“Are you actually trying to dissect me me, or do you have some sort of fixation with blood?” Harry snapped.  Filmore had sliced open another deep gash along his stomach - one to join the growing family of cuts and stabs he'd suffered at the end of the Muggle's blade. The wounds healed almost instantly, but that didn't mean they hurt any less.  

“Bits and bits,” Filmore replied casually, not missing a beat in his fluid sparring motions.

Harry was just barely able to duck beneath the sweeping blade aimed at removing his head.  

“Some bigger than others,” Filmore added as he watched Harry clumsily roll backwards away from him.  Harry was astonishingly quick; Filmore had already acknowledged that, though it only served to emphasize how sloppy he was with his movements. “Not so permanent is the damage to the boy.  What then is wrong with carving out an organ or chopping off a limb?”  

“I just don't think … my training … should double as therapy for your short man's complex.”  Harry huffed out as he defended from Filmore's attacks.

Trynsington pushed his assault and watched Harry plant his back foot firmly to hold ground.  There was no mobility in the stance, something he'd told Harry over and again.  No matter of quickness would spare him from paying the price for his mistake in blood.  Swiftly, Filmore launched a sweeping blow to Harry's left, intentionally missing, but further setting the boy into his stance.  He used the momentum to carry him full circle and plunged the blade forward.  The soft push of flesh signaled pay dirt, though it was well off from the center of Harry's gut where he'd been aiming.  

“Moves like a priest through a brothel.” Filmore smiled, which was creepy. “He's quick on his feet but not so sure how to escape.”  

Harry wasn't really sure if he understood what that meant, or if he really even wanted to.  The pain of steel extracting from his stomach diverted his attention from the quandary.

Filmore watched another spurt of blood spill to the floor. “The wizard must be a little curious though...” He continued to watch as the wound healed before his eyes.  “Cut and heal, cut and heal.  We see it again and again. ...”  

As soon as Harry was back to his feet, Trynsington was back on the attack.  

“Bored with it all already ...” He brought his blade downward at the boy, and their swords connected.  Swiftly he redirected the angle of his blow and began to slide his blade down the length Harry's sword, taking aim past the hilt. “Can he re-grow a limb?” Filmore grunted as he went for the chopping blow.  Harry pulled away before the sword could cut through his wrist.  

“Listen you garden gnome wannabe, quit with that nonsense,” Harry growled in frustration at Filmore.  For a man of his stature he moved like the wind, and seeing a swift, fat man was a sight to behold.  But then add to it that Filmore was far and away stronger, more experienced, and coordinated. It was clear why the floor they stood on was coated in a slippery pool of Harry-blood.

“Really, it's no wonder you've lived in solitude all this years,” Harry said, barely avoiding another striking blow. “He's-got-a-right-sick-sense-of-how-to-treat-a-guest,” he sang, mimicking Filmore in tone.

“Understand it was you who requested this,” Filmore replied curtly.  

“I wanted training.  This is more like an anatomy lesson.”  

“Remarkable how quickly you've learned to protect your weak side.  A wonder how much of that is owed solely to the fact that it's been opened up repeatedly?”  Filmore forced his point by sending a series of slashes and blows to Harry's left side, all of which were blocked.  

“Fair enough, but explain one thing to me.” Harry smirked and then Apparated behind Filmore where he was presented with a fully exposed opponent. He brought the sword in a swift upward motion that ran firmly across the man's back, but it did no damage at all. “Why is it that I get the sword that can't cut through butter?”  

Filmore spun around with a vicious sneer glued to his face and then immediately glanced over his shoulder to confirm there was no injury to his back.  Without looking back forward he took off in a rush at Harry.  The two went toppling to floor, Filmore driving the fall with his shoulder in Harry's abdomen. Harry grunted as the wind was forced out of him.  They stopped with Harry pinned beneath the Muggle. Filmore casually returned to his feet and held his sword at the boy's throat.  “Because not so dead proof am I, moron.”  

Trynsington lifted his sword, turned, and left the room without another word.  

“He's not a very gracious loser,” Slytherin remarked.  

“He's a worse fucking teacher than Snape,” Harry spat as he gathered himself back onto his feet.  

“You learn through practical application. Any teacher worth his weight can see this about you.” 

“Please tell me you're not making an excuse for Snape. I was just starting to believe that ridiculous Slytherin House Bias didn't originate with you.  That greasy bastard, for all intent and purposes, mind raped me for the better portion of a school year.”  

“Perhaps it is a bit excessive, yes. I have to admit, though, I am more than a little curious to see if you can, in fact, re-grow body parts.”

Slytherin may have been incorporeal, but his words dripped with enough sarcasm for Harry to feel the smirk on Salazar's face; it could piss off the Dali Lama.  

“I'd rather you didn't.”

“Perchance an opportunity for a history lesson and practical application in one. Yes, I absolutely must make recompense young sire.”

“What history lesson?” Harry asked.

“A seminar on the genesis of the so-called Slytherin House Bias and its purpose exemplified through the practical application of blood magic on an immortal mixed-blood Gryffindor.”

“From training dummy to test bunny, this is my life,” Harry said in a dry tone.  

“We've all got to be good at something.”

“So, Filmore got to have fun poking holes in me and spilling my blood.  You're feeling a little left out, so you want to start filling me with potions that'll have me spewing that same blood all over the walls.”  Harry paused and looked from the floor to the walls. “At least the ceiling and floor will have matching décor.”

Many painful hours later, Harry stood over a putrid smelling vat of blood potion boiling feverishly in the cauldron beneath him.  He was noticeably paler from extensive loss of blood - some given voluntarily to the many iterations of potions that preceded the one currently cooking, most lost sacrificially to whatever god rules over the complete and utter failure to observe good sense.  

Slytherin was happy to point out that the upside of Harry's state of semi-permanence was a much shortened learning curve in what worked and didn't for creating a successful blood potion.  Harry had hundreds of reasons to argue, each represented by one of the spots currently dancing before his eyes.  Still Salazar had made drastic changes from one potion to the next.  With each new concoction, he was able to eliminate orders of variables quickly, since there was no fear that Harry wouldn't survive to test the next potion.

A huge bubble developed in the center of the thick boiling liquid, and it seemed to take forever to burst.  When it finally did, this incarnation of eau de rotting flesh was released on Harry's sense of smell, and it sent those very spots running from his vision.  

“This will be the last one of the day, Harry.”  Slytherin's tone held only concern at this point.  

Harry didn't bother to muster a response; his raw throat wasn't up for it anyway.  Instead he reached for the wooden goblet on the table next to him; Slytherin had decided some forgotten amount of failed attempts ago that it would be necessary for imbibing the blood potion. Without care for what the boiling liquid would do to his hand, he submerged the cup into the potion and withdrew a goblet-full of the drink. He took it down in one and waited for the anticipated signals that meant the spots would be making their return in a few moments.  

“Harry?” Slytherin asked after an extended moment.  

“Nothing,” Harry rasped, his strained voice illustrating the damage sustained to his throat.  Vocalizing a response was an act of spiting himself in order to spite the voice in his head.

Slytherin took the hint and remained silent.  

“I feel light, empty almost.  It's like I'm not…grounded to anything,” Harry finally said.

“Any pain or tingling?  Any inclination at all that something is out of sorts,” Slytherin responded quickly.  

“You mean aside from the fact that I feel as empty as Voldemort's heart?”

“I mean, anything like what you've experienced with the previous seventeen potions?” Slytherin responded seriously.  

“Has it been that many?” Harry said with a start.  “No, nothing like that.  That leads me to believe that now would finally be a good time to ask what this potion is supposed to do to me.”

There was no response from Slytherin.  After a moment, Harry began considering the possibility that the blood potion had somehow removed the man's presence from his head.  “Err, Salazar…” he croaked to be sure.  

“I'm not sure I believe it Harry,” Slytherin said with a creepy calm.  

”We've done it, boy. Don't you see?”  The ability to restrain the glee from his voice was starting to falter.  

“Yuppie for us,” Harry replied, not wanting to waste a rare opportunity to chastise his tormenter.

“I've come back from the beyond for this moment, to inhabit an heir of Gryffindor no less, which I'm sure in the cosmic balance of things, is somehow fitting.  Nevertheless, don't doubt for a second that your attempt at sarcasm falls on deaf ears young man.”  

“Maybe if you told me what it is we've accomplished I'd be more excited,” Harry said.

“Another instance, in what is becoming the growing body of work that comprises 'a power he knows not.'  You, Harry Potter, are the first wizard since Salazar Slytherin capable of Flash Apparition! Or so it would seem.”    

After a moment's pause Harry figured the disembodied voice was waiting for some sort of response.  “Considering you're the only wizard who has ever done this before, I'll go out on a limb here and assume you know I don't know what that means.”  

“You really are a show-me kind of guy, you know that?” Slytherin said, the excitement still pouring from his voice. “Too bad. You'll have to do with an explanation for the moment.”

“Whatever - as long you ease up on the giddy little boy impersonation.”

“Killjoy,” Slytherin quipped.

“Sadist,” Harry responded.  

“If you insist,” Slytherin continued, unconcerned with the insults.  “Flash Apparition, most simply put, is the ability to exert your magic against those forces that affect movement through space.”  

“How is that any different from regular apparition?”  

“Flash Apparition means that your magic can free you from the laws of gravity, from the rules of movement through apparition.  When mastered, it's more a form of art than a means of traveling from point A to B.  Jump, and you can use your magic to multiply the height you reach.  Run, and you can use your magic to reach unimaginable speeds.  But most importantly, Apparate, and you are nearly unbounded in your options.  When you've mastered this magic, you will be a phantom in battle.”  

Harry had a hard time restraining the smile creeping onto his face.  Perhaps this was worth the giddy schoolboy act.  

Salazar was happy to see it.  “You want to give it a try,” he stated rather than asked.  

“It's like you said: I'm a show-me sort of guy,” Harry replied.  

Slytherin showed him a location outside the house, the same way he'd shown Harry how to get to Godric's Hollow.  “Do you think you can Apparate there?”  

Harry's response was in the doing.  He found himself at the bottom of a bowl-shaped canyon; its ground was covered in grass and a canopy of dense, tall trees stood in the middle.  The space was as large as a Quiddich pitch, but the trees made it seemed crowded.  The canyon wall was edged with uneven rock faces that provided precipices of varying width and depth.  Though uneven in height, the canyon walls appeared to reach as high as the tallest tower at Hogwarts.  

“Interesting location,” Harry commented.

“And perfect for what we wish to accomplish,” Slytherin noted.  “So, straight to the crash course?”

“If you teach like you cook potions, I'm sure there'll be much crashing.”

“Technically, you cooked.  But, we'll waste our time trading insults later.  Are you still experiencing that light, empty feeling?  

“Even more since I Apparated here,” Harry replied.

“Can I assume you can feel how your magic is reacting to the gravity pulling against your body?”  

“It feels like it wants to explode against it.”

“That bit of forest up there - you probably can't tell from this vantage point - but it's shaped like a crescent moon and thusly given the appropriate name, Moon Scrub,” Slytherin said.  “Have you ever heard the old Muggle nursery rhyme 'Hey Diddle Diddle'?”  

“Err…yeah. 'Hey diddle-diddle the cat and fiddle…” Harry began to recite the poem.  

“That'll do just fine, thank you,” Slytherin interrupted. “Harry, be the cow.”  

“The cow?”   

“Yes, Harry, the cow.”  Slytherin accommodated the confused boy by providing him the mental image of jumping over the Moon Scrub.  

“You've gone barking,” Harry immediately responded.  He was met by silence.  “There's no way I can do that,” he argued, still getting nothing in return.  ”If I wind up planted head deep in a tree trunk, I'll spend my every waking moment figuring out how to evict you from my brain.”

When there was still no response, Harry stared down at the trees ahead in the distance.   

“Fuck it.”  He said aloud.

He took off in a sprint and instantly felt the immense speed produced effortlessly by his feet.  He was closing the distance between him and his destination faster than he'd ever imagined possible; it seemed to have only been a matter of steps, but already he was upon the trees.  Throwing caution to the wind, he planted his forward foot firmly into the ground.  The burst of magic that welled up beneath him was so potent he could actually feel it pulse through his feet and legs.  The next instant he was catapulting through the air.  

As he floated over the small forest, he had just enough time to look down at the trees beneath him and see that they were, in fact, shaped like a crescent moon.  He was almost inspired to blurt a celebratory “Moo” to his success.

It wasn't until he felt the pull of gravity returning him back to earth that he started worrying if this was going to be a short-lived experiment - one that resulted in a shorter, more liquefied Harry Potter.   But another burst of magic came forth, just as tangible as the last, and landed him nimbly on the canyon floor as if he'd only taken a single step.  

“Absolutely. Bloody. Wicked,” Harry gasped.

Harry wasn't about to oblige that.  “So what else can I do?”  

“Well, that was the easy part.  The real art of Flash Apparition is through mastering constant motion - Apparating while in motion and carrying the momentum of that motion through your Apparition.  

In Harry's mind, Slytherin showed Harry an image of himself running through the clearing.  He could hear the sound of his feet crunching the grass and see the tree line approaching.  He Apparated, and suddenly there was a small cloud of black smoke in the space where Harry disappeared from.  When he reappeared on the other side of the forest, he did so through another cloud of black smoke, still running as if he never missed a step.

“That's your cover.  Usually that skill doesn't develop until later, but it seems you've got a knack for being hidden.  Eventually, you'll control the size and thickness of the smoke, making it so that you can fill a room in black upon your arrival or simply appear without it.”

“Very nice,” Harry said.

“We're only scratching the surface.”  

Harry took off running and pictured himself Apparating to the other side of the Moon Scrub.  He heard a very subtle puft sound and then appeared still running in full stride on the other side of the trees.  

“Something like that?” Harry said pleased with himself.  

“I might have suggested not trying it through a scrub full of trees on your first go, but seeing as you're not part arboreal as a result, that will do.  Now for the fun stuff.”  

Salazar projected another image into Harry's mind.  This time he took off running and jumped toward one of the precipices jutting out of the canyon's side.  A cloud of black smoke appeared as he disappeared into the sky.  He reappeared atop the intended precipice in full stride, carrying his momentum straight to the side of the canyon and running up it.  

“Just before your momentum fades, you have to jump again,” Slytherin said in commentary.  “Carry that jump into your next Apparition and appear here.” 

Harry saw himself jumping out horizontally from the wall and towards the center of the canyon.  He disappeared and then reappeared on top of another precipice on the complete opposite side of the canyon.  

“You have to memorize your surroundings, Harry.  Always know the layout, and be aware of how your opponents are changing position within it.  When you can do this, there is little limitation to how you can Flash Apparate.  Think you're up to the challenge?”

Harry took a moment to take in his surroundings.  He recognized the two precipices that Slytherin had showed him and imagined in his mind repeating the actions that were put forth to him.  He took three quick strides before jumping toward the first precipice.  Puft. His first Apparition was complete, and he was running atop the first short precipice.  He could feel his magic carrying him upwards as he took off up the side of the canyon. He managed to run several yards farther upwards than Slytherin had imagined for him when he took his second powerful jump.  He turned himself in mid air so that he was traveling toward the other side of the canyon like a missile.  Puft.  When he reappeared, he was still traveling horizontally through the air and the opposite face of the canyon was only a couple yards away.  He flailed wildly to get his feet beneath him in time, but to no avail.  He heard the crunch before he felt it, and a blanket of blackness veiled his site.

When his vision returned, the sound of Salazar laughing heartily filled his head, though only a touch louder than the ringing that accompanied it.  He knew he hadn't quite passed out, but he was so disoriented from the collision that that knowledge was of little consolation.  

“Fuck. That really hurts,” Harry said.

“Forgot to put your feet beneath you there, Ace.”  

“Yeah, but I mean that really, really hurts!” Harry repeated.  “Like, for real hurts,” Harry added in an attempt to clarify.

“Well, perhaps you're not as immortal as you'd like to believe, young man,” Slytherin calmly stated. “It seems you're not immune to self-inflicted harm.  I guess that's good to know in case you suddenly decide that you just can't suffer this world anymore.   I know it'd be hard for me if I were you,” Slytherin teased.  

“You couldn't warn me,” Harry argued.

“I'm learning just like you are, Harry.”

“And about the part where I remembered to get my feet beneath me?” Harry pressed.  

“Yes.  Well.  Withholding that bit seemed much funnier before we made our little discovery, didn't it?”

“I'm laughing on the inside, I promise,” Harry said dryly.  He picked himself off of the ground and shook the dirt from his clothes and face, but when he pulled his hands from his head he noticed they were covered in blood.  “Hold on a second!  How's it that I can split my head open on a big ass rock, but when I choose to drink, what…seventeen was it, different forms of the poison you called potion, I just spit up a couple gallons of blood and get a sore throat?  That doesn't seem right?  

“I don't make the rules here, Harry.  Despite my vast wealth of knowledge, unprecedented skill, and irresistable charm, I'm as clueless about the 'back from the dead' game as you are.  Maybe it's the powers that be twisted sense of humor?  Maybe they've got something against using poison or magic to end the powers they've given you?  Maybe they spend too much time watching cartoons and want to see a suicide that will make the ACME Corporation proud.  

“I hope you've made room?” Harry said.

“Made room?”  

“In your ass.”  

Slytherin paused. “I don't think they'll like that.”

“Well then, I hope you've made a lot of room, because you can take the powers that be, their likes and their dislikes, and shove them all up your ass.”

Slytherin sighed. “We're going to have a hard time with Gryffindor in there as well.  He never got on too well with the powers that be.”  

“Not my problem,” Harry replied.

xxx

It was evening when Harry returned to Godric's Hollow.  He elected to fly back as a Thestral rather than Apparate.  Slytherin told him it would be a good idea to do so.  He said it would help Harry find out what affect the blood potion had on his Animagus form.  Not knowing exactly how high he could jump, or how fast he could run and fly as a Thestral to begin with, it was hard to say what, if any affects there were.  All he knew is that he got home damn fast and that he'd covered significant ground between the canyon and The Hollow.

He reached the head of the road to see the house glowing with what appeared to be a mix of magic spells and small explosions.  Despite the house looking like a fireworks show gone wrong, Harry couldn't hear a single sound from the house as he got closer.  

Harry walked onto the lot of house. "It's warded; I can feel them."  His mind immediately went back to that night he escaped from Voldemort and his temper flared. “How did they know I was here?”

“Remain calm, Harry,” Slytherin sternly commanded.  

“To hell with that.”  Harry took off in a sprint towards the rubble of his parents' home. “If I've got to come to terms with being immortal, then I'm for damn sure going to enjoy the fringe benefits,” Harry added.  The handle to the basement door froze and cracked under his grip as he pulled it open.  He sprinted down the stairs, wand drawn, curses prepared, Flash Apparition ready.  

“A rat like none other for sure, but not formidable enough; consort with doom, my blade shall play matchmaker!” Trynsington announced upon Harry's arrival.  “Come get your cheese, rat!”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks.  Filmore was hanging from the ceiling. His foot was somehow implanted halfway into the wood.  Both of his elbows were bent the wrong way, magically so it seemed, and his normally pale face was almost purple with all the blood that had run to it.  

A spell flew at Trynsington from behind; he blocked with his sword in an act of contortion Harry wasn't quite ready to accept from a short, stumpy, elbow reversed man.  

“Dobby's not knowing what crazy, bad, man is talking about, but Dobby will not let you hurt Harry Potter!”  Harry heard the small voice come from the opposite side of the room that the spell just cast at Filmore had been sent from.  

“No greater wrath than a house elf misguided,” Slytherin deadpanned.  

“Trynsington!” Harry called out.  “What the fuck is going on here?”  

Filmore had what looked like a small explosive device in the palm of his hand cocked and ready to throw; at least Harry imagined that was the case.  It was hard to tell when the man's bent arm met the back of his shoulder instead of the front.  

“Sharp eyes, Harry!” Filmore panted.  “Squirrelly little bugger for a rat this is. But it has a tell…listen for it…the snapping - yes snap first, then the magic comes.”  

Trynsington's eyes never stopped roaming over the room as he spoke to Harry. “Come get your nibbles, rat. Show us what you're made of.”  

There was a snap behind Harry, and Trynsington threw his explosive immediately in reaction. It banged on the floor behind Harry, and he was sent hurdling across the room ripped open and charred from the explosion.  He slid to a stop beneath Trynsington.  He was bloody, deafened, and near the edge of consciousness, only aware enough to realize that his sadistic Muggle acquaintance was falling, basement roof and all, on top of him.  

He woke with the taste of wood and paint dust in his mouth and the smell of body odor in his lungs.  He couldn't move, couldn't feel, and absolutely couldn't make sense out of his situation.  He was sure his throat was bellowing a scream, but his ears offered no confirmation to that.

“Calm yourself, Harry.”  Slytherin's voice sounded clearly in his head.  

Harry complied immediately.  

“Better, close your eyes and wait for your body to catch up with you.  It should heal itself shortly.”  

Harry closed his eyes and slowly felt his hearing and sense of touch return.  He still couldn't move, but that wasn't so alarming since he seemed to be gaining everything else back.  

“Let's test your Apparition skills.”  

That opened Harry's eyes.  “A fucking lesson! Now?”

He looked around at his situation. There was rubble everywhere, and Filmore's battered body was next to him, bleeding.  “Have you completely lost it?”

Slytherin's tone remained calm. “Just try to Apparate to the front of the house, preferably to a stand.”   

Harry heard a rustling a top the pile and left the questioning for later.  He focused on the Apparition and, despite some resistance, was able to do so.  He appeared at the front of the house and found that he was able to move.

“Did I pass, Slytherin?” Harry asked snidely.

“A house-elf's magic is not a thing to trifle with.  And so when I tell you that casually Apparating through the bonds of such magic is no small matter, you'll understand what it is you just accomplished.”

“I couldn't move because I was in some sort of full body bind?”  

“Yes… by a house-elf”.

“A house-elf?”

“The very one behind you, in fact.”

Harry heard a snap behind him and instantly jumped backwards toward the sound while Apparating.  He carried his Apparition through the point where he imagined the sound originated, hoping it would leave him facing the back of his attacker. He reappeared staring at a Dobby, who was looking back at him wide-eyed and cowering.  

“Dobby is most very, very, sorry that he did not protect Master Harry Potter sir.  Dobby will offer his head for this terrible mistake.”  The house elf brought his fingers to the side of his head and stuck his snap-ready fingers into his ear.   

“Dobby?”  Harry said unsure, but then quickly realized what the elf meant to do, “DOBBY!” he yelled, which forced the elf to pause.  

“Is Master Harry Potter sir thinking on a more suitable and lasting punishments for Dobby?”  

“What are you doing here, Dobby,” Harry barked.  

The house elf cowered farther. It didn't faze Harry.  

“Dobby followed Master Harry Potter sir, from Hogwarts.  Dobby was in the service of the Hogwarts Headmaster Dumbledore, but since he is dying, Dobby could leave when he saw fit.” Dobby's eyes wandered from Harry. “Dobby always could leave when he wanted to. Harry Potter sir made Dobby a free elf.” His eyes widened and snapped back to Harry. “But Dobby stayed at Hogwarts because he knew that Harry Potter sir would be coming there,” he said excitedly.  

He looked to the ground and his ears turned down, “But when Harry Potter returned he was different. Dobby knows how the Dementors look, and he is knowing that Harry Potter was changed by them.  But Dobby didn't care!  Dobby told Winky and the other elves that he is going to follow the great and powerful Harry Potter no matter what is happened to him.  So Dobby came here and found the fat man cutting Harry Potter.  Dobby waited till Harry Potter sir was safe and showed the fat man why he should not harm Harry Potter!”

Harry stood silent not sure what to do with that information.  He didn't want the elf around. Dobby would only be in the way or end up dead - and neither were options he cared to deal with.  The more he thought about it, the more the scowl on his face grew.

Dobby replied by beating his head against the broken doorframe of the house.

Harry set out to stop him, but then he paused.  He wasn't going to let this elf be his concern; if it wanted to beat itself straight, that wasn't his problem.  

A moment later, Harry nudged the unconscious house elf awake with his foot. “I'd tell you that you're completely nutters, but it occurs to me that any creature who beats its own head to unconsciousness is lost to such criticism.”  

Dobby stared up at Harry. “Who is it that's living in your head Harry Potter sir?”  

The elf asked its question with such calm that Harry had to wonder if Dobby had finally knocked his loose screws back in place.  “How did you follow me?”  Harry responded in kind.  

“Harry Potter is a Thestral, sir,”  Dobby said with awe.  “Dobby followed the Harry Thestral after he's leaving Hogwarts.  Thestrals are having lots of magic for Dobby to see after when they fly.”  

Harry nodded at the quick response.  “Salazar Slytherin,” he replied.  

Dobby looked at Harry for a moment.  He then got up, stretching onto his tiptoes and looked even closer.  Finally he grabbed Harry by the side of the head and pulled Harry's face near to his own, examining the wizard from ear to ear.  “Dobby is curious…how does Salazar Slytherin sir fit inside Harry Potter's head?”  

“You still haven't answered my question, Dobby,” Harry said stiffly.  

Dobby immediately released Harry's head and pulled his arms together in another cower. “Oh-hoo, yes indeed, Harry Potter sir.  Dobby is very sorry, sir.” The elf cringed and headed back towards the doorframe.

“That house has taken enough of a beating without you cracking your skull against it, I think.  What do you say we leave that out for the moment.”  Dobby still looked hesitantly toward the doorframe.  “If you knock yourself unconscious again, I will leave you here,” Harry called out.  “Just go home, Dobby.”  

The elf stopped dead, but he didn't turn around as he spoke.  “But this is my home,” he replied.

“No, it's not your home, Dobby. No one has lived here that could be your master for over a decade, before that you belonged to the Malfoys.  Go back to Hogwarts, go wherever you like, but you can't stay here,” Harry ordered.

“Dobby is most regretful, but Harry Potter sir is mistaken.”  

Harry could see the elf fighting his urge to punish himself for contradicting what was said.  “How is that Dobby?”  

“Dobby is a free elf, sir. He is choosing who he serves and where he lives.  Dobby chooses to serve Master Harry Potter sir, so Dobby's home is where his master lives.”  

Harry pushed his building anger outward at the elf, forcing a wave of cold against it.  “Harry Potter is a free human,” he spat mockingly. “He is choosing who the fuck he wants and doesn't want to be serving him.  I don't want your help, Dobby!  Go home!”

Dobby's entire body sulked further with each word of rejection from Harry.  It pained Harry to see it, but he chose to deflect that pain to fuel his anger.  Yet he couldn't face the elf any longer, not when he was looking at him like that.  

Harry turned and Apparated back to the basement of the house. Filmore wasn't going to get any better pinned under that debris.  He appeared in the basement, and the enraged Muggle was flailing against the wreckage pinning him down.  Not an instant later there was a pop behind him; but when he turned, there was nothing there.  

Harry sighed. “Dobby, I know you're here.  Go home.”  Harry began banishing the objects Filmore was buried beneath.  

“Naming the rats now are we - how quaint.  Once free from this burden, a full clad guarantee that no rodent shall infest this location again!” Filmore screamed through his struggled, short breaths.  “Oh yes!  A new hobby to be mastered, a niche, corner the market I will. It will be the end of all snapping rats!”  

“He talks funny,” Dobby announced, suddenly behind Harry.  

Harry caught himself before he revealed how startled he was by Dobby's sudden appearance.  

“That's pretty funny,” Slytherin said with a chuckle. “I'd pay a knut to listen to the two of them and Gryffindor share discourse.  It would be an all out declaration of war against proper pronoun usage.”

Harry listened to the disembodied voice and then turned to face Dobby. “I told you to go home, Dobby.” he said sternly.  

“Kill it! Kill! It!” Filmore screamed.  

“Dobby wants to stay with Harry Potter sir.  Dobby only wishes to help,” the elf pleaded.  

Harry clenched his fists and looked away from the elf to the ceiling.  “You can't help me, Dobby. I'm not the sort who's in need of cleaning after or a glass of pumpkin juice.  You've no place in what I tend to do.  You'll only be in the way.”  

“Free me. I'll kill it!”  Trynsington screamed again.  

“Dobby is not wanting to help Harry Potter with housekeeping, sir.  Dobby can protect Harry Potter,” the elf looked to the floor. “Dobby can fight with Harry Potter.”  

“How very interesting,” Slytherin cooed.  

“This is not the time, Slytherin,” Harry warned.

“Murder is hardly a house elf forte, Dobby,” Harry said.  

“Dobby is not knowing what fortes do, but he is thinking that bad wizards are filthy.  Dobby's specialty is cleaning out that which is filthy.”  Dobby's ears lowered, and he took on a menacing look, “So to say, Harry Potter sir.”  

“I believe that house elf just shot you an 'if you know what I mean glare, Harry - interesting and impressive.  They certainly didn't grow them like this in my day”.  

“It's making faces! A true fool is the one who listens to the persuasive argument of an opposable thumbed rat, Harry.  Be there any sense in this world, let me kill…”  Filmore suddenly fell silent.  

Harry quickly looked at the man and saw him red in the face and trying to scream through a silencing charm.  Dobby had a completely new look of satisfaction on his face.  “The funny talking man is too noisy,” Dobby said.  “He is looking filthy, as well.  Dobby would be happy to show Harry Potter sir just how good Dobby is at cleaning, if Harry sir will permit.”  

“Cleaning…what?”  Harry stammered, “Dobby enough!  I get what you're trying to do here, but I don't need your help.”  

“Need is probably the incorrect term.”

“Shut up, Slytherin!” Harry screamed.  “Whatever.  I don't want your help, Dobby. The things that I plan to do…”

“The cleaning?” Dobby interrupted.

“Yes, that.  Well it's likely to be very dangerous and certainly not the type of place for you to be popping around.  I've got enough going on that I don't need to be watching out for you in the middle of a wand fight.  It's not like I don't have enough on my conscience already - I don't need the death of the only free house elf in the world added to it.”  Harry let out a scoff, “The fucking premise of me being responsible for such a thing is so freakin' ridiculous that it's just the sort of thing that'd happen.”  

“Dobby is not intending to be killed though, Harry sir.  Dobby is only wanting to help.”

“Nobody intends to be killed Dobby.”  

“You should take more time to consider this offer, Harry.”

“Slytherin…”

“Yes, yes, shut up and all that.  Pay attention as once again I don't listen to you.   I'm going to repeat that elf magic is no force to be trifled with.  Some creatures use magic, like your average wizard. Some creatures are magic, like our little friend here”.  

“Some creatures have a history with the fuckers we're trying to do in, and would be considered premium wall décor,” Harry responded.  

“I'd also like to add that I could count on my incorporeal fingers the amount of elves known to have been killed by a wizard that didn't voluntarily offer their lives.”  

Dobby watched in silence as Harry battled over the issue.  When the wizard looked down, it was clear a decision had been made.  “The answer is no, Dobby. I do not accept your help.  I get it, Dumbledore's dead and you're free, and so you think the next logical thing to do is try to help me.  But that's not all there is to being free, Dobby.  You may be the only one of your kind that has what you have.  It would be a waste to sacrifice that gift trying to help me.  And that's all that will wind up happening if you stick around.”  

Dobby ears fell low against his head, and his usually staunch posture deflated.  He turned away so that his back was to Harry, but he didn't make any signs of moving from that point.  A moment passed before the elf slowly raised his head.  “H-harry Potter sir, he is indeed a great and wonderful wizard…and Dobby is not knowing much about being free sir - but Dobby is confused.  What is the purpose of being free if you can't choose to fight for that which is important to you…for the people you is loving?”

The elf didn't wait for a response. He just snapped away, freeing Trynsington from the silencing charm.  

“…AND EVERY LAST LIVING RAT FACED RELATIVE, TOO!”  The man's suddenly heard scream echoed through the otherwise silent room.  

“Potter, when a house elf poses questions about life to which you cannot respond, it's time to seriously reconsider how you spend your spare time.”

“WIZARD!” Trynsington screamed. “This assortment of wood and stone finds itself tainted with the ill-fitting presence of organic tissue.  An anomaly perhaps, what say you remove it?”  

Harry snapped out of his Dobby-stricken daze and stared over at the enraged Muggle glaring back at him.  Harry waved his wand at the rubbish pile and banished it across the room, leaving Filmore free of the burden.  

“Scurried off to where?” Filmore said as he rose frantically. “A corner this world does not possess that will remain unearthed in search of the vermin!”

Harry looked offhandedly at the Muggle. “Filmore, this earth has corners you don't even know exist, and I assure you, if Dobby felt the inclination he could clean you handedly in any of them.”  

“That is so?”  Filmore asked defiantly.

“Yes, it is,” Harry replied with conviction.

“Then why is it the cleaning services of said opposable thumbed rat remain unemployed?” he asked and walked away.  

“What we need is a troll,” Slytherin stated.

“Is that so?” Harry snarled.

“Then we could afford you the opportunity to be stumped by successively simpler beings.”

Harry clinched his fists as tightly as he could.  

“I get to visit the inside of so few heads these days, I guess I just needed a point of reference for comparison.  Now I know - this is what an empty one looks like.”

“Enough!”

“Stop talking to yourself wizard,” Filmore's voice called out from the other side of the basement.

“The whole fucking world's against me,” Harry stated to no one.  

“Except for the house elf trying to fight with you, the wizard stuck in your head trying to talk some sense into you, and the deranged Muggle trying to disembowel you - but in that helpful sort of way.”  

“Paint me relieved,” Harry replied.

“Listen, Harry, I don't have to tell you this as you've been there yourself.  But everyone dies, even more so during times such as these.  But it's not your place or mine to say when and how that should happen.  All we can do is pick a side and offer our lives to the cause”.  

“Kind of like how you and Gryffindor let me choose to stay with my parents after I died?”

“I believe you know it wasn't our choice that this happen to you.  Magic is a powerful thing, and it's something we must all answer to.  Sometimes that means we are put in situations we'd rather not face.”  

“Sometimes it means your entire life is a situation you'd rather not face,” Harry added.

“Give it a bloody rest, Potter! Do you think no one but you gets it?  Your situation is abhorrent; everybody sees it, and it's precisely why creatures like Dobby willingly choose to stand at your side.  But you don't get it both ways, boy.  You don't get to stand there and cry like a miserable child about your lot in life whilst simultaneously bemoaning the burden of seeing those who would choose to help better your situation offer their lives to help your cause.”  Slytherin's voice dripped with disgust.

“That's not fair,” Harry said and felt like a child for the impulsive response.  

“Then that's it child! Accept that you are an insufferable whelp of a boy and be done with it.  Seek out Voldemort this instant and let him offer you the release you desperately seek.  At least then creatures such as Dobby can go on about their choices without being shackled to the misguided obligations they feel toward you.”  

“PISS OFF SLYTHERIN!” Harry screamed.

”A fitting response, Potter.”

“I'm a child then?” Harry snapped.  

“I speak only from observation,” Slytherin said plainly.

“Yet I suffered through your failed blood potions and through Trynsington's repeated attempts to cut off my limbs.  But when I don't want to let another innocent person die trying to help me that makes me a child?”

“That you believe Dobby is choosing to die for you makes you a child.”

“As I've observed, helping me means eventually dying”.  

“And I've told you, boy, everything dies.  What's important is that we lived as we choose to with the time we had.  You would deny that of Dobby simply because it's within your power to do so.”

“Everything dies - except for me,” Harry snapped.

“And thus the child rears its prepubescent face once again.”   

“Where is my choice?”

“Lying plainly before you everyday that you live on, but like a child you can't see past the singular obstacle keeping from you the freedom of choice,” Slytherin pressed.

“You act like it's so simple”.  

“The benefit of perspective, one that has seen the course of numerous lifetimes from their varied beginnings to their sordid ends.”

“Well, unfortunately, I haven't had the pleasure”.  

“Then allow me to pose this question: Would you rather choose to not know your purpose? Would you rather wonder aimlessly through life not knowing what it is you're supposed to do, what you're intended to offer in return for the gift of life?  This is an endless battle you will never know, and the price of that is a suffering all onto your own.  But trust me when I tell you it is a fair price to pay.  For the other option is fruitless, and the reward you may earn never ceases to repay”.

“And watching those I love die is the price of that reward?”

“The death of those you love is the price that they would pay to be a part of that greatness”.

“But it's still one that I have to suffer after they are gone.”  

“And it's precisely the reason you have been given the knowledge that death is not the end.  Or was visiting with your parents and living with a very dead founder in your head not proof enough for you?"