Hermione Granger's tempestuous hair crackled fitfully against her pillow.
She pulled the sheets up beneath her chin, opened her mouth a fraction of
an inch and softly moaned, "Se... se..." before rolling over again, leaving a
light trail of spittle on her emerald pillowcase.
"Ah, ha!" squealed Ginny Weasley, who was perched, as she was perched every morning, at the base of Hermione's bed. "So, what's he like in bed, Hermione?" demanded Ginny. "What's Severus Snape like in bed? Scarred, but with ebony eyes, pearly skin and a disproportionately large manhood? You can tell me Hermione, you were moaning his name in your sleep; it's alright, the secrets out."
"Oh, my God," groaned Hermione, wiping the sleep dust from her eyes, "you're like the black angel of death. Why do you listen to me talk in my sleep all the bloody time? And why, why, do you always assume that Severus is the only word in the English language that begins 'se?' I was dreaming about Neville."
Ginny jolted back, unable to shake the feeling that, were their lives a romantic novel (in which she regarded herself as the feisty strumpet, owing largely to her red hair, as feisty strumpets, after all, generally have red hair) any plot involving Hermione and Neville would be too terribly, terribly wrong.
"About Neville in a... sexual way?" queried Ginny.
"No. I was dreaming about being with him in potions class and how he couldn't figure out how to separate – see, 'se' in separate – the ingredients. So there was a risk that we were going to die. And I kept trying to tell him, but he couldn't hear me. I think it may have something to do with an inherent feeling of powerlessness, or at least weakness in comparison to Harry and Ron. Or maybe I'm just a control freak. You don't think I'm a control freak, do you?"
"So," replied Ginny, "You were dreaming about potion's class, eh? Potion's class? You know, Severus Snape's potion's class? That's potion's class."
"Go away," mewled Hermione, "its Saturday, Ginny. It's 8:00. Just leave me alone. Maybe, maybe if you leave now, I'll tell you about what Snape and I did when I went to 'detention.'"
Ginny pranced out of the room practically salivating.
And just as Hermione had buried her face back into the plushy curves of her pillow, and was deliciously close to dropping off once again, her attention was caught by the faint rapping noise. She pulled on her dressing robe, sliding the sash lightly about her waist, and then stumbled off in the direction of her window. When she pulled it open she was greeted by the smiling – if such an expression could be called a smile – face of the disfigured but stoic squib caretaker she knew and loved.
"Don't you just love mornings?" exclaimed Voldemort, fiddling with the cuffs of his rainbow striped sleeves.
"Uh," replied Hermione, "it's awfully early in the morning, isn't it? I do love mornings when they start a bit later."
"If being a stoically disfigured squib caretaker has taught me anything," replied Voldemort, "it's taught me that worms that don't get up early enough are vivisected and devoured in ways so horrible you can't even begin to imagine them. By birds, Miss Granger. By birds."
"Ah," stated Hermione, doing her best to look extremely awake and trying desperately not to think about how much the figure standing before her resembled a worm. "Could you give me a moment to dress?"
"Of course."
Hermione wiggled into a formless garment that had been lying at the end of her bed before returning to the window.
"And isn't it a lovely morning?" continued Voldemort, seemingly back to his normal state of good cheer. "Do you know why it's lovely? It's lovely because I have a gift for you!"
"You bought me something? Oh Willard, that's so sweet, but I hope you understand that there really can't be any romantic connection between us..."
"No, not from me, dear girl. It's from Professor Snape. He asked me to drop it off."
"Oh!" cried Hermione, "maybe it's a book!"
Hermione tore at the wrapping paper like a rabid marsupial searching for crumbs.
"Professor Snape wanted me to have... a human skull?"
"A baby's, actually," replied Voldemort, grinning happily. "Oh, it's good for all kinds of things! I mean, say you had a pet snake, and the pet snake had no place to go. You wouldn't want your poor pet to be all lonely and cold, would you? So you could just kind of inconspicuously weave it through the mouth of the skull. It would act as not just a habitat for your friendly reptile, but also an exciting talking point whenever you had company over. Especially if that company happened to consist of Aurors! Wouldn't that be clever, Miss Granger?"
"That would be... a baby's skull, though? That's not a coffee-table book kind of conversation piece, is it?"
"It is if your friends are avant-garde enough to appreciate it," growled Voldemort. "Obviously if your friends are uncultured hicks then yes, Miss Granger, yes, the sublime beauty of such a gift might elude them. That doesn't mean you shouldn't display it with pride. It just means you need new friends."
"Uh-huh. Did it have a card?"
"A card?"
"From Professor Snape? Did he send a card? To maybe explain why he gave me a skull?"
Voldemort looked a trifle panicked.
"Do you have a pen?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And a piece of paper? I'll need some paper."
Hermione obligingly handed him a roll of parchment. Voldemort ducked outside. The sound of scrawling resonated against the bricks. A moment later Voldemort's head popped through the window with all the jubilation and jarring speed of a champagne cork
"Why yes," said Voldemort, "it just so happens I did manage to find a card. It runs," he paused to clear his throat, "'Oh Hermione, unlike this baby, my love for you will never die. Love, love, love, Severus.'"
"Willard, I suspect that you wrote that."
"You cut me to core, Miss Granger."
"I'm sorry, Willard."
"It's alright. I understand. Often when you look the way I look people don't take you for a man with some sense of honor."
"I'm sorry, but I still think I should go talk to Professor Snape about why he's declaring his love for me with severed anatomical portions."
"It will be no use, Miss Granger. He'll only deny it. He'll be overcome with a fit of shyness. What you should do is go visit him with no clothes on. Only through exhibitionist behavior that would get ordinary people locked up can you prove the depth of your love. Trust me."
"But I'm not in love with him."
"That's cold, Miss Granger. Cold and cruel. He's a lonely man."
"But he has friends. Quite a few of them."
"You're quibbling, girl. Strip down and go visit Severus."
"Willard, I'm going to go visit him with my clothes on. But I promise you that if at any point he tells me that he's a lonely, lonely man with terrible choice in gifts, I will strip naked."
Voldemort sighed dolefully. He shook his head. "I'm sad that you can't see the golden opportunity that this allows you. But I will let it pass. That's the kind of man I am."
Hermione gave Voldemort, who was looking very dejected, a kiss on the forehead, and then turned, strode out of her room, marched through the hallway, paced through the dungeons, and knocked purposefully on the door of Professor Snape's room. Severus opened it, wearing the same robes he usually wore (which came as a shock to Hermione who had always, on some subconscious level which she would never admit to Ginny, suspected that he occasionally trotted about wearing leather pants). Music from The Marriage of Figaro tinkled lightly in the background. Professor Snape looked somewhat shocked to see her.
"Did you send me a skull?" Hermione demanded.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"I hardly think it's the kind of thing I'd forget."
"Well, how odd. Willard gave it to me and said it was from you.Could he have any ulterior motive you can think of?"
Severus swallowed and paused for a moment. "Willard... I find Willard worries about me. A little. He's a sensitive soul. I think he wants to see that I've found a mate. It's the... the caretaker in him."
"I'm rather glad you didn't send it."
"Why? Aside from the obvious fact that it might be a death threat."
"Well, it's just not... it's the not the kind of gift that would come up in a romance novel. I've always had a bit of a fantasy that one day I would meet the man of my dreams, and he'd buy me a... no, this is silly."
"What? Edible chocolate paint?"
Hermione laughed. "No, of course not. A red dress. It's stupid. But there are always these moments in books where a heroine walks into a room, and she's wearing a red dress, and she just completely captivates everyone. And it's symbolic of her whole metamorphosis from some bookish girl, usually, into a goddess. And I just always felt that if a man were to give me the red dress it would mean that he saw me as something other than a walking encyclopedia. That he understood that I was female and seductive and beautiful and... and these things I really try not to think about because they're really superficial. Once I had the dress, I would have a moment of epiphany where... something exciting would happen... and then after that I would be transformed. And I would be happy and in love forever and I would never have to worry about anything again."
"My God," thought Severus, "the stock women place in clothes. I have no idea what she's talking about."
"But enough about that," said Hermione, "I don't think Willard meant the skull as a death threat. He said it might make a habitat for a pet snake. Do you have one?"
Severus raised his eyebrows. "That's a rather inappropriate question, don't you think?"
Hermione blushed a hideous shade of beet root. "Not like that. A real one. You know, a snake. Slytherin emblem and all. Perhaps a sassy one, with feathers and roller skates."
"No," sighed Severus, "we all know those don't exist. I do have a pet, though."
"Really!" squeaked Hermione, "I wouldn't have thought of you as someone who'd keep a pet."
"Would you like to meet him?"
"Very much."
Severus sauntered to his desk, and proudly held up a large jar that appeared to contain a bloated, red electric cord. Professor Snape tapped the glass with his finger affectionately. "His name is Trevor," he stated.
"Oh," replied Hermione, "well... he looks like a piece of electric cord. I think it's the ugliest thing I've ever seen."
"That's right," cooed Severus, seemingly oblivious, "Trevor the Tapeworm. He lived in my intestines for a little over six months. Do you know how you extricate a tapeworm, Miss Granger? You put a hot glass of milk in front of your mouth, to lure it out with the smell. Then you place a carrot in front of your open mouth, and when the tapeworm comes up it latches onto the carrot, and you pull..."
"You keep a tapeworm as a pet?"
"He came out of my body. We were one flesh until then. Intestinal parasites are as close as a man can get to giving birth."
"I think I'm going to vomit."
"Shall I call for Stevens?"
"Who?"
"My house elf. Well, the elf who attends to me. I suppose technically he's a Hogwarts elf."
"I've never met an elf named Stevens. And I've been working with them for ages."
"I'm sure he'd be pleased to meet with you." He called out, "Stevens? Could you come in for a moment?"
Hermione suddenly found herself gazing into the steely monocle of a house elf smartly attired in a three piece suit, complete with a miniature pocket watch. He could easily have passed found a gnome, or a singularly unattractive, albeit well dressed, child.
"How are you, Stevens? What have you been up to?" queried Severus.
"I've been instructing some of the young elves as to their duties within the confines of Hogwarts. It proves arduous, but I think I would be not amiss in saying that I feel a healthy flush of anticipation as to their progress. In fact, I should go so far as to say that I feel a new resolve not to be daunted in respect to the professional tasks Dumbledore has entrusted to my care."
Hermione's mouth fell open. She gasped. "Are you a house elf?"
"I'm afraid the esteemed Professor has not yet introduced me." Stevens directed his monocle purposefully towards Snape.
"Stevens," said Snape gesturing vaguely, "this is Hermione. Hermione, this is Stevens. You are now introduced."
"A great pleasure to meet you. Such an uncommon name. Hermione Granger, I presume?"
"Yes."
"Ah yes. If I may be so bold, Miss, you are a topic of considerable conversation with the house elf ranks."
"Why don't you talk like an elf? I don't mean that in a negative way, you speak very beautifully, but..."
"It's a matter of common misconception that house are innately predisposed to a rather vulgar colloquial dialect. As in all cases, it's much a matter of breeding. I had the good fortune to come from a family where both my parents were decorated graduates of Elfton. As, I take no small pleasure in admitting, am I."
"Elfton?" queried Hermione.
"A kind of university for elves. I suppose if you thought in muggle terms it would be about the equivalent of Oxford, or Harvard,"supplied Severus helpfully.
"I've often wondered why you don't direct your considerable energies towards aiding the university," mused Stevens, "I do admire your ambition Miss Granger, but your methods are rendered null and void by the overwhelming apathy of common house elves. 'Odi profanum vulgus et arceo' as quoth the good Horace."
"Why don't I see more of you, though? Elves like you, that is. It must be a fair sized university."
"Well, there are a few of us about. Many of us do embrace our unique, inherent drive to serve, and take up positions where we feel we can give something. It's a drive which leaves ambition by the wayside in some cases, but produces the most abnormally happy families. The trick is not giving so much that one loses oneself in the process. Others among us grow disgusted with our puny position within the wizarding world and flee it to enter muggle society. There, we wear bowler hats, and pass ourselves off as tax accountants."
Hermione giggled at this, and then realized with a sudden chill that her family's elderly tax accountant was unusually short and wore a bowler hat.
"How odd, though," murmured Hermione, "that I've never met another one."
"What makes you so sure you haven't?" asked Severus, smirking meaningfully at Stevens.
"Dobby?"
Snape and Stevens both emitted rich, hearty chuckles.
"Who then?"
"Didn't you ever come into contact with Kreacher?"
Hermione and Stevens both gasped in unison.
"That evil little monster," shouted Hermione, "is a university graduate!?"
"Oh, Kreacher," purred Stevens, clasping his hands to his heart "my dear mentor. He was a sweet old soul, and canny, canny like a fox. Still is. One of our more renowned professors. An expert in the manners in which a house elf can avoid certain contractual obligations through feigning insanity. Insanity and a whole host of other little things. Nobody can find a loophole like Professor Kreacher."
"He's a professor?" asked a flabbergasted Hermione.
"He had to leave the school for a time, apparently hooligans and hoydens were ravaging his ancestral home. The place where he'd been born, Miss Granger. Tearing up the paintings he grew up with. Defiling the name of the witch who treated him as a real child, who bounced him on her knee and read him Oscar Wilde's fairy tales. You'd never think that kind of nastiness could happen to a family so closely linked with the Malfoy dynasty."
Hermione, who was looking perhaps a little shamefaced by now, enquired softly, "What does it have to do with the Malfoys?"
"The Malfoys," said Stevens, with a jolt of surprise, "are one of Elfton's greatest benefactors. Certainly the greatest benefactor of the human variety. They've been champions of elf rights throughout the ages."
"But he kicked Dobby."
Stevens snorted. "If Dobby were around, so would I."
"Because he's a blood traitor?" demanded Hermione.
"Because he's a bloody imbecile," replied Severus."The Malfoys applaud intellectual ability as well as other traits that can help creatures rise to greatness. They have no tolerance for idiocy."
"How fascinating," whispered Hermione, "how utterly fascinating."
"Perhaps," interjected Dobby, "you could introduce the young lady to Mr. Malfoy and allow him to explain his position."
"Difficult, what with him being in Azkaban, and all. But I could do the next best thing."
"Take me down to Elfton?" asked an enthusiastic Hermione.
"Wrong. Tomorrow afternoon, I'm taking you out to meet Narcissa. Wear something pretty."
"Ah, ha!" squealed Ginny Weasley, who was perched, as she was perched every morning, at the base of Hermione's bed. "So, what's he like in bed, Hermione?" demanded Ginny. "What's Severus Snape like in bed? Scarred, but with ebony eyes, pearly skin and a disproportionately large manhood? You can tell me Hermione, you were moaning his name in your sleep; it's alright, the secrets out."
"Oh, my God," groaned Hermione, wiping the sleep dust from her eyes, "you're like the black angel of death. Why do you listen to me talk in my sleep all the bloody time? And why, why, do you always assume that Severus is the only word in the English language that begins 'se?' I was dreaming about Neville."
Ginny jolted back, unable to shake the feeling that, were their lives a romantic novel (in which she regarded herself as the feisty strumpet, owing largely to her red hair, as feisty strumpets, after all, generally have red hair) any plot involving Hermione and Neville would be too terribly, terribly wrong.
"About Neville in a... sexual way?" queried Ginny.
"No. I was dreaming about being with him in potions class and how he couldn't figure out how to separate – see, 'se' in separate – the ingredients. So there was a risk that we were going to die. And I kept trying to tell him, but he couldn't hear me. I think it may have something to do with an inherent feeling of powerlessness, or at least weakness in comparison to Harry and Ron. Or maybe I'm just a control freak. You don't think I'm a control freak, do you?"
"So," replied Ginny, "You were dreaming about potion's class, eh? Potion's class? You know, Severus Snape's potion's class? That's potion's class."
"Go away," mewled Hermione, "its Saturday, Ginny. It's 8:00. Just leave me alone. Maybe, maybe if you leave now, I'll tell you about what Snape and I did when I went to 'detention.'"
Ginny pranced out of the room practically salivating.
And just as Hermione had buried her face back into the plushy curves of her pillow, and was deliciously close to dropping off once again, her attention was caught by the faint rapping noise. She pulled on her dressing robe, sliding the sash lightly about her waist, and then stumbled off in the direction of her window. When she pulled it open she was greeted by the smiling – if such an expression could be called a smile – face of the disfigured but stoic squib caretaker she knew and loved.
"Don't you just love mornings?" exclaimed Voldemort, fiddling with the cuffs of his rainbow striped sleeves.
"Uh," replied Hermione, "it's awfully early in the morning, isn't it? I do love mornings when they start a bit later."
"If being a stoically disfigured squib caretaker has taught me anything," replied Voldemort, "it's taught me that worms that don't get up early enough are vivisected and devoured in ways so horrible you can't even begin to imagine them. By birds, Miss Granger. By birds."
"Ah," stated Hermione, doing her best to look extremely awake and trying desperately not to think about how much the figure standing before her resembled a worm. "Could you give me a moment to dress?"
"Of course."
Hermione wiggled into a formless garment that had been lying at the end of her bed before returning to the window.
"And isn't it a lovely morning?" continued Voldemort, seemingly back to his normal state of good cheer. "Do you know why it's lovely? It's lovely because I have a gift for you!"
"You bought me something? Oh Willard, that's so sweet, but I hope you understand that there really can't be any romantic connection between us..."
"No, not from me, dear girl. It's from Professor Snape. He asked me to drop it off."
"Oh!" cried Hermione, "maybe it's a book!"
Hermione tore at the wrapping paper like a rabid marsupial searching for crumbs.
"Professor Snape wanted me to have... a human skull?"
"A baby's, actually," replied Voldemort, grinning happily. "Oh, it's good for all kinds of things! I mean, say you had a pet snake, and the pet snake had no place to go. You wouldn't want your poor pet to be all lonely and cold, would you? So you could just kind of inconspicuously weave it through the mouth of the skull. It would act as not just a habitat for your friendly reptile, but also an exciting talking point whenever you had company over. Especially if that company happened to consist of Aurors! Wouldn't that be clever, Miss Granger?"
"That would be... a baby's skull, though? That's not a coffee-table book kind of conversation piece, is it?"
"It is if your friends are avant-garde enough to appreciate it," growled Voldemort. "Obviously if your friends are uncultured hicks then yes, Miss Granger, yes, the sublime beauty of such a gift might elude them. That doesn't mean you shouldn't display it with pride. It just means you need new friends."
"Uh-huh. Did it have a card?"
"A card?"
"From Professor Snape? Did he send a card? To maybe explain why he gave me a skull?"
Voldemort looked a trifle panicked.
"Do you have a pen?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And a piece of paper? I'll need some paper."
Hermione obligingly handed him a roll of parchment. Voldemort ducked outside. The sound of scrawling resonated against the bricks. A moment later Voldemort's head popped through the window with all the jubilation and jarring speed of a champagne cork
"Why yes," said Voldemort, "it just so happens I did manage to find a card. It runs," he paused to clear his throat, "'Oh Hermione, unlike this baby, my love for you will never die. Love, love, love, Severus.'"
"Willard, I suspect that you wrote that."
"You cut me to core, Miss Granger."
"I'm sorry, Willard."
"It's alright. I understand. Often when you look the way I look people don't take you for a man with some sense of honor."
"I'm sorry, but I still think I should go talk to Professor Snape about why he's declaring his love for me with severed anatomical portions."
"It will be no use, Miss Granger. He'll only deny it. He'll be overcome with a fit of shyness. What you should do is go visit him with no clothes on. Only through exhibitionist behavior that would get ordinary people locked up can you prove the depth of your love. Trust me."
"But I'm not in love with him."
"That's cold, Miss Granger. Cold and cruel. He's a lonely man."
"But he has friends. Quite a few of them."
"You're quibbling, girl. Strip down and go visit Severus."
"Willard, I'm going to go visit him with my clothes on. But I promise you that if at any point he tells me that he's a lonely, lonely man with terrible choice in gifts, I will strip naked."
Voldemort sighed dolefully. He shook his head. "I'm sad that you can't see the golden opportunity that this allows you. But I will let it pass. That's the kind of man I am."
Hermione gave Voldemort, who was looking very dejected, a kiss on the forehead, and then turned, strode out of her room, marched through the hallway, paced through the dungeons, and knocked purposefully on the door of Professor Snape's room. Severus opened it, wearing the same robes he usually wore (which came as a shock to Hermione who had always, on some subconscious level which she would never admit to Ginny, suspected that he occasionally trotted about wearing leather pants). Music from The Marriage of Figaro tinkled lightly in the background. Professor Snape looked somewhat shocked to see her.
"Did you send me a skull?" Hermione demanded.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"I hardly think it's the kind of thing I'd forget."
"Well, how odd. Willard gave it to me and said it was from you.Could he have any ulterior motive you can think of?"
Severus swallowed and paused for a moment. "Willard... I find Willard worries about me. A little. He's a sensitive soul. I think he wants to see that I've found a mate. It's the... the caretaker in him."
"I'm rather glad you didn't send it."
"Why? Aside from the obvious fact that it might be a death threat."
"Well, it's just not... it's the not the kind of gift that would come up in a romance novel. I've always had a bit of a fantasy that one day I would meet the man of my dreams, and he'd buy me a... no, this is silly."
"What? Edible chocolate paint?"
Hermione laughed. "No, of course not. A red dress. It's stupid. But there are always these moments in books where a heroine walks into a room, and she's wearing a red dress, and she just completely captivates everyone. And it's symbolic of her whole metamorphosis from some bookish girl, usually, into a goddess. And I just always felt that if a man were to give me the red dress it would mean that he saw me as something other than a walking encyclopedia. That he understood that I was female and seductive and beautiful and... and these things I really try not to think about because they're really superficial. Once I had the dress, I would have a moment of epiphany where... something exciting would happen... and then after that I would be transformed. And I would be happy and in love forever and I would never have to worry about anything again."
"My God," thought Severus, "the stock women place in clothes. I have no idea what she's talking about."
"But enough about that," said Hermione, "I don't think Willard meant the skull as a death threat. He said it might make a habitat for a pet snake. Do you have one?"
Severus raised his eyebrows. "That's a rather inappropriate question, don't you think?"
Hermione blushed a hideous shade of beet root. "Not like that. A real one. You know, a snake. Slytherin emblem and all. Perhaps a sassy one, with feathers and roller skates."
"No," sighed Severus, "we all know those don't exist. I do have a pet, though."
"Really!" squeaked Hermione, "I wouldn't have thought of you as someone who'd keep a pet."
"Would you like to meet him?"
"Very much."
Severus sauntered to his desk, and proudly held up a large jar that appeared to contain a bloated, red electric cord. Professor Snape tapped the glass with his finger affectionately. "His name is Trevor," he stated.
"Oh," replied Hermione, "well... he looks like a piece of electric cord. I think it's the ugliest thing I've ever seen."
"That's right," cooed Severus, seemingly oblivious, "Trevor the Tapeworm. He lived in my intestines for a little over six months. Do you know how you extricate a tapeworm, Miss Granger? You put a hot glass of milk in front of your mouth, to lure it out with the smell. Then you place a carrot in front of your open mouth, and when the tapeworm comes up it latches onto the carrot, and you pull..."
"You keep a tapeworm as a pet?"
"He came out of my body. We were one flesh until then. Intestinal parasites are as close as a man can get to giving birth."
"I think I'm going to vomit."
"Shall I call for Stevens?"
"Who?"
"My house elf. Well, the elf who attends to me. I suppose technically he's a Hogwarts elf."
"I've never met an elf named Stevens. And I've been working with them for ages."
"I'm sure he'd be pleased to meet with you." He called out, "Stevens? Could you come in for a moment?"
Hermione suddenly found herself gazing into the steely monocle of a house elf smartly attired in a three piece suit, complete with a miniature pocket watch. He could easily have passed found a gnome, or a singularly unattractive, albeit well dressed, child.
"How are you, Stevens? What have you been up to?" queried Severus.
"I've been instructing some of the young elves as to their duties within the confines of Hogwarts. It proves arduous, but I think I would be not amiss in saying that I feel a healthy flush of anticipation as to their progress. In fact, I should go so far as to say that I feel a new resolve not to be daunted in respect to the professional tasks Dumbledore has entrusted to my care."
Hermione's mouth fell open. She gasped. "Are you a house elf?"
"I'm afraid the esteemed Professor has not yet introduced me." Stevens directed his monocle purposefully towards Snape.
"Stevens," said Snape gesturing vaguely, "this is Hermione. Hermione, this is Stevens. You are now introduced."
"A great pleasure to meet you. Such an uncommon name. Hermione Granger, I presume?"
"Yes."
"Ah yes. If I may be so bold, Miss, you are a topic of considerable conversation with the house elf ranks."
"Why don't you talk like an elf? I don't mean that in a negative way, you speak very beautifully, but..."
"It's a matter of common misconception that house are innately predisposed to a rather vulgar colloquial dialect. As in all cases, it's much a matter of breeding. I had the good fortune to come from a family where both my parents were decorated graduates of Elfton. As, I take no small pleasure in admitting, am I."
"Elfton?" queried Hermione.
"A kind of university for elves. I suppose if you thought in muggle terms it would be about the equivalent of Oxford, or Harvard,"supplied Severus helpfully.
"I've often wondered why you don't direct your considerable energies towards aiding the university," mused Stevens, "I do admire your ambition Miss Granger, but your methods are rendered null and void by the overwhelming apathy of common house elves. 'Odi profanum vulgus et arceo' as quoth the good Horace."
"Why don't I see more of you, though? Elves like you, that is. It must be a fair sized university."
"Well, there are a few of us about. Many of us do embrace our unique, inherent drive to serve, and take up positions where we feel we can give something. It's a drive which leaves ambition by the wayside in some cases, but produces the most abnormally happy families. The trick is not giving so much that one loses oneself in the process. Others among us grow disgusted with our puny position within the wizarding world and flee it to enter muggle society. There, we wear bowler hats, and pass ourselves off as tax accountants."
Hermione giggled at this, and then realized with a sudden chill that her family's elderly tax accountant was unusually short and wore a bowler hat.
"How odd, though," murmured Hermione, "that I've never met another one."
"What makes you so sure you haven't?" asked Severus, smirking meaningfully at Stevens.
"Dobby?"
Snape and Stevens both emitted rich, hearty chuckles.
"Who then?"
"Didn't you ever come into contact with Kreacher?"
Hermione and Stevens both gasped in unison.
"That evil little monster," shouted Hermione, "is a university graduate!?"
"Oh, Kreacher," purred Stevens, clasping his hands to his heart "my dear mentor. He was a sweet old soul, and canny, canny like a fox. Still is. One of our more renowned professors. An expert in the manners in which a house elf can avoid certain contractual obligations through feigning insanity. Insanity and a whole host of other little things. Nobody can find a loophole like Professor Kreacher."
"He's a professor?" asked a flabbergasted Hermione.
"He had to leave the school for a time, apparently hooligans and hoydens were ravaging his ancestral home. The place where he'd been born, Miss Granger. Tearing up the paintings he grew up with. Defiling the name of the witch who treated him as a real child, who bounced him on her knee and read him Oscar Wilde's fairy tales. You'd never think that kind of nastiness could happen to a family so closely linked with the Malfoy dynasty."
Hermione, who was looking perhaps a little shamefaced by now, enquired softly, "What does it have to do with the Malfoys?"
"The Malfoys," said Stevens, with a jolt of surprise, "are one of Elfton's greatest benefactors. Certainly the greatest benefactor of the human variety. They've been champions of elf rights throughout the ages."
"But he kicked Dobby."
Stevens snorted. "If Dobby were around, so would I."
"Because he's a blood traitor?" demanded Hermione.
"Because he's a bloody imbecile," replied Severus."The Malfoys applaud intellectual ability as well as other traits that can help creatures rise to greatness. They have no tolerance for idiocy."
"How fascinating," whispered Hermione, "how utterly fascinating."
"Perhaps," interjected Dobby, "you could introduce the young lady to Mr. Malfoy and allow him to explain his position."
"Difficult, what with him being in Azkaban, and all. But I could do the next best thing."
"Take me down to Elfton?" asked an enthusiastic Hermione.
"Wrong. Tomorrow afternoon, I'm taking you out to meet Narcissa. Wear something pretty."