Harry stared at his stomach, heart pounding in his ears. That and the blood rushing was what made the scream almost barely heard. He was breathing in frigid air, Harry's stomach expanding where it he could actually see it in Dudley's old shirt.

He was exhaling (he was drowning - he couldn't breathe). Harry's stomach no longer visible against the putrid orange of the shirt Aunt Petunia had bought. Yet despite all of this and seeing it Harry couldn't breath. Nails dug into the seat yet Harry couldn't anchor himself; the screaming was becoming louder in his ears that were pounding like his heart.

Tears were filling his eyes. He didn't know if it was from frustration or this was what people did when they couldn't breath. The roaring was steadily growing and Harry couldn't fight it; he was defenseless. For the first time since having learnt what he was Harry was useless. He wouldn't have known how to act towards that realization if not for the coldness dragging him further. Or rather dragging itself further into him. No longer was he just incapable of air there was no way to get the water drowning Harry out of him. It was numbing his body and was in his lunges. If he was to attempt to get it out he'd only end up tearing himself apart, warm blood let loose into the cold air and his own torn flesh between his nails.

There was pleading. It was muffled by the water but Harry could hear it. He could still hear the terribleness of the screams. He couldn't move though. Harry couldn't save her because he defenseless. Couldn't even breath much less move his arms.

The boy who lived was what wizards had called him. And here he was: eyes dropping as he slid into the fog of unconscious, a part of him was (tired) realizing it didn't matter. That maybe it was for the better if he closed his eyes and stayed under the water. Froze (died) in peace. Except there she was still screaming for help, for mercy. Was she crying as she screamed?

Except there-

Harry needed to-

[\]

There was silence between Dobby and Kreacher. It was unsettling. More so than the cruel words Kreacher muttered under his breath about Dobby and Dobby's friend.

Harry was out of the dinning room after eating more than he usually was given. Good. Harry needed more food. And that's why Dobby had made it and why Dobby had stacked the wizard's plate so high.

Dobby glanced at the walls, at the warm red and forever stylish polish wood paint. Dobby's lengthy fingers twitch with rebellion, with purpose.

"Kreacher should be more kind," Dobby simply told Kreacher. The older house elf gave a disgruntled noise at Dobby's words. Dobby fought the urge to fiddle with Dobby's own clothes. It was the stubbornness that stopped Dobby for doing so just as the same stubbornness had ended up with Dobby getting to smell the burnt flesh of his fingers in the oven that, after the punishment, Dobby had to scrub. The very memory of the incident - of the smell and how Dobby's fingers had taken months to heal - still curdled Dobby.

It seemed the older abusers got they didn't realize what they were doing was wrong. No, they only figured out different ways to break the unicorn's horn.

Harry had got Dobby away from his owners- they weren't his family that he served, they were slavers and abusers - and gave Dobby a home despite the danger the later might have brought. (In Dobby's mind Dobby can easily recall the thunderous yell and purple in rage muggle that had yelled at Harry and Dobby before Dobby had teleported Harry and Dobby out.)

Dobby had gotten Harry away from Harry's not-family, his abusers who almost treated Harry like most wizards would treat a house elf. The air cackled as Dobby's fingers ached. Dobby stared at the wall of the dining room. Dobby took a deep breath in before Dobby let that air out. It didn't help with dissipating the anger Dobby was feeling at the muggle family known as the Dursleys.

"Does Dobby stare at the wall because he wishes to hang on it?"

Annoyance flared while the anger Dobby had felt for the Dursleys over this summer and still now simmered deadly.

Dobby smiled politely despite not feeling so; Dobby was good at lies, at a mask, Dobby had to have been otherwise Dobby would have eventually died in a mess of twitching limbs from the pain of knives that weren't actually digging into his flesh.

"Dobby is going to be buried. Dobby doesn't want the pride of knowing Dobby will be on a wall once Dobby dies because that - being on the Black family's wall - is not something Dobby finds worthy of pride."

Kreacher's thin lips twisted into an ugly expression. Horrid words of the old spilled out. It took more than a moment for Dobby to realize what language Kreacher was muttering cusses in; Dobby hadn't heard it since Dobby's mother was sold to another family. Bought and sold. Like items or food instead of people. House elves weren't wizards nor were they muggles but they felt. They bleed. They were born and eventually died just like everything else. Why were wizards better? Why did wizards get to own them? To buy a house elf and any future children they had. Get to tell a house elf to have sex so the family could have more?

"That didn't make it right'; 'you mustn't have met some decent wizards then', Harry had told Dobby and now in Dobby's head the words repeated for Dobby. Reminded Dobby that there was one good wizard.

Dobby looked away from the wall and down towards his feet. At the sight of his socks Dobby smiled.

[/]

Something burned bright and painful. He couldn't die. If he died who else would stop Voldemort?

[/]

"Kreacher doesn't like muggles does Kreacher? Kreacher's mistress was a Black after all."

Kreacher stared at Dobby in distrust. Smart. Dobby had stolen every single letter Harry's friends had sent him over last year's summer to make Harry not want to return to Hogwarts. Dobby had taken them from Hedwig who herself was a clever creature and like Dobby cared deeply for Harry. It had not been an easy task.

Dobby had tried to warn Harry not to go to Hogwarts and when that hadn't worked Dobby had dropped the prize pudding Mrs. Dursley had spent the day either baking or bragging on. Dobby had known full well what that dinner had meant for the Dursley family from the time he spyed on them.

Dobby then proceeded to find a way to close the barrier between the muggle train station and Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. When that hadn't worked Dobby had tampered with the bludger that could have greatly harmed Harry. Till this day Dobby didn't regret it. He'd rather have had Harry hurt than have him dead.

Dobby could be ruthless. Dobby could hurt others to get what he wanted. Dobby wanted Harry safe. Dobby would be getting his way.

"Mrs. Potter was not a whore and even if she was Harry Potter is still the only living member of the Potter family. He is still the son of the pure blood Mr. Potter."

"Blood traitor Potter was and just like father Harry will be," Kreacher angrily retorted in that low voice of his.

Dobby stared unimpressed. "Harry was hurt by muggles. He could have become an obscurus. Harry needs a safe haven and this is his by 's will much to the frustration of ."

"Dobby knows what is in Kreacher's cupboard when Kreacher snuck into the parlor room to find Harry's luggage last night."

Anger flashed on Kreacher's face. The air cackled deadly between them.

"There are things no decent wizard would incur. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was very much so not a decent wizard. Dobby knew of something that gave the same aura that tainted the very air around it. thought it only able to open the Chamber of Secrets but it did much more than that. Why does Kreacher have that thing in Kreacher's cupboard?"

A/N: In CoS when Dobby was warning Harry he mentioned something about powers no decent wizards would use. Rather you think Dobby knew it was a horcrux (most people who had made a horcrux only split there soul once) or not (they really weren't known) it's the reason why this story was extended to more than two chapters like I originally intended.

I at first had a hard time writing this chapter (my bosses are moving offices and I've been helping with the furniture and last week I was dealing with not one mouse or two mice in the house but eight - 8 damn mice and terrible nights of sleep because of eight mice) but because I couldn't quite make myself like how the chapter was wrote. I usually don't do switching povs because when I do they in the past have been terrible. So I rewrote the chapter in the writing style I've been writing 'I scream too loud when I speak my mind.' I'm okay with it now.

Also, NikiSpade I'm so happy I was able to finally address slavery. I wasn't lying when I said I've been meaning to.

Also friendly reminder Dobby, like Harry, is not, and never has been, a saint. Apparently that was the answer JK gave to the criticism she was given when she wrote Harry using the torture unforgivable. I may not agree with her with several things but I do agree with that answer. I also liked that Harry used them. So often you see a hero absolutely refuse to stoop as low as the villain that when a protagonist actually does so it makes them a bit more human instead of this perfect fictional character.

If I made any mistakes in this author note forgive me I'm under attack from a dog who wants attention.