When Dobby woke up, the first thing he saw was a vast blue sky. He found himself lying on a patch of soft grass. Shaking his head to clear it, he sat up and looked around. Not far away, a large blue bird stood watching him, tilting its head curiously. The surroundings appeared to be an endless grassland beneath the bright blue sky. However, something unusual caught his eye — a solitary door standing upright in the middle of the field, looking completely out of place.
"Crack!" The sudden sound startled Dobby. The mysterious door opened, and a young wizard stepped through. Dobby's eyes widened in terror.
"Uh! It's... it's you..." he stammered, trembling as he recognized Blake. To Dobby, this boy seemed far scarier than even Professor Dumbledore.
"Woke up?" Blake asked, his tone calm.
"Dobby... Is Dobby going to die?" Dobby asked fearfully, hunching over.
"Die? No... why would we kill you?" Blake replied with a slight smile, producing two stools from thin air. He placed them on the grass. "Please, sit down, Dobby. Let's talk."
Dobby blinked in surprise. "O... Dobby... please sit down?" he repeated, astonished. To a house-elf like him, hearing the word "please" from a wizard was deeply unusual. For a moment, Dobby's fear ebbed. He hesitated, then clambered up onto the high stool in front of him.
"Would you like some tea?" Blake offered.
"Uh... Dobby... Dobby no..." he began, but before he could refuse, a steaming cup of black tea appeared in his hands.
Overwhelmed, Dobby began to cry. Large tears streamed down his face, his hands trembling so much he almost dropped the cup. "Dobby... Dobby... ooooooo!"
Blake sighed. "Why are you crying? It's hard to have a conversation like this."
He had, in fact, secretly probed Dobby's soul while the house-elf was unconscious. Blake wasn't looking to read memories but was curious about why house-elves seemed so bound to their masters. Was it magic or something else? What he found shocked him. It wasn't magic at all but a deeply ingrained form of brainwashing passed down through generations. This programming made house-elves believe serving wizards was their only purpose. However, rare exceptions like Dobby existed, elves who began to question this ingrained loyalty.
Once Dobby calmed down, Blake began to speak. "I called you here to tell you something important," he said. "We know about the Chamber of Secrets and have completely dealt with the problem."
Dobby's eyes widened in shock.
"For certain reasons, this hasn't been made public," Blake continued. "But during the Halloween break, we destroyed the monster in the Chamber. It's over now."
"The monster?" Dobby whispered.
"It was a basilisk," Blake explained. "It's dead now. So, you don't need to save Harry Potter anymore. If you keep interfering, you might put him in more danger."
Dobby's face lit up with joy. "That's... that's wonderful! Harry Potter doesn't have to leave Hogwarts! He doesn't have to be in danger! Thank you, great sir! Dobby knew it must have been you and Professor Dumbledore who saved everyone!"
It took some time for Blake to calm Dobby down.
"Now that you know, you can go back," Blake said gently.
"Can... Dobby go back?" Dobby's expression fell. There was no joy in his eyes at the thought.
"What's wrong? Don't you want to return to your master?"
"Dobby... Dobby..." Dobby's voice broke. "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!" He began to harm himself, but Blake quickly intervened, holding him down.
"You're a special elf, Dobby," Blake said, pressing a small vial into his hands. "If one day you decide to follow your heart and break free, drink this. But be warned: there's a 50% chance it will kill you. The other 50% might give you the freedom you desire. The choice will be yours."
Dobby stared at the vial in shock. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he whispered, "Before Dobby leaves... may Dobby visit Harry Potter one last time?"
The next morning, Harry Potter was discharged from the hospital wing. The bones in his arm had regrown thanks to Madam Pomfrey and Skele-Gro, though his arm still felt stiff. He was grateful his arm had been saved, but his anger toward Gilderoy Lockhart was at an all-time high. The incompetent professor's spell had almost cost Harry his arm.
As Harry entered the Great Hall for breakfast, Draco Malfoy's voice rang out.
"Scarhead! You got lucky this time!" Malfoy sneered.
Harry smirked. "Lucky? No, Draco. Someone else was just stupid." He raised his arm mockingly. "Oh, and weren't you the one holding the Golden Snitch at the time?"
Malfoy's face turned pale. His mistake during the Quidditch match had cost Slytherin dearly, and his housemates weren't letting him forget it.
Fuming, Malfoy snapped, "Scarhead! I challenge you to a duel!"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "A duel? Are you sure? Your goons aren't here to back you up."
Before things could escalate further, a familiar, pompous voice interrupted them.
"A duel? Did someone mention a duel?" Gilderoy Lockhart appeared, grinning. "Why, you won't find a better duelist than me! Perhaps I can offer some advice."
Harry clenched his fists, trying to suppress his irritation. Lockhart's presence was insufferable, and Harry knew the duel wouldn't happen now. Lockhart's meddling had ruined the moment.
"Oh, Harry! How is your arm?" Lockhart continued. "You don't need to thank me for my quick thinking yesterday. It was my pleasure to assist."
Harry could barely contain his frustration. "If you hadn't interfered, I wouldn't have needed assistance in the first place," he muttered under his breath.
As Lockhart prattled on, Harry suddenly had an idea. "Professor Lockhart," he said sweetly, "if you're so skilled at dueling, why not apply to lead the Dueling Club? It's been without a proper instructor since last year."
Lockhart's eyes lit up. "The Dueling Club? Me, the instructor? Of course, Harry! What a splendid idea! Your eagerness to learn from me is touching. I'll take charge immediately!"
As Lockhart hurried off to make arrangements, Harry allowed himself a small smile. He knew exactly what would happen when Lockhart crossed paths with Blake, the president of the Dueling Club. This was going to be interesting.
By Friday evening, the Dueling Club's meeting room was buzzing with excitement. Word had spread that a new instructor would be joining them. Most students were eager to see who it was, but Blake was anything but thrilled.
"Senior Penelope," Blake said, frowning. "Didn't we agree to ask Professor Flitwick to be the advisor? He's a former dueling champion!"
Penelope sighed. "We did, but Professor Flitwick is busy right now. He'll join us later. And... Professor Dumbledore approved Lockhart in the meantime."
Blake groaned. "Lockhart? Seriously? Does Dumbledore even know what he's doing?"
Penelope shrugged. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has his reasons. Anyway, you'd better prepare for tonight. You'll need to duel him as part of the demonstration."
Blake sighed deeply. "Fine. But if he's as bad as I think he is, I might accidentally knock him out."
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