Ok, so I guess I should apologize. When I said it would not take that long to post the next chapter, what I actually meant was it was going to take exceptionally long. A lot of things happened. There was fire and brimstone and rabid dogs and a midget trapped under an abandoned refrigerator ... It has been quite a week. And sadly, it's not even what you would call an "action packed" chapter. But alas, it is finished and ready to post. I hope it was worth the wait for those who waited. For everyone else ... well, I hope you enjoy it too, I suppose.

But I digress ...

- Chapter Four -

Sewing Seeds the Mind

"Is this sewing of yours meant to be therapeutic?" Killian asked as he perused through a copy of the Dailey Prophet while Hermione worked diligently on constructing various hats for the house-elves of Hogwarts.

"It's not sewing, it's knitting," Hermione corrected. "And yes, it's therapeutic. But there's also a purpose for it."

Hermione was certain Killian was aware of the difference between sewing and knitting. He merely wished to antagonize her. In truth, the reason she and Killian were off hiding in one of the numerous dark and rarely haunted corners of Hogwarts was because Ron had been antagonizing her in regards to her persistent efforts in helping release house-elves from bondage. Her knitted caps were her most recent endeavor, hoping that in placing them out for the house-elves to take, they could free themselves from servitude. It had been futile to date, and Ron's snide comments as she attempted to knit in the Gryffindor common room made it ever more disheartening. Thus, why she chose Killian's company in place of her housemates at the moment. Although teasing her just the same, Killian's remarks did not feel as cutting.

"Ah yes, knitting," Killian said with a grin as he adjusted his sleeves which were concealing his hands. "Tell me again about this plan of yours."

Again, Hermione was certain Killian was aware of her plan. They had spoken of it before. But she went along with it just the same. Why she was tolerant of Killian's baiting as well as why she was not annoyed by his habit of asking that she repeat herself was a mystery. There was no reasonable or logical explanation. It simply did not bother her. She almost welcomed it. No quite, but almost.

"As I've explained to you before," Hermione began, "all I have to do is place these articles of clothing about in the dormitory and common room. When one of the house-elves picks it up, they will be freed. Afterwards, they will have the ability to choose if they wish to stay in Hogwarts employ. It will no longer be a life forced upon them."

"And you are convinced this will work?" Killian asked on, flipping the page of his periodical and glancing through the various articles.

"Of course it will," Hermione said, albeit not with as much confidence as she would have liked. "Eventually, that is," she clarified. "A social change of this magnitude is always met with reluctance at the start. Individuals become complacent with their placement in the communal order and fear any deviation from what they have grown accustomed to tolerating. But that doesn't mean they do not wish for a better life. They just need a push, that one individual to step forward and show the rest of them there is nothing to fear."

"That's all well and good," Killian said with a raised eyebrow. "However, I was referring to your idea of leaving clothing for the house-elves to collect. To free a house-elf from servitude, the clothing must be presented by their master. I'm not certain you qualify."

Hermione stopped knitting for a moment. Just long enough to roll her eyes and sigh. He did it again … she thought before returning to her twists and knots, smiling and shaking her head. Intolerable … "First of all," she explained, "the term 'master' is completely subjective."

"Actually, it's quite specific," Killian disagreed. "An individual whom possesses a claim of the servitude by others."

"It can also mean an individual whom has achieved the highest level of excellence in a particular skill," Hermione countered. She was attempting to be clever, but she knew, at best, this was a desperate stretch at countering Killian's remark.

"If that particular skill is possessing a claim of servitude," Killian said without care or hesitation, never taking his eyes off his copy of the Dailey Prophet, "then I wholeheartedly agree."

Crinkling her nose, Hermione contemplated for a moment. This was their game. One comment countered by another countered by another, each one besting the one previous. It was a version of intellectual chess played with words and ideas versus violent game pieces exploding upon each clash of opposing forces. It was intelligent, thought provoking, and oddly stimulating.

Several plausible arguments passed through her mind before she finally decided upon the angle she would pursue.

"If all that's necessary is a claim of servitude," she began, "then by your definition, I am a master."

Killian now lowered his periodical and glanced at Hermione, seeming genuinely intrigued with her potential hypothesis. "And how, exactly, do you justify that interpretation."

"One of the many tasks assigned to the house-elves of Hogwarts as to attend to the needs of the students," Hermione explained. "Ergo, they are in our service. Thus, we are their masters."

A silence fell between them. Hermione watched Killian's eyes narrow in contemplation. She knew it was coming. She had no notion as to what it would be, but it was coming. He was not yet beaten.

"I believe I've discovered why you so passionately pursue this little endeavor of yours," he finally said with a mischievous grin.

The word little burned in Hermione's ears. She knew Killian had used it intentionally. He chose his words very carefully. If someone else had used this qualifier to describe Hermione's efforts, the outcome would most certainly have been different. If Ron, for instance, had referred to her attempts to improve the lives of house-elves as a little endeavor, there would have been a vast amount of shouting followed by several days, if not weeks, of silence between them. With Killian, the little jabs and antagonizing behaviors had an entirely different effect on Hermione. She saw them as more of an invitation of continued engagement than any sort of invective dialogue. And she would, of course, gladly accept the invitation and return it in kind.

"And why is that?" Hermione asked.

"The guilt of the wealthy," Killian explained.

"I beg your pardon," Hermione said, completely lost as to the direction Killian had taken.

"I myself come from a fair amount of monetary comfort," Killian began. "Yet my family has but one house-elf in our service. To have the dozens of house-elves of whom you claim to be master, you must be wealthy beyond reason. Which explains a great many things. You see, often, around your age—"

"My age?" Hermione interjected.

"Yes, of course," Killian assured with a grin. "There is a vast amount of maturing that takes place in the year that separates us."

Hermione cocked her head with a smirk.

"As I was saying …" Killian continued. "Often around your age, the children of such legacies rebel against their elders, almost resenting their privilege at the expense of those less fortunate. Thus, they make it the mission in their young life to raise awareness of the disparities between those of their class and … well, everyone whom they hold under their boots. Do not worry though," he added with a coy grin. "This is merely a phase. In time, you will certainly outgrow it. Most likely when you realize how wonderful the luxuries of affluence can be."

Now ceasing her knitting entirely, Hermione stared at Killian and his arrogant grin. He appeared quite proud of himself. She attempted to look contemptuous, but found it difficult, falling back on a simple deadpan expression that mildly demonstrated some form of disappointment.

"Incidentally," Killian went on as he returned to his reading, "I had no inclination Muggle dentistry was so lucrative a field. Comfortable yes, but an entire company of servants? I am truly impressed."

Hermione turned away with her nose in the air. "You," she said simply, "are an ass."

Another broad smile crossed Killian's face.

"Does this mean I've won this round?"

"No," Hermione clarified with a laugh. "It means you're an ass."

Killian looked back towards Hermione. "Maybe so," he said, pulling his robe open to display a S.P.E.W. button affixed to the breast of his shirt. 'But I am also secretly a part of your underground movement," he added with a wink. "So I'm an ass with a worthy cause."

Hermione shook her head with another laugh. "It's not an underground movement," she said. "It's right out in the open. It's just been a bit difficult to garner a following."

"Really?" Killian said, closing his robe and feigning disappointment. "Suddenly, it's not as exciting."

As with before, his comments should have been insulting. Hermione should have been infuriated. Yet, she was not. Instead she was happy, she was comfortable. She knew Killian's words did not speak to his true beliefs or intentions. At least, she hoped they did not. They were meant to tease. It was the back and forth they shared, each attempting to get a rise out of the other. Nothing more than a game. And how she enjoyed their game.

Voices echoing down the corridor signaled the approach of fellow students. Hermione looked down the hall as Killian gathered his paper and made his way to a darkened doorway.

"So much for privacy," he said as he stepped into the shadows.

Hiding … The other common theme in their dynamic. Teasing and hiding. A part of her, perhaps the selfish side that dwells deep within any given person, enjoyed the secrecy. In that sense, the reclusive Slytherin belonged to her and her alone. On the other hand, with their denials and furtive practices, another part of her felt that without an acknowledgement, they did not actually exist. In many ways, the latter felt far more real than the former.

The students filed past, casting a glance towards Hermione and whispering about the silly Gryffindor and her pointless crusade. Hermione had gotten used to the endless chatter belittling her attempts to improve the lives of house-elves. Few shared in her beliefs. Killian was not excluded in this. While she was aware his negative remarks were made simply for the reactions they incited, she also knew he was among those who did not consider the matter particularly significant. Even Harry seemed to pay it little mind beyond placating her. It was a fight she would, more than likely, always be pursuing with few, if any, supporters.

When they were alone again, Killian reemerged and sat down, this time much closer to Hermione, and began to read once more, adjusting the sleeves of his robes to cover his hands. She had noticed this new practice of his several day previous, but did not think much of it. She still though little of it, but asked of it nonetheless.

"What's wrong with your hands?"

Killian seemed puzzled by the query.

"I'm not certain what you mean?"

"Why are you all wearing them in your sleeves all of the sudden?"

"Hogwarts has been chilly of late," Killian answered with a simple grin. "I also believe it to be quite fashionable. Or it will be when people begin to take notice."

"Of course," Hermione mockingly agreed as she placed a finished cap down and began on another. "So is there anything of interest going on in the world or are you merely being antisocial?"

Killian nudged Hermione with his shoulder. "Can it not be both?" he asked.

"If you would like to be alone …" Hermione pointed out as she began to teasingly peck at Killian's shoulder with one of her knitting needles.

"Nonsense," Killian said, feigning submission. "I was, in fact, reading up on Hogwarts' newly appointed High Inquisitor."

Hermione sighed with disgust, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "I've read of it."

"Educational Decree number twenty-three?" Killian went on as he read. "Have there really been that many? Seems it was not that long ago I was listening to you decry the existence of four or five."

"Professor Umbridge moves quickly," Hermione said with a huff.

"You do realize that Professor Umbridge is completely innocent in all of this," Killian pointed out. "These decrees are being issued by the Ministry, not their obedient lapdog," he punctuated with a bit of bite in his tone.

An icy stare was cast towards Killian as Hermione raised her sewing needle in threatening fashion.

"Do you really want to do this again?" she asked with narrowing eyes.

Killian laughed to himself, raising a hand and directing the needle away from his face. "I do not," he assured. "Particularly when you're armed."

Withdrawing her needle after swinging it around for a second time and pointing towards Killian for effect, Hermione returned to her knitting. For several minutes there was silence between the two, only broken by the occasion crinkle of a turning page and the consistent and rhythmic clicking of Hermione's needles.

Soon, thought after thought began to pass through Hermione's mind. Killian's remarks were really no different than his usual attempts at riling her up. Again, it was their game. Mental chess. In reality it was this dynamic that continually drew her to him. But for some reason, the mention of Professor Umbridge has hit a nerve and turned her stomach. She attempted to repress the feelings as best she could, but it was futile.

"Are you all right?" Killian asked, lowering his paper and glancing over with a look of suppressed concern.

"I'm fine," Hermione said, avoiding eye contact and focusing on the repetitive pattern in the twists and turns that transformed the plain ball of yarn into an ornate elven cap.

"You are not fine," Killian disagreed. "What you are is lying."

Hermione stopped and sighed with disgust. "It's maddening," she finally admitted.

"I agree," Killian said with a smile. "But I though you believed it to be soothing and therapeutic. Sewing seeds the mind and all."

"It's not sewing, it's knitting, you dolt," Hermione chastised with a laugh, tossing a needle at Killian. "And it's not that," she explained as Killian picked up the needle and handed it back to her. "It's Professor Umbridge."

"You're not still on about her, are you?"

"You don't understand … It's just … Just …"

"Maddening," Killian finished. "Yes, so you've said."

"It's more than that," Hermione argued. "It's not right. We're here to learn and to learn properly. There is nothing proper about her manner of education. I could learn more from an afternoon in the library than from what she offers in her classroom."

"To be fair," Killian argued playfully, "not all students have the fortitude to seek out information on their own. Perhaps her approach is more geared to Hogwarts' less than studious of students."

"I will hit you," Hermione said, again raising her needle in a mock threat.

Killian laughed and grasped Hermione's hand, forcing the needle down before she pulled away and returned to her knitting with a huff.

"It's not funny," she said.

"I know," Killian agreed with the most sincerity he had offered that evening. "But frustrating yourself is over this nonsense is not healthy. It's just going to put stress wrinkles on your forehead. And who wants those?"

"There has to be something to be done," Hermione pondered aloud, ignoring Killian's comment.

"Well, if what you're saying is true," Killian offered, turning back to his Dailey Prophet, "then why don't you teach the class?"

Hermione paused. "What did you say?"

"I mean, if you can get all the information you need from the library," Killian continued, "why bother with Professor Umbridge at all. Seems rather redundant, doesn't it?"

"That's brilliant!" Hermione exclaimed, gathering up her needles, yarn, and finished hats and stuffing them into her bag.

Killian looked toward Hermione with a curious look etched in his expression.

"What is?" he asked.

"Teach the class."

"What? … No, that was in jest."

"Why?" Hermione argued. "If Professor Umbridge won't teach the class properly, someone needs to."

"And you believe that someone is you?"

"Not me," Hermione corrected. "But I know someone who would be brilliant at it."

"Does this someone not mind being expelled?" Killian asked.

"We just won't get caught," Hermione explained. "Isn't that your philosophy?"

Before Killian could answer, more voices echoed from further down the corridor. Killian stood and returned to the shadows as another set of students passed by, unknowing of his presence. When they had traversed a good distance away, Killian joined Hermione as she stood and began to walk along towards the Gryffindor tower.

"See?" Hermione said with a smile. "Everything is fine so long as we don't get caught."

"You've lost your mind," Killian said, bumping Hermione in the shoulder as they walked along. "Even more so than when you decided to raise awareness of the mistreatment of house-elves."

"That was a brilliant idea as well," Hermione argued, bumping Killian's should in return.

"Yet to be seen," Killian countered. "Although I've been thinking. Perhaps it's not your campaign in and of itself, but rather the name of your campaign that has students reluctant to join. Who would want to join a revolution under the banner of SPEW."

"It's not SPEW," Hermione argued. "I wish people would stop calling it that. It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

"Exactly," Killian pointed out with, placing his index finger on Hermione's forehead for effect. "SPEW ... You cannot blame people for pointing out the obvious flaw."

"Really?" Hermione asked with doubt. "And I suppose you have a better name in mind."

Killian reached into Hermione's bag and removed one of the delicately knitted caps.

"I don't know," he thought aloud. "Dressing Up Made Better?"

Dressing Up Made Better … Hermione echoed before suddenly realizing what Killian was suggesting.

"I hate you," she said, playfully slapping at Killian as they continued to walk along, disappearing into the darkness down the hall.