where it belongs?"
"Father, I asked him here. I'm having some difficulty with my homework and Dobby is looking up references for me," Draco explained, rising from his seat.
Dobby held a large book aloft, blinked his enormous round eyes, and gave Lucius a timid nod. His great ears made a small clicking sound with the motion.
"I wasn't aware you could read," Lucius said, with an expression of mild surprise and not a little haughtiness. "Don't get the books dirty or damaged."
Lucius turned to leave, then appeared to remember something. He narrowed his eyes and addressed Dobby coldly: "You little wretch—serve Draco properly. If you dare make a single mistake, you know perfectly well what I'll do."
The house-elf nodded with visible anxiety. He watched Lucius's departing figure with wide, haunted eyes and whimpered twice, as though in the grip of some painful memory.
"No offence, Dobby, but you really should change your clothing." Draco grimaced. Lucius's "wretch" had rather hit the mark.
Dobby's attire was entirely out of keeping with the Malfoy household. Narcissa's house-elves were all dressed beautifully and impeccably, as befitted the Manor. House-elves as listless and haphazardly turned out as Dobby were a rare sight indeed—small wonder Lucius had greeted him with barely concealed contempt.
"The master—the master cares about Dobby!" A large book slipped from Dobby's hands and struck the floor with a resonant thud, earning a sharp look of alarm from Draco.
"Bad Dobby, Dobby dropped the book!" Dobby frantically began slamming his head against the nearest bookshelf, which did nothing to ease Draco's alarm—if anything, he was more worried about the books on the shelves rattling with each impact, certain they would be shaken loose and damaged.
"Stop, Dobby!" Draco said sharply.
"Thank you, young master." Dobby ceased his self-punishment and stood there, panting.
"Don't damage any of the books. What you're looking for won't be found quickly—I know that. Keep at it, and bring whatever you find to me at once." Draco kept his instructions brisk, eager to leave the study before Dobby could work himself into another bout of self-flagellation that might endanger the very volumes they needed.
"One more thing." Draco tossed Dobby a Galleon. Dobby caught it in shock, his eyes going very wide.
"This is your wage for working on my behalf. Use it to buy yourself some decent clothing. And remember—I am not giving you clothes. You will be purchasing them yourself." Draco told the dumbstruck house-elf, and then made his exit from the study with all due haste.
He was well aware that house-elves were only freed when their masters presented them with a garment. He had carefully circumvented the rule by framing it as a wage.
"Master pays Dobby a wage! Master pays Dobby a wage!" Dobby stood stunned for a long moment, then let out a shriek of pure joy, tears of happiness streaming freely down his face.
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Side Story Three: The Detestable Dobby (Lucius's Perspective)
Lucius Malfoy had an innate aversion to anything overly emotional.
The house-elf he despised above all others was Dobby. Dobby was perpetually dirty, endlessly clumsy, and prone to screaming at the slightest provocation. He was a disgrace to the Malfoy name.
In his younger, more impetuous days, Lucius had even considered discarding the creature entirely. But out of a need to protect the Manor's secrets, his father had advised him that Dobby ought to remain at Malfoy Manor until the end of his days.
And so, once Lucius became head of the Malfoy family, Dobby was consigned to the Manor's basement, assigned the dreariest kitchen duties imaginable.
"Never appear before us unless summoned," he had told Dobby coldly.
Lucius had never imagined he would have cause to see Dobby again. That nightmarish squeal had entirely ruined his good mood that morning.
He strode into the study to find his son directing Dobby to search through a book—apparently looking something up.
Hmph. First-year knowledge, and yet rather than ask his own father, the boy turns to a scruffy house-elf. What a foolish child.
Lucius glanced sideways at his son's platinum-blond head, gripped his cane a little more tightly, and resisted the sudden, inexplicable urge to ruffle the boy's hair.
Aggravating as Dobby was, however, his magical ability was considered above average among house-elves—sufficient, at least, to protect Draco.
Draco was nearly twelve. It was time for him to have a personal house-elf.
Though Lucius could not say he approved of his son's taste, he could afford the cost of this particular experiment.
That evening, he summoned Dobby, regarded him with unconcealed distaste, and found himself no closer to understanding his son's peculiar preference.
"From now on, you are Draco's personal house-elf. You are to be at his beck and call, do whatever he asks of you, and protect him until the last day of your life."
Unusually, Dobby did not cry or whine. Instead, he bowed deeply, pressing his great ears flat against the carpet, and said cheerfully, "Yes, Master."
"Swear to me. Never betray this family, obey your orders, and protect Draco Malfoy with all your might," Lucius said coldly.
"I swear," the little elf repeated timidly.
Lucius nodded in satisfaction. With a sharp crack, Dobby vanished into the silent air.
Assigning Draco a house-elf might prove a useful exercise for the boy. He should come to understand that house-elves were not as entertaining as they seemed—that even in choosing a servant, one must adhere to the principle of caution.
In all likelihood, within a few days Draco would be in tears, begging to send Dobby back.
Lucius rolled his eyes in disgust at the empty room.