Harry Potter exited through the main doors of Gringotts Bank into the darkness of a winter evening and breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced at his watch, grimacing at the confirmation that the latest review of his accounts had taken much longer than anticipated and that his plans for the day were shot through. He'd intended to do some shopping while in London but as he looked down Diagon Alley, he could see that the majority of the shops were now closed for the day, despite the fact that it was the post-Christmas holiday period.
Bloody goblins.
He sighed, knowing he was being unfair. He actually liked the goblins and usually got on very well with them. Granted, he'd had to go through careful negotiation with them immediately following Voldemort's defeat, but once he'd explained his reasons for breaking into the bank, the goblins had treated him with respect and courtesy. They actually seemed to like him and so he generally enjoyed a good relationship with them, at least on a personal basis.
Especially if they didn't talk about money.
The problem was that money was pretty much all the goblins wanted to talk to him about.
When the late war against Voldemort had finished, he'd discovered that he was an extremely wealthy individual. He'd been astonished to learn that the bank vault that he'd used for his school supplies was merely the tip of the Potter financial iceberg and that he was, in fact, very rich. Allied to this was his inheritance of the Black Estate from his Godfather, Sirius. This meant that he was one of Gringotts' major clients and as a result, he was expected to attend quarterly reviews to go through his investments and his property portfolio. The problem was that he hated the entire process.
The only consolation he had was that the Goblins hated dealing with his business in return, as he simply did not give a damn about money. The result was that everyone involved was miserable, so the process usually tended to be speedier than it otherwise might have been.
Just not today.
A loud Bang! suddenly brought him out of his musings, followed by the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. He peered into the evening gloom and slowly approached the source of the noise, instinctively drawing his wand as he did so.
'Who's there?' he challenged, and he heard a quiet scuffling and the sound of people whispering furiously in surprised voices. As he neared them, he discerned the shape of two figures, both hooded and both now running towards the entrance to Knockturn Alley. He briefly considered giving chase but decided against it. Instead, he had a quick look around to see if he could find out what the two mysterious characters had being doing.
After a few moments of peering into the dark, he felt a sudden surge of anger and a sense of regret that he had not pursued the two strangers. Once his eyes had become accustomed to the lack of light, he noticed the rather pathetic, shabby little shop of the type that tended to signify businesses whose lifespan was measured in weeks, rather than years. The shop front was a narrow façade framing a small window with dark wood. Just visible above the window was a sign with the words: The Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare.
But what drew his attention, and his ire was the fact that the window was smashed, and that the black door had been daubed with offensive graffiti.
Mudblood.
With a growing sense of anger, he pushed open the door and cautiously entered. Glass crunched under his feet.
'Hello?' he called out. 'Is there anyone there?' he asked tentatively as he entered further into the shop.
'Put down your wand and put your hands where I can see them,' a voice hissed from the darkness.
Despite his shock at the demand, Harry quickly obliged. He gently placed his wand on the counter in front of him and cautiously raised his arms into the air. He peered into the gloom and could just about make out a dim figure by a door in the corner. A figure who he believed was pointing a wand straight at him.
'I'm not here to cause trouble,' he said, sounding more confident than he felt. 'I heard the glass smashing and just wanted to make sure everything was OK. I chased them off.'
'Oh,' said the voice, and Harry recognised it as female. There was a long pause as the voice decided what to do next and Harry felt as if he was being evaluated. 'Give me a minute,' the figure finally said, and he heard the person rummaging in a drawer. Finally, they found whatever it was they were looking for and approached the counter and started placing a few objects in various locations.
'Incendio.'
Harry squinted as the light from several candles illuminated the room and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. Once he could see clearly, he found himself looking at a slim young woman around his own age. She was wearing a pair of tight blue jeans and a black t-shirt, both garments accentuating every curve on what he could now confirm was a very trim form indeed. Her dark brown hair was tied back in a very bushy ponytail and although her eye colour matched her hair, there was a slight redness that suggested she had been crying.
'You can stop staring and put your hands down now,' she said, lowering her wand as she did so. 'Are you here to sell or hire?' she added, her tone all business.
Harry gingerly lowered his hands and tentatively reached for his wand, pocketing it quickly. 'Sell or hire?' he asked in confusion.
'Yes; a House Elf. Are you here to sell or hire a House Elf?' she repeated, in a voice that was usually reserved for speaking to the hard of thinking.
'What?' asked Harry, clearly bewildered. He shook himself to recover his wits, wondering how he had managed to find himself on the back foot so quickly. 'No, I don't want to hire an elf. Or sell one for that matter. As I said, I just came in to see if everything was OK. I heard the window smashing and when I went to check it out, I saw the two idiots responsible. They legged it before I could see them properly.' He watched her lips thin at his words and was struck by just how pretty she was.
And how intense.
'Thanks for trying, but everything is fine. It's not the first time it's happened,' she replied calmly.
'It isn't? Have you reported it? Do you know who it is? Why do they do it?' he asked angrily.
She regarded him with a strange look before replying. 'It's just kids. There's no point in reporting it. Don't worry about it.'
He shook his head. 'I saw what they wrote on the door. This is more than "just kids." There's no excuse for that. You need to report it."
'I don't need to do anything. Anyway, why should you care?' she asked and there was a hardness to her voice.
'I…it's just…I really hate that term. My mum was muggle-born, and that word is a bit of a trigger for me.'
'Oh.'
An awkward silence descended between them and neither seemed to know what to do next. Harry couldn't explain why, but he was reluctant to leave. Maybe it was because he was curious about her. Or it could be the fact that she didn't seem to know who he was, and that was almost a unique experience for him in the magical world.
Or maybe it's because she's absolutely gorgeous and I could drown in those eyes…
'So, House Elves?' he said suddenly. 'You buy and sell House Elves?'
She regarded him for a long moment before replying. 'Not exactly. It's a part of what we do here, but it's not as straightforward as that.' She lifted a pamphlet from the desk in front of her and handed it to him. 'There's more information about us in here. If you're interested, you should read this.'
He took the proffered leaflet and glanced at the heading on the front cover.
'SPEW,' he read aloud. 'What's SPEW?'
It may have been his imagination, but at that moment, the temperature in the room seemed to drop so sharply that he half expected a Dementor to appear through the door at the back.
'It's not SPEW,' she replied through gritted teeth. 'It's the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare. S.P.E.W.' she added, emphasising each letter individually as she did so.
'I'm sorr-…' he began but was soon interrupted.
'So, if that's all, you can leave now,' she said brusquely. 'Everything is fine; I'll tidy up here and that'll be it.'
'I could help if-…'
'No need! I was just closing anyway, so thanks for checking, but everything's fine now.'
Harry suddenly found himself being firmly led to the door and before he'd had time to formulate a reply, he was standing out on the cobbled street. He turned around quickly.
'My name is Harry…' he began but found himself speaking to a closed wooden door with the word mudblood written on it.
He felt a sudden surge of anger at her rudeness, but then, strangely, he found himself smiling at the absurdity of the situation.
He glanced at the pamphlet in his hand and smiled.
SPEW.
This wasn't over.
oOoOoOoOoOo
Hermione Granger firmly closed the door to her premises and quickly slid the bolt into place before placing her forehead against the wood and closing her eyes.
Why did I do that? He was only trying to help. He seemed nice.
Sighing, she turned to survey the room. She'd already cleaned up most of the damage and so lifted her wand and pointed it at the window.
'Reparo,' she whispered and watched with satisfaction as the shards of glass replaced themselves in the broken window, repairing it perfectly as they did so.
She was beyond caring as to the reason why the young hooligans had decided to target her; such trouble had followed her all her life and she was almost used to it by now.
Almost.
She knew that it wasn't because she was weak. On the contrary, she was aware that she was a very talented and powerful witch. Her parents had moved to France when she was a very young child so when it was discovered that she was a witch, she'd elected to attend Beauxbatons, despite also having the opportunity to attend Hogwarts.
Academically, she'd been the best student in her year, every year, but she'd discovered from an early age that such achievements were not greatly appreciated by her peers. Allied to that was the fact that she was muggle-born and also a British born witch at a French school.
She'd had a lonely childhood.
It was only when she went to university that she'd finally come out of her shell. Her academic success at Beauxbatons had earned her a scholarship to study Magical Law at the Sorbonne and she'd been delighted to finally meet some like-minded people in her classes. People who just wanted to be the best they could be and who accepted others who were also academically brilliant. It was there that she'd met Gabriel Ducos, her first – and to date, only - boyfriend.
It was there that I was betrayed and had my heart broken.
She'd been flattered at the attention. Gabriel was intelligent, handsome, and romantic and he'd swept her off her feet. He was from a very wealthy and powerful French Pureblood family, and she'd often wondered what he saw in her. They'd got together halfway through her final year, and it had been the happiest time of her life. She'd thought he was the one and had come very close to sharing herself with him completely, both in mind and body. She'd certainly shared her mind with him and had been only too pleased to collaborate with him professionally and to share her thoughts and her ideas.
Until Gabriel had stolen them. Until he passed her work off as his own and she discovered that no one in authority was willing to listen to the protestations of a British muggle-born witch, especially when she was accusing the scion of an ancient, French pureblood house, of intellectual theft.
As a result, she'd left university under a cloud and with a desire to return to Britain, despite the entreaties of her parents. She'd never really confided in them just what she had to put up with in the Magical World, so they never fully understood her motives for leaving France.
Unfortunately, she hadn't found things much better in Britain.
She'd discovered that the prospects for a foreign educated, muggle-born witch in Britain were practically zero. It was why she found herself in her current predicament. She really wanted to make a difference in the Magical World; to pull down the barriers that prevented people like her, not to mention magical creatures, from achieving equality. And then - just as she was despairing of ever finding gainful employment - she'd been given a chance.
On first arriving back in Britain, she'd placed an advert in the Daily Prophet in the hope of generating some work. Weeks had passed and she had just about given up hope of ever pursuing a career in Law when salvation arrived in the form of a rather distressed House Elf.
The elf was called Kimmy and she was badly mistreated by her masters. She wanted out.
She'd felt so sorry for Kimmy but had also identified with the plight of the poor creature. Desperate to have any client, she'd decided to take the case Pro Bono and it turned out to be the best decision of her life.
She'd looked into every aspect of House Elf ownership. Had studied the Bond between elves and their masters. And had discovered a clever little loophole that she was using to gain freedom for any elf who wanted it. Although freedom, wasn't exactly the correct way of putting it. What she was offering was more in the way of sanctuary.
Professionally, things were beginning to look up. Unfortunately, her personal life was just as bad as it had always been.
She suddenly remembered a piece of advice her mum had given her just after Gabriel's betrayal. Her mum had told her that not everyone who was alone was lonely, and not everyone who was lonely was alone.
Strangely enough, she'd drawn some comfort from that. She enjoyed her own company. Enjoyed reading and researching and was generally quite happy and comfortable in her own head.
But lately she'd been finding it harder and harder to stay positive and she'd very recently come to a rather grim conclusion.
I am so lonely, it hurts.
So, she still could not work out why she had practically run that helpful stranger out of her shop.
Harry. He said his name is Harry. It's a nice name.
And he was a nice-looking man. There had been something strangely familiar about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She'd noticed right away just how handsome he was and his eyes…
Oh, his eyes!
Magnificent pools of emerald that had mesmerised her. In the course of their brief encounter, she'd seen them radiate concern, sorrow, and surprise. There was a depth to those eyes that spoke of a man older than his years and she now regretted her behaviour as she suspected that she would never see Harry again.
She closed her eyes, cursing her own insecurities for condemning herself to such a lonely fate.
If I don't change, I'm going to be lonely my entire life. Next time, I need to try harder.
If there is a next time.
oOoOoOoOo
Harry stood outside the office for the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare and took a deep breath in order to steady himself before he entered the premises. He was pleased to see that the vile graffiti from the night before had been removed and there was now no trace of the foul word that had bedaubed the door. He was feeling nervous for some reason, and he couldn't decide if it was because he was worried that he'd be thrown out on his ear again, or because he was afraid that he wouldn't.
His instincts were telling him that it was a lose/lose situation.
Despite his misgivings, he opened the door and entered, and his first feeling was one of relief at the fact that he wasn't staring down the wrong end of a wand this time. He glanced around the small room, and it was evident that no one was around. He approached the counter and noticed a small bell that he hadn't seen last night. He took a moment to compose himself before pressing it.
Ting!
He heard movement from the back room and retreated a step so that she would be able to see that he was unarmed. After a few seconds, she appeared through the door and her beautiful brown eyes widened in surprise when she saw him. He decided to try and seize the initiative.
'Good morning,' said brightly. 'You might remember me from yesterday? I'm Harry.'
'Er…hello, Harry,' she replied. 'How can I help you? Are you here about an elf?'
'Not exactly,' he replied.
'Well, if you're not here about an elf, I don't know why you're here. As you can see, everything has been fixed up as good as new, so I don't need any help,' she said quickly, and she looked away with a slightly flushed look on her face.
Harry suddenly realised that she was as nervous as he was.
'I'm not here about a particular elf,' he replied. 'I'm here about all your elves,' he added, holding up the leaflet she'd given him the previous night.
'You read it?' she asked, incredulity in her voice.
'Of course, I read it. You said if I was interested, I should read it.'
'Oh. People aren't usually that interested.'
'I am. Actually, I found it fascinating, I have a ton of questions.'
'Really?'
'Yes. I was hoping you might be able to answer them. I was going to grab a coffee and I was wondering if you'd be kind enough to join me and explain a few things to me.'
Silence greeted this request. Harry felt his heart beating in his chest as she folded her arms and regarded him with an extremely cynical look.
'A coffee,' she said, flatly.
'Yes.'
'I don't even know you.'
'I told you; my name is Harry. I never caught yours.'
'That's because I never told you what it is.'
Another long, drawn-out silence fell on them, and Harry noticed that she looked away again. He sighed, finally deciding that he was wasting his time and he turned to leave.
'Hermione,' she said, suddenly.
He tuned to face her with a questioning look on his face.
'My name is Hermione,' she repeated. She licked her lips. 'Are you really interested in this stuff?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
Harry considered the question for a long moment, his eyes lost in memory. 'It would take me all day to explain, even if I could,' he finally replied. 'Can you please just take my word for it that I really am interested? Will you please join me for a coffee? I promise; I'm not wasting your time.'
She regarded him for a long moment before nodding. 'OK. Give me a minute and I'll lock up here.' She paused before continuing and Harry thought that it was taking her a great deal of effort to say what she was saying. 'I…I don't know why it is, but I feel as if I can trust you, Harry.' She smiled. 'I'll be right back.'
Harry nodded his agreement and waited until she went through the back before smiling himself.
No matter how the rest of this day goes, it's been worth it just to see that smile.
Hermione.
oOoOoOoOoOo
Hermione Granger found herself wondering if she was making a huge mistake as they entered the Magic Bean Café, located at the top end of Diagon Alley. She'd become increasingly aware that people were staring at them as they made their way through the crowds of shoppers, and she'd finally noticed that Harry was looking fixedly ahead and was doing his best to ignore the attention.
It was at that moment that the penny had finally dropped, and she realised who she was with.
That "Harry" was in fact Harry Potter!
Despite living in France for most of her life, she did, of course, know who Harry Potter was and what he'd achieved. But she'd not made the connection that this Harry was the Harry simply because she didn't bother about fame or the like.
Of course, she knew his story. At least, she knew just as much as anyone who was not a close personal friend of the man. She'd kept herself as up to date as possible with events in Britain and as the war grew in ferocity, she feared it would spread to the continent. She had no illusions about her own fate as a muggleborn witch had Voldemort succeeded in conquering Europe.
She'd read how Harry and his best friend Ron Weasley had disappeared for the best part of ten months before reappearing at Hogwarts. She was aware of the role his other best friend, Neville Longbottom, had played in leading the resistance within Hogwarts itself during Voldemort's reign of terror, and of the crucial part he played in the defence of the school during the final battle. She was aware that Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort in a duel during the climax of this battle, and she'd heard the stories that he'd somehow survived the Killing Curse for the second time that night, as incredible as that seemed.
That was without going into his role in the Triwizard tournament, or the rumours about Basilisks, Acromantulas and all the other outlandish tales that circulated about him.
But she, like most of the Magical World, were not aware of the details of all these events. No one knew what Harry Potter and Ron Weasley did when they were on the run. No one knew how he – allegedly – survived the killing curse again. A veil of secrecy had been drawn over most of the events of those ten months and she found that to be somewhat frustrating. When asked by the media about events during Voldemort's reign, Harry Potter always suggested they speak to Minister Shacklebolt for answers.
Minister Shacklebolt's answer was always a terse "No Comment!"
She was interested in history and politics and as a consequence, had read just about everything worthwhile to read about the late war. But she made a point of avoiding tabloid publications such as The Daily Prophet like the plague. When she did read the news and current affairs, she tended to avoid those publications overloaded with pictures as experience had taught her that the articles that were actually worth reading tended to be found in publications that focused more on the words than the images. As a result, she'd simply not made the connection and recognised that "Harry" was Harry Potter.
At least not until now.
She found herself on her guard and wondered why Harry Potter, of all people, was taking such an interest in her work. When she'd answered the bell earlier, she'd been astonished to see the visitor from the night before standing in her shop. She'd thought she'd made it clear that she didn't need any assistance and so she'd been immediately suspicious at his return.
When he'd asked her name, she'd initially brushed him off, before remembering her vow to herself to try harder to engage with people. This was a seemingly pleasant, handsome man of her own age. Why should she be wary of him?
And then he had asked for more information about House Elves, and her guard had gone straight back up.
No one was interested in House Elves. No one.
She remembered his face when she'd asked him why he was interested. He had looked so lost, so hurt, that it had broken her defences. He said it would take all day to explain his reasons and she believed him. She just didn't know what he meant when he'd said, "even if I could."
I'm willing to give him a chance. For some reason, I trust him.
She was brought out of her thoughts by Harry pulling back a chair and offering her a seat, which she took gratefully, before he sat down across from her as a waitress approached them.
'Tea? Coffee?' he asked.
She smiled. 'Coffee for me, please. I did grow up in France. Un café crème, s'il vous plait.'
He returned her smile, before ordering two cups. Once the waitress departed with the order, he turned to face her.
'France?' he asked, one eyebrow raised.
'Yes. I was born in Britain, but my parents moved to France when I was little. I attended Beauxbatons,' she replied.
'Ah…that explains why I didn't know you from Hogwarts,' he replied. He suddenly looked rather nervous and awkward. 'So…' he began again, and it was clear he was unsure where to start.
'So, you said you had some questions,' she replied, deciding that a forthright approach was best for this…meeting.
He nodded. 'I'm just wanting to see if I understand correctly what it is you are doing.' He paused for a moment, before placing the leaflet on the table between them. 'Would I be right in saying that you have the House Elves buying their own freedom?'
Her eyes widened. Clearly, he'd read the leaflet in full. She found herself smiling.
'Yes.'
'How?'
'It started with an elf called Kimmy. She came to me asking for help to escape from the bond she had with her masters. They were treating her terribly.'
'So, you freed her?' asked Harry.
'Not exactly. In my arrogance, I thought that was what she needed and wanted, so I started looking into ways of setting her free that didn't involve her masters giving her clothes. But Kimmy was adamant that she did not want to be a free elf. She just wanted to escape the masters she had at that time. She just wanted a new master. Funnily enough, it was her insistence on not being freed that gave me the answer.'
'What answer?' Harry asked. He found himself captivated by her as she told her story.
'I discovered that all House Elves have a price. The thing I find the most offensive about house elf enslavement is the fact that, to all intents and purposes, they are property. It might not state it in any of our laws, but they are treated as property. So, it occurred to me that if people treat them as property, they can be bought and sold, as awful as that concept seems.'
Harry nodded his understanding. 'I've never liked the way some of the older families viewed their elves like that. I think such people are more likely to be cruel to their elves. If they view them as property, then they won't have any consideration for their feelings or their welfare. It's terrible.'
'It is terrible,' Hermione continued, and she felt a flush of warmth at his words. 'But it also provided me with an opportunity. Because House Elves are considered as property by so many, they have a financial worth. I started researching the bond elves have with their masters and I discovered that it's more accurate to call it a contract. A very one-sided contract, to be sure, but a contract, nonetheless.
'And that's important because…?'
'It's important because it turns out that all elves have what we might consider a "buy-out" clause. The price is totally prohibitive – about twenty times what an elf usually costs - so it really isn't usually a factor. I simply met the ridiculous price in order to buy Kimmy. The terms of the bond – of the contract – meant her old masters had no choice but to accept.'
Harry looked puzzled. 'So, she's your elf?'
'No. I set up the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare as a charity. Kimmy is owned by the Society.'
Harry frowned in bemusement. 'So, who owns S.P.E.W.?' He was very careful to articulate each letter.
'No one. The charity is controlled, and its assets held in trust by a board of trustees.'
'Who are the trustees?' Harry asked.
'Me. And Kimmy. And every other elf the Trust has bought since we started. There's seven trustees in total now. Me and six elves.'
'And that means the elves own themselves,' Harry breathed, fascinated by the elegance of her approach.
'It does. I borrowed the money from my parents to put up the initial cash for the Trust to buy Kimmy. The Trust then hired Kimmy out to people who have need of a House Elf for short duration contracts but who don't actually own one. The wages Kimmy earned were then used to pay back the Trust so I could get my money back and repay my parents. Once that was done, we used the money she got paid to buy another elf who was being mistreated by his masters. I draw a very small salary and we need to pay rent on the store and the flat above it, buy food and so on, but apart from that, every Knut goes towards buying mistreated elves from their masters. Basically, they save up and buy themselves. It's the only path to freedom they will accept if their masters won't give them clothes. Each elf that is freed becomes a Trustee and they are happy with the arrangement because they have bonded to the Trust the same way the Beauxbatons or Hogwarts elves bond to the school. By owning themselves, they are essentially free and yet still feel they have a master. Everyone is happy.'
'That's…it's…you're a genius!' Harry exclaimed.
She smiled broadly but didn't reply immediately as the waitress returned to their table with their coffee. She leaned forward, placing both cups on the table and Hermione noticed how she made sure to offer Harry a good view of her ample cleavage. She then bestowed a very enticing smile towards him, and he smiled briefly in return and murmured his thanks. For some reason, it made her feel a flash of jealousy. She waited until the waitress had finished fussing over Harry and departed.
'She seems to like you,' she said, and she realised that her tone was resentful, almost angry. She saw him raise an eyebrow in query and she could have bitten her tongue out for being so forward. 'I'm sorry,' she said in a quieter tone. She looked away from his gaze. 'It's none of my business. I shou…'
'It's OK; don't worry about it,' Harry cut in. He leaned forward and took a sip of his coffee, a thoughtful look on his face. 'I get that a lot,' he continued in a soft voice. 'I don't mean to sound conceited, but I take it you've worked out who I am?'
She nodded, thinking how sad he sounded. 'I realised when we went through Diagon Alley. Everyone was staring and I knew they weren't looking at me.'
He smiled. 'They should be. You're worth looking at.'
She found herself blushing at his words and she picked up her own cup and took a sip of coffee to hide her discomfort.
'I like the fact you didn't know who I was when you agreed to come with me for a coffee. I get a lot of attention like that waitress just gave me. It's not something I particularly enjoy.'
'She clearly likes you.'
Harry shrugged. 'No, she doesn't. Not really.'
Hermione arched an eyebrow at this comment. 'Did you not see the way she was presenting herself to you? Of course, she likes you.'
'She likes the "Boy-Who-Lived." She likes the "man who vanquished Voldemort." She doesn't like Harry Potter. She doesn't even know Harry Potter.' He shook his head. 'But enough of that; where were we again?'
She gazed at him, uncomfortably aware of how bitter he had sounded when talking about his public persona. She suddenly thought of her mother's words of wisdom.
Not everyone who is lonely, is alone.
'You were telling me that I am a genius,' she said with a smile to show she was only teasing.
'So I was,' he replied with a smile of his own. 'You are a genius. I love the elegance of your solution.' He hesitated. 'I'd like to help, if you'll let me?'
She nearly spilled her coffee such was her astonishment at his request. 'Help? Why?' Her suspicions were immediately aroused.
'I think it's a very good cause. I've…some experience with mistreated elves and I'd like to help. If I can. If you'll let me. You know. If that's OK. I'll be quiet now,' he finished meekly, completely disconcerted by the beady look she was giving him.
She couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing and didn't care that almost every eye in the café turned in her direction. She saw him give a brief frown and that merely caused her laughter levels to increase.
'I'm sorry,' she finally managed to gasp and to her pleasure, she watched as his features broke into a wide grin and he also started to laugh. 'I couldn't help myself,' she finally added.
'It's OK,' Harry replied, still laughing. 'I tend to ramble at times, particularly when under such scrutiny.' He became serious again. 'But I wasn't kidding. I'd like to help in any way I can.'
'We don't accept charity,' she replied flatly, getting back to business. 'That may seem an odd stance to take for a charitable trust, but the elves simply won't accept charity. If someone came along and offered to buy out every House Elf in Britain they would refuse. They want to earn their freedom themselves through honest hard work.'
Harry nodded his understanding. 'There are other ways I could help.'
'Such as?'
He looked uncomfortable. 'My position in society…places certain expectations on me.'
'Expectations?' She was aware of his status as a war hero but wasn't entirely sure what he meant by his statement. 'What is it you do for a living?'
He smiled at her again and she found herself distracted. I could lose myself in that smile, she thought to herself.
'I'm actually a teacher. I teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, but that's just the day job,' Harry said.
'Day job?' she asked, covering her pleasure at the thought of him teaching. She adored learning and had a huge amount of respect for good teachers. Something inside told her that he would be a great teacher.
'Yeah. I also happen to have a seat on the Wizengamot – two seats actually – so while I have appointed a Proxy to take care of the day-to-day stuff on my behalf, I do have some political influence. I'm a political ally of the Minister and he's actually a good personal friend as well. I could use that to help with your legal and political agenda? Also, there are some formal obligations I need to fulfil. On a practical level, I actually could do with hiring some of your elves when I need to host official functions. It wouldn't be charity then,' he added with a grin.
She found herself overwhelmed by his words. Help with my legal and political agenda? Influence in the Wizengamot? Access to the Minister of Magic? This was everything she'd ever dreamed of having when she first started getting into law.
Then her natural scepticism kicked in.
'Why would you do that? Why would you help me? Help the elves?' she demanded. After being burned so badly at University in France, she was extremely wary of people who offered assistance. Wary of the people and wary of their motivations. What's in it for him? She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest.
A long silence followed this question and a look of sadness appeared on his face. He picked up his teaspoon and gently stirred the remainder of his coffee, his eyes on his cup the entire time. 'I have my reasons,' he finally answered in a soft voice. 'Unfortunately, I gave my word to someone and that means I can't say.' He looked directly at her as he continued to stir. 'I'm aware that you don't know anything about me, beyond what you may have read in the press or in some book about me.' He practically spat these words out and turned his attention back to his coffee cup, but she instinctively knew his ire was directed at the authors and not at herself.
'I don't read the rags and any book I've ever read that mentions you has been a History book, not some scurrilous, unauthorised biography,' she replied softly. To her surprise and pleasure, his face lit up at this statement. He looked directly at her before continuing.
'I'm more pleased to hear you say that than you can imagine. I'm also becoming aware that you might have your own very good reasons for not trusting a stranger. I can only give you my word that House Elf welfare is…important to me and I that I need to keep my reasons to myself for now. If you can accept that, I'd love to help. There's no strings attached. No conditions. I just want to help,' he added, focussing on his cup once again.
She watched him stir his coffee as she considered his words for a long moment. She was touched by his obvious sincerity. Despite her misgivings, she decided she would trust him, so she leaned forward and placed her hand on his, halting his stirring as she did so.
'I'd be glad of the assistance,' she whispered. 'Thank you.'
The smile he bestowed on her took her breath away and she decided at that moment that was all the validation for her decision that she'd ever need.
oOoOoOoOoOoOo
a/n I must tell you that I got the inspiration for the Elves buying themselves through a Trust from Terry Pratchett as in his book Going Postal, he has Golems buying themselves back from their masters using the method I describe above. Pratchett was a genius and is sadly missed. If you haven't read his work, stop reading this rubbish and go and read him right now.