Magic? || Years 1-5

Nifflers: Year 4

Sunday morning the four of them raced up to the Owlery after breakfast to send a letter to Percy, and then down to the kitchen to go visit Dobby and give him the socks Harry had given him.

Once again, their greeting from the house-elves was warm and cheerful and accompanied by a mass amount of food and tea.

Dobby was in tears with happiness at Harry's gift. "Harry Potter is too good to Dobby!"

"You saved my life with that gillyweed, Dobby, you really did," Harry replied smiling.

"No chance of more of those eclairs, is there?" Ron asked curiously, looking around at the surrounding plates.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "You've just had breakfast!"

But before the words left her mouth platters were already zooming toward them.

"We should get some stuff to send up to Snuffles," Harry whispered in an undertone.

"Good idea. Give Pig something to do," Ron nodded, speaking around a mouthful of eclair as he turned to the surrounding house-elves. "You couldn't give us a bit of extra food, could you?"

They bowed, racing off to do what he had asked.

"Dobby, where's Winky?" Hermione asked softly.

"Winky is over there by the fire, miss," Dobby's ears drooped, his eyes downcast as he nodded towards the flames.

"Oh dear," Hermione murmured.

Winky was sitting on a stool, covered in soot and dirt except for the clean trails down her cheeks from tears. A bottle of butterbeer was clutched in her hands as she swayed, eyes fixed firmly on the flickering flames.

"Winky is getting through six bottles a day," Dobby explained sadly, his voice very quiet.

"Well, it's not strong, that stuff," Harry protested.

"'Tis strong for a house-elf, sir," Dobby replied, shaking his head.

Winky hiccuped loudly, and the surrounding elves threw her disgruntled looks before returning to work.

"Winky is pining, Harry Potter. Winky wants to go home. Winky still thinks Mr. Crouch, is her master, sir, and nothing Dobby says will persuade her that Professor Dumbledore is her master now," Dobby sighed.

"Hey, Winky, you don't know what Mr. Crouch might be up to, do you?" Harry asked gently. "Because he's stopped turning to judge the Triwizard Tournament."

"M -- Master is stopped -- hic -- coming?" Winky asked, still swaying, her speech choppy.

"Yeah, we haven't seen him since the first task. The Daily Prophet's saying he's ill," Harry replied.

Winky swayed again, her eyes going a little foggy as her lip started to tremble, "Master -- hic -- ill?"

"But we're not sure if that's true," Hermione reassured quickly.

"Master is needing his -- hic -- Winky! Master cannot -- hic -- manage -- hic -- all by himself..." Winky whimpered weakly.

"Other people manage to do their own housework, you know, Winky," Hermione pointed out, her voice severe.

"Winky -- hic -- is not only -- hic -- doing housework for Mr. Crouch! Master is -- hic -- trusting Winky with -- hic -- the most important -- hic -- the most secret -- " Winky retorted, spilling butterbeer over her blouse as she swayed yet again.

"What?" Harry pressed.

"Winky keeps -- hic -- her master's secret. You is -- hic -- nosing, you is," Winky scolded, frowning at Harry.