Late, late at night, under the watchful moon, shut in by the stone walls of a great castle, a secret meeting takes place.
First, we see a girl with bushy brown hair sitting quite still at a table, eyes fixed on a particular point on the wall, next to the fireplace that has nearly burnt itself out.
Not five minutes later, the fire is weakening, and the girl has still not moved. A long flap of an ear emerges from the shadows, hovering low to the ground like the ear of a fox.
Now, the rest of the house-elf's face emerges into relief. He sees the girl sitting at the table, watching him closely, and grows nervous as he scurries to stoke the fire. Scrape, scrape, go the coals. The elf is afraid of being found out! Who would have thought? I always chuckle as I tell this story: at the innocence of the girl, who prides herself on being so intelligent, so learned in all ways. At the fierce pride of the creature, a pride hidden under layers of humility and a white tea cloth.
"Is miss wanting anything from Breezy?" asks the house elf anxiously, large, round eyes waiting for a response.
"Come here, Breezy, please," says the young girl. She leans forward in her chair, brushing a lock behind her ear. "I have a present for you." She, too, watches the house-elf eagerly as he takes five steps in her direction. She is eager. "Do you want to know what it is?"
"Miss has a present for Breezy?" asks the little creature, quite overcome. "Breezy has never received a present from- from a Gryffindor!" His voice drops low. "Breezy's father received a present from a Ravenclaw, yes he did, one day a long time ago. Breezy's father kept it in the castle. And now Breezy will have a present too!"
The girl looks delighted. She opens her fist, which was tightly clenched. Something silver shines in her palm. "Do you know what a Sickle is?" she asks, and the mousy little elf nods very quickly.
"A Sickle is wizard money," he says to her. "A Sickle is what Breezy puts in the bags for the Hogwarts professors, yes he does! And Breezy puts the Galleons in the bags, too, miss, for the teachers to earn. It must be a mistake, miss, to give a Sickle to Breezy!"
"No, Breezy," she insists. It is for you! Hold out your hand to me," she instructs, and folds his bony fingers over the coin. "Would you bring the Gryffindor elves here, to get their own Sickles?" She leans forward, as if confiding a secret. "I only had enough Sickles for the Gryffindor elves, would you believe that? Breezy, not enough other people would donate!"
Breezy, the little elf, looks as if he was struck by lightning! Oh, these creatures, my little children; they have so much to learn in this world! "But, miss," he hesitates, "Breezy does not know what to do with this . . . Sickle. Breezy does not have to earn a wage, miss, because Breezy lives at Hogwarts, eats at Hogwarts, and Breezy likes living at Hogwarts. Breezy doesn't need a Sickle, miss."
"Of course you need it!" she cries. "You can buy something from Hogsmeade with it, like a, a sweet from Honeydukes, or a prank to pull on Peeves – from Zonko's Joke Shop!"
"This Sickle will get rid of Peeves?" The elf looks delighted. "Thank you, miss!"
He is busy at the fire for a moment, and then scurries back through his mysterious passageway, leaving the room illuminated like the inside of a jack o' lantern as the girl falls asleep at the table with a smile on her face.
Ginny had woken up in a sweat, hearing her own panting breaths peter into silence, staring with dilated pupils into the cool night air of her dormitory. She shook out her hair, clotted around her face as she had tossed and turned through the night, and slipped on her slippers to pad gently across the stone floor.
It didn't take long for Ginny to reach the common room; she smiled to herself as she descended the final step and came into view of the subtly lit room. Hermione's bushy head was resting on the table, her profile outlined by the flickering flames. "I just don't understand," Ginny was puzzled to hear. That phrase was not what one would expect from Hermione Granger.
"'Mione," said Ginny, softly, crossing over to drop into the chair next to her. "I had a bad dream."
Hermione slowly lifted her head from the table, shaking back her hair from her face.
"Oh, Ginny," said Hermione, watching the younger girl in concern. "Tell me about it."
Ginny shivered. "Usually, dreams don't scare me," she stated. "I don't know- this one seemed so different from what I've ever dreamt before. I- I almost felt the same way I did when-" she broke off, crossing her arms around her chest protectively, "when Tom Riddle was possessing me." Ginny didn't want to look into Hermione's eyes, so she had no choice but to continue talking to the walls. "It was a dream about a house-elf."