What Lies Ahead

Ten

Ding...Ding...Ding...Ding...Ding... The soft chime of a clock striking five floated down from somewhere upstairs, echoing eerily throughout the cellar. Each ding would fill the small space and then slowly fade only to be replaced by the next strike of the bell.  The only other sound in the room was the stuffy wheezing of the boy who was curled into a ball on the stone floor.

Harry lay on his side, his bloodied back facing the door. It had been several hours since he had been left alone with only his self-pity to keep him company, but in those hours he had accomplished many things. First, he had managed to find the strength to throw one hell of a tantrum. All the pain that had at first accompanied his movements was lost as he swung the plate of sandwiches against the wooden door that led up into the kitchen. He had then proceeded to yell vulgarities at the door as his fists pounded against the unforgiving frame. He screamed until his chest and throat hurt, but no one answered. Exhausted and in complete agony, he had collapsed back to the floor in defeat.

It was then that his real emotions took over. This was his last moments on earth; in just a few short hours it would all be over. The thought had sat heavily on his mind for a while, burrowing it's way deep into every crevice until it consumed him completely. He fell apart like a small child, crying uncontrollably as the weight of what he was facing sank in.

Perhaps worse than the realization that he was about to die was the unknowns that surrounded it. Would it be quick? Would it be just him and Voldemort? Would he be paraded around like a show pony for everyone's enjoyment? Would he be put through more torture for everyone to see? The very idea of being hurt again made his stomach twist into a tight knot.

Sometime later, after all of his tears were gone and only the puffy eyes and stuffy nose remained, he fell into a fitful sleep. He dreamed he was standing on a platform, a crowd of masked people stood below him, jeering and pointing as he trembled. He turned to run only to find Voldemort standing behind him, that callous smile welcoming him. He said nothing as a wand was raised to point directly between his eyes; the other hand coming slowly up to rest against Harry's cheek.

Harry awoke with a start, his heart hammering in his dry throat and his extremities tingling. He kept his eyes clenched tight as he reminded himself that it was only a dream, he was still alive…for now. However, the weight on his cheek remained, but it was smaller with thin fingers.

Opening his eyes, Harry was startled to see Dobby's wide brown eyes peering frightfully down at him. His thin lips broke into a small smile under his long nose when he saw Harry was awake. He scurried backward a few paces, hands wringing nervously in his pillowcase tunic and eyes darting sporadically to the door.

"H-Harry Potter we m-must hurry," Dobby stammered.

"Dobby? What are you doing down here?" Harry hissed sitting up despite the burning heat that pulled freshly at his wounds. A sharp pain pulled at his side, stealing his breath, and he was almost certain there were a few broken ribs. He looked to the door and then back to the house-elf shuffling before him.

"Dobby is saving Harry Potter. Dobby is getting Harry Potter out of here." With this, the house-elf grabbed one of his droopy ears and began to twist it violently.

Harry, who had seen this behavior before, quickly snatched Dobby's small hands and held them in his own, keeping him from hurting himself further. Dobby muttered frantically under his breath and Harry caught words like, "traitor" and "punished".

"Dobby I can't let you do this," whispered Harry. "They'll know it was you that helped me and they'll…"

"But Dobby must, sir. Dobby hears what is to happen to Harry Potter tonight. Bad things, sir, and Dobby can't let them do it."

Harry felt his mouth go dry. "W-what are they planning?"

"Terrible things, sir. Please don't make Dobby repeat them. Master has Dobby making a meal for several peoples and there has been talks of horrible things."

A coldness swept through Harry, and he shuddered against his growing fears. So they did plan on making a show of his death. Despite his trembling lips, Harry gave Dobby a shake of his head, hands tightening to keep him from pulling free.

"Dobby, there's nothing you can do. Go back upstairs."

"Noooo," the house-elf wailed, eyes turning to the door as they began to fill with sparkling tears. He turned back to Harry and tossed his head from side to side, ears swinging wildly. "No, no, no."

Without hesitation, and to keep Dobby from making any more of a scene, Harry pulled him into a hug, pressing his small body tightly against his own. He felt the familiar prickle of tears rising to his eyes, and he blinked at the ceiling to keep them at bay.

"Thank you, Dobby. Thank you for trying to warn me this year." He clenched his eyes closed and the tears began to leak down his cheeks silently. "I'm so sorry I didn't listen to you."

He held him tighter, and after a second he felt the house-elf go still, all struggling ceasing. Small hands rested lightly on his back just above the whelps and gashes. Harry's lips pulled into a smile as he held back the flood of emotions fighting to break free like water building behind a dam. The small hand balled into a fist behind him, clutching at the little fabric that was left of his shirt, and the other was pulled away. There was a snap of fingers followed by a loud crack and Harry felt himself being pulled off the stone floor as he twisted away into darkness.

With a soft thump, Harry was deposited onto a polished hardwood floor still clutching the house-elf in his arms. A series of noises erupted behind him; screeching chair legs, hurried footsteps, a gasp of "Harry!"

Harry spared a quick glance for his surroundings finding the Headmaster's office glowing in the golden warmth of the fading sun. Professor Dumbledore had rounded his desk but Harry turned his attention back to Dobby who was fighting frantically once more to break free from his grasp. The house-elf swung his head wildly, trying helplessly to connect it with any solid object in sight.

"Bad, Dobby," he hissed to himself, propelling himself backward in an attempt to throw himself to the floor.

"Dobby stop, please," Harry pleaded, struggling to keep his grip on the fragile wrists between his hands. He had seen Dobby punish himself before but never like this; nothing like this.

"Dobby… must… go… back!"

"You can't, Dobby. Please just listen."

Despite Harry's tight grip, Dobby broke free and tumbled back out of arm's reach. For a minute he was calm, his crazed attempts at self-harm forgotten; instead, he gave Harry a thoughtful look and then a small smile.

"Goodbye, Harry Potter."

"NO, DOBBY!"

Harry lunged forward, hand outstretched in a desperate attempt to tackle Dobby to the ground; to hold him there and make him understand. He grabbed thin air and crashed to the floor on his hands and knees where Dobby had been standing.  Fist clenched, Harry dropped his forehead to the cool hardwood and took in several deep breaths, battling for control over his raging emotions. Dobby was gone.

"Harry?"

He felt Professor Dumbledore kneel beside him, a hand coming to rest lightly between his shoulder blades. There was a hesitation in his touch as if he were unsure how much damage a simple pat would do.

A wall broke inside him and every ounce of agony he'd felt flooded through his veins, filling him entirely with overwhelming grief. He pounded his fist in unison against the floor as his chest began to heave out the uncontrollable sobs. This wasn't fair!

"They'll kill him," he choked out between ragged cries, praying that Dumbledore would contradict him.

"Harry there's nothing you can do," Dumbledore replied softly and Harry was shocked to hear the sorrow in his voice.

"There has to be something..." He was pleading, begging for a miracle. Part of him knew it was hopeless, but the other part was blind with denial.

"I'm sorry, Harry. Dobby knew what he would face if he saved you. To him, you were worth it."