The House Elves Want To Be Freed, Harry. by GracieInGreek

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 04/07/2005
Last Updated: 04/07/2005
Status: Completed

"...Well, then, using your own logic, I know that you're in love with Harry. You may
just not know it yet, because no one has pointed it out to you, isn't that right? So I am now.
You. Are in love. With Harry. And it wants to be freed."




1. Wanting to be freed
----------------------



Hermione and Luna were having what could perhaps have been called a blazing argument.
Well--Hermione seemed to be blazing, but Luna still had on that maddeningly serene look on her face
that always seemed to just fuel Hermione's fire even more in these situations. Luna's
bizarre stories and theories had managed to slip passed Hermione's backlashes for a little
while after the end of their fifth year, but she'd seemed to have come to the end of her
patience.

Hermione had taken to bickering with Luna almost as much as she did with Ron, and, usually, the
conversations they managed to have could be very amusing--Ron certainly seemed to enjoy the times
when Hermione's attention shifted from him and his missing assignments to Luna and her
blibbering nackledirks.

Harry never particularly enjoyed seeing Hermione get upset and bothered about anything, but even
he could see the humor in some of the arguments between Hermione and her usual see-it-to-believe-it
policy, and Luna, with her anything-is-possible way of life.

And, really, almost everyone (even Ron) had to admit--both girls were dead clever. Hermione
seemed to be at her top Hermione-game when having these 'discussions' with Luna, and, after
listening to her long enough, anybody would have to admit that Luna really *did* belong in
Ravenclaw.

Usually not too much came from their arguments except for one or both slinking off in a huff;
but they were usually fine the next day, being perfectly civil, if a little cool.

But, after as long as this had gone on, and how smart both girls were, you'd think they
would have learned when to stop pushing each-other's buttons.

But, to the contrary, while neither ever acted with a particularly malicious intent (both just
thinking they were always right) each of the girls seemed to enjoy getting under the other's
skin.

Today was a particularly harsh example of the latter.

Luna had long ago taken it upon herself to sit with the rest of them at the Gryffindor table
during mealtimes, usually somewhere next to Ginny, Harry (at which time Hermione always seemed to
find a way to glue herself to his other side), or--curiously enough---Ron, but always close enough
to Hermione that the impending debate wouldn't have to result in a shouting match just so they
could hear one another. It had become a predictable and usually harmless routine that everyone had
become accustomed to.

It was dinner time and Ron was sandwiched between Luna and Neville on one side of the table,
while Harry sat near Hermione and Seamus across from them--Ginny was sitting down the length of the
table somewhere with Dean tonight. The space next to Hermione, who was seated on Harry's left,
was empty save for her knitting needles, which were busy making a wooly green scarf that was
already so long it trailed onto the floor.

Things had been calm enough--the usual bickering usually didn't commence until everyone had
the opportunity to eat something, incase said bickering resulted in someone leaving the table in
protest. Luna had been piling great mounds of some sort of radish-based side dish on her plate with
vigor, her eyes popping in delight. She babbled excitedly as she spooned and spooned.

"...And Daddy always said how stimulating radishes are to the brain, you know, which is why
we always eat them with every meal at home--in fact, there was a special piece in the Quibbler
about how the Ministry is infiltrating both radishes *and* beets into the lunches at day-witch
schools for the younger children to improve tests scores, because, of course, Britain is
*always* competing with the primary-Wizarding schools of Norway--"

"Excuse me," sighed Hermione from behind the pages of her usually-retired Daily
Prophet, rustling the pages. "Do you think the *rest* of the table could perhaps have a
chance at the--er--obviously *very* fascinating radish casserole, please?"

This did manage to silence Luna in her rambling, and finally drop the silver serving spoon back
into the bowl with an empty "clang!"

Though few looked especially disappointed with the lack of radish casserole left for the taking,
the loud, hollow sound did make Hermione's brown eyes creep over the top of her paper. Harry
sighed, though inaudibly--here it came, right on schedule. He sagely wondered if Hermione's
fingers would abandon their grip on the paper long enough for Harry to be able to snag it away and
perhaps busy himself with the crossword puzzle.

No such luck, as Hermione narrowed her eyes across the table at the still-dreamy looking blonde
girl, who was now munching happily at the mounds and mounds of reddish food piled on her plate, the
paper now becoming crumpled in Hermione's lap. Her needles were still poised in the air next to
her, but they had all but stopped knitting, the end of the scarf piled by Hermione's
ankles.

"...Was it really," started Hermione in an annoyed voice, "necessary to take the
*entire* confection for yourself? What about the *rest* of us?"

Thankfully nobody chose to point out that no one was particularly fussy about the lack of
radish-confection left for the rest of them.

Luna still seemed happily peaceful and unabashed, casserole being continually shoveled into her
mouth. "Oh, don't worry about that," she said serenely. "The House-Elves
promised to keep sending up bowls of it to the Gryffindor table when I went down to give them the
recipe that was printed with the special last week--"

"*What?*" said Hermione sharply, her back going rigid.

*Uh-oh,* Harry thought with alarm, glancing to his left where Hermione was seated, then
over to Ron across the table--he was looking at Luna like she was insane. Harry new his face must
have been equally horrified.

Their part of the table was now very quiet. *Not House-Elves,* he could just hear
everyone's minds screaming. *Anything* *but the bloody House-Elves!*

Hermione's chest puffed out--the table gave a universal wince, many of them suddenly
becoming very interested in silently studying their bangers.

"You--you placed an *order* with the House-Elves?"

"Why yes," said Luna, staring at Hermione over the rim of her pumpkin juice,
apparently giving her jaw a rest. "They simply *beamed* when they saw me one night when
they came to clean our tower--they'd awoken me when I'd fallen asleep under a table near
the fire place--and ask me if there was anything I would like, so I told them I would bring the
most *divine* radish recipe that was coming with the next Owl Post along with the article
about the Ministry putting the radishes in the lunches of the day-Witch school so their test scores
would be a better rival to those of the younger Witch and Wizard set in Norway, where it's so
dark and cold that they don't even *need* radishes because all they can really do most of
the year is stay inside studying--"

"Stop," Hermione snapped, bristling now. "Just *stop* right there. So, not
only has *no one* in your tower even *thought* about setting the poor House-Elves that
are forced to clean after them day after day--"

"But they *adore* it," said Luna, her head slightly tilted with her spoon stopped
half-way to her mouth. Hermione's whole body seemed to swell ominously--Harry dully wondered
how much of a risk it would really be to try and snatch the paper out of Hermione's hands
*now.* She either wouldn't notice at all, or would bite his fingers off.

"They most certainly do *not* adore it!" Shrilled Hermione, rising a little in
her seat. "They are simply brain-washed to think that way by their years and years of
oppression--they would be *much* happier being free!"

Luna finally seemed to be able to sense what was coming. "They would *not* be happier
being freed--I had a long discussion with our House-Elf at home once about whether or not he'd
prefer--"

Harry and the whole of Gryffindor itself knew what was coming before Hermione had even gotten
the words out.

"Ec--*excuse me?!"* Hermione all but screamed, her mouth hanging open.
"You--*you* enslave a *House-Elf?!"*

*"*Well--yes," said Luna, her own eyebrows raised. Her precious radishes sat on
her plate, forgotten. "Though I think perhaps 'enslaved' might be a little--"

And back and forth it went. At first they had managed to keep it at least mostly contained, but
now, with their voices rising with each word, soon the entire Great Hall--yes, including the
teachers--were staring at them. Craning his head over his shoulder, Harry saw Professor Mcgonagall
and Professor Flitwick, both looking grim (this was not the first time both of them would have had
to sweep them down and send Hermione and Luna to separate corners--it was actually a marvel that
Hermione and Luna were *ever* allowed to sit near each other, but perhaps the teachers held
out hope that one day they would simply tire each other out enough to end it once and for all-- )
starting to rise from their seats. Harry received a small shock when he saw Dumbledore put a hand
out, and gesture for both teachers to sit back down.

Little did Harry know that a rather *larger* shock was just seconds away.

"Are you implying that everything forced into a particular situation *wants* to be
freed, even if it doesn't know it?" said Luna's voice.

"Of course," snapped Hermione.

Pause.

"You're in love with Harry."

Harry's neck whipped back around so fast he felt it crack with a resounding
"snap!"

Luna was looking very smug, more smug than Harry had ever seen her before, staring at Hermione,
arms crossed neatly under her chest.

Harry felt Hermione very stiff next to him, back arched like a rail.

"Wha--what are you talking about?" said Hermione, voice shocked and very tight.

"You're in love with Harry," said Luna, very calm. "You're
*convince*d the House-Elves want to be free, because of all the evidence you're just so
*sure* of? Well, then, using your *own* logic, I *know* that you're in love with
Harry. You may just not know it yet, is because no one has pointed it out to you, isn't that
right? So I am now. You. Are in love. With Harry. And it *wants* to be freed."

Smug and serene, Luna took her spoon back up, still watching Hermione's expression as she
went back to the still-high mound of food on her plate. Harry stared between the two girls, as did
the rest of the table--or was it the rest of the *entire hall?--*except that they were all
staring at *him* as well.

Through Harry's shock and now discomfort, he knew that the lot of them were waiting for
Hermione's reaction. Hell, *he* was waiting for Hermione's reaction, looking to his
side at just her now.

But Hermione didn't say anything. Her eyes had gone so wide her eyebrows had disappeared
into her fringe, and her face went rather pink--Harry, in his own embarrassment, had the distinct
impression that she'd stopped breathing. Finally her mouth broke it's 'o' shape and
started to move up and down, trying in vein to form words, but soon just clamped together in a
tight line. Hermione's cheeks were as pink as Harry had ever seen them. Finally turning her
shocked gaze from Luna's face, she locked them on her hands; her knitting fell with a clatter
to the floor, causing eyebrows all up and down the tables to go up. Hermione did not seem to
register any of this, however, springing up out of her seat and running through the grand doors
before Harry had the chance to say anything.

A fresh bowl of radish casserole sprouted up next to her abandoned plate. Luna beamed.

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2. Too Happy Being Free
-----------------------



It was hours before Hermione returned to the Common Room, her face very pale and her hair mussed
with bits of twig and leaves sticking out of it.

Harry had been sitting on the couch, on his own, the knitting, bag, and books Hermione had left
in the Great Hall piled neatly on the cushion next to him. His mind was both blank and
buzzing--Luna had said what she had to get a rise out of Hermione, to best her, of course. There
was no truth to it, there couldn't be, Harry was sure of that. What Harry wasn't sure of
was why the thought of it indeed *not* being true was making him feel the way it was.

Hermione's feelings for him was honestly never something Harry had given a lot of thought
to.

She was his best friend and of course she cared about him, and he cared about her, and they both
cared about Ron. That's always been the way it was, the truth. But...Harry always thought about
her in the terms of *caring,* was the thing. She *cared* about him, he *cared* about
her, they all *care**d* about each other.

...As much as the word 'love' and its importance had been thrown around since the end of
their fifth year, Harry, to his amazement, had never thought about his friends (Hermione,
specifically) in *terms* of love. Did...he love her? ...Of course he did. He loved both of his
friends. And so she probably loved him. ...Yes, of course she did. Harry shifted, sighing and
putting his head on the back of the couch. "*In love*" is how Luna had put it.
Hermione couldn't be in love with him. Of course not, that was a preposterous thought, as
Hermione would say. But...was he in love with her?

The thing was, now that he was thinking about it...He just might be.

Harry slapped a hand to his forehead at that thought. *I...am SUCH a prat,* he mentally
screamed at himself, his eyes wide behind his glasses. How was it that he had never entertained the
idea? ...Bloody hell, why hadn't anyone *mentioned this to him before?* Someone should
have *told* him, dammit!

He sat like that for a very long time, silent and slightly hysterical. It was only when Hermione
showed up, the fire very low, that he sat up straight to look at her. Standing near the Portrait
Hole, she was staring back at Harry, eyes slightly pink--she'd been crying, he could tell, and
the bits of twig in her hair meant she'd gone back into the forest to visit Grawp and Hagrid,
who'd all but pitched a tent to live out by his brother these days.

Harry had asked Hermione to please, *please* not go through the forest alone, and usually
she listened. But when he saw her standing there looking at him, he couldn't be mad, and it
wasn't murderous Centaurs or talking spiders he was worried about this time. His mind calmed
down despite itself--a little too much, actually, it was going alarmingly blank-- and he sat
stalk-still as Hermione took a breath, seeming to gear herself up for something.

A few more moments passed, and Harry was about to open his mouth when Hermione was suddenly next
to him, shoving her carefully folded books and scarf to the ground and putting her hands on either
side of his face. Seconds felt like hours as Hermione, looking very frightened and near tears
again, put her legs on the cushion beside his, coming down to his level and studying him.

The seconds suddenly sped back up again as Hermione closed the distance between their
mouths.

At first he had been too shocked to respond, and he could feel Hermione's lips stiffen in
panic and start to let his go. The buzzing finally returning to his brain, he quickly grabbed her
around the middle (perhaps a bit too hard as Hermione let out an "omph!") and pressed her
against his chest. He seemed to have knocked the air out of her, but wasn't about to let
go--despite the rather panicky feeling that was twirling around in his stomach.

Hermione took in a few short gasps of air, her face still very close to his. Her breath puffed
against his lips, and she was staring at him through his glasses. He could feel her heart
pounding--almost as hard as his own--through their clothes.

Hermione finally spoke before she had fully gotten her wind, fingers still on both of
Harry's hot cheeks. She looked as confused as Harry felt--but he could tell by her eyes that
she was very sure about something.

"The--the House-Elves want to be free, Harry."

He caught her lips in his again, something both new and familiar springing free between them as
they held onto each other.

At some point during the night, the fire went out. Harry's glasses got bent. Dobby the
House-Elf came and went, gleefully wrapping the long green scarf around and around his thin neck,
Hermione's knitting needles trailing on the floor behind him. Harry and Hermione didn't
notice once.

Happy being free.

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