Edge Of Gravity

“Am I going to have to rewash every dish you ‘clean’ Longbottom, or are you planning on just letting the dishes to grow arms and legs to wash themselves?” Severus snapped as he bent to re-clean another dish.

“Perhaps I am, Severus.” Neville smirked, feeling a warm bubble form in his stomach.

“The dishes would have long ago abandoned you, if not for my re-cleaning.” The potions master sneered, replacing another dish in the cupboard. “Between Dobby and yourself, I am lucky to still have a home.”

“Dobby is going to bed, sirs.”

Neville smiled down at the small elf, watching as he shuffled past. “Goodnight Dobby.”

He turned back to the sink, knowing Snape would watch the small house elf till he exited the room. The poor creature had fallen ill twice in the last month, which had worried both Snape and himself. They could not lose him.

If it had not been for Severus, the elf would have died. Snape had spent days on end by the elf’s sick bed, nursing him with his potions and keeping Dobby cool to decrease the fever that over took him several times. When the elf had recovered, he had sneered at him, saying that he had only nursed him back to health because he would not tolerate another meal from Longbottom.

“Perhaps one of us should watch him tonight, I think he pushed himself today.”

Neville knew that Snape had been worried about the elf today. Their tiny friend had run himself ragged with the chores he said needed to be done, though they all knew it was more for the sake of keep himself busy and masking the newest, and most telling, of manifestations in the creature’s physical condition; a slight tremor of his hands that was beginning to become common-place. Neither himself nor the potions master had remarked upon it, hoping to leave the elf with the few scraps of dignity he had left but it was only a matter of time.

“I need to brew a fresh batch of potions for the fool, he told me tonight that he had run out again.” Snape turned on his heels, his steps as fluid as they had been all those years ago when he’d attended Hogwarts. “I will come and check on him in a hours time. I would not want your incompetence to kill my servant, Longbottom.”

“Yes, Professor.” Neville grinned, as he glided from the room with a swish. Snape would probably be up half the night brewing the potion, it had to be stirred twice every half an hour counter clockwise or it would curdle and become an unsavory shade of green.

Dobby would not ask for the potion if he knew that only ten days of it took nearly six hours to brew, but Snape had kept that a secret by only brewing after he had retired to bed. When he had mentioned the fact of his kindness four months ago, after his return, Snape had informed him in his most snaky voice that potions were best brew in the moonlight and he would of knew that if he bothered to pay attention during potions. He had never known a better welcome home.

Dobby was probably fast asleep by now, Neville thought to himself, as he replaced the final dish. He could slip in unnoticed, without scaring the little house elf as he had done only once before. A mistake he would’ve given anything to take away, when he saw Dobby flashing back into the past. The only hint of what he had been through, and still sometimes haunted those large goggle like eyes.

“NO! Dobby has been quiet, he barely breaths. Dobby has even punished himself for speaking, sirs!” The high pitch squeal had ripped through the quiet mansion, breaking the silence that had settled in a nice nook for the night. “Dobby has been good.”

“Dobby, it’s okay. It’s Neville.”

“NO! Dobby has been good, he has done everything Master Malfoy has asked of him!” Dobby shrieked from the corner of the room, trying to pull himself into a tighter ball. “Dobby has been good.”

“LONGBOTTOM!” Snape’s voice was shrill as he pushed past him, his eyes held all the hate he had feared through the years of his Hogwarts life. “What happened?”

“I…I…” The words would not come as he saw the poor creature cower in the corner of the room. “I just came into the room.”

Snape eyes burned into him before he turned on his heels. “Get out.” The man had hissed, pulling several vials from his robe. “OUT LONGBOTTOM!”

Neville slowly pushed against the large door, thanking himself for putting a silencing charm on it. “Dobby.” He whispered, making sure that he would know he was entering just in case he was still awake.

The room was small, with only four possessions that Snape had insisted that Dobby possess. A small lumination lamp that remained lit at all times, a small mattress that Dobby refused to allow a frame for, a woolen blanket, and a small box that would contain his potions. Neville shuffled forward, as the soft wheezed of the elf whispered through the room.

Dobby was curled under the blanket, clutching the excess of it to his chest. His eyes were squeezed shut, as if he was trying to hide from something. It was a expression that Dobby had wore since the nightmares had fallen away from Snape spiked medicine.

“Mmmm.” The house elf moaned, pulling himself into a tighter ball. His face was scrunched as he whimpered into his thin arms. “Dobby is good.”

Neville felt a sadness seep into him as he watched the tortured elf twitch, shaking hands gripping the blanket to his chest.

“Yes, Dobby is good.” Neville whispered, taking soft steps forward. He was thankful for the gracefully movements his body had taken on since he was student, fore he would of surely fallen on the defenseless Dobby if not. “Dobby is very good.”

“Dobby is good.” Dobby whimpered, his sleeping voice full of tears.

“Yes.” Neville knelt beside the small child sized bed, his hand gently touching the wide head. “Dobby is good.” He would have never have dreamed petting a house elf when he was younger, he thought they would surely have taken it as a insult but Dobby had taken to it when he was ill. Sometimes he thought that the gentle petting was the only thing that kept him alive. “Dobby is very very good.”


Neville let his fingers trace over the large head, watching as Dobby’s shaking slowed and face fell into tightly squeezed eyes. A depressed smile settled on his lips, as he let his fingers lift from the gray skin. He should probably offer to help Snape with his potions; Dobby must have been out for much longer then today. The potion would have not allow dreams to enter the poor elf’s mind for three days after ingestion.

“Longbottom.” Snape’s voice hissed from the door of Dobby’s room, making Neville smirk to himself. His former professor always seemed to know his mind before even he did.

“Yes?” He whispered, moving to his feet with enough grace to impress even the master of such. His eyes thinned as he saw the weakened slump of Snape‘s shoulder. “Severus?”

Snape face was tight, bony fingers clutching so tightly to his arm they were white. “The Master is calling.”