Draco ruminated on the conversation that had taken place that morning and decided to let things take their course. But instead of heading straight to the potions-making room, he walked back to his room down the marble steps.
He was disturbed by certain details revealed in several letters.
He opened a linden wood inlaid desk—an antique mechanical desk that had once belonged to the King of England a century ago—and deftly pulled out several letters from the corner, rereading them carefully.
Draco,
We have developed a new product: Punching Telescope! However, it still needs improvement; at the very least, we need to find a matching healing ointment—George's eye is still swollen.
We have also improved our Puking Pastilles and plan to add them to our Skiving Snackbox line. A sample and instructions are enclosed—just in case you would like to try them. Fainting Fancies and Fever Fudge are also under development... however, we still believe Nosebleed Nougat will be our most popular product.
We have already let Ron try some Nosebleed Nougat—which stained one of his favourite T-shirts—and he said he "did not really like it." We shall soon have a chance to let Harry try it, since Ron seems to have managed to get invited to our house for the summer holidays through Muggle telephone connections.
Fred & George
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Draco,
Thank you for recommending the book Moste Potente Potions to me. Yes, it was extremely useful; my summer holiday was anything but boring. I think some of the potions in it are quite controversial, but it cannot hurt to learn about them.
Unfortunately, I could not make them like I did at Hogwarts because Professor McGonagall's notice before the holidays forbade us from using magic. Do children from wizarding families also abide by such restrictions?
Also, have you heard from Harry? I sent him letters, but he has not replied to a single one. Maybe I am just being paranoid; I heard his aunt and uncle's family do not like wizards...
Hermione
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Draco,
The suggestion you made in your reply was excellent. We have already sent some samples to students using Owl Post and have received more than a dozen orders.
A good start, is it not?
Zonko jokingly asked if we sold the recipe for Canary Creams, and the answer was, of course, no. However, Zonko offered to provide us with a shelf space to consign our products in their shop, with them taking a commission per item... Do you think this is feasible?
Furthermore, we still have not been able to get Harry to try our product. Ron has written three letters with no response, and we are worried he might have been kidnapped by Muggles.
P.S. Dad has been busy raiding wizards' houses lately, confiscating Dark magic items and such. You had better keep your secrets hidden, young master of the Malfoy family; we do not want to lose one of our major shareholders.
Fred & George
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Draco was silent for a moment, then suddenly snapped his fingers.
"Dobby," he said calmly.
"Young Master! You finally summoned me!" Dobby appeared before Draco with a face full of surprise.
Unsurprisingly, Dobby had changed into a new outfit. He wore a little dress with a picture of coconut groves and island scenery, a navy hat, and clean socks—one white and one blue.
"Did you spend all your salary on new clothes?" Draco asked suspiciously.
He felt a pang of regret—should he have encouraged Dobby's eccentric aesthetic?
"No, Young Master, I only bought a few dozen items!" Dobby said cheerfully. "Dobby only buys the pretty ones!"
I only bought... a few dozen items?
Draco forced himself not to think about what kind of things he had bought.
"Went on a beach holiday?" He patiently examined the outfit on its body, understanding the implication.
"Yes, Young Master! A beautiful seaside town! Dobby has been exploring it for several days and has even eaten fish and chips..." Dobby said happily.
He interrupted Dobby's rambling: "There is something I need you to do right away."
Dobby immediately shut his mouth and looked at Draco, stopping his incessant chatter.
"Go check on Harry Potter at home, see if he is having any trouble. Remember, go invisible, do not speak, do not cast spells, and do not cause him any trouble—" Draco gave the order.
Dobby's eyes widened with excitement; he was thrilled by the mission. As Draco's words escaped his lips, he gradually jumped up and down with glee.
Before Draco could finish speaking, it vanished without a trace.
Dobby, still so impulsive, Draco's face twisted slightly.
This overly excited house-elf had never known what emotional stability was, nor did he know to ask his master if he had any other requests. He sighed at the empty room and then strolled off to the potions-making room to tackle his Mandrake problem.
The timer on the table ticked away. Time slipped by unnoticed as Draco relentlessly battled to create the Mandrake Restorative Draught.
"My Young Master! Harry Potter is being abused by Muggles!" Dobby cried out angrily as soon as he appeared in the potions room, startling his Young Master so much that an extra Mandrake fell into the cauldron.
Inside the cauldron, the potion, which was about to take shape, suddenly took on an eerie colour—this Mandrake Restorative Draught was completely ruined.
Draco rolled his eyes and gave the results of his afternoon's research a thorough "Scourgify."
"Speak properly, Dobby. Do not express meaningless emotions." For a moment, Draco could not tell whether the Mandrake's scream or Dobby's scream would be more deadly.
Dobby nodded sullenly, his big, watery eyes looking at his Young Master, and he pressed his slender fingers together, making a cracking sound.
"They locked his books, wand, robes, cauldron, and his broomstick in a tiny room! Even his owl was caged—it is a blatant violation of his freedom! They made the great Harry Potter do servant work; Dobby really, really wanted to..."
Draco frowned in annoyance.
Although he was mentally prepared, he still did not expect Harry's Muggle relatives to be so annoying—Draco could not stand having his wand confiscated.
Not even for a moment.
Saviour Potter, Saint Potter, that arrogant, ruthless Potter...
Was this the kind of life he used to live? Being bullied and humiliated at will by his ignorant Muggle relatives?
Dobby paused, then said sadly, "Today is Harry Potter's birthday! Dobby saw it all. He was singing 'Happy Birthday' to himself all by himself, and he was being mocked by the Muggle boys. He did not even get a present! It is so pitiful! He is not even as good as Dobby. Dobby gets paid and wears new clothes!" With that, it began to sob and wipe away its tears.
"You let him find you?" Draco asked warily.
"No, Dobby is hiding behind the hedge. Dobby listens to his master!" The little elf said, wiping away his tears as he proudly puffed out his chest.
"What was he doing when you left?" He ignored Dobby's tears and continued to ask.
"The Muggle men are inviting other Muggles over for dinner, and they have locked Harry Potter in his room upstairs! They will not even let him show his face, like he is some kind of scum, like... like Dobby used to be!" Dobby looked at Draco with sad eyes.
"You seem to really like Harry Potter," Draco said thoughtfully, looking at Dobby.
"Harry Potter defeated that bloke whose name you cannot even mention! All the house-elves should thank him!" Dobby said, his eyes brimming with tears. "Dobby understands that feeling. Master does not like Dobby, and he does not allow Dobby to show his face. Before becoming Young Master's personal elf, Dobby had no salary, no gifts, no new clothes... nobody cared about Dobby! Oh, it was so hard!"
It recalled its past and began to sob again, its expression showing extreme sadness because of its past experiences.
Draco looked thoughtfully at the little elf in front of him.
He discovered that Dobby, this house-elf, was more human-like in every way than any other house-elf he had ever known before. The other house-elves all wore the same standard smile, performed their duties flawlessly, and lived quietly in the manor.
It is less about living and more about simply existing.
They showed only two emotions in the presence of their masters: respect, and even greater respect. So much so that Draco had previously assumed they were devoid of any personal joy or sorrow, that it was simply their nature.
In other words, they might not even be as distinctive as Lucius's two Irish Wolfhounds. At least those two Irish Wolfhounds' emotions could be perceived through tail wagging, licking, and barking.
Therefore, Draco's usual attitude towards house-elves was like that of a tool that does housework and never rusts, devoid of any emotion.
In fact, almost all pure-blood wizards view house-elves in this way; it is a common practice.
His mother Narcissa's family, the Black family, went even further, creating an entire wall decorated with the heads of dead house-elves; the Black elves considered it the greatest honour of their lives to "become part of the decoration."
How can you expect Draco, who grew up in this environment, to see house-elves as equals? Or rather, how can you expect any pure-blood wizard raised with traditional thinking to have such a shocking idea?
Therefore, when Dobby, a house-elf with distinct emotions, appeared before pure-blood wizards, he became an anomaly. Just as wood could speak, and stone could sprout.
Without a strong ability to adapt or sufficient psychological preparation, it is really hard to withstand this kind of culture shock.
Dobby was defined by Draco as: a rebellious little elf.
Draco was not sure if he could be considered to have a liking for such an unconventional little elf.
But what does it matter? If we understand its needs, satisfy them, and make it work for us, is that not enough?
He could now roughly understand why Dobby in his previous life had become a staunch supporter of Potter.
It was not just because of Potter's "saviour" aura, but also because they shared a common language—they had the same experience of being ignored and mistreated.
At this moment, Dobby had already begun to weep bitterly for what had happened to him and Harry, and his tears had gathered into a small pool on the carpet.
Merlin! Draco really did not want it to soil the carpet in the potions-making room.
"All right, all right," Draco said, trying to comfort it. "I shall remember to bring you a birthday present."
This statement seemed to have made things worse. Dobby started another round of crying and endless, nagging gratitude towards him.
"Listen, Dobby, blow your nose, or you will get your 'pretty' little clothes dirty." Draco reluctantly complimented its clothes, trying to distract it, but to no avail.
Draco gave up trying to persuade it amidst its whining and whining.
He smacked his lips, thought for a moment, then pulled out a blank piece of parchment from an antique mahogany box on the other side of the wall and quickly wrote a few lines with his peacock feather quill.
He quickly checked his wording, pulled a blank envelope from the gilded crystal envelope holder, folded the parchment in half and put it inside, then casually picked up a brass stamp from the old rosewood sliding box and stamped it with the Malfoy family's unique seal.
"Time is of the essence. I do not have time to send the message by owl. You have to make the trip. If you want to save Harry Potter, stop crying and get to work!" He instructed Dobby sternly. "Take this urgent letter and deliver it alone to his friend, Ron Weasley. Do not let anyone else find out. Be quick! If he asks you about Harry Potter, tell him what you saw. Bring me back a reply immediately if you get one."
Dobby suddenly fell silent. It seemed to have choked, its mouth tightly shut, even the tears that were about to fall were held back in its big eyes.
It picked up the letter with the solemnity of holding a lifeline. Then, the little elf nodded respectfully to its Young Master and immediately disappeared.