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The potion, similar to an anesthetic, would not cause unconsciousness. On the battlefield, even during general anesthesia, it's better to keep the patient's mind alert, for there are no rear lines in the abyss. The dark creatures, those damn things, seem to sprout from the very earth, and at any given moment, an encounter with them could occur anywhere.
Rather than trying to revive a fainted person, it's much quicker and more efficient to inject an antidote to get a conscious patient to cooperate with an evacuation. Muggles can't perform anesthesia while keeping the mind awake, but wizards can.
Once the rotten flesh had been cleaned, Dobby, now drenched in blood, looked much better than he had at first. Harry hadn't used many potions on him, nor had he applied any restorative salves. A few healing charms were enough to stop the bleeding, but such spells work better on minor wounds; at this point, all they did was staunch the blood flow.
Harry squeezed a nearly dried white-flower root in his hand. After vigorous rubbing, a few drops of dried sap oozed out, which he applied carefully to Dobby's bloodied wounds. White-flower essence was a well-known healing potion in the wizarding world. While it left scars, it was extremely effective for healing. Although the sap was less potent than the prepared extract, it was still sufficient for Dobby's needs.
A blood scab formed as Harry added a drop of neutralizer into Dobby's mouth. The numbing effect of the pain-blocking potion faded, and the pain from the wounds made Dobby break out in a cold sweat.
"Chew the rest of the white-flower root, and when you get back, apply it to your wounds. Be sure to use clean cloths that have been boiled in water to bandage them, and change them regularly. In about a month, the wounds should heal."
Dobby had not wanted Harry to treat him because the elf couldn't acquire potions, and once the healing potion healed his wounds, the chances of being discovered were too high. His injuries were most likely sustained in his master's house, and such crude methods, while not ideal, were much safer. Despite the Boil Curse being quite powerful, Dobby's current state was largely due to his own carelessness.
The filthy bandages he had wrapped around himself could have harbored countless harmful germs. Even without injuries, just wearing them would lead to infection. Dobby could have obtained white-flower root from somewhere. If he had used it properly from the start—squeezing out the sap and applying it—he could have been well on the mend by now, avoiding the horrific condition he was in.
"Now, tell me, what happened to Draco? Who caused your injuries? Tell me everything you know, Dobby, if you want to save your young master."
Harry cut off Dobby's attempt to bow and thank him. "You don't have much time. It's been at least ten minutes since you arrived. If you don't want to be discovered, tell me everything quickly. No need for anything else."
"Mr. Harry Potter..." Dobby sobbed, rubbing his eyes. Understanding what Harry meant, he nodded vigorously. "I will tell you, sir, but some things I can't say, not because I don't want to, but because I can't."
"Master Draco is in danger—great danger, but Dobby doesn't know what that danger is."
Dobby's words, though completely illogical, were spoken with complete seriousness.
"Master went mad. About a year ago, he started to change. Dobby doesn't know why, but two months ago, it got worse."
"Master's wife became gravely ill a year ago. Her complexion grew so pale it was nearly transparent. She had always been healthy, but one day, she just collapsed into bed, so weak she could barely speak. Master said she was being cared for by the best doctors, so Dobby didn't need to look after her. I secretly visited her once—she was very ill."
"Miss Cassandra is a kind, gentle girl. She cares about Master Draco, but Master is a bit afraid of her because she is strict and very intelligent. She loves studying and experimenting, and she even had Dobby help her with her experiments."
"They bought several new owls at home because the old ones kept disappearing. Dobby couldn't find them, no matter how hard I looked. But letters still needed to be sent by owl. The peacock that Master loved also disappeared, but after that, Master didn't say anything. It was like he didn't care about them anymore."
"Master and Miss Cassandra had a bit of a falling out when Draco returned home. During dinner, Master Draco mentioned you, sir, and both Master and Miss Cassandra seemed upset. Draco said he wanted to join your... your organization?"
Dobby rambled on, saying a lot of things that didn't seem to connect, and mentioning trivial details. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his labored breathing signaled his weakening state. His body was frail, not just because of the injuries but because his unnatural old age was the kind that should only occur in house-elves over a hundred years old. But Dobby had only worked for the Malfoys for less than fifteen years.
"I have to go now, sir," Dobby said.
The house-elf forced a small smile and nodded gratefully at Harry, then picked up the dirty bandages that had fallen on the floor.
"Dobby is a bad elf. Dobby made the floor dirty. My eyes were blurry before, and I couldn't see properly. Dobby is sorry, sir."
"Clean up." Harry waved his hand, effortlessly clearing away the coagulated blood from the floor.
"This shouldn't have happened, sir. Young wizards aren't allowed to use magic outside of school. It's against the rules," Dobby said, his voice filled with regret.
"It's Dobby's fault, it's Dobby—"
"Alright, you can go now." Harry waved him off nonchalantly. "Remember to change your bandages."
After one final, respectful bow to Harry, the elf disappeared with a soft pop, returning to wherever he belonged.
As the elf left the room, Harry glanced at Dudley, who was still soundly asleep on the couch. The noise hadn't disturbed him in the slightest. After Harry had delivered a firm punch to Dudley's face earlier, the dazed cousin had not even had time to speak before his attention was caught by the meal waiting on the dinner table.
"Meat!" Dudley bellowed, diving toward the table and lifting the cover, devouring the food with reckless abandon.
As Harry reached the door, he bent down to pick up a letter with a prominently stamped Ministry of Magic postmark.
"Dear Mr. Harry Potter,
We have received a report indicating that you used a cleaning charm at 8:43 PM this evening at your residence.
As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to use magic outside of school. We hereby remind you to comply with the Reasonable Restrictions on Underage Wizards Act (1875, Section 3). The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes is busy, so please be mindful of your actions.
Enjoy the rest of your summer!
Mafalda Hopkirk
Ministry of Magic, Office for the Restriction of Underage Magic"
"Is that it? I was expecting a warning letter," Harry said, smirking as he tossed the letter into the trash bin.
"Looks like the Ministry isn't so bad after all," he muttered.
"Although this is pretty pointless." Harry stretched and stifled a yawn. "Why can't they learn from other places? The Purists don't have any rules like this about students using magic outside of school. Two whole months of precious time—twelve months if you count all six of my holidays over seven years. A law from over a hundred years ago just trying to control me in the future. Did I sign off on this?"
"Who do they think they are?"
"Clean up."
With a flick of his wrist, he triggered the cleaning charm, and the nearly full trash bin vanished in an instant.
(End of Chapter)