Snape wasn't Head of Gryffindor, so in Harry's view, he ought to keep his opinions about what went on in the Tower to himself.
As it turned out, though, Draco had already ruined their holiday far more thoroughly than Harry possibly could.
Harry found out about it when he was on his way to Potions, his last class of the day.
A small noise startled him as he walked along with his friends, and there stood Dobby, hands on hips, his elf eyes wide. "Harry Potter must come at once!" Dobby screeched, stepping forward and grabbing Harry's hand.
"What? Wait, I have Potions next and I'm almost late--"
"Harry Potter must come!" insisted Dobby, his ears twitching in agitation, tugging on Harry's hand. "Now, now, now, Harry Potter!"
"All right, all right!" Harry shouted, then turned to his friends. "Look, just tell my father Dobby needed to talk to me, so he doesn't think I'm hurt or something."
"But skipping class again, Harry?" questioned Hermione. "Snape's class?"
Harry leaned close. Well, as close as he could with Dobby yanking on him. "Dobby here was helping us investigate the Owlery thing. My dad'll remember that and think I ought to talk with him."
"Oh. Well, if you're sure--"
"For Merlin's sake, Hermione! Don't you think Harry knows his father better than you do?"
"I said all right, didn't I, Ronald?" Hermione turned back to Harry. "But you aren't supposed to go anywhere alone--"
Harry thought of Dobby repelling Lucius Malfoy's spell that time, and smiled. "Elf-magic's pretty serious stuff. Dobby'll take good care of me."
"Well, if you're sure," Hermione said again.
"Harry Potter will be in the Tower!" Dobby screeched as he bounced up and down on his heels.
Just like that, quicker than the blink of an eye, Harry found himself up in his own dormitory, surrounded by hastily made beds.
Feeling like the breath had been knocked out of him, Harry sat down hard on his own bed and grabbed it to steady himself. It was a moment before he could speak; elf-Apparition was much more violent than the wizard kind. Though strangely enough, it was less nauseating.
"What's the meaning of this, Dobby?" he asked when he could talk. "Did you finally find out who it was that buried Draco's wand out on the grounds?"
"Dobby is not being concerned about Master Malfoy's wand!" The elf vigorously shook his head.
"He's Draco Snape, now," said Harry, thinking that the elves might not have heard the news. "He's my brother."
"Oooh, Harry Potter will be thinking twice on that when he is knowing what Master Malfoy has done!" exclaimed Dobby.
Harry sighed. What could Draco have done? He couldn't leave home, not without a wand. And the Floo was warded against him travelling anywhere alone. How bad could it be?
I would prefer not to underestimate Draco's ingenuity, he heard his father say inside his mind.
Harry suddenly had a bad, bad feeling. "What's he done?"
"That!"
Dobby snapped his fingers, and a glittering shower of pink sparks began to hover in the air. When it dissipated, a tray of fairy cakes remained. Elaborate fairy cakes; they looked as though they'd come from some incredibly upscale bakery.
"These was sitting out in the Slytherin common room!" shrieked Dobby. "They is from the kitchens! The Hogwarts kitchens!"
Noticing a plain parchment card on the tray, Harry stood up and reached out for it, only to be thrown back by a blast of energy that flared into life around the tray. "Ow!" he said, shaking his right hand.
"Dobby is getting it for Harry Potter! Harry Potter must not be poisoned!"
"Poisoned?"
"The fairy cakes is poisoned!" Dobby repeated, reaching for the card. He wouldn't let Harry touch it, however. Holding it close, he opened it so Harry could see the writing on the parchment.
"For my loyal Slytherins. You know who you are," Harry read out loud. "L. Malfoy."
"Yes, yes, yes!"
Harry sat down again. "All right, so Lucius sent fairy cakes to the conspirators to thank them... wait, they're poisoned. So what's he doing, trying to kill off anybody who knows he was involved in Pansy's death?"
"Master Malfoy senior is not sending fairy cakes to Slytherin!" shouted Dobby, more frantic than ever. "Master Malfoy junior is sending these!"
Harry felt like a shock wave had travelled through him. But then reason returned. "Oh, don't say that, Dobby. That's an awful thing to say! Look, I know you don't get on with Draco but really, it's a lot more likely that Lucius would be trying to poison students--"
"Harry Potter is not understanding!" Jumping up onto Harry's bed, Dobby grabbed both Harry's wrists and held on tight. "Master Malfoy asked the kitchens for fairy cakes! These fairy cakes! But they is poisoned now!"
"All right, slow down," said Harry, feeling like his brain needed a chance to catch up. First things first. "Is anybody hurt? Did anybody eat any of them?"
"No, no, no! Quilly was cleaning the dungeons and she was getting Dobby at once as soon as they arrived! The students was finishing their lunches in the Great Hall!"
Harry left aside, for the moment, the question of why this Quilly would have summoned another elf. Or why Dobby, for that matter. "Dobby," he asked, "if nobody's eaten the fairy cakes then what makes you so sure they're poisoned?"
Letting go of his wrists, Dobby drew himself up to his full height and glared. "Dobby was eating one."
"You said nobody had!"
"Dobby was thinking you meant the wizards and witches," said the elf, starting to hunch over, looking a little bit ashamed of his assumption, then. "Dobby did not know you was meaning house-elves. Dobby was forgetting Harry Potter's great kindness to house-elves--"
Harry reached out and patted the elf's hand. "That's okay, Dobby. Are you all right?"
"Oh yes, Harry Potter! Dobby sicked up twice but now is right as rain!"
Giving Dobby's hand one more pat, Harry murmured, "I'm sorry you were sick. Now, if Draco ordered a plate of fairy cakes like this, then I guess it looks awfully suspicious, but really, Dobby--"
Dobby waved the card he was still holding, though he kept it well away from Harry. "This is not Master Malfoy senior's writing! It is looking so similar that the students would not be noticing the difference! But Dobby is noticing! That is Master Malfoy junior's writing, Harry Potter! Dobby is knowing these things!"
Now Harry felt like he was the one who would sick up. He couldn't help but remember Draco's impulse control problem. Or his resentment of his House, these days. Or the personal experiment he'd been working on, the one he'd said not to tell their father about. What if he'd been brewing a poison?
Draco hadn't wanted to let Harry mince the clover, Harry suddenly remembered. It felt like something hard and heavy had portkeyed straight into his gut. Draco hadn't wanted Harry to help make that potion, and he'd said it was because Harry wasn't a pureblood... a claim Harry hadn't believed at the time.
He believed it even less, now.
What if Draco hadn't wanted help because he didn't want Harry implicated in the poisoning?
The whole plot was really too awful to believe, so Harry struggled against an overwhelming sense of evidence to gasp, "Draco can't get to the Slytherin common room, Dobby! I mean, he can't leave by the door and he definitely can't Floo anywhere by himself! So how would he even deliver these?"