Author: Jadea

Summary: Dobby plays a matchmaker. Harry/Ron. Summer after 5th year.

Notes: I *needed* to write something light and fluffy, and "Best Served Cold" isn't exactly sweet, happy material. So here goes.

Dedication: To all you closet Harry/Ron shippers out there. You know who you are.

Rating: Pg. I specifically edited out Ron's swearing. Absolutely *nothing* objectionable in this chapter.

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"What?" Harry gasped. "They've got...they've got Ron?"

"The thing Harry Potter would miss most, sir!"

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, U.S. edition, page 491

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Harry Potter sir was not happy.

Professor Dumbeldore had sent Dobby to talk to Harry Potter, to tell him that Mr. Harry Potter could not leave his relatives house, oh no, not leave, because then Mr. Harry Potter might be in danger. And Mr. Harry Potter could not be put in danger, no, never, because then the dark days would return, when the house elves would be imprisoned and tortured again, and Harry Potter was the only beacon of light, the only thing stopping the old evil days from returning. So even though Harry Potter sir wanted to leave his house on Privet Drive and go to his Wheezys, and even though Dobby wants Harry Potter sir to be happy--yes, happy, more then anything else in the world Dobby wants his Harry Potter to be happy--Dobby had to tell Harry Potter that he could not leave.

And that made Harry Potter sir even more unhappy.

Poor Harry Potter. He is so good, so noble, so selfless; powerful and great and kind, oh yes, kind to everyone, even to poor houseleves like Dobby, and it broke Dobby's heart to see the great wizard unhappy, yes, to see him hurt and alone, to see that he was unhappy and that it was Dobby and Dobby's news that made him unhappy; Dobby would never want to make Harry Potter unhappy...

And then...

Dobby had an idea.

Mr. Harry Potter sir had stopped talking to Dobby; he was facing the wall, pretending to sleep, upset with Professor Dumbeldore's news. Upset with the news Dobby had brought. Maybe, since Dobby had made Harry Potter unhappy--not that Dobby wanted to!--maybe, Dobby could make Harry Potter happy again.

Dobby wondered.

What made Harry Potter happy?

Why, his Wheezy, of course!

Harry Potter's Wheezy made him happy; Dobby knows, Dobby saw Harry Potter, the great and glorious Harry Potter, smile at his Wheezy, saw Harry Potter laugh with him. Dobby knew that Harry Potter wanted to leave this house and go his Wheezy's house, filled with red-haired, freckled wizards. But Dobby could never take Harry Potter there, no, never, because Professor Dumbeldore said it wasn't safe.

But if Dobby couldn't bring Harry Potter to his Wheezy...

Maybe he could bring his Wheezy to Harry Potter?

Then Harry Potter would be happy! Then Harry Potter would not be alone or unhappy; he would have his Wheezy! Then Harry Potter would be safe *and* happy, and Dobby would have helped Harry Potter!

Dobby wondered if he should perhaps tell his idea to Harry Potter, but then decided not to. A surprise would make Harry Potter much happier.

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"Ron, there's nothing we can do. Professor Dumbeldore says--"

With a hard kick, Ron slammed the door to his room, cutting off his father's placating voice.

Oh sure, it was easy for all of them--all the grownups, people like Professor Dumbeldore and McGonnagal, people like Snape and Percy and even his own parents--to say that it was better for Harry to stay at the Dursleys. Safer. They could preach to him until they were blue in the face, trying to convince him that it was for the best... but he would never agree with them. Never.

They thought *they* knew what was best for Harry? Had *they* been there when Harry woke from his nightmares shuddering and sweating? Had *they* been there when Harry read the Daily Prophet, flinching at the headlines? Had *they* been there when Harry tried to draw away, distancing himself from Ron and Hermione in a thousand little ways until both of them ordered him to stop?

Funny, Ron didn't *remember* them being there.

And now his parents, his brothers, the entire bloody staff of Hogwarts, was telling him what was best for *his* best friend.

And they were wrong. All of them.

Snarling, Ron turned away from the door, flinging himself down hard enough on his bed to hear the frame creak. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair--

"Wheezy!"

He yelped, jerking himself upward so fast he nearly tumbled out of bed and onto the floor. Eyes darting across the room, silently cursing the fact that he had left his wand downstairs at the dinner table. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He didn't even go to the loo anymore without his wand, not at Hogwarts, not even here, but he'd been so mad with his parents...

Enormous, glowing eyes appeared in the corner of his closet. He tensed, watching with wide eyes as the thing shifted, eyes blinking. The only thing he had ever seen with eyes that large had been--

Oh, hell. Those bloody *monstrous* acromantualas in the forbidden forest. The clank of metal hangers jangling and whisper of clothes rubbing against each other sounded unnaturally loud in his ears as the...whatever it was...moved.

Probably getting ready to pounce...

Feeling his heart thud in his chest, eyes fixed on the glowing orbs, Ron's fingers felt their way across his bed, towards his night stand. The most lethal thing his fingers felt was a framed picture of him, Harry and Hermione at the Twins' graduation, just last month.

Fighting back a surge of panic, Ron cursed his parents, Percy, and the stupid fight that had erupted at the dinner table. Most of all he cursed himself, leaving his wand on the table beside his half-finished desert. He was going to die because his brother was a complete prat...

Swearing softly, Ron gripped the metal frame in tightly in his hand, preparing to chuck it at the creature with all his strength.

"Wheezy!"

With a quick bound, the creature leapt out of the shadows of the closet. Ron drew his arm back--and felt the frame slip through his fingers, glass shattering on the floor as he recognized the owner of the voice, and the eyes.

"Dobby?"

The house-elf bounced on his heels, grinning adoringly at Ron. He scowled back, raking a hand through his hair.

"Dobby, what the hell are you doing? You almost gave me a heart attack; all I saw was an enormous pair of eyes in the back of my closet..."

The Hogwarts house-elf looked crestfallen.

"Dobby...Dobby is sorry, sir. Dobby would never, never harm Harry Potter's Wheezy, no, not ever. Dobby just wanted Harry Potter to be happy..."

The small creature sniffed, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jumper. The maroon jumper Ron recognized as the one *he* had given to Dobby almost two years ago. Along with the socks Harry had given him that same Christmas. No, that wasn't quite right. On his right foot, the House-elf wore what had been originally one of Harry's Uncles' smelly, ugly old socks. On the left foot was a violet sock Ron vaguely remembered tossing to Dobby at the same time he'd given him the maroon sweater.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes or smack himself for being scared of *Dobby*, of all creatures, Ron shook his head, biting back the guilt that rose in him at the sight of the pathetic house elf.

"Look, Dobby, I'm sorry. You just...scared me a little, 'right? I wasn't expecting to see anyone in my room--"

"Dobby is very, most abjectly sorry, Mr. Wheezy sir; Dobby would never, not in a million years, not if his own life depended on it, harm Harry Potter's Wheezy, no, never--"

The little elf was fighting back sobs and Ron felt horrible, like he'd just bludgeoned a puffskein to death. He had little to no experience with house elves; it wasn't like the Weasley's could afford them, and he'd certainly hadn't wanted to make Dobby cry. Also, he really, really wanted to ask the elf to call him Ron instead of..what was it? 'Wheezy?'

No, not quite. 'Harry Potter's Wheezy.' Besides the fact that the title made him feel like a stuffed toy of Harry's, he couldn't fight down the flush in his ears every time Dobby said it. But the elf might take that as another reprimand and try and strangle itself with the curtain, or throw itself out the window, or something.

"Listen, Dobby--" He took a step towards the elf, words cutting off when he heard the 'crunch' of shattered glass.

"Oh, sh-----." Thankful that Charlie had, at his request, placed an anti-profanity charm on the door to his room, Ron cursed for several minutes, saying many different words that would have gotten him in a great deal of trouble had his Mum heard them, knowing that an eavesdropper outside his door would only hear "aw, shucks!" and "blimey!"

Forgetting about the dyslexic house elf perched in front of him, Ron bent down, extracting a rather mangled metal frame from the remaining shards of broken glass.

"My picture. It's broke--Colin took it right before we left school, and I can't fix it--"

In an eye blink, the elf was next to him, standing on top of a pile of blankets on Ron's rather untidy bed, peering intently at the wizarding photograph where Hermione, Harry, and even picture-Ron looked a little bit rumpled and more then a tad angry.

"Dobby can fix it, sir! Dobby knows how!"

Almost instantly, the frame in his hands began to warm, as if by an invisible fire. Ron dropped the frame with a startled cry, watching in amazement as the frame and picture simply floated before his eyes before, in a flash of light, it mended itself and turned, depositing itself neatly on its normal place on his nightstand.

"Dobby, that was amazing! You don't even have a wand...how did you do that?"

Shly, the house-elf blinked, smiling at Ron, obviously pleased by the boy's unaffected amazement.

"Dobby is a house-elf, Dobby does not use a wand. Not here, not at Hogwarts."

The mention of Hogwarts seemed to jolt the little elf, and its eyes widened, if that was at all possible. Quicker then Ron could react, Dobby reached out and grasped his hand, tugging at his arm desperately.

"Please, Wheezy sir, you must come with Dobby, 'Tis very important. Harry Potter sir...he is sad. Professor Dumbeldore has told Dobby, and Dobby has just told Harry Potter, that Harry Potter cannot leave the Dursley's, no, not for his safety, and Harry Potter is not happy, Harry Potter is sad..."

With an effort, Ron extracted his hand from Dobby's grip, breathing hard, barely resisting the urge to kick something.

*They* had done it again.

*They* knew what was best for Harry. By imprisoning him with his awful Muggle relatives. By shutting him off from the rest of Wizard society. By allowing him to anguish over the events of the past year. By subjecting him to that whalish bully of a cousin, that big bastard of an uncle, that bony horse-face of an aunt...

To keep him safe, they said. To protect him, they said. To save Harry, they said. But it was all a bunch of tripe, *he* said. It wasn't to save Harry. It was to save The Boy Who Lived. The savior of the entire bloody wizarding world, who just happened to be Ron's best friend. The Boy Who Must Live to Fight Another Day, who also happened to have a weakness for fizzing whizbees. The famed Defeater of You Know Who, who snored like a hippgriff when he had a headcold. The Triwizard Tournament Champion, who had snorted pumpkin juice through his nose when Ron had done a dead-on imitation of Professor McGonnagal, only to turn around and discover the Transfiguration teacher standing directly behind him.

Most of them didn't give a sickle about Harry. They only cared about The Boy Who Lived. What would they care that, after another summer with the Dursley's, it would take Ron and Hermione agonizing weeks to extract Harry from his shell? What did they care that Harry was unhappy, bloody *miserable*, so long as he was 'safe?'

"Why! Why can't he come here? We *want* him here! He *belongs* here, where he's safe, where he's happy. He belongs here, with--"

'With me' had been the words on the tip of his tongue, but he could not say those aloud, not to anyone, not even to Dobby.

"With us."

Fiercely, he glared around the room, feeling the helplesness wash over him. Harry was sad, Harry was hurting, Harry *needed* him, and he couldn't do anything. Except maybe send a lousy owl.

Ignoring Dobby, his shoulders sagged and he collapsed on his bed, again feeling it creak ominously at his sudden weight. It was an old bed, and his feet stuck over the edge when he slept unless he curled in on himself, tucking his knees up under the covers. Not wanting to look at the probably-terrified house elf, Ron buried his face in his blankets, struggling to control himself.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the rational part of him acknowledged the necessity of Dumbeldore's actions. Above all, Harry must be safe, and Ron knew that. But he had never been one to allow such foolish things as logic to control his actions, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start now. Ron didnt give a knut about what was logical right now. All he knew was that Harry needed him, now, needed him badly, and he was utterly useless. Typical.

Face still buried in the blankets, Ron shook his head, feeling the comforters rub against his cheeks and forehead. Unconsciously, his fingers clutched at the quilts, fighting back the hot lump in his throat. A little overhwlemed by the intensity of his feelings, Ron finally raised his head when he felt a small hand, patting his back comfortingly.

"S'all right, Dobby." he croaked, rubbing his eyes with his fists. "I'm fine. Just worried...Harry, you know..."

The little hand patted him again and Ron nearly burst out laughing, imagining the picture someone would see if they walked into the room at that instant--the red headed human boy, sixteen years old and over six feet tall, being comforted by the tiny house elf that didn't even come up to his knees. If Fred and George ever saw this, he'd never live it down. Hell, if his Mum ever saw this...

Shrugging the hand away, Ron turned, giving Dobby a somewhat strained smile.

"Thanks for telling me, Dobby. I'm not angry with you or anything; I just wish there was something I could do--"

A brilliant smile lit up the house-elves face.

"But there is! Wheezy must come with Dobby, sir!"

"Listen, Dobby, my name is 'Ron.' Do you think--"

But then the small hand that had been patting his back grapsed his arm and before he could say another word, a bright flash of light momentarily blinded him, a loud 'bang!' sounded in his ears, and they both disapeared.

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Ok, so its not (overly) fluffy yet. But it will get there. I desperately needed to write something fluffy and happy and light. Next chapter should come fairly soon. Review, please. Writing Dobby's POV was kinda strange...