Hello there boys and girls! I hope you're all having a wonderful day! Today's fanfic is rated MA, so unless this sort of thing is something that helps you process things, or unless you're a fucked up deep-internet degenerate who can casually browse r/wtf, maybe don't read this. It's not too bad, but not all things need to be in your mind. Do what a Hufflepuff would do, do what's the smart thing to do, and find something a bit more pleasant. Trigger warnings for abuse. Slightly disturbing content ahead.

Also, if you feel like leaving a review, that would be great.

All aboard? You've been warned! Toot toot!

This fanfic is based on works by J.K. Rowling.

The tunnel out from the dens always helped wake Knobby from his stupor. It was the path to work. Once you left it, you were spending eighteen hours doing everything you could while keeping out of sight from the wizarding masters. You scrubbed toilets, you swept, you mopped and dried floors, you dusted, you organized kitchen utensils, you fluffed pillows and folded robes. You did just about everything you could think of, and then conferred in hushed whispers with your fellow House-elves to make sure nobody had forgotten anything. It was the answer to all the feelings of unpleasantness, of hopelessness, of any dreariness that came, when life seemed miserable. It was meaning. it was purpose. It was air, and life, and sustenance. It was work.

But on this day - Knobby walked along the well-worn, familiar path, his heartbeat elevating, his pace just a bit slower than it would've been otherwise - it was not work he was going to. It was the Choosing.

The tunnel grew brighter and brighter, to the point where only the best-sighted wizards would finally be able to see, and then brighter still. He sighed. Noise built, and he knew what awaited him. He trudged along, over the stone he'd scrubbed a thousand times, hand patting the worn tunnel wall he'd cleaned a thousand times, subconsciously checking for dust or cobwebs. And then he was there, at the little door that looked like it should creak, but had been so carefully oiled that it opened without a sound.

He entered the office. It was somewhere between a booking area and a storehouse for custodial equipment, with all the chairs and doorways and furniture massively proportioned for the masters. Only the cleaning tools had been made to fit their hands. That was the point of the place, after all. At the desk was the enormous backside of a witch; Mistress Boulediara, who was looking over her books and waiting for him. He steeled himself, heart still going fast.

"Knobby is here, Miss," he said.

"There you are," she hissed, standing fiercely from her chair and stomping over to him. "You're the last to arrive."

She grabbed his arm with her massive, sweaty hand, and Knobby thought immediately of the desk she'd been working at, and the cleaning potions that would need to be used to get her body oils off the wood. She pulled him toward the next door.

"Couldn't you have worn something over that nasty bump on your head?" she said angrily. "You don't have a hat, or anything?"

"Hats is clothes, Miss."

"Don't sass me!" she said, jerking his arm as she led him down the hallway, noise continuing to grow. "If it weren't for you needing to look presentable, I'd teach you a lesson for that. You should be grateful for me running this place! Keeping after the lot of you day and night… most would consider it unbecoming. You did remember to wash, didn't you?"

"Yes, Miss."

The corridor was narrow and eventually gave way to the waiting-room beside the stage. He knew the way well enough on his own, but he kept silent. Mistress Boulediara wasn't one to be spoken to carelessly, even though he had a great many things he could say to her. She wasn't even the one who "kept the place running", as she liked to call it. She was just the human-version of what he was - another member in a long chain of caretakers.

Once they entered the waiting-room, he was thrown at the far wall where the others stood at attention.

"Now you wait there with the lot of them," she spat. "And smarten yourself up if you can! I trust you know what to do when they call you out. Maybe this time, we'll finally be rid of you!"

Mistress Boulediara stomped off again, and Knobby held himself from letting out another sigh. Against the wall were four other elves - Button, named after the shape of her nose; Stumps, named after his short legs; Toes, who was the tallest of all the House-elves and had been through this ordeal with him three times before; and lastly Dusty, who had been born with a cough.

"Knobby okay?" Dusty squeaked in his raspy voice.

All four of them were casting him glances.

"Knobby is fine," he said. "Knobby is always fine."

"Maybe Knobby will find a home this time?" said Toes kindly.

He gave a half-hearted smile, but otherwise didn't respond. Toes was being nice. She was always very nice. If it weren't for her height, she would've been gone after her first Choosing.

The minutes passed. Sounds came through the doorway to the stage. Knobby could hear the auction proceeding, the sales-wizard rattling off statistics and announcing bids, the crowd talking and shouting out over the constant rabble.

The waiting-room always made him very restless. Even though the lights were dimmed, and it was just the five of them waiting there, he got anxious when his hands weren't busy. He'd much rather have been polishing silverware in the kitchen, or wiping down the display windows outside the storefronts.

Eventually, the auctioneer began winding down. Knobby sensed the excitement in his fellow elves - the way their muscles tensed and their breaths quickened. They were all very optimistic, he knew, picturing what wizarding families were like. How their homes were. Wondering if the stories they'd heard as children were true - entire slices of sweet bread for dinner, whole blankets that weren't worn through and heavy with time, kind masters that praised them for the work they did. Knobby didn't know if any of it was true. But he never dashed anyone's hopes in the waiting-room.

The stage door banged open, and a young wizard in fancy robes stuck his head in.

"Ready up, you lot!"

Knobby took the lead, and the five of them followed the wizard single-file out through the doorway and behind the curtain. It was very noisy on stage. He could taste the breath of all the masters in the audience. He kept his back straight and posture relaxed, to help calm the others behind him. He didn't know if it actually helped, but when he was younger and got nervous he'd always look to the experienced elves for what to do. And now it was his turn.

Their wizard escort whispered quick instructions to them, which Knobby had heard many times before. There were circles on the stage you were supposed to stand in, which weren't visible from where the crowd sat, so it looked like your group was well-coordinated. It was supposed to make you seem more appealing. When your name was called, you stepped forward to a circle that had been drawn apart from the others, dead-center at the front of the stage so all the masters could have a clear look at you. Knobby studied at the circles as the wizard wrapped up the instructions, remembering all the elves that had gone through, who he'd probably never see again.

"And here comes the next batch, esteemed sirs and madams…" declared the auctioneer.

"Okay, go! go!" whispered their escort.

They went to their circles. The auctioneer introduced them. Dusty was called up first, and was sold for a decent amount of galleons to a kindly-looking witch. Off he went. Button went up next. She fetched a bit less, seeing as she was a bit skinnier than Dusty, and would be thought less capable. Then it was Toes.

Knobby was hopeful for Toes. She definitely deserved a good family. He watched her from behind, knowing what it was like to be in her place. She kept her back straight, as Knobby had done, but he wasn't sure if it helped here - she looked tall enough as it was, and the light-blue pillowcase she'd fitted to herself made her seem all the more noodley. The rows of wealthy wizarding families were studying her frame with hard and disapproving expressions. Knobby could almost feel his face getting hot in sympathy.

"Will anyone match the starting bid?" asked the auctioneer. "She's young, she's fit, and who knows, those extra few centimeters might help her get to those hard-to-reach places! Anyone?"

"Here," said someone.

Knobby looked in surprise - a man in a cluster of three had raised his paddle. The group didn't look friendly. The man and his wife were completely disinterested in the whole affair, so it seemed, and only their boy - who was overweight, and seemed to have a skin condition - was looking at Toes. Knobby stared, concern mounting inside him. There was a hunger there, one he'd seen before. It made a memory rise, and his heart dropped, and her felt himself sicken. Please, he thought - not them. Any other masters, please.

"I'll match," said a man, on the other side of the crowd. Knobby's breath caught.

"Very good, very good!" said the auctioneer. He rattled off the price again, but the father of the boy matched it again, and the man didn't follow. Toes went off. A deadness weighted inside him.

It was Knobby's turn. He didn't have time to process, to say goodbye to Toes. He went to the circle. He felt more numb and inattentive than usual. He looked around at the masters out there, some of them with grotesque expressions on their faces at the knobbly bump on his temple, others that were stuffing their faces with more food than he'd eat all week. He looked at the family that had bought Toes, who were now talking amongst themselves. Resentment climbed, even though it was a terrible thing for a House-elf to be feeling. But he didn't press it down this time. He'd been fighting it his entire life, and was getting tired of it.

You were supposed to look bright, coming up on the stage. You were supposed to look ready, and willing to serve whoever Chose you. And he had the first few times he came. But he didn't anymore. He'd stopped caring.

Nobody bid for him, and as with times before, he went back to his circle. Stumps waddled forward with his bow-legged walk and fetched the highest bid of all, probably thanks to his fit-looking build. Then it was over with, and Knobby went back to the waiting-room, and then the hallway, and then the office.

"Look at you," said Mistress Boulediara, watching him from her chair, looking like she had something nasty under her nose. "Coming back with your head held high. You think it's good, do you, not getting Chosen? Not being bought?"

"No, Miss," he said. Sweat was already starting to prickle.

"Don't you take that tone with me!" she scolded.

He hadn't been making a tone, but it was already too late. She was standing with her wand. Instinctively, he started toward the tunnel door before he could stop himself.

"Where do you think you're going?" she said. "Leaving without being dismissed? You audacious little rodent! Coming back not properly ashamed of yourself and your ugly mug, and now you have the gall to leave without permission? You need another lesson! Crucio!"

Knobby dropped, shards of glass shoving under his skin. He couldn't feel the floor. He couldn't breathe. His eyes rolled in his head, and it was all he could do to keep himself from screaming. The other House-elf families were right at the end of the tunnel, and he didn't want to disturb the young ones. He reached out toward the door, not expecting help to come, not even thinking why, except for that's where he wanted to be.

She let up, right as a tea-kettle scream began escaping his lungs. He went limp. He lay there, shaking, nerves continuing to spark. In the back of his mind, as he gasped for breath, he recognized the floor needed to be swept, and that bits of dirt and dust were getting onto his recently-washed cutting of old window curtain.

"Now get out of my sight, and remember your place!"

A boot struck his side, just missing his stomach for the bones of his ribs and pelvis. He left the ground and was stopped by the stony surface of the wall, where he dropped, sharp knees and elbows taking the impact with the floor. His side bumped painfully from the boot. Before she could set on him again, he gathered his location in the room, spotted the tunnel door, and crawled his way to it. He grabbed the handle and dragged himself inside. The darkness was a relief. He let himself collapse in a heap right at the entrance and breathed, but kept it quiet enough to keep himself from her mind.

When he'd recovered enough to stand, Knobby set back down the tunnel. Darkness and warm air enveloped him. He was soaked in sweat from her magic. He walked with a limp, but it was nothing a good sleep couldn't take care of. Part of him was tempted to let himself return to his relaxed stupor, but he knew the ordeal of Choosing Day wasn't over with.

Ahead, from the dens, came the sound of excited feet he was all too familiar with. Knobby made out the bright, happy orbs of Dobby as he came running up, smiling, ears flapping all over the place, just like his did when he was younger. The two of them were actually birthed from the same she-elf. That wasn't something usually kept track of by House-elf standards, but here in the dens it was important to know who was who. Dobby was younger than him, not yet old enough for the Choosing, but it wouldn't be long now.

"Knobby is still here!" said Dobby happily, grabbing his hand. "Dobby was hoping you would stay!"

Knobby tried to shove him away, but flinched and it came off too weak to be noticed.

"Not now, Dobby," he said. "Knobby is very tired."

Dobby cooed in sympathy, but continued jumping around at his side.

"Knobby is here, Knobby is here!" he sang.

"No, bad Dobby... the Mistress will here you. We are still in the tunnel."

"Knobby is here, here to stay," he sang, but quieter.

He hadn't meant for them to become close. He'd made an effort to avoid it, in fact. It was unbecoming to have personal relations amongst other House-elves. You weren't supposed to make friends. But that was another thing that was different about life in the dens, and try as he did to discourage it, it still happened. They would suffer for it eventually, he knew, but for now, it made things a bit less miserable.

As if to illustrate the fact, they came across the relations of Stumps and Button. Knobby had thankfully recovered enough for conversation. Two elves asked for Stumps, and Knobby told them proudly that he was Chosen by a wealthy family who were sure to have a team of elves waiting for him, and the elves thanked him, and ran on. A single elf asked for Button, who was a close friend of hers, and Knobby told her Button's Choosers looked to be very kindly. With every exchange, Dobby commented excitedly - "Good old Stumps, very good worker he is!", or, "Oh, Button, off to nice masters and a happy family!"

They didn't see anyone for Dusty, which made Knobby sad. He'd been rather fond of Dusty.

Then they got to the ones for Toes. His heart fell, seeing the three of them there. They were all she-elves, and all born from the same womb as Toes had been. The eldest was Lace, who Knobby knew personally, and then there was Berry and Pinky at her side, expressions identical. Each of them were also tall, but nowhere near as tall as Toes had been.

"Toes was picked, Toes was picked!" said Dobby. "How good for her, yes it is!"

"Quiet, Dobby," he said.

"Toes was Chosen?" asked Lace.

"Yes," he said. "Toes was picked."

They noticed his tone, and their eyes widened. At his side, Dobby was still humming and dancing around.

"Dobby!" he said, patience breaking. He grabbed him roughly at the shoulder, and the sudden movement made the pain in his side flare, causing him to wince. "Dobby must be quiet!" he said. "Dobby is too old for this! Too old for being silly!"

Lace's quiet voice cut through his heart.

"Will Toes have good masters?" she asked.

This was a question the older elves knew to ask. If the masters looked to be kindly, you were supposed to say "They will have plenty of work." If the masters looked mean, or indifferent, you were to say "They will work hard." It was subtle, but the meaning was guarded enough to keep the younger elves from knowing.

Knobby looked at each of them. Their eyes searched his face. Poor Toes. It was such an awful thing.

"Toes will have plenty of work," he lied.

"Plenty of work, plenty of work," sang Dobby.

"Knobby is not being honest," Lace whispered.

Tears welled in his eyes, and he swallowed to keep himself from breaking. It was such an awful thing. And now that he'd lied, they would be imagining the worst! Just what would Berry and Pinky be thinking? What could he say? For all he knew, the very worst might just be what awaited her!

"Toes has plenty of work," said Dobby. "Happy, she should be, yes she should! She got Chose, good old Toes, almost too tall to be picked -"

Knobby whirled on him, tears blurring his vision.

"Quiet, Dobby!" he shrieked, seizing him by the throat. They fell to the floor, Knobby continuing to throttle him. "Dobby mustn't sing! Dobby is very bad! Bad Dobby, bad Dobby!"

Suddenly, light illuminated the area. He froze. The door at the far end of the tunnel had opened, and Mistress Boulediara was sticking her head in.

"What's going on down there?" she called.

Knobby shoved himself backward off Dobby, wincing as the pain beat in his side. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that the three elves had cleared away from the light, but he could still sense them there, watching from the harsh shadows. It was the smart thing to do.

Mistress Boulediara was making her way down the tunnel. It was just tall enough for her to walk without crouching, only having to bend her head forward. Knobby felt prickles of sweat at the sight of her wand. No matter where they went, they were never safe.

Dobby coughed and sat upright. Knobby paled - this wasn't good. It was just the two of them in her sight, and Dobby was drawing far too much attention to himself. And Dobby was a healthy elf. He hadn't been damaged yet, and was still free of scarring and suffering. Knobby wanted him to stay that way. In order for him to be picked by a wealthy family as fast as possible, it was important for him to stay whole.

"Knobby is so mean to Dobby," Dobby cried.

"Quiet, Dobby!" he hissed.

Mistress Boulediara came to a stop, looming over them.

"What have we here?"

Her eyes were on Dobby, who wasn't paying attention to her. Dobby wasn't afraid of her. Because he'd never felt her wand. And, as Knobby knew all too well, that meant she would want to teach him.

He thought fast, eyes darting rapidly between them. It was too late to be quiet, all the other House-elves were surely awake by now. He had to draw attention to himself to keep her off Dobby. What could he say, to earn her fury, but not alienate the others? He had to keep helping and teaching them, no one else had his same amount of experience. It had to be a lie, something they would know was obviously a lie.

"Dobby is a bad elf!" Knobby said loudly. "Dobby… is not giving his rations to Knobby!"

It worked.

"And why should he give his rations to you?" she asked.

"Because -" he hesitated. What could be offensive enough to the masters, but still keep Dobby clear of any crime?

"Because Dobby is Knobby's little brother!" he said, saying the fatal word. "Knobby deserves his portions too!"

Dobby, by some miracle, stayed silent.

"Brother?" she repeated, directing her blinding wand light at him. "Who taught you that word?"

"Knobby is hearing it, Miss, while out in the alley!"

"There are no brothers amongst House-elves!" she boomed. "Only your masters may use that word! You should know this already!"

She swung up her wand to cast her magic, but at the last second a thought seemed to cross her mind.

"But you are his senior, aren't you?" she said. "You should lead by example. So, what must happen to an elf, when it behaves badly?"

Knobby's eyes lept around the edges of the tunnel. What could he use? No broom handles were there, no wood-soled shoes, no door jams to shut his fingers in - he had to get creative. His eyes fell on the tunnel wall.

He picked himself up, drawing a sharp intake of breath at moving his side. He walked forward to the wall, being sure to come near Dobby, so he would hold his attention. Dobby stared up at him bewilderedly. Good. Dobby needed to watch. Dobby needed to learn.

He got to the wall, and put his hands up against it, feeling the cold stone. And then he leaned his head back, fought through his body's urge to refuse, and brought his head forward.

Collision. Bright spots. Stars in his vision.

"Bad Knobby!" he yelled, and leaned his head back again. The trick was to pretend the wall wasn't there, so you'd throw your head forward all the harder and give your master a satisfactory show of punishment.

"Bad Knobby!"

He cracked his skull into the wall. His vision blossomed with spots of darkness and light, and ice grew like a rose at the point of impact, squeezing his head with metal thorns.

"Bad Knobby!"

Crack.

"Bad Knobby!"

Crack. He hoped, in the last functional parts of his mind, that Dobby was remembering this.

"Bad Knobby!" Crack. "Bad Knobby!" Crack. "Bad… bad Knobby," he said, but stumbled backward and fell to the floor, consciousness falling away from him. He hadn't gotten to the last hit. And he couldn't stand. Darkness was wrapping around him, caressing him, soothing him.

"Oh, I think we can do better than that," said Mistress Boulediara.

And then the floor gave way. The warm air of the den gave way. Everything gave way. There was only light, and pain.

But only for a moment.