“Thanks a million,” said Ron

“Thanks a million,” said Ron. “Can I borrow your quill for the conclusion?” Harry, who had found nothing useful in the Half-Blood Prince's notes so far, looked

around; the three of them were now the only ones left in the common room, Seamus having just gone up to bed cursing Snape and his essay. The only sounds were the

crackling of the fire and Ron scratching out one last paragraph on dementors using Hermione's quill. Harry had just closed the Half-Blood Prince's book, yawning, when

—

Crack.

Hermione let out a little shriek; Ron spilled ink all over his freshly completed essay, and Harry said, “Kreacher!”

The house-elf bowed low and addressed his own gnarled toes. “Master said he wanted regular reports on what the Malfoy boy is doing, so Kreacher has come to give—”

Crack.

Dobby appeared alongside Kreacher, his tea-cozy hat askew.

“Dobby has been helping too, Harry Potter!” he squeaked, casting Kreacher a resentful look. “And Kreacher ought to tell Dobby when he is coming to see Harry Potter

so they can make their reports together!”

“What is this?” asked Hermione, still looking shocked by these sudden appearances. “What's going on, Harry?”

Harry hesitated before answering, because he had not told Hermione about setting Kreacher and Dobby to tail Malfoy; house-elves were always such a touchy subject with

her.

“Well... they've been following Malfoy for me,” he said.

“Night and day,” croaked Kreacher.

“Dobby has not slept for a week, Harry Potter!” said Dobby proudly, swaying where he stood.

Hermione looked indignant.

“You haven't slept, Dobby? But surely, Harry, you didn't tell him not to—”

“No, of course I didn't,” said Harry quickly. “Dobby, you can sleep, all right? But has either of you found out anything?” he hastened to ask, before Hermione could

intervene again.

“Master Malfoy moves with a nobility that befits his pure blood,” croaked Kreacher at once. “His features recall the fine bones of my mistress and his manners are

those of—”

“Draco Malfoy is a bad boy!” squeaked Dobby angrily. “A bad boy who—who —”

He shuddered from the tassel of his tea cozy to the toes of his socks and then ran at the fire, as though about to dive into it. Harry, to whom this was not entirely