Title: No One Holding the Idiot Ball: The Shirts
Author: MrPowell
Rating: K
Pairing: Harry/Hermione (friendship)
Summary: Hermione has a question in her fourth year.
Disclaimer: Since this is a work of fan fiction, this author (MrPowell) in no way claims any rights to the characters, locations or cultures involved in the story. No profit is made on this work. No books were harmed in the writing of this fiction.
Harry noticed something was wrong the moment he saw Hermione enter the great hall. Ron had already ate and returned to the tower to get his books, but Harry had carried his bag to breakfast with him and decided to wait for their friend. However when she came in, instead of her normal perky self; eager for a new day of learning, or an perhaps an entrance with her nose in a book, today she wandered listlessly in, a confused and even slightly lost expression on her face. Seeing as they had walked these halls for four years, Harry knew she wasn't physically lost, but something was definitely distressing his bushy haired friend.
When she dazedly stepped over the bench before taking a seat beside him, and stared blankly at the plate in front of her, Harry got even more anxious, though her setting her book bag at her feet with her usual care did ease his worry slightly. The day Hermione Granger harmed a book through misuse would be a bad day indeed.
"Hermione? What's wrong?" He asked.
"I… I just don't get it." Her voice sounded small and frail, yet again increasing his concern. Seeing that his friend was still sitting unmoving, he took one of the serving spoons and put a roll, unbuttered with strawberry jam, like she usually ate it, on her plate, knowing even at her most rushed she would still at least grab this much, but also unwilling to be more presumptive.
"What don't you get?" he asked after he managed to get her to start eating.
"Do you remember how you weren't impressed with my first attempts at knitting?" she asked, finally turning towards him.
"Well…" he attempted to dodge. How could he forget the hats? Still, at her fragile look he crumbled. "Yeah."
She turned back to her plate and her head drooped slightly staring at her half eaten roll. "Well, after that, I decided to practice until I got better and then knitted a lot of shirts, all of them house elf sized. I decided that once I had enough, I could leave them all in the common room at night, so when the house elves came to clean one would pick it up and be free, then another would come and do the same thing, then another and another until either the castle ran out of elves or I ran out of shirts. It was the perfect plan."
As she spoke, his friend became more and more alive, so even though he didn't really care about her cause, he felt more at ease. "Alright." The plan sounded good, after all.
"Well last night I thought I had enough shirts, so after everyone went to bed and the common room was cleared, I brought them all and scattered them everywhere."
Harry nodded. "So, did it work?"
"No… or well, I don't think it did." She half mumbled. "When I woke up this morning, all the shirts I made were cleaned, folded and put in my trunk." Her shoulders fell again.
"I just don't get it." She all but whispered.
"Huh. That is odd." Was all Harry could manage. Hermione nodded. While he went back to his breakfast, he knew that he too had a confused and thoughtful look on his face. Should he ask Dobby what happened? Thinking of the kitchens beneath the great hall, he glanced downward and saw his shoes. Sitting up in shock, he turned to his friend who looked towards him with a questioning, if hopeful glance.
"Hermione, have you ever left any clothing in the common room before last night?"
She clearly thought the question odd. "No…" she drawled.
"Well if you've noticed, I will often take off my shoes once I sit down on our couch in the common room." She nodded. "Every once in a while I forget to take them with me when I go up to bed." She nodded again. "Guess where those shoes are when I wake up?" The light of comprehension began dawn in her eyes. "They are right where I usually keep them in my room."
"Oh." She all but whispered as she connected the dots. She had made those little knitted shirts, so technically they were hers. The house elves likely thought that since they belonged to her, and were on the floor, that they were dirty, and so cleaned them, folded them, and placed them with the rest of her clothes.
"Oh."
Author's Note: This came from a simple question; what use are a race of household servants who are honor bound not to pick up dirty laundry?
Also this is from what will hopefully become either a series of vignettes or a full length story that I'm tentatively titling No One Holding the Idiot Ball. I've got an idea for at least two more, though neither are written.
Finally, thank you for reading, and remember that reviews are the only form of compensation I can receive for my work here.