|| Wires || ☆ || Drarry ||

|Chapter Five: Potter the Rotter|

A crowded room.

That was what surrounded Harry.

A room crowded with those who cared about him, worrying about the state he was in as Madam Pomfrey started making a Skele gro potion in the corner of the room.

"Honestly, that git couldn't be more of a more of a- a git!" Ron spoke with rage in his voice. He was referring to Lockhart. "Still gonna defend Lockhart after this one? Hermione?" George spoke in a mockingly flat tone of voice.

Hermione's ears flushed a baby pink colour but she refused to answer, choosing instead to take a pillow from the bed beside Harry to prop it behind his head to support him more and provide some sense of comfort.

Madam Pomfrey returned with a beige coloured bottle about five inches long. It was shaped like a skeleton, signalling that it was a fresh batch of Skele gro.

"You're in for a rough night, Potter. I can mend bones in a heartbeat, but growing them back? That will take much longer. Never-ever should you ever trust the likes of an unprofessional medical expert to fix what has been broken. Not unless it's a mere broken nose, then Episkey does the trick." She went on, her face turning slightly red from how fast and harsh she was speaking.

She truly cared for the students, which was rare to find.

That night, Harry realised that she was not lying about it being a rough night. He was restless, tossing and turning constantly. Every time he nudged his arm that was growing back bones, a jolt of pain would tickle his whole body, much like the tingle you get when getting a blood test.

He managed to drift off to sleep after a while.

After countless hours of sleep. Harry awoke abruptly in the oppressive darkness, emitting a muffled cry of agony as he realized his arm had increased the pain tenfold.

Initially he had awoken to the sensation of pain in his arm, but, a chilling realization struck him, and someone was pressing a wet sponge on his forehead.

"Who is there? Get off of me!" He exclaimed forcefully. Then, a house elf with tennis ball like eyes appeared before him. A solitary tear tracing a path down it's elongated, pointed nose.

Dobby was back.

"Harry Potter has returned to school despite my warning." Dobby whispered miserably, snot dripping down his cupids bow. "Dobby forewarned Harry Potter, pleaded with him. Oh, sir, why did you not heed Dobby? Why did Harry Potter not return home when he missed the train?" He wailed.

"Why are you here? What do you want?" Harry demanded but suddenly realised what Dobby had said. "And how did you know I missed the train?" Dobby's lip quivered, prompting a sudden suspicion in Harry's mind.

"It was you! You prevented the barrier from allowing me and Ron through to the platform!" He accused in a rage.

"Indeed, yes, sir..." Dobby affirmed, vigorously nodding his head, ears flapping in the gloom. "You nearly jeopardized Ron and me. We were nearly expelled because of you. You best vanish before I gain control of my arm, or I will throttle you." Harry declared vehemently.

Dobby offered a feeble smile. "Dobby is accustomed to death threats, sir. Dobby receives them five times a day at home." He looked away slightly as he spoke.

He then tilted his head and blew his large nose on a corner of the squalid pillowcase draped over him, appearing so pitiful that Harry's anger waned despite himself.

"Why do you wear that nasty thing, Dobby?" he inquired with curiosity, staring at the stained frizzy brown pillow case that smelt damp. Like an unwashed pillow with water damage.