Chapter 29: Stella or Beryl
When Narcissa had informed her that she had acquired a new townhouse, Hermione had expected something lavish. What she hadn't expected was a house the size of a town in the heart of London. It clearly had some advanced dimensional magic in its bones because there was no way the spacious atrium she stood in existed in the narrow London building she'd entered.
Hermione was the only attendee in full muggle-wear. While some of the younger witches had a more modern-leaning style, their clothes were still very much of the magical persuasion. Floral patterns seemed especially ' in ' if Hermione's aching eyeballs were anything to go by. Floral robes and big weird hats that gave Hermione flashbacks to the Falcon, formerly known as Prince. After attempting an escape by flying violently into a closed window, Marcus' bird had sadly passed away. Hermione actually felt quite bad for the bird.
"Ernest told me all about you. Quite the go-getter back at the old Alma Mater." Elizabeth Macmillan, the wife of creepy Ernie, was simpering at her. Hermione tried to shake thoughts of dead birds and focus on the woman. "I of course went to Beauxbatons, je parle couramment le français "
" bon. " Hermione appeased her with a short smile. The woman had eaten up quite enough of her time. "I promised Mrs Malfoy I would mingle. Please excuse me."
"Oh, of course, I look forward to helping you save those little house-elves," Elizabeth called after her retreating form.
"I don't know if she mentioned it, but she's fluent in French." Pansy Parkinson intercepted Hermione's path, a conspiratorial smile on her face. Narcissa had, as promised, made introductions with Hermione. Now it was down to the dark-haired Slytherin to win her over.
"she did, twice." Hermione grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing human server and downed it. "I thought you had a real job, Parkinson. What brings you to the ladies luncheon circuit?" Hermione asked the girl she'd never thought looked like a pug. The comparison hadn't made sense. Other than a slight upturn of the nose, there was nothing pugish about the woman.
"I'm the editor of the society pages now. This is the society in action. Some of the oldest families in wizarding Britain have gathered to raise funds for creatures most of them have enslaved at some point. That's pretty big news" Pansy had decided the best way to get to Hermione was honesty. It felt strange to do. The words almost caught in her throat. Still, she managed, "and I wanted to talk to you, make proper introductions if you will."
"I've known you since I was eleven…."
"Not really, though." Parkinson shot her a look. " We weren't even fully formed people back then. " Pansy quoted Hermione's speech in defence of the Death-Eater's children.
"It's nice to meet you then." Hermione grinned and shot the dark-haired woman a smile.
Pansy looked like she wanted to say more, but she was pipped to the post by Narcissa, who was calling the gathered women to a vast conference table set up just for their meeting. Because, of course, Narcissa Malfoy had her own conference table.
"Ladies, thank you for coming." Mrs Malfoy's voice was as clear as a ringing bell to every ear. "As chair of the Liberated Elf Society, it is a pleasure to welcome you all here. We are so very honoured to be joined by our founder Hermione Granger." The ladies clapped, some politely and some with enthusiasm. "Miss Granger has tasked us with raising money for the cause she is helming and has come today to answer any questions you might have before you commit your time and effort."
"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione struggled with one-on-one interaction. That was a given, but show her a group, and she'd show you an audience. She produced a pile of binders and slid them expertly across the table. With a wave of her wand, a binder stopped in front of each woman. "I've taken the liberty of compiling these dossiers. It's basic information on the free house-elves and our goals both long term and short term." Hermione took a beat, allowing the gathered socialites a moment to flip the pages.
"What is reclassification?" Chelsea Abbott, the cousin of Hannah, was squinting at the paper. She clearly needed glasses but was too vain.
"It's our first goal, and it's important. The elves no longer want to be called House-elves." Hermione stated plainly.
"Seems a bit trivial if you ask me." Petra Rowle, a woman in her late fifties with a perpetually sour expression, tutted.
"Names matter, 'House-elf' is a human penned designation which describes their subjugation in our homes. They don't like it." Hermione kept her voice calm and her words succinct. She could tell none of the women were really warming to her. She didn't need their friendship. She needed their connections.
"yes, but… I mean, it's just a name." Clementine Yaxley, whose father was in the cell next to Lucius, tittered.
"You're right. What do names matter?" Pansy Parkinson narrowed her eyes. "When I write about your out-of-season lemon robes in tomorrow's paper, do I go with Socialite or Death-Eater's daughter ? I assume you don't care because it's just a name." Pansy's lip curled as she watched the women squirm.
"Well done, Parkinson, you've made your point." Yaxley hissed, her cheeks glowing with humiliation.
"What would they prefer to be called?" Elizabeth McMillan, ever the eager beaver and peacemaker, piped up.
"Hob Elves." Hermione offered with a shrug, "We had a long discussion about it. The unfortunate truth is we don't know where they actually come from. There's speculation that they're related to the Yumboes of Senegal… but also a lot of research indicating they're from a tribe of Brownie like creatures called Hobs who were trapped and enslaved in the English borders."
"Hob Elves," Narcissa practised, "I like it. Not so different that it won't catch on."
The women who were wary of Hermione seemed to soften at Narcissa's words. She was a queen bee, and her mood was infectious. It was what made her such an effective chair. "Does anyone have anything else they'd like to ask Miss Granger?"
"What do these free elves do all day?" Daphne Greengrass sneered down the table at Hermione, who, for her part, had no idea who the woman was.
"They're keen to continue serving, just for a wage like everyone else." Hermione flipped open her binder and pointed to a graph. "On page seven, you can see the Hob's plans for expansion. They're pooling their funds for more land."
"I'm worried that this will cripple our economy!" Philipa Nott, aunt of Theodore and woman on the perpetual edge of hysteria, wailed.
"Right now, the wizarding world is in a food shortage, our grocers, cafe owners, even Tom at the Broomstick have to buy in from muggle shops at top dollar, they add their profit margin, and suddenly your cooks are demanding more of your household budget." Hermione had been to enough fund-raisers to know how to frame an argument for the upper crust.
"She's not wrong. My husband said we were seven Galleons over budget last month for food, despite it being the regular big shop!" Eugenia Burke honked nasally before blowing her nose into a large handkerchief.
"That's because our farmlands were blighted by the war, but do you know who can farm it? Hob Elves. I can't believe the wizarding world kept these creatures indoors. Their true magic is in the soil. In November, they've already harvested three hundred kilograms of strawberries with no polytunnels." Hermione thought that agricultural marvel would have had more impact on the women. They merely nodded and continued to stare at her. "The elves sell that product in the wizarding world, for a fraction of what our retail establishments are currently paying. That translates to savings for you, a more stable economy and better options year-round."
"Well then, surely we should just put the elves we own out to the field and reap the profits ourselves!" Theodosia Gaunt, an ancient and wealthy widow who smelled like decay, crowed from her seat next to Narcissa.
"Well, no, dear, because that would involve slavery, and we're against that type of thing." Narcissa reminded the old woman with a gentle tone.
"Ah yes, I'd forgotten that bit." Gaunt nodded sagely. "Please continue, girl." She directed. Hermione blinked and then nodded.
"few wizards want to work agriculture nowadays, Elves do, wizards don't want to clean, Elves do, elves want to do all your dirty jobs. They just want to be paid." Hermione smiled. "And when they're paid a decent wage, they pay tax, buy goods, spread gold, and bolster our economy."
"What are your long term goals?" Pansy Parkinson pulled her quill up to the Binder Hermione had handed her, already making notes on the action plan.
"Abolition of slavery in the wizarding world." Hermione squared her shoulders. "It's still legal to own an elf. The ministry just encourages a small wage. It's not enough. The elves have a prophecy about freedom. It's as old as Hogwarts." Hermione looked into the eyes of the women gathered. "Do you know what that means?" Elizabeth shook her head, enraptured by Hermione's words, "They've wanted freedom all this time, deep down. People always say elves don't want to be set loose, but how can creatures who treasure and retell a story about them being free one day be content with captivity."
"Well, they're not the brightest creatures, are they." Daphne tittered, her face very much still locked into sneering. Hermione chose not to engage. She recognised the venom in the woman. It was the same brand as Ron's.
"Mr Malfoy," Draco's secretary, a harassed woman in her 40's who was either called Stella or Beryl (he couldn't remember), popped her head around his office door. His visits to his place of business were sporadic as he was fond of working from home. "There's a Mr Potter here to see you." She gasped breathlessly. Harry Potter had that effect on middle-aged women.
"Send him in then, please." Draco waved his hand and scanned the last page of his new contracts for an ethical unicorn farm.
"Alright?" Harry stepped in and waited for the door to close behind him.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Draco asked, standing and reaching out a hand to shake Harry's.
"Thought you and I could have a chat." Harry slumped into the seat across from Draco's. "Ron came to me and asked if Ginny was telling the truth, I couldn't lie, so I confirmed it." The boy who lived swallowed. "He's back in Dundee for the next few weeks."
"I'm not afraid of Weasley," Draco smirked.
"I'm not suggesting you are." Harry nodded. "I came here today to tell you, if you and he get into a confrontation, don't goad him." The boy who lived looked seriously at Malfoy over the rim of his glasses. "Don't provoke him at all."
"I…" Draco didn't get the chance to be defensive as Harry ploughed on.
"You're quicker than him, and your comments are more cutting," Harry dragged his fingers through his ever thick hair. "He's going to do something, and when he does, I want to be able to back you up… It makes it harder if you've said something arsey to him."
"That's actually quite sweet, Potter." Draco grinned. "You're going to back me up with Weasley?"
"I'm going to back up Hermione and what makes her happy. That's you." Potter sank into his seat, avoiding eye contact. Too much a boy for this level of sharing.
"Thanks, Potter." Draco poured a glass of his finest aged fire whisky and handed it to the boy who lived.
"Ginny wants to have you both over for a double date." Harry took a long sip, cringing into his chair. No matter how you painted it, this was fucking weird. He was Harry Potter, and this was Draco Malfoy, and they were planning a double date.
"You think as loud as Hermione does. I agree. This is weird." Draco took a drink. "But there are worse things."