The Light in the Dark | Neville Longbottom

Chapter 97: Dobby

*CW: Violence*

I covered my mouth with my hands, trying to muffle my cries. I remembered the day I met Dobby. Of course, he was around before my birth — or really when I was given to the Malfoys —, but I didn't have any recollection of him of that time. I just remembered him appearing one day when I was three years old, deeming that as the day we met. I had spilled a package of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and Dobby came over to help me clean it before Lucius saw the mess.

I grew up with Dobby. He was a major part of my childhood. And even after his departure, he still had a significant impact on my life. If it wasn't for that house elf, Draco and I wouldn't have had the hearts we had today — and that was saying something, considering Draco was a heartless bitch. We talked about everything with Dobby. And even though Draco would've never admitted it out loud, we cried to him too.

And here he lay outside of Shell Cottage in the hands of Harry Potter... dead... dead because of Bellatrix Lestrange. The same woman who killed the last house elf I had remotely any attachment to: Bipsey. With both gone... really gone... it felt as though my childhood had ended. Dobby was the last attachment I had to my life pre-Bellatrix. And now that he was gone, it all just felt like a lost memory.

"DOBBY!" Harry screamed in anguish, "DOBBY, NO! PLEASE NO! RON, PLEASE HELP ME!"

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, HARRY!" Ron cried, clutching Hermione even tighter, "'MIONE'S UNCONSCIOUS AND BARELY BREATHING! I'M SORRY! I CAN'T HELP YOU!"

Harry's head fell to the elf's limp body, "FUCK!"

Dean and Luna rushed towards the three, hoping to help, but Harry screamed at them to leave him alone. Through blurred teary eyes, I watched Dean and Luna help Ron carry Hermione towards Shell Cottage. I also watched Harry, wondering whether he'd follow them. Neither Ron nor Harry knew that I was waiting for them in the house... nor did Ron know that I was even at Malfoy Manor — Harry was the only one who saw me. I almost didn't want Harry to see me, considering he reacted the worst when he saw my dark mark. Not to mention, Dobby had just died, making him even more of an emotional mess.

"There's an extra bedroom upstairs," Dean announced as the door to Shell Cottage opened, "We'll put her in there and — HEY, FLEUR, BILL, WE NEED SOME HELP — and let her rest."

As Ron and Hermione entered the house, I examined their appearances more closely. Like Ron had said, Hermione was unconscious and barely breathing. Fresh blood dripped from her arm, and there were nicks along her throat — identical to the ones my mother gave me two years ago with the same dagger that killed Dobby. Apart from the cuts, Hermione's appearance was awful. Her hair was knotted and gross. Her skin was covered in filth and grime, like she hadn't showered in weeks. She also wore the same clothes that she wore the day I left. Ron was the same. His ginger hair had grown out to his shoulders and was knotted and gross. His skin was also covered in filth, and he had sprouted a small beard and mustache. And like Hermione, he also wore the same clothes that he wore the day I left.

I didn't know how long they had been on the run for; probably a while, considering their appearances. They probably felt unsafe setting up camp knowing that I was "on Voldemort's side" or what not. I didn't even want to imagine the looks on their faces if they ever found the Potterwatch radio station or sucked up their pride and watched any of the other wizard ones. Because if they knew how many order members and muggleborns I've killed in the past fifty days... that would've only made matters worse.

Ron wiped the sweat from his forehead, "Thank you so much for your help, but I-"

That brief moment of silence had told me that Ron spotted me, prompting me to look away from the window. We made intense eye contact, although I remained calm on the exterior. Ron, however, grew angry fast. Hermione's legs, which he had been carrying, fell to the floor as did his jaw.