Missing Socks

Harry Potter walked into his small bedroom in the home of Number Four, Privet Drive, and walked up to his dresser. He opened the dresser, only to find that it was completely empty of socks, which was exactly what he had been looking for.

"What the heck? Where did all my socks go?" Harry questioned out loud to himself. "They were here yesterday, I swear they were."

Harry walked the short distance across his room and sat down on the edge of his bed. He began to think to himself, in a process of elimination, who might have taken all his socks, and where they might be. Aunt Petunia was out of the question, as she refused to wash Harry's clothes. She made him do his own laundry ever since he came home from his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Uncle Vernon, well, Uncle Vernon had never liked Harry, let alone his socks, so why would he take them? Harry didn't have a clue so he scratched Uncle Vernon's name off of his imaginary list of suspects. Next on the list was Dudley. That was an easy one. Dudley didn't even fit into any of Harry's clothes, so weather he borrowed his socks or not was out of the question. Dudley was too afraid of Harry to go within ten feet of Harry himself or his belongings, anyway.

That ruled out the people that Harry lived with. He went on to think of anyone else that would even have a chance of getting in his room. Ron... no. Hermione... no. They both lived to far.

"This is ridiculous," Harry thought to himself. "Who on Earth would want all my socks?"

Harry reached up to brush the bangs out of his eyes but suddenly froze. It was as if one of those little light bulbs lit up above his head, like on muggle TV and comics. He slowly lowered his hand, thinking over the possibility in his mind. Yes, it must be. He's the only person who could easily get into Harry's room, who would WANT to get into his room to steal his socks. He's the only person who Harry knew collected socks. But... why would he want ALL of Harry's socks? That's what was puzzling Harry. Could it be...? It must be...

"Dobby." Harry spoke this last word allowed. "Yes, it must be Dobby, he has a reputation for collecting socks. I've got to send him an owl."

Harry fell to his knees and quickly rolled the rug on his wooden floor over. He fumbled with the floor boards for a second and removed two of them. He reached inside for his wand. Luckily, Fred Weasley had given Harry one of Weasley Wizard Wheezes' fake wands, so when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia locked up Harry's school supplies in the cupboard under the stairs, they locked up a fake wand and Harry still had the original. This way, Harry could sneak out in the dead of night and get his spell books and do some homework while everyone was asleep, or (as in this case) he could use it to unlock his pet owl, Hedwig's, cage to send secret messages off to his friends.

Waiting until about three o'clock a.m., Harry crept down the staircase, carefully skipping the step that squeaked, and ran to the cupboard under the stairs. He unlocked it quickly and rummaged in his trunk for a minute until he found some parchment, a quill, and some ink, then shut his trunk, locked the cupboard door, and ran back up the stairs again to the safety of his bedroom.

Sitting down to his small desk, Harry began a sock-subject filled letter to Dobby. Hedwig hooted nearby, happy that she would finally get another assignment to deliver soon.