Nobby stared out the window as the rock in the pit of his stomach grew larger. He had really up and done it now. Here he sat in the world of muggles, with the wand of an instructor and the broom of the fastest Quiddich player at the school for magic. He had been treated badly, but so were all house elves. That was their lot in life. His cousin had been set free by that boy with the lightning bolt on his forehead, and he got paid real money to work, for the rest of his bloomin' life. Nobby figured that somewhere among the world of muggles, his services would be worth paying for. Especially since muggles couldn't perform magic and he could. Nobby's skill at magic was tiny compared even to a sophomore at the school, but it was certainly more than the muggles were used to.
He knew that it was forbidden to practice magic in the world of the muggles, but he was a house elf that had stolen important magical items and run away. The rule about not doing magic in muggleland was the least of his worries. A mentor from Ozkaban was probably hunting him down right now. Maybe a whole bunch of them, were screaming insanely for his soul. There would be no escaping Ozkaban for Nobby if he got caught. He wasn't no Serious White, the only known wizard to have escaped that prison.
Nobby tried to remember the exact wording of the law about magic and muggles, but little house elf brains were not meant to work that hard. All that he could dredge up from his memory was that Morphing Thin got sentenced to one term for improper use of magic on a muggle. He remembered a relative of the mighty wizard Stumblemore, who was the headmaster of the school, got imprisoned for attacking a muggle and died in prison. Merciful, yes it was Merciful Stumblemore who died in prison.
Nobby decided that the magic he would offer the muggles for money, would never be against another muggle. He would only do magic on inanimate objects. Not that it would matter that much, with the important things he had stolen, but there was enough common sense to know not to make things worse than they had to be. Nobby had not used his mind this much in his whole life combined. A headache of such great proportions that he thought it might make his head explode, pounded at Nobby's temple and the back of his skull. Nobby knew he had to get some rest. With his head in this condition, he could not concentrate enough to do even the most simple of defensive spells. He crawled into a dark corner and shut his eyes. With each heartbeat the mallet of his headache would make his whole body shake, but somehow amongst the lack of thoughts, he drifted off to sleep.
The nightmares crept in as quickly as he fell asleep. The mentors, guided by Stumblemore were scouring the muggle countryside for him. They flew high above the land, so as not to be seen by the muggles. Nobby thought that from that height it would be hard for them to see a single house elf scrunched up in an abandoned building's dark corner. What Nobby wasn't aware of, was the fact that the two artifacts he had stolen were like bright beacons in the muggles world, which was devoid of magic.
In Nobby's dream the mentors started to circle the abandoned building where he hid. He couldn't see Stumblemore, but he could feel his presence. Not that feeling presences of anything is a house elf trait. He started to scour his mind for some spell or action to take against the mentors above. Every spell he thought off, seemed trivial and useless against such mighty foes. He just wished they weren't real. Wait a minute... Nobby had gone to sleep. Yes, he curled up in a corner. So this must be a bad dream. The mentors above weren't real. They were only a construct in his nightmare. Nobby knew that he just had to get awake, and he could escape these dream mentors. Yes, he must wake up. Wake up. Wake up. But as many of you know it is not always easy to wake up from a nightmare. Even though your subconscious mind has established that the source of danger is a dream and not real.
Nobby started to image a door in his dream. He knew that if he could reach that door, he would wake up. He felt like he was up to his waist in molasses and moving in slow motion to boot, as he strove to reach the imaginary door. Yes, get to the imaginary door, and the imaginary mentors will go away, and the imaginary danger will be over.
As Nobby was trying to imagine everything around him as being imaginary and not real, the whole fabric of his being started to grow thin. The walls were now semi-transparent. The windows seemed to be floating in mid-air. Even the hill the house stood on, and the other houses around him started to grow thin and transparent. He started to realize that none of this was real. It was all imaginary. As truth of his existence started to dawn on Nobby, he tried to see what was behind it.
He first saw a beautiful English mansion, where the woman of the house had an accent that was similar to his own. But that started to grow thin as well. He moved his head closer, as if that extra inch or two would actually help him see better, and could just make out a cluttered room. In it sat a very ordinary muggle facing away from him. The muggle seemed to be in the thrall of a set of tiny squares that the muggle rested his hands on, and staring into a bright thin square. It made no sense to Nobby at all.
A mist started to fill that room, and Nobby woke up.