Card the moon
Chapter 20 – Mommy, where do house elves come from
…
Rules, they say, are meant to be broken. A bit of good advice; don't be there to take credit when someone comes to see the damage.
Harry knew this very well. He wasn't out of the hospital wing a full day and he was already breaking the rules. Curfew was not, as some seemed to think, just a friendly suggestion. That's why he was under the invisibility cloak.
He had to do it. He had to know. Ignorance had been his greatest enemy the last time he'd been involved with Dobby. He wouldn't let it happen again.
What Dobby had tried to tell him—heads or tails could not be made; it was all arms and legs with something like a torso in the middle; something like. He had an elf, that was all he understood.
Dobby was his elf, had been since the whole ordeal with Lucius Malfoy. Funny how he didn't remember any of that. Less funny to find out it was by his own request. But why, why did he have an elf, why couldn't he remember.
"Why can't I ever have a nice, quiet year at Hogwarts?"
It just didn't seem fair. Other people got to have nice and quiet. But he was Harry Potter, he didn't get nice or quiet, he got bangbangbang wake up boy, under the staircase.
He also got skulking through the halls in the middle of the night under an invisibility cloak; the adventure never ended. Maybe it could just, go on holiday for a bit… he could dream.
Pausing to allow a passing ghost, Harry made his way down to an unfamiliar part of the castle, and a large portrait, of fruit.
"This must be it," and there was the pear, just like he'd been told.
Tickling the pear till it squealed and turned into a banana, (and tell me that doesn't sound like a dirty joke) he snuck inside the Hogwarts kitchen.
"Whoa!"
It was an impressive sight; bigger than any kitchen he'd ever seen. Pots and pans floated everywhere over sinks and stoves that lined the walls and abutted tables. The smell that permeated the air could only be described as 'food'; trying to be more specific would have left even the best trained nose confounded.
And scampering across the meticulously swept floor, house elves; dozens of house elves.
"Great Harry Potter sir has come!"
Including his. "Hello Dobby," he said, sliding off his cloak. "How'd you know I was here?"
"Dobby does not need to see master to know where he is," said the elf, tapping one overlarge ear.
"Ah," so maybe Snape was right when he said Harry breathed too loud—or not. "Alright, I'm here. Now what?"
When they'd spoken in the hospital wing all Dobby had told him was come to the kitchen, followed by the directions to get him there.
The excitable elf gestured with his overlarge hand, "Come Great Harry Potter sir. He is expecting you."
'Who?' he wanted to ask, but Dobby had vanished before he could, forcing him to chase after.
It was a strange chase, the strangest of his life so far. The kitchen was longer than he'd originally thought and filled with such cooking contrivances as he'd never thought he would see.
Not merely every type of stove and oven ever conceived but numerous spits roasting whole pigs, smoke huts filled with fowl. Every manner of cooking every come up with was present and in use. It was like walking through culinary history.
He caught up to Dobby by a small camping type fire at the very end, sitting on his knees to the left of a small log where perched a very old elf.
At least, Harry assumed he was old. He had that aura of years, and the deference being paid by Dobby suggest one with the status of elder.
Lowering himself, he mirrored Dobby's position and waited.
"Long has it been, since last a wizard has come before me," the old elf groaned like antique wood. Starting slowly, he gained speed as he continued to speak, "I might have known it would be you, Harry James Potter."
"You know me?" And why not, everyone else did.
"I have long ears," the elf grinned. "In Hogwarts and beyond your name is spoken. With reverence, respect, yes, but also disdain and loathing. So much I have heard, hard to know from this, what to think."
The elf gestured Harry forward and Harry leaned up off his calves. The gesturing hand struck like a serpent, gripping his face before he could blink. A rush of energy raised every hair across his body as it raced through him.
He slumped back panting, heart still running the Kentucky derby though freed from the iron magical grip. "Woah!"
"Very interesting," the old elf said.
"What's—that?" asked Harry.
"You," the elf smiled, like another mysterious old man he knew. "I am glad you have come. I have not seen your like in a very long time. Yes, a very long time indeed."
Whatever that meant, crazy old elf. "So, can you explain what's going on. Why is Dobby 'my' elf, I mean, why does he need to be 'my' elf, or anyone's elf?"
"Not a question most would ask when they discovered they had a powerful magical servant," the old elf observed. "But before that, I believe a proper introduction. If we are to be friends, this only seems appropriate."
"Well, yeah I suppose," but how did we get from there to here?
The elf seemed to know something of his thoughts because the smile he turned at Harry was quite impish. "For purposes of simplicity, you may call me Lore. Throughout my life I've had many masters, and many names. They are all passed, but I remain, the Master of Lore for my people. One of only three in all the world."
"That's, amazing," even without knowing just how many elves there were, only three in the whole world, he couldn't help but be impressed.
"It has been my sworn duty this past century to be the book that holds my people's history. We have no written language of our own, and we would not trust our history to the runes of men. Too many would use them against us if they could, if they knew."
"Knew what?" asked Harry.
"If they knew what we were, for not a man alive today remembers. They know the name Hobgoblin, but they have no understanding what they truly were. What they truly are. This, I would tell you Harry Potter, if you would hear it."
Harry nodded, trying to contain his excitement.
"Then listen well, for it is an old story, older than the kingdom of these Isles, or any that stands on the continent. Nearly fifteen hundred years ago, the world was very different, and likewise the people in it. In those times centaurs ran the open plains, giants trudged the valleys and mountains and goblins lurked the woods and other dark places as was suitable to their nature.
"This was a time before wizard society. Before magic was hidden away from the world. It was a wilder time, and magic reflected that wildness. Wild and powerful, it flowed like water, like the wind it moved without ceasing, feeding the land, making it magical.
"In those times wizards were fewer. Sometimes they came among the goblins, the giants and centaurs; they came to learn their ways, the magics they practiced. They were a bridge between, human in shape but magic in nature. They could often be relied on to mediate. They were no enemy of ours.
"But, as always happens, peace does not last. The goblins, who were always ambitious, went to war with the humans. For what reason we no longer know. It was a goblin rebellion before goblin rebellions as there were no treaties in that time for the goblins to rebel against.
"The goblins were skilled, but the humans were strong and even without magic could be trained to kill with little time. In desperation, the goblins turned to their cousins, the Hobgoblins, for aid. It was a hard choice. Hobgoblins while pranksters by nature were not malicious, they'd no interest in conquest or war.
"But the goblins plead, 'they will slaughter us all'. And so, reluctantly, they agreed. It was the worst mistake they ever made.
"Though they had agreed to help, they could not bring themselves to commit murder and limited themselves to espionage and general mischief. It slowed the humans down, but it did not stop them.
"A time came when surrender was the only option. They were told if they did not there would be a pogrom, they would be hunted to the last, however long it took. They surrendered, but this was not enough.
"While the goblins were simply exiled from the land, the humans knew this would not work on Hob-goblins. Their magic was too strong. If they wished to return, humans would never know. So, an alternative was devised. They would stay, but they would be bound. This was accomplished by a powerful ritual with a newborn Hob-goblin as the focal point.
"It changed them, twisting their magic. Without a solid anchor, it would slowly eat away at them till they died. Wizards could provide such an anchor if the Hog-goblin would willingly subordinate themselves. And so, it went. They who had once been helpful pranksters, took their first steps into becoming servile wretches.
"As time passed, language and culture changed; the small helpful creatures some wizards kept as servants changed as well. Two hundred years ago one such change led to a, rebranding you could say. As numerous goblin rebellions had garnered their instigators a reputation it became impossible for wizards to see their servants as anything like their vicious enemy.
"Elves, they decided. Elves of the house, which would eventually become house elves. And so, we return to today, when a house elf disobeyed his master, to warn a young man of great danger to his life, showing more will than I have seen in an elf since the term was coined."
"Did you—I mean, are you really 'that' old?" Harry asked, trying not to gape.
The elf chuckled, "No. I was but a child when they named us elf; and the Lore master who passed the duty on to me was only four hundred years old. We have very good memories though. It is why we have no need for a written language."
"Amazing," and informative. "So, Dobby 'bonded' to me, because he needed to?"
"No Great Harry Potter sirs," said Dobby. "Dobby bonded Great Harry Potter sirs because he wanted to."
"But, why did I say yes?" he asked. "I mean, without knowing all this the whole thing just sounds like slavery," which it was, even if it was necessary. "I'd never do that, I don't think," he added without thinking, as usually happens when being truly honest.
"Dobby was most emphatic," the elf said. "Great Harry Potter sirs did not want to. Dobby was having to beg. Does not want to abuse Dobby, Great Harry Potter said. Truly he is greatest among wizards thought Dobby, but is making whole thing difficult. So, Dobby is bringing Great Harry Potter sirs to Master Lore."
"It was an interesting meeting."
"Wait!" exclaimed Harry. "You mean I've met you before?"
"Which you do not remember," said Lore. "As was your desire. If you did not know you had an elf at your command, you could not abuse him, or so the reasoning went."
Well, yeah that was certainly true. "And you erased yourself from my memory so I wouldn't wonder."
"Very good, yes. Although I knew it wouldn't last. Eventually you would find out. You would say his name and he would come and here we are."
"Here we are." Where that was exactly, he wasn't sure, but he was definitely there.
"Great Harry Potter sirs is not angry?"
Oh, that's where he was, being looked at by an elf who greatly resembled a kicked puppy. "No Dobby, I'm not mad."
"Dobby is glad. Dobby thought he would have to punish himself again."
Oh no, we are not having that. "Dobby, I may not be mad, but I would like to make something perfectly clear with you right now. Are you listening?"
The elf nodded with big frightened eyes.
"You are never, and I repeat, never, to punish yourself, for any reason, ever again. Do you understand?"
"But," he protested with quivering lip, "what if Dobby is not pleasing Great Harry Potter sirs. What if Dobby—what if Dobby speaks ill of Great Harry Potter sirs."
"Not even then."
"But…"
The elf went silent when Harry grasped his wringing hands and stared hard into his massive eyes. "Dobby. No. If it really bothers you that much, you will come and tell me, and we can talk about it. And that goes for anything. But I will not have you abusing yourself. That is not how friends treat each other."
"Fu—friends."
It felt like his mouth might be getting him into trouble again, but it was too late to stop now, "Yes Dobby, friends. I'm not mad about what happened. It's not like you knew where the basilisk was. In a strange way you did help me last year, in a very roundabout way."
The elf smiled at the half-hearted praise. It was the thought that counted.
"Great Harry Potter sirs is truly greatest among wizards."
"Uh, yeah, Dobby. Could we maybe cut out the Great Harry Potter? Kind of a mouthful don't ya think. How bout we try just Harry."
The elf beamed, "Just Harry sirs."
Lore chortled as Harry hung his head, "I see that prankster streak isn't totally gone," the young wizard observed.
"Hmm, yes, indeed," agreed Lore. "But more importantly, what is this about a basilisk?"
"Oh, that was Slytherin's monster. It's still down in the Chamber of secrets—dead of course."
"You've been to the Chamber of Secrets?"
"Uh, yes," said Harry, cautiously uncertain of the elf's enthusiasm.
"Well now that is quite a story. Could you show it too me?"
"What? You mean now?"
Reaching behind him, a gnarled staff flew into his hand before he turned back to Harry with a face that radiated childlike glee, "Yes, please."