Back at Hogwarts again after the holidays, Hermione sat in History of Magic class, completely ignoring her professor in favour of reading a book. It was so out of character for her compared to her usual obsessively attentive note-taking that a few of her Slytherin classmates had succumbed to curiosity and stopped paying attention to the class in favour of sneaking covert looks at her.

Draco passed Theo a note, and got back a reply from him. After reading Theo's response, Draco nodded grudgingly in confirmation that he'd owe Theo a favour for helping him out. Theo smiled smugly at him, then turned to quiz Hermione on her unusual behaviour – just like Draco had asked him to do.

"What are you reading?" he asked her quietly.

"An unexpurgated history of Wendelin the Weird. Did you know that she was actually caught and 'burnt' at the stake fourteen times, not forty-seven? That number was inflated by later commentators. And do you know why it wasn't fifteen times?" She turned as she spoke to gaze expectantly at him.

"Yes. She died," Theo said gravely. "She was hanged, when she was caught by some villagers who'd already encountered her before. Though you won't find that in A History of Magic." His voice turned a little scornful at the end of his sentence.

"Oh, you already knew," she said, a little disappointed. "Well… did you know that around forty to fifty thousand people were executed due to accusations of witchcraft or… well, assorted Dark magic practices?" She didn't want to say "trafficking with demons". The eavesdroppers on their quiet conversation might look at her funny, especially the girls. "Not just burning. People were hanged, beheaded, drowned, and even slowly crushed with rocks."

"Oh no, that's outrageously wrong," Theo argued with a shake of his head. "The number is more like only a couple of dozen, at most."

"A couple of dozen! Don't be ridiculous, those figures are absurd. These are the much more accurate Muggle estimates."

"Pff, Muggles," he snorted dismissively. "I'm just talking about witches and wizards."

"Oh? It wouldn't matter if my parents died, then? And what makes you think it was only a couple of dozen anyway? Was there a census of witches and wizards?" Hermione said sharply. "All Muggle-borns were properly accounted for in the 1600's? All old witches living hidden in remote towns were kept track of? Besides, whether they were actually real witches, or Squibs, or Muggle-borns, or 'only' Muggles, that many people still died. Religious fervor wreaked havoc across Europe for centuries."

At the next desk across from Hermione and Theo, Draco jotted down notes on their increasingly loud conversation. He was sure his father would be interested to hear about it.

"You don't need to tell me about the dangers of Muggles. They hate our kind and want to exterminate us," Theo said. "They have for centuries. There's good reasons for the Statute of Secrecy."

"How can they hate us? They don't even know we exist right now!"

"And it's better that way! Why are we even arguing about this?!" he said with exasperation. "We're agreeing with each other, right?"

Hermione took a breath. "Uh… I guess so. Mostly. Except about Muggle deaths not counting, of course."

Binns spoke up peevishly, his attention drawn by their conversation which had distractedly grown louder and louder the longer they went on. "Something you wish to share with the class, Miss Smith? Mr Nott?"

"No, sir," Theo said in a smoothly contrite tone of voice.

"Sorry, sir," Hermione apologised, looking embarrassed.

They returned to taking notes, or doing a passable imitation of it at least, and Professor Binns returned to his soporific droning lecture about the witch hunts in Salem – a rare divergence into lecturing on non-British wizarding history.

A loud peal of bells marked the end of the class and time for Defence Against the Dark Arts. The Slytherins were always exceptionally attentive for that class, in stark contrast to how they took advantage of the napping opportunities afforded by History of Magic.

"I'm going to ask Professor Quirrell to teach us how to summon snakes," boasted Draco. "It's our House animal, after all. And it would be wicked to be able to do that, don't you think?"

"Isn't that Dark Arts?" asked Hermione cautiously. "I thought all summoning was regarded as Dark Arts, apart from the Patronus Charm."

"No, animal creation charms are Light," Draco stated confidently.

"But it would be calling animals from the demonic or angelic realms," Hermione said, puzzledly. "Can you specify which realm you're calling them from?"

Draco stared at her. "It's a conjuration, not a summoning. And you don't talk about other realms in public."

"But you just called it summoning snakes a second ago!"

"That was just a turn of phrase!"

Hermione crossed her arms stubbornly - she knew she was right. "I'm going to ask Professor Quirrell."

And as soon as she was seated at her desk, she did just that, with her hand thrust in the air so high she was barely seated properly on her chair.

"Sir, are spells that make animals appear a conjuration or a type of summoning spell? Malfoy says it's conjuration."

"W-well I think you will find the M-ministry regards s-s-spells such as the B-bird-Conjuring Ch-charm 'Avis' as C-conjurations, Miss Granger."

She looked down in disappointment at being corrected by a teacher, and missed the look of annoyance that drifted across Draco's face. She guessed maybe her demon friends could be wrong.

"And the Snake Summons Spell is likewise an approved Light spell?" Draco checked.

"Y-yes. The 'Serpensortia' spell, wh-which requires a swift raising motion with your w-wand," Professor Quirrell said, demonstrating the sharp jerk upwards as he stuttered his explanation about the wand movement, "is similarly classed as a Conjuration. Only D-dark wizards dabble with summoning spells, so obviously th-these are L-light spells."

Hermione made some notes with a discouraged air, prompting Theo to lean across slightly and scribble a note on the corner of her parchment. (A bad habit of his which she tolerated so long as he kept to the margins.)

"Cheer up. He's agreeing with you! 'The Ministry says' is not the same thing as 'It is true'. Listen to what he's not saying."

Hermione gave Theo a startled look, and then a considering look at her Professor. But unwilling to trust completely in Theo's guess, she stayed after class to ask about it in private.

"Wh-what can I do for you, Miss Granger? Another l-library pass?" he asked politely.

"No, I'm fine for now sir, thank you," she said. "I just wanted to check, off the record, if those animal creation spells are really just Conjurations?"

"Do you kn-know the meaning of 'conjure'? The m-magical meaning of the word dates back to the th-thirteenth century, and means 'constraining by spell a demon to do one's bidding'. Isn't th-that interesting?" he said blandly. "Conjuring water is much s-simpler than making an animal appear, however. For water is easily c-condensed out of the air – it already exists around us. An interesting point of d-difference, don't you think?"

Hermione nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"D-did you happen to find out your f-family background, over Yule?" asked Quirrell.

She shrugged vaguely. "Yes and no. I did confirm that I'm not adopted, or an IVF baby. My parents agreed that there might be some magical heritage we're unaware of, so they're looking into it. Dad said he might try and find someone on the wizarding side of society to research from that end, while a genealogist looks into the Muggle end of things. And they're both going to have a chat with their parents in person, when there's a quiet time at their practice so they can plan to take time off to travel. If my grandparents don't know about magic, it would be a very awkward phone conversation, after all."

Quirrell nodded dismissively, looking perhaps a little disappointed on her behalf even though she was quite relieved to have confirmed she wasn't adopted. "W-well, you'd better get going to l-lunch."

Hermione did grab some lunch, but she didn't stay at the Slytherin table for long. She ate a hastily made cheese and ham sandwich on the way down the long stone corridors to the library. She had research on Cerberi to do.

Theo missed her at lunch, but found her in the library again after classes were finished for the day.

"There you are. I knew the library would be a good guess. Sometimes I wonder why you're not in Ravenclaw," he teased. He pulled a chair out at her table to sit down next to her, lifting the chair slightly as he did so to prevent the scraping noises that others sometimes made as they dragged their chairs out, which always aroused the ire of Madam Pince.

"I think you know why I'm not," she said with a raised eyebrow.

"I guess I have a pretty good idea. But I hope one day to get the full story," he said seriously.

"Uh, yes. One day," she said, with a shy and nervous smile. She glanced around warily for eavesdroppers before changing the topic. "So, I haven't figured out how they're feeding the Cerberus – Fluffy – without getting caught. Hagrid is quite… noticeable. And loud. Surely we'd spot him going to and from the third floor corridor a couple of times a day. I was wondering if there might be a secret passage to the room. What do you think?"

Theo shrugged. "Maybe they just get a house-elf to pop in and feed it?"

"A what?"

"A house-elf," he repeated more slowly, enunciating clearly for her as if that would help.

Faced with her continuing incomprehension and expectant stare, he sighed. "Muggle-born. Of course. Hang on a minute, then." He pulled across one of her magical creature books and flipped through the book until he found a page on them, with an illustration.

"There. That's a house-elf. They're servants, though of course you don't pay them like you would a Squib – house-elves love working. They cook and clean for you, if you're lucky enough to own one, and you must never give them clothes or they'll leave. There's lots of them at Hogwarts, I hear. Doing laundry, cooking meals, and so on."

Hermione gazed with fascination at the picture of the wizened little floppy-eared creature in a ragged toga whose race the wizards kept in slavery. It didn't look at all like how she imagined an elf would look. In fact, it looked exactly like an imp.

-000-

Hermione pondered summoning her friends in the bathroom again, but she didn't really want to have to wait for Millicent to fall asleep. Millicent looked like she was settling in to stay up late to finish her homework (due the next day) and Hermione was already tired, as she'd spent half the night in the library researching house-elves.

"You might want to think about finishing your work in the Common Room, and maybe bunking with the other girls tonight if there's room," she said to Millicent. "I'll be… busy this evening. You should take Nox with you, in case she gets scared."

"Alright," Millicent said nervously. "I really am sorry, you know."

"You keep saying that. And I know," Hermione said coolly. She kind of forgave her. She knew it was hard standing up to bullies. But she was still mad about it, all the same.

With the luxury of having the room all to herself, Hermione drew a proper summoning circle out in chalk with runes, and activated it with a sacrifice of a mouse (thanks to Crookshank's hunting) and an invocation, as she waved her wand around. When done properly with all the ritual trappings, calling her friends took less magical energy from her and was less tiring, though honestly it was never terribly difficult for her thanks to repeated practice. Whatever wards Hogwarts had against Apparition, she'd determined that they never seemed to interfere with her friends' comings and goings as she'd feared they might, thankfully. In fact, it seemed if anything slightly easier than it had at home.

All her friends were able to confidently identify the picture of a "house-elf" as being an imp. But only Crocell and Paimon, as the highest-ranking demons who were accustomed to commanding legions of lesser demons and were generally well-informed about mortal goings-on, were familiar with what they were doing on earth, and how they'd ended up bound to wizards for generations. A brief whispered consultation between those two determined that they both knew the same information. In the end, everyone departed except for Crocell, whom as her particular patron and friend always had the most patient interest in chatting with her.

He lounged on Millicent's bed and patted Crookshanks (who purred happily at the attention) while he shared what he knew about house-elves. "They're imps, of course. The only 'elves' around are you – witches and wizards that is. Some Muggles used to call you that long ago," Crocell explained.

"But what are they doing here? How can they stay on earth?" Hermione asked. "Isn't it in breach of that secret non-intervention agreement?"

"Well, they're not freshly called, you see. They're descendants of imps born on earth. Those born on the mortal plane, including half-breeds, are permitted to stay."

"Are there other descendants on earth? Apart from house-elves and witches? I can't believe we're related to house-elves!"

"Distantly. In the same way that I'm related to Forneus – she has scales and tentacles, whereas I'm a humanoid with wings, after all. We enjoy having a variety of forms."

"I see."

"So, you asked about other descendants," Crocell said, and flipped quickly through the book on magical creatures to point a few out. "Centaurs, mermaids, goblins, and veela are ours. While unicorns and phoenixes are the angels' get. We think wizards and witches have heritage from both sides, but mostly demons.

"It's not permitted for any of us to dally with mortals any longer, of course. The treaty put a stop to that. But our children's lines still continue from millennia ago – they're races of their own now. The house-elves are rather a bit of an interesting exception, in that they're pure imps, not cross-bred with anything. They were brought to earth as bound servants for the more high-ranking and powerful of our children. The goblins' imps died off over a thousand years ago – the goblins couldn't provide enough magic to sustain them. Imps aren't as powerful as most of us you've met – they need a constant influx of power to remain on earth as their natural reserves are small. I've only heard of one or two imps who were ever able to attain the rank of President – the lowest rank – and they didn't hold it for long."

"Camio's a President, but no-one seems disrespectful to him?"

"He's a very fierce fighter, but his magical power is… limited in scope. We like him despite his shortcomings. He's a good leader. And you never know, he may advance one day. He's held the rank of President for four hundred years now, despite several challenges."

Hermione nodded. "So house-elves are earth-born descendants of imp servants, and they're enslaved because they need the magic of witches and wizards to sustain them?"

"That's basically it. They're too magically weak to survive without it. To kill an imp, all you need to do is cast it out to fend for itself – earth isn't like our home, and they won't survive here. They'll slowly wither and go mad, and eventually they'll die. That's why the cruellest thing a wizard can do to an imp is to 'set it free' from its bond to them. Technically they're then free from their old ancestral oath to serve, and could return to our home world, but they don't have the power or knowledge to do so."

"The poor things!" Hermione cried. "Enslaved or doomed to death! I'm going to help them."

Crocell shrugged with a soft rustle of feathery wings. "They're just imps. There's plenty of them around, so don't worry about them."

Hermione gave him a fierce glare that had him flinching back slightly, even though she was just a witch child and he was a battle-tested ancient Duke who commanded forty-eight legions.

"I'm. Going. To help them!" she shouted, hand clenched at her sides.

"Of course, of course you are. Good plan," he said conciliatorily, bringing a smile back to her face.

The next day she quietly put the word out that she'd pay money or tutoring assistance to anyone who could tell her how to find the Hogwarts house-elves. The Slytherins seemed too wary to approach her, apart from Theo and Millicent who both said they didn't know. But within a week after Harry had gossiped to a few of his fellow Gryffindors about her offer, a couple of identical red-haired Gryffindors approached her to claim the promised reward, in Galleons thank you very much.

"Fred and George Weasley at your service, Granger," said one.

"Or was that George and Fred Weasley?" said the other.

"You can call us Gred and Forge. I'll be Gred," said the first, not terribly helpfully.

"I'll call you both Weasley, for that part's obviously correct," she said.

"Fine, you take away our fun, and we'll take away your money," said the second with a sigh, whom she supposed was 'Forge' today. "For five Galleons we'll teach you the secret entrance to the kitchens, where dozens of house-elves lair."

She counted out the coins without haggling, and they told her where to find the still-life painting of fruit that hid the entrance to the Hogwarts kitchens, a level below the Great Hall. Gred added, "Well, it looks like a still-life, but it's animated really. The pear giggles when you tickle it, and turns into a green doorknob. That's what makes the frame swing open like a door."

"Seriously?" she said suspiciously.

"Yes," said Gred.

"Most definitely seriously serious," agreed Forge. "And may I say it was a pleasure to do business with you, little sneaky snake. Always happy to help young witches and wizards flout school rules."

"-When they can pay," added Gred. "Let us know if you're ever in need of our services again in the future."

They departed with a bow, and Hermione excitedly made plans to visit the kitchen on the weekend.

-000-

A few days later, Hermione snuck into the Hogwarts kitchen on her own, on a mission. She tickled the green pear, hoping that her sources weren't playing a prank on her, and was relieved when the doorknob appeared as promised and the door swung open to reveal the kitchen.

She stepped inside cautiously and looked around the enormous room – it was the same size as the Great Hall, complete with matching tables in the same positions as their counterparts above. Great brass pots and pans lined the walls, and the enormous stone fireplace was large enough to have two massive spits inside it roasting whole spitted lambs, with room leftover for some large bubbling cauldrons full of a fragrant onion-rich meat stew. Along another wall a brick oven was in use baking dozens of loaves of bread, and the savoury smell of fresh-baked bread joined the rich aromas wafting through the air. It looked and smelled like lunch was going to be delicious today.

However, it was the chefs she'd come to see today, not the room or the food, and there were so many of them. There must have been a hundred of them easily – house-elves bustled around industriously, some putting wedges of cheeses and fruit bowls on the tables, others tending the ovens and roasting meat, while some were setting the tables with clicks of their fingers and a faint wash of magic. All of them were wearing a little toga with the Hogwarts crest emblazoned in one corner.

Half a dozen house-elves came over to greet their visitor, bowing and curtseying with beaming smiles, chattering away over the top of each other in squeaky little voices.

"Welcome miss!"

"Does miss want something to eat?"

"What can we do for you?"

"My name's Polky! I'm in charge of desserts!"

"Oh, hello Polky! Hello, everyone. My name's Hermione. And it's what I can do for you that I wanted to know," Hermione said, crouching down so that she was at eye height with them. "I wanted to find out how happy you are here at Hogwarts, or if anyone's unwell, and if there's anything I can do to help."

"Miss Hermione is too kind!" said Polky, looking overawed.

"We is well!"

"And happy! Hogwarts is a nice place to work."

"Would Miss Hermione like a cup of tea? Or some hot bread with butter and jam?"

With their repeated urging, Hermione politely accepted their hospitality and soon found herself settled down at one of the smaller tables off to one side, with a silver tray laden with a teapot, cream, and sugar, and dishes of some hot freshly sliced bread, and a choice of butter, jam, and thick slices of roast lamb for toppings. Polky brought over a plate of chocolate chip biscuits to add to the generous spread that were still hot from the oven.

"Thank you so much, this looks delicious," she said politely, causing a rush of delighted bows and beaming faces. "Please do join me. I'd so love to hear more about house-elves."

Most of them looked uncertainly at each other. Eventually one blurted what was bothering them, to a silent chorus of nodding agreement. "Oh no, Lonsy couldn't!" fretted a female house-elf. "Is not for house-elves to act like equals with witches. We is here to serve."

"I understand," said Hermione sympathetically. The terms of their ancestral oath probably bound them to always know their place. Either that or it was habit reinforced by generations of servitude, and very hard to overcome. "But perhaps someone would like to sit nearby to chat, eating their own food?" she wheedled.

"Maybe Jilly could," suggested Polky. "Jilly is head house-elf. Polky will ask her." He darted off in search of her, while Lonsy gratefully got to avoid the disaster of sitting down with a witch, and instead was invited to pour Hermione a cup of tea.

Jilly was indeed willing to join Hermione for a short chat. The elderly elf shooed the other house-elves away to their tasks, and sat on a little wooden stool next to Hermione.

"Miss is so kind to want to know that house-elves are all well and happy," Jilly said. "Not many witches and wizards are so caring."

Hermione quizzed her for some time about working conditions, and whether they had somewhere nice to sleep, enough to eat, plenty of magic to draw on, and someone to look after them when they were sick. With every question Jilly's large round eyes grew even wider as she decided that Hermione was the most thoughtful and kindest witch who'd ever lived.

"Such caring for lowly house-elves!" she said, starting to sob.

"Oh dear, please don't cry! Please don't! I'm sorry if I upset you!" worried Hermione, patting her gingerly on the back. "It's just, I heard about how you were bound to serve by your ancestors' oaths, and how much you can suffer without being bound to a witch or wizard. I wanted to make sure no-one at Hogwarts was suffering like that."

"Jilly doesn't know about any oaths, Jilly only knows that house-elves need to serve and keep their masters' secrets," Jilly sniffed, wiping her eyes dry with the bottom of her toga. "All the elves here are Hogwarts elves, and very happy here. Miss Hermione doesn't need to worry."

"Well if you hear of any house-elves who are unbound, or otherwise suffering, and need help, would you let me know please, Jilly? I would really like to help."

"Miss Hermione is so kind!" Jilly gasped with wonder. "Even house-elves who've been dismissed for being poor workers?"

"Absolutely! It doesn't matter if they're sick, or old, or disobedient. I'll do whatever I can to help, including binding them myself if necessary."

A few house-elves working around them who'd been eavesdropping, murmured with wonder at her kind-heartedness.

"Jilly promises to let Miss Hermione know if she hears of any house-elves seeking a position. Some house-elves look for years for a new position if they is dismissed, and is not many houses that can takes a new house-elf. Is very hard for them to be masterless. But… Jilly isn't sure… that is, witches need to be strong… older… usually. Not that Jilly is saying… it's very kind…" she trailed off hesitantly, obviously anxious to avoid offence. "It's that miss' magic doesn't feel…"

"Oh, you're not sure I have enough magic to nourish a house-elf? That's alright if I don't – I wouldn't want anyone to suffer. Can you feel the magic around people too like I do sometimes?" she asked. Hermione wondered if Paimon's amulet might affect her aura, and cautiously removed it from around her neck, hiding the engraving on the metal disc by wrapping her hand around it as she took it off.

"How about now?" she asked expectantly, though not without a little concern that she might feel too "Dark" for Jilly to approve of. "Do I feel different now?"

"Oh! Miss feels like a very good Mistress now!" exclaimed Jilly. "Very good indeed! Nice rich magic."

She reached out hesitantly to pat Hermione's hand, and sighed with pleasure. She nodded approvingly. "Yes, Miss Hermione could easily look after a whole dozen house-elves, with good strong magic like that."

Hermione beamed happily at her approval.

-000-

Hermione was thoroughly distracted from investigating the Philosopher's Stone over the next month, visiting the kitchens to chat more with Jilly and the other house-elves, occasionally with Theo in tow. He was emphatically against forming any kind of embarrassingly-named club to promote elvish welfare, but he didn't mind the service and the food he got when they visited.

"I'd be happy to bind a house-elf in need if I could," he explained apologetically to her and Jilly as he snacked on a scone with jam and cream, "but the Nott family already has three house-elves, and we couldn't take on any more. As it is we had an elfing leave a year ago to join the Shafiq family. It's good for them to move around anyway – it stops inbreeding."

"Hogwarts takes on many who can'ts stay with their families, miss," explained Jilly. "That's why there is so many here. The Ministry too is helping. But is not so nice there as Hogwarts, where there is so many students and staffs to serve."

Late in January Jilly told Hermione about an elderly house-elf whom she'd heard might need a mistress, and in February she arrived at Hogwarts to be adopted, borne in her middle-aged adult daughter's arms. She was a sickly-looking wrinkled creature looking very odd clad in a tiny pale pink frilly dress very unlike the more typical toga Hermione had expected. She was wizened and small with her large ears looking limp and pale, and her skin looked dry and flaky.

"This is my mother, Colley," squeaked the daughter, with more defensiveness and less obsequiousness than Hermione had ever heard from a house-elf before. "She has been freed, for not being a good worker any more, and a new house-elf has taken her place. But Colley is very good at sewing if the light is good, and has always worked as hard as she can. Ceely promises that she is a good house-elf and will never be disobedient. If Miss Hermione is willing to take her mother Ceely would be very grateful."

"I would be happy to," Hermione said, with a sympathetic and worried look at Colley. "Colley, would that be alright with you?"

"Colley saw them in the moonlight, but the turnips were backwards," muttered the elderly house-elf in a warbling, creaky voice, and Ceely's arms clenched around her mother's frail form a little tighter.

Jilly clucked disapprovingly. "Jilly is sorry. Jilly hadn't heard she was so unwell and ready for her next adventure. Miss Hermione needn't worry – Jilly can find her other house-elves who are fitter for miss, if she wishes."

"Colley's mind wasn't so bad when she was bound, miss," Ceely squeaked. "Being freed hasn't been good for her. Is Miss Hermione still willing to help?"

Hermione wasn't upset at being pressured – she could hear the desperation in the young house-elf's voice, and see it in the worried droop of her ears. "Yes, I am," she said determinedly. "I have a ritual for binding that some friends taught me, that I think will help her a lot. If Jilly doesn't mind me drawing a runic circle on the floor?"

Jilly didn't mind, and Hermione got right to work with a stick of chalk drawing a rune-edged circle on the floor, consulting a page of notes that she'd been smuggling around in her bag in the middle of her History of Magic textbook. Soon Colley was gently placed on the floor in the middle of a ritual circle on the flagstones, where she lay in a sad little crumpled heap. Hermione activated the circle with a drop of blood from her pricked finger and a wave of magic from her wand.

"I, Hermione Granger, bind thee, Imp Colley, to my service," she intoned ritually, and a faintly shimmering heat haze of magic rose from the circumference of the circle. "I demand thy loyalty and servitude, and offer my protection and care. Thou shalt keep my secrets and do my will, and in return I shall nourish thee with my magic. Dost thou agree to the terms of this oath, Imp Colley?"

Colley looked up, her dull eyes clearing slightly as her mind focused better than it had in the past few months of suffering, lost in a daze of hopelessness and suffering resulting from an increasing frailty of both body and spirit. "Yes, Colley agrees."

With a brief flare of light, the magical haze rushed inwards to the centre of the circle, and sank into the house-elf's skin. She covered her face with a brief cry of pain which made her watching daughter Ceely bite anxiously at her own fingers in her panic over her mother and her self-recrimination at daring to doubt the actions of a witch. But when her mother clambered to her feet, standing tall and proud to receive the plain white toga Hermione passed her as she helped her out of the chalk circle, Ceely cried out in jubilation.

Colley now looked easily thirty years younger. Her skin was smooth and clear again, and much less wrinkled than it had been before her decline. Her limbs were firm and her stance was straight, and her ears were slowly plumping out to their usual expressive position instead of drooping limply. And best of all, her eyes were alight again with bright intelligence and focus, instead of the absent-minded gaze Ceely had grown accustomed to seeing.

"Colley is happy to serve Miss Hermione," she squeaked in a rejuvenated strong voice, gazing with rapt adoration at the face of her powerful new Mistress. "Very, very happy!"

The watching mass of house-elves were so excitedly distracted by the goings-on that they'd all stopped working. Some were applauding, some were hugging each other and crying with great ugly sobs, and a couple were literally jumping up and down in rapturous joy. Jilly looked utterly flabbergasted, and a tremendous grin was slowly dawning on her wrinkled face. Ceely clung to Hermione's legs as she repeatedly sobbed out her gratitude. Her mother was going to live!


A/N: Polky's plate of cookies has been added for AnnaDruvez. Going to the Dark side deserves cookies. :)

Since a couple of people have queried it as a possible typo, let me point out that Professor Binns' use of "Miss Smith" for Hermione is deliberate. In canon, he's very poor at getting names right, and calls her "Miss Grant" on one occasion. In my headcanon, he's better at remembering names of pure-blood and half-blood students who look like their relatives whom he taught during his lifetime.