Sophia Holmes and the Search for Horcruxes (Harry Potter Fanfic) *Completed*

Chapter Four

"What the hell was that?" I ask, once the thing had gone.

"A house elf," Hermione explains, bitterly. "Magical creatures enslaved to rich wizarding families."

I look to Harry in disbelief and he puts his hands up. "If it makes you feel any better, I didn't want him. I inherited him from my godfather's family."

"Well as soon as this is over, you're freeing him," Hermione says before heading into the living room.

The house-elf doesn't return for a long time, so we spend the rest of the day in the living room. I take the time to read more of Hermione's books while Ron fiddles with the radio in order to find a signal. After a time, Hermione comes over and starts explaining their story, while Harry plays around with a small winged object which, according to Quiddich Through the Ages, is called a Golden Snitch.

"They have flesh memories," Hermione says, looking over to him once she's finished explaining everything to me. Harry looks up, and she continues. "Snitches. They’re never touched by bare skin until the Seeker captures it. Even the wizard who fabricates it wears gloves. That way, if there’s a dispute, the Snitch can identify who first touched it."

"You mean... it remembers me?" Harry asks and Hermione nods.

"When Scrimgeour first gave it to you, I thought it might open at your touch - that Dumbledore had hidden something in it."

Harry looks back at the small Snitch in his hand as its wings flap slowly, but before he has chance to tey anything, there is another Crack! from the kitchen.

We sprint over and watch two small shadows dancing furiously ovwr the far wall as pots crash. Suddenly, a tiny figure, wet and ragged, tumbles into view and bangs into the wall opposite before scrambling up. Though I would deduce this creature is also a house-elf, it's not Kreacher. As he starts back for the kitchen, he stops and sees us before breaking out into a smile. "Harry Potter! So long it’s been -" Before he can finish, a small hand reaches out, grabbing the house-elf by the neck and before pulling him away.
Suddenly, the two house-elves and a man tumble into the kitchen. As they fly apart, the human - Mundungus Fletcher - rolls to his feet, dripping wet, wand flashing.

"Expelliarmus!" Hermione says quickly, and the wizard's wand soars into the air and into her open palm.

"As requested," Kreacher says, "Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher!"

"Dobby has also returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher!" the second house-elf says.

"What are you playing at - setting a pair of bleedin’ ‘ouse-elves on me!" Fletcher demands.

"Dobby was only trying to help!" Dobby says, innocently. "Dobby saw Kreacher in Diagon Alley, which Dobby thought was curious. And then Dobby heard Kreacher mention Harry Potter’s name, which Dobby thought was very curious. And then Dobby saw that Kreacher was talking to the thief Mundungus Fletcher, which Dobby thought was very, very -"

"I’m no thief, you foul little git," Fletcher growls. "I’m a purveyer of rare and wondrous objects -"

"You’re a thief, Dung," Ron says from behind us, joining us. "Everyone knows it."

Dobby smiles. "Master Weasley! So good to see you again!"

Ron nods and eyes the bright red shoes on Dobby’s feet. "Wicked trainers." Though the house-elf is dressed in the same, ragged outfit as Kreacher, he is also wearing a pair of children's trainers which I find slightly odd.

"Listen, I panicked that night, all right?" Fletcher cries, looking at Harry. "I never volunteered to die for you, mate. Can I help it if
Mad-Eye fell off his broom -"

"Stop lying!" Hermione says, beginning to move forward, but Ron reaches out and takes her by the shoulders, eyeing Mundungus warningly.

"Piece of advice. Let’s not rehash old times. Got it... mate?"

"When you turned this place over - don’t deny it! - you found a locket, am I right?" Harry asks.

"Why?" Fletcher grins. "Was it valuable?"

"You’ve still got it," Hermione breathes.

"No," I correct. "He’s worried he should have got more money for it."

"Wouldn’t be difficult, would it?" He cries. "Bleedin’ gave it away, din’ I? 
There I was, pitching me wares in Diagon Alley when some ministry hag comes up and asks to see my license.  Says she’s of a mind to lock me up and would’ve, too, she hadn’ taken a fancy to that locket."

"Who was she?" Harry asks. "This witch?"

"Well," he says, starting to explain before he catches sight of a towering stack of newspapers. "She’s right there, in’t she? Bleedin’ bow an’ all." He points to the front page of the yellowed newspaper and the trio look over before exchanging a knowing look between them.