The snow fell steadily in Diagon Alley while the cold drained Colin's camera battery like no tomorrow. He hurried through the streets, his mother close behind him, dodging taller shoppers with ease.
Normally, he didn't visit Diagon Alley during the winter holidays, but he accidentally knocked his entire bookbag of supplies into his potion cauldron last week. The explosion forced the Slytherins to bunk in the Room of Requirement until term ended, because the house elves were still excavating their dungeons. Professor Snape was livid, especially since Colin couldn't keep from giggling at his lack of eyebrows. He wouldn't get out of detention until he graduated, at this rate.
So he needed to go shopping. His mother sighed as they plodded through the snow. "How clumsy do you have to be to destroy your entire stock of supplies in one fell swoop- what in the world is going on over there?"
'Over there' gathered a group of witches and wizards carrying signs. Colin snapped a quick picture, because why not, before reading the signs. Not Our Minister, Aurors Have To Answer, and Let Lockhart Lead numbered among them, along with one sign held by a particularly confused witch proclaiming Down With Fudge, Up With Taffy!
Colin swallowed nervously. "Protests, Mum. We should just go around them."
Her grip tightened on his hand. "Colin, I thought you said after your father and I talked to you about going on the run in the dream world that you'd stop hiding things from us."
They'd been furious, both in the dream and now. "I didn't think it'd affect us." He tugged on her hand. "Come on."
One of the wizards scowled at them. "You should be marching with us, boy. Fudge won't protect Muggles like your dear mother there."
A witch's hand inched towards her wand. "You're a Mudblood-lover? I thought you marched for justice for the Crabbe boy."
He sneered. "That dark bit of scum? He deserved to suffer more-"
"I'm friends with his mother, arse!" She drew her wand.
"We'll just be going now," Colin squeaked, all but dragging his mother away from the scene. He caught the flashes of curse-light out of the corner of his eye.
The glare his mother levelled on him was positively painful. "Not going to affect us?" she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
He winced. "I didn't realize it was so bad."
Minister Legitimizes House Elf Liberation Party, or HELP, in Historic Move
By Marcus Weasley
Today, I braved the snows to watch Minister Fudge present Dobby the Elf, face of the freedom movement, with a beautifully knit merino hat bought from Australia. The elf accepted the gift gravely, and so was freed.
Has Minister Fudge thus cemented his position as a champion of freedom? Opinions are mixed.
"Took him long enough," said Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and savior of the Wizarding World, along with strong champion of house elf rights. "He confiscated Dobby from the Malfoys over a year ago, and knew the whole time Dobby wanted freedom. He's only finally doing what's right."
Meredith Diggory, a pillar of the community and an advocate for safer schools, has a different opinion. "What's next? Will he allow centaurs access to our women? They're not like us, and I don't understand why people can't see that."
Few reporters, however, thought to ask the newly-freed elf his opinion. Dobby the house elf was freed in the dream world, and proceeded to save the Boy-Who-Lived's life, so surely he has something wise to say?
"I be thinking freedom is good, but I not stupid," he informed me sagely. "Minister Fudge not be caring about me. Minister Fudge be caring about his job."
Wise words, Dobby, wise words. And what is the state of Fudge's job? In the dream, when he was deemed unfit, Rufus Scrimgeour replaced him, but the head Auror still has not fully investigated the death of Vincent Crabbe, and so some may doubt his ability to lead fairly. Of course, as Scrimgeour's boss, this does not help Fudge's position.
Even those who believe Vincent Crabbe got exactly what he deserved still doubt Fudge's ability to lead, as last weekend's protests showed. Overall, the Aurors had to arrest twenty wizards and send another forty to St. Mungo's hospital, including three children who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. The political situation currently resembles a lit Fizzing Wizzbang, and we don't know how long we have until it explodes.
Despite doubt from some members of the community, though, the freeing of Dobby the Elf seems to have quelled some doubts. "At least I know he's looking out for someone besides himself," said Molly Weasley, a house-wife with close ties to the Boy-Who-Lived. "That's better than nothing, right?"
However, the most important question still has yet to be answered. At one of the recent anti-Fudge protests, a young woman bore a sign proclaiming Down With Fudge, Up With Taffy! "Far tougher than Fudge," she said, "And better-tasting besides." Who is this mysterious Taffy and is he perhaps better suited to the current position than our current minister? Do we have a new infiltration of cannibals into the Wizarding World? Is there a plot to eat our Minister? Look in the Daily Prophet next week for the exclusive!
"Is there a plot to eat our Minister?" Juliet mocked under her breath. "Knowing the sensationalist idiots running the Prophet, they'll blame werewolves next."
Remus sipped at his tea. "Aren't you related to some of those idiots?" he asked, glancing about the Muggle cafe yet again, though he'd not seen a single wizard in all the times he'd met Juliet here, excepting them, of course.
She snorted. "Exactly my point. But the freeing of the elf is an opportunity."
"Are you sure?" he asked. "They don't present nearly the danger to human witches and wizards we do."
"You're joking, right?" Juliet said. "Durmstrang had house elves, though there we called them domovoi. They aren't as subservient as your elves, though. Should they be abused, they abuse back."
Remus frowned. "But-"
"It depended on the magnitude of the offense, of course. Sloppyness meant a few bruises. Cruelty, well…" She shrugged. "Once, my roommate's eyes and mouth were sewn shut in the night."
Remus set his mug down into the saucer with a heavy clatter, trying to ignore the shaking of his hand. "The domovoi was not punished?"
Juliet shrugged. "My roommate learned not to raise a hand against a domovoi," she said. "The domovoi continued on. It was, after all, tending the castle without pay."
"Right," said Remus, lacing his fingers together. He remembered all the cruelties Sirius had shown Kreacher, and shuddered.
"See," said Juliet, with a smile. "If you, a werewolf, can fear an elf, who's to say wizards won't, either?"
He had to get home to Harry soon, who was home for Christmas break. Sirius was baby-sitting, and while his friend had been greatly helped by his therapy, he still wasn't entirely stable. Still, he said, "But British elves follow different rules than domovoi. What elf will risk their freedom over a fight?"
"Why, Remus, you misunderstand. Present you, innocent werewolf who fought against Voldemort and only wants anti-discrimination laws, against the Pensieve memory of my mutilated roommate, and the conclusion will be obvious."
He grimaced. "You assume wizards won't instead move against domovoi. If they change the laws in fear... We need to earn this through peace."
She leaned forward, and the rickety table tilted. "Don't you think we've tried that?"
"I think preying on wizards' fears will only earn us more hatred. We can't stoop to their level, and we can't stab other magical creatures in the back to earn our own rights." He smiled grimly. "Unless you're not worried about shielding yourself from a domovoi in the night?"
Juliet sighed, then unexpectedly dropped her head into her arms. "Perhaps you're right. I'm just tired of not being treated as a person."
"We'll get there someday," Remus said, though he didn't know, he couldn't know. He had to believe in the world eventually becoming right. If he didn't, what was there to believe in?
The day she got back from the holiday break, Hermione went down to the kitchens to have a little chat with some folk whose opinions she'd sorely neglected.
See, she'd done some research over the holiday. There'd been a few cultures where what amounted to temporary slavery had been chosen by the slave, most notably to fulfil debts or… she blushed. Some communities of people with strange, at least to her, interests.
Still, an entire subcategory of beings making the choice to serve wizards… even dogs would bite if one mistreated them.
She accepted the tea the head house-elf of the kitchen, Perry, pressed in her hands. Hogwarts elves were free now, and though she wasn't nearly so naive as to think the fight done- perhaps it would never be done- she felt more ethical now in accepting their help. "Perry?"
"Yes, Miss?" The elf had modified the sock Dumbledore gave her into an elaborate head-scarf covered in dancing kneazles. It really was quite distracting.
"What makes you happy?"
Perry paused, and regarded her shrewdly. "Me, miss, or house elves in general?"
Hermione opened her mouth, then stopped. "I wouldn't want someone to have me speak for all muggle-borns, or rather to generalize Colin Creevy's experience with mine. Please, Perry, tell me about yourself."
Perry wandered away to check the ovens. "Well, miss, I just became a grandmother last week. I'm rather excited to present the boy with his first kneazle."
"His first…?"
"Kneazle, miss. I breed electric blue show kneazles. Lovely creatures, even though they do generate the most terrible localized lightning storms. Not too horrible a problem before electricity, but last time we had a global kneazle convention the storm took out the electrical for most of the eastern United States."
Hermione blinked. "I see."
Perry glanced at Hermione out of the corner of her eye. "Don't think I don't appreciate freedom, ma'am. Dumbledore didn't mind my attending the convention in the least, but there are other masters who aren't so kind. We aren't all able to pursue our interests. The movement gives us is freedom of choice."
"About that," Hermione said. "Why do some elves reject freedom, in your opinion? Maybe it'd help if I understood, even a little."
Perry shrugged, even as she pulled a ham out of one of the ovens. "How many decisions did you make when you were but a child, Miss? Anything important, or nothing more than what toy to play with?"
"I suppose nothing very important, because my parents would take care of anything truly important." She pressed a hand to her lips. "Are you saying…?"
"It might be a factor affecting the decision for some, Miss. There's a mix of people in this world, from the ones who will chose freedom even if they suffer for it, to those who seek safety above all else. Choosing between a bad master or the ability to feed one's children? I think I'd chose the master rather than see my kin starve, especially when it doesn't require a decision, only a… continuation."
Hermione sipped at her tea now that it'd cooled enough she could do so without burning the roof of her mouth. "But surely jobs are an option."
Perry snorted. "Only if someone's willing to hire. I'm lucky here at Hogwarts in that I'm not locked out of a paying job due to my species, but should I wish to become, say, a ministry politician…" She trailed off.
Hermione closed her eyes. "My grandmother didn't march with the suffragettes, though they were of her time," she said. "I asked her, while I was home for the holidays, to tell me why. She was locked out of so much simply due to her gender." Hermione hesitated. "She said she feared angering her husband, because though he was a good man, and she trusted him, he had legal control over her children, her money. She would be destitute and broken if he so chose. Safety was more important to her than freedom."
Perry regarded her, unblinkingly. "Do you judge her, for that?"
Hermione laughed, bitterly. "How can I, she who has made the effort to be the model Muggleborn? Racists can use the tiniest mistake in my classes as a reason why I don't belong, and by extension, everyone else like me. I can't slip up, not even once."
