Butterfly Effect ; H. Potter

140. here lies dobby.

"How's Antheia?"

"Much better," said Antheia from behind them. At once, Harry, Ron, and Hermione leapt up, embracing her. "Didn't even hurt that much."

"Don't say that," Harry said breathlessly. "I was going mad."

"Good thing everyone else is here, too, right?" said Antheia. Hermione nodded, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Why're you crying, 'Mione?" asked Antheia, looking worried as tears threatened to spill onto Hermione's face.

"Oh, Antheia, honestly, you scared me!" she cried. "I was so so worried!"

"Aw, you worry about me ..." said Antheia warmly, throwing her arms around Hermione, who smiled. Moments later, the four of them as well as Dean kneeled down by Dobby.

Harry had his retort ready for when they asked him why he had not simply created a perfect grave with his wand, but he did not need it. They jumped down into the hole he had made with spades of their own, and together they worked in silence until the hole seemed deep enough.

"You think I could try to save him?" asked Antheia. Harry shrugged, passing the limp elf to Antheia. She pulled out her wand, "Revirida."

All five of them held their breath. Even after a few seconds of silence, nothing had happened. Harry hung his head. Antheia waved her wand more aggressively.

"It can be a bit tricky," she said, muttering the spell over and over again. "Why isn't it working?"

"Theia, when you tried it on Remus, it worked right away," said Hermione softly. "Dobby ... he's meant to rest."

"We're too young to be burying more than one corpse," said Antheia miserably. Harry wiped her tears carefully.

He wrapped the elf snugly in his jacket. Ron sat on the edge of the grave and stripped off his shoes and socks, which he placed upon the elf's bare feet. Dean produced a woollen hat, which Harry placed carefully upon Dobby's head, muffling his bat-like ears.

"We should close his eyes."

Harry had not heard the others coming through the darkness. Bill was wearing a travelling cloak; Fleur a large, white apron, from the pocket of which protruded a bottle of what Harry recognised to be Skele-Gro. Luna, who was huddled in one of Fleur's coats, crouched down and placed her fingers tenderly upon each of the elf's eyelids, sliding them over his glassy stare.

"There," she said softly. "Now he could be sleeping."

Harry placed the elf into the grave, arranged his tiny limbs so that he might have been resting, then climbed out and gazed for the last time upon the little body. He forced himself not to break down as he remembered Dumbledore's funeral, and the rows and rows of golden chairs, and the Minister for Magic in the front row, the recitation of Dumbledore's achievements, the stateliness of the white marble tomb. He felt that Dobby deserved just as grand a funeral, and yet here the elf lay between bushes in a roughly dug hole.

"I think we ought to say something," piped up Luna. "I'll go first, shall I?"

And as everybody looked at her, she addressed the dead elf at the bottom of the grave.

"Thank you so much, Dobby, for rescuing me from that cellar. It's so unfair that you had to die, when you were so good and brave. I'll always remember what you did for us. I hope you're happy now."

She turned and looked expectantly at Ron, who cleared his throat and said in a thick voice, "Yeah ... thanks Dobby."

"Thanks," muttered Dean.