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bookishwenchAnother chapter in the Muggle Fairy Tales Are Mad Collection
For notes, see first part.
Previous parts:
Cinder-What-the-Hell?-a
Snow Wh-at-Are-You-Kidding-Me?-ite
Sleeping Bea-You-People-Are-Mad-ty
Little Red Riding Ho-w-Is-That-Possible?-od
Rumple-Still-As-Crazy-As-Ever-tskin
The Frog Pr-in-What-Way-Is-That-Possible?-ince
Rap-solutely-mental-unzel
Jack the Giant Kill(-Me-Now!)-er
Hansel and Gr(eat-Now-I'm-Hungry)etel
Goldilocks and the Three B(e-Serious-Now!)ear
Beauty and the (Un)Be(freaking-lievable!)ast
The Little Mer-(eally-Deeply-Disturbing)-maid
The Three L(acking in Any Sanity)ittle Pigs
Puss in B(onkers, Absolutely Bonkers!)oots
The W(hat Is in These People's Tea?)ild Swans
The Twelve Danc(incerely Madder Than Hares)ing Princesses
The Pied Piper of H(ow Do You People Sleep?)amelin
The Snow Qu(ite Nutty, Aren't They)een
The Elves and the Sh(ocking, Just Shocking!)oemaker
Ron’s constant preoccupation with the Wizarding Wireless Network was starting to drive Harry starkers. Perhaps it was because they had been out of contact with their families and friends for so long, but more and more Ron was tuning in almost compulsively, hoping that some small bit of news would show up that mentioned someone they knew. Harry understood in a way. He even found himself occasionally wondering about his aunt, uncle, and Dudley, curious how their experience being in hiding was progressing, and in spite of the miserable childhood he’d had, hoping that they hadn’t been caught. He shivered, wondering what sort of fate would await them under Voldemort’s tender mercies.
He was almost immediately distracted from that thought as Ron, for the fifteenth time that day, clicked on the radio and filled the tent with the scratchy, static-laced sounds yet again. At the moment, nothing more than one of the Weird Sisters’ songs was playing, and Ron kept the volume low.
“I don’t think we’re going to learn anything more tonight,” Harry said, trying not to let the song, a particularly loud one that seemed to involve musical saws, grate on his nerves any more than it was already doing.
“You can’t know that,” Ron said sharply. “Maybe there’ll be something important or a bulletin or something.”
“And tonight we’ll be playing a three hour uninterrupted tribute to Celestina Warbeck’s illustrious career as Britain’s favorite singing sensation of the last four decades,” came the announcer’s voice, droning in a way that suggested he was considering fleeing the recording booth before he died of boredom.
“Oh,” Ron said, looking glum. “Well, it was worth checking.”
“Yes, it was,” Hermione said, finishing the last of the dishes.
“Really?” Harry asked incredulously.
“Really,” Hermione said. “We could all do with a bit of news from the rest of the world by now. I think the isolation is starting to wear on us.”
The Horcrux, currently sitting on the kitchen table, seemed to give off a faint, sickly green glow as though it agreed and was enjoying it.
“But not tonight apparently, and my nerves won’t stand old Celestina’s warblings,” Ron admitted, turning off the wireless, though his hand rested on it wistfully.
“You know who I was just thinking about?” Hermione said, sitting down at the table with the other two.
“Considering I was honestly just wondering if the Dursleys were alright, it could be anybody,” Harry admitted.
“Seriously?” Ron said, grimacing. “Maybe we really have been out here too long.”
Hermione’s eyebrows were raised too, but she didn’t seem too shocked. “Actually, I was just wondering how Dobby is doing.”
“Good old Dobby,” Ron said, smiling in spite of himself. “I suppose he’s still at Hogwarts.”
“I’m not so sure,” Hermione said. “Since the whole school’s gone over to the Dark Arts, I don’t know that he’d want to stay there. They might not even allow him to since he’s a free elf. I doubt they want to use anyone who isn’t slave labor now.”
“That’s actually a fair point,” Harry said, frowning. “I haven’t checked the map for him lately, and even if I did, I’m not sure elves always show up on it.”
“Yeah,” Ron said. “There’s a lot about that map that I’m not sure I’ll ever understand.”
“I’ve actually tried to research how that map was made,” Hermione said, “and all I can say is that it really does seem to be one of the most extraordinary magical objects I’ve ever come across. When we see Remus next, we really should get him to explain some of the charms they used to put it together.”
“Yeah, or Wormtail,” Ron said, shuddering. “Something tells me Lupin was the brains in that bunch, though.”
“But you’re quite right, Harry,” Hermione said, switching focus. “House-elf magic is easily strong enough to conceal an elf who doesn’t want to be noticed. It’s usually part of their servitude, making themselves practically invisible so that the household appears to run itself, so it wouldn’t be a stretch at all to think they could do the same with an object meant to mark their presence.”
“So maybe he’s there, and maybe he isn’t,” Harry said. “I’m not sure which one to hope for.”
“I’m going with him being there,” Ron said. “I’d like to think the others have him around, just in case.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, thinking of Ginny, Neville, Luna, and all the others who were still at Hogwarts. “Yeah, I guess I hope he is.”
“At least he has a chance at making his own choices now,” Hermione said, sighing. “Not like all the other house-elves there.”
“Missing spew, are you?” Ron said with a grin at Harry.
“S.P.E.W.,” Hermione said, annoyance creeping into her voice as she corrected him automatically, then frowned. “I suppose when you come down to it, it is a rather unfortunate acronym, though.”
“You think?” Ron said sarcastically.
“Regardless, it’s still a serious problem, and making fun of the name isn’t helping any of those creatures toiling without pay or basic rights,” Hermione said, and Harry was quite pleased to see her spirits up a bit. It was almost like being back in Gryffindor Tower.
“Well, I wouldn’t wish Lucius Malfoy as a master on anyone. I’ll agree with you that far,” Ron said, stretching. “I feel like a story before bed. Any come to mind?”
Hermione seemed to think for a moment, then laughed.
“How about ‘The Elves and the Shoemaker’ since it’s almost what we’re talking about,” she said.
“There’s a story about elf rights?” Ron asked. “Your lot really are odd.”
“In a way, yes,” Hermione said. “It’s not a very long story, but it’s a good one. Once…”
“…upon a time,” Ron said, smiling as he settled back into his chair. “I like that bit.”
“Lovely,” Hermione said, bracing herself. “So glad the traditions of hundreds of years meet with your approval. In any case, once upon a time, there lived a very poor shoemaker and his wife in a little cottage.”
“Do they have kids they shove into a forest to starve or sell to witches for vegetables or try to get to spin straw into gold or something?” Ron asked.
“No, they don’t have any children at all,” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said, looking crestfallen. “They should really get on that. Kids are dead useful for making money in some of these stories.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, though Harry noted she also blushed a bit, and continued.
“They had fallen on very hard times, and the shoemaker had only enough leather left to make a single pair of shoes. He carefully cut out the leather into the proper shape, and, exhausted from hunger, went to bed, intending to stitch the shoes together in the morning,” Hermione said.
“Why does he only have enough leather for one set of shoes?” Ron said.
“Because he’s poor, as I said,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t make sense. How’d he get into a spot where he can’t afford leather? It makes sense that shoes would be more expensive than the leather used to make them, so shouldn’t he turn a profit from each pair of shoes he sells?” Ron said reasonably.
Hermione blinked.
“Well, that does make sense,” Hermione said. “Perhaps he simply can’t find anyone to buy the shoes, or maybe the price of leather has risen sharply for some reason, like a lack of cow hides or something.”
“Lack of cow hides?” Ron said. “How do you run out of cows? Okay, maybe the cows all ran off or fell over a cliff into the ocean or had weird ugly spotty marks or something.”
“Or a bad bout of anthrax,” Hermione said. “Or perhaps the rate of hunger in the area is high enough that cows aren’t being slaughtered in the hopes that their milk will offset a dearth of crops, or there could have been a rash of thefts, or…”
“Okay, fine,” Ron said, “but I still say it’s not quite realistic.”
“The cobbler went to bed, and—“ Hermione said.
“Cobbler? What kind?” Ron asked, looking excited.
“What?” Hermione said, confused.
“Blackberry cobbler’s my favorite, but I’d not say no to apple or blueberry or peach or, well, anything at this point,” Ron said. “Except maybe gooseberry. I’m not fond of it, but even that’s possible at this point.”
“Not that sort of cobbler!” Hermione said. “For heaven’s sake, Ronald, does everything have to be about food all the time!”
Harry’s stomach chose that exact moment to growl at a truly Wagnerian volume. Harry grinned sheepishly.
“Thank you for your support,” Ron said, nodding towards Harry’s abdomen. “I think my point is made.”
“I meant cobbler as a synonym for shoemaker, obviously,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Now if I can just get my Auntie Paulina’s raspberry cobbler out of my mind, I’ll return to the story.”
Harry was relatively sure he heard an answering call from Hermione’s stomach, and he briefly wondered if her Auntie Paulina served that cobbler warm with vanilla ice cream.
“The shoemaker awoke the next morning, ready to begin work on stitching the shoes, only to find an absolutely beautiful pair of shoes sitting on his workbench,” Hermione said.
“Was it the same ones he cut out?” Ron asked.
“The very same,” Hermione said.
“So his wife did it before he woke up?” Ron asked.
“No,” Hermione said.
“He sleep-cobbles?” Ron ventured.
“Sleep-cobbles?” Harry and Hermione said together in disbelief.
“Okay, so maybe I’m still stuck on that last story and the two kids who might have sleepwalked out of their second story garden and into the street,” Ron said. “Fine, who made the shoes?”
“Neither the shoemaker nor his wife knew, but a customer came in the shop and was so impressed with them that he paid a good deal of money for them, enough for the shoemaker to buy leather enough for two pairs of shoes this time,” Hermione said.
“See, now that’s how a business is supposed to work,” Ron said, nodding firmly. “Still, lucky coincidence they were in his size.”
“Oh, in the old days, most shoes were generally only made in one size to begin with,” Hermione said. “There wasn’t even really a right and a left. The person who wore them broke them in, and they eventually stretched to fit the foot and even became specific to which foot went in which over time.”
“So Hagrid would wear the same size shoe as Flitwick then?” Harry asked with a wince.
“I’m fairly sure in an unusual case of very large or small feet, an exception would be made,” Hermione said, “but most people probably put up with some pinching and blistering on a regular basis.”
“That’s why I prefer socks,” Ron said, looking down at his feet and watching his left big toe protruding from the gold and red striped socks his mother had knitted for him.
“In any case, the shoemaker, very curious, cut out the leather into pieces for two pairs of shoes. Then, wondering what might happen, he left the leather on the workbench once again. Sure enough, in the morning, two pairs of shoes were waiting for him,” Hermione said.
“I still say he sleep-cobbles,” Ron said to Harry.
“Once again, buyers came in, bought the shoes, and he was able to buy enough leather for four pairs of shoes this time. The exact same thing happened again when he cut out the leather and left it overnight, and soon he could buy enough leather for dozens of shoes at a time,” Hermione said.
“Shoes for everyone,” Ron said. “That’ll make old Anderson mad. He won’t have so much chance for foot-related injuries.”
“Finally, the shoemaker’s wife said that they needed to find out what was happening, and they came up with a plan. She and her husband pretended to go to bed, but they hid behind a curtain and waited to see the identity of the mysterious shoemaker,” Hermione said.
“As plans go, that’s not exactly the most complicated one ever,” Harry said.
“Sometimes the easiest plan is still the best,” Hermione said with a shrug, “and in this case, they found out what they wanted to know. In the middle of the night a pair of elves appeared in the shop, and they worked busily all night, sewing together the shoes the cobbler had cut from the leather earlier in the day. When they were all finished and the shoes were lined up in perfect, shining rows, they disappeared once again.”
“So a random duo of house-elves showed up and just decided to help out this bloke for no apparent reason?” Ron said, giving her a look of patent disbelief.
“Well, the shoemaker and his wife certainly didn’t actually own them, so I suppose we can assume the elves were in fact there voluntarily, yes,” Hermione said with a smile.
“That’s not how it works,” Ron said, shaking his head vehemently. “House-elves are inherited down a family line, and that’s the only way to get one, let alone a pair.”
“But think about it, Ronald,” Hermione said, a slight strain in her voice. “It couldn’t always have been that way! A whole race of magical beings couldn’t have been always forced to work for someone else. At some point, they had to have all been free, and then something must have happened, a spell or enchantment or something, that bound them to the families they served, but that’s not a natural state.”
“So you’re saying at some point elves might have just wandered about, doing good deeds randomly for people they decided they liked on their own, and then somebody took it into their head that they wanted to keep the elves for themselves and that’s how this all started?” Ron said.
“Very probably, yes,” Hermione said, folding her arms.
“Blimey, Harry, remind me never to do anybody a good turn for no reason,” he said.
“I don’t know,” Harry said slowly. “There’s another option there, too.”
“What’s that?” Hermione said, frowning at him.
“Maybe the elves’ master sent them to work there instead of them just popping in on a coincidence,” Harry said.
“Hmm,” Hermione said, tipping her head to one side and thinking. “Yes, that’s certainly a possibility in this case, I suppose. I did miss that. There could have been a witch or wizard who decided to help the shoemaker and his wife via their house-elves, I suppose, though the story doesn’t provide any explanation of that.”
“What were the elves wearing?” Ron asked. “That should clear it up.”
“Oh, I forgot to mention. They were naked,” Hermione said.
Harry and Ron looked at each other and grimaced.
“What?” Hermione said.
“Well, they do normally wear at least something! Not clothes of course, but at the minimum they’ve got their bits and pieces covered up,” Ron said.
“I admit there were moments I really hoped Dobby was wearing pants under that tea towel,” Harry said.
“Yeah, it’s sort of disturbing that these two don’t,” Ron said. “Their family isn’t doing right by them there.”
“They’re not exactly doing right by them by owning them either,” Hermione pointed out.
“Yeah, but… whatever,” Ron said. “Okay, so either the house-elves are sent by a particularly creepy family, or they’re nudists, but the shoemaker and his wife finally know what’s going on. Now what?”
“They discussed it the next day, and they weren’t quite sure what to do. The shoemaker still cut out dozens and dozens of shoes each night, and each morning they were beautiful shoes again, and in a little while, they had all the money they could ever need for the rest of their lives,” Hermione said.
“It’s interesting he’s still working,” Harry said suddenly.
“Yes, the elves don’t do everything for him. They work together,” Hermione said.
“Except they don’t pay them,” Ron said.
“No, they don’t, but they weren’t compelling them to be there, either, so there’s that,” Hermione said. “Eventually, the wife got the idea that they should thank the two little men by making them a nice suit of clothes each and leaving them on the work bench for them instead of the shoe parts, and they would hide again and see what happened.”
“That won’t end well,” Ron said with a knowing look.
“Oh, but it did! The elves were thrilled when they saw the clothes, and danced and sang for joy as they put them on, then disappeared and never returned again,” Hermione said.
“So they freed them,” Harry said. “Now that’s a bit sticky.”
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.
“Only someone who actually owns a house-elf can free them,” Ron said immediately, exactly as if he’d just spotted the answer on a test.
“Right, which is why I couldn’t free Dobby directly,” Harry said. “I had to trick Malfoy into giving Dobby my sock. It could be my sock, but it had to come from Malfoy if it was going to work.”
“Yes, but…” Hermione said, and a look of horror spread across her face.
“What?” Ron asked, looking terrified.
“I just realized,” Hermione said, raising a hand to her mouth. “All those elf hats I left in the Common Room! None of them actually worked since it’s the school that owns them, so I can’t free them no matter what I do! And here I thought I was letting them go free by the dozens!”
“Yeah,” Ron said, stealing a glance at Harry. “Uh… I guess that’s right.”
“But then the real mystery is what happened to all those hats?” Hermione said. “They didn’t just vanish into thin air.”
“Dobby,” Harry admitted. “He picked them up.”
“He told you that?” Hermione said sadly.
“Well, not so much volunteered the information as I saw him walking around with a hat stretched to roughly the size of a sequoia from all the others under it,” Harry said, trying to suppress a laugh at the memory.
“Oh,” Hermione said, looking hurt. “I suppose… I suppose it is rather an obvious flaw I should have realized. I must have looked ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, as usual completely oblivious to the fact he was making things worse with his bluntness, “but then the elves were angry at you for trying to trick them into freeing themselves by hiding them, so they just stopped coming up to Gryffindor Tower to clean, except Dobby. After that it’s not like they ever saw the whole array of them. Well, other than on Dobby’s head, I suppose.”
“Wait, they were angry?” Hermione said, shocked. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Would you have listened?” Ron asked.
“Yes! Or, well, maybe no. I don’t know,” she said.
“It’s not their choice to be free if you make them do it,” Harry said.
Hermione looked uncomfortable.
“I thought this was going to be a wonderful, empowering story of elf-human cooperation,” Hermione said. “Instead I find out I’m part of the ingrained system of oppression and privilege. I feel like I need a bath.”
Ron cleared his throat abruptly and turned a bit pink.
“I think it’s safe to say the shoemaker and his wife were pretty nice people, though,” Harry said. “They certainly weren’t greedy, at any rate, and they didn’t take unfair advantage of the elves. I don’t think they literally owned them. The story is probably just a Muggle-level understanding of house-elves. They know clothes free them, but they’re not sure about the details.”
“Yeah, like the idiots in these things who give their kids fairy godmothers,” Ron said. “There’s a bit of truth in there somewhere, namely that fairies exist and can be really powerful, but it’s not quite right since they forget about the fact most of them are homicidal maniacs with a sense of whimsy.”
“That’s certainly possible. In certain areas of Great Britain, Muggles really did believe in elves, or brownies as they called them,” Hermione said. “There must have been some sort of precedent for them meeting them.”
“Wait, they call them brownies, but in the story they’re elves, right?” Ron asked.
“Yes, I’m not sure why it’s always translated that way, but it is, even though it’s not technically the proper word. The Girl Guides still use it, though, for some of the younger girls in their group,” Hermione said. “It’s to encourage them to be helpful.”
“Okay, there’s something seriously warped about telling little girls that they’re helpful if they model themselves on a feudal slave relationship model, but I’ll let it pass,” Ron said.
“Feudal slave relationship model?” Hermione said slowly, blinking.
“Your words. Common Room, about two years ago. I do actually listen on occasion,” he said.
“I guess you do,” Hermione said looking impressed.
“So what happened to the shoemaker and his wife?” he asked.
“Oh, they lived happily and comfortably for the rest of their lives,” Hermione said. “For once, it ends well for everyone.”
“That’s nice,” Ron said, yawning. “Good that the elves aren’t running about starkers anymore, either. Could catch a nasty cold that way, or wind up in jail at the very least. Maybe both.”
Harry smiled, but he kept thinking of Dobby, and even of Kreacher and Winky. Hermione might be a tad fanatical about house-elf rights, but she had a point. It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t help wondering what the elves of Hogwarts were going through right now. If Lucius Malfoy had been a hard taskmaster, he didn’t even want to think of how Snape and a coterie of Death Eaters would treat them all.
“It is a nice story,” Harry said, “but I don’t really see the upper class purebloods deciding they have enough money and just letting their elves just go free like those two did.”
“No, I suppose they won’t,” Hermione said. “That’s why someone else has to do something.”
“Can we at least finish finding the Horcruxes first?” Ron almost begged. “Then maybe a nice holiday for a year or so before we try to storm the Ministry?”
“Again,” Harry added.
“One thing at a time,” Hermione said, and Harry noticed she was smiling broadly. After all, that had sounded rather a lot like Ron was at least considering it, which was actually a lot more than Harry had thought would ever happen.
As they turned in for bed, Harry wondered what the world would be like if they did manage to defeat Voldemort for good. It wouldn’t mean everything was perfect or that people would change, or even that the old prejudices would ever go away. Still, an hour later, as he heard Ron almost silently sneak out of bed and click the radio back on, the volume so low that Harry couldn’t possibly hear the words, it would have to be better than how things are now. At least, that was what he hoped.
For notes, see first part.
Previous parts:
Cinder-What-the-Hell?-a
Snow Wh-at-Are-You-Kidding-Me?-ite
Sleeping Bea-You-People-Are-Mad-ty
Little Red Riding Ho-w-Is-That-Possible?-od
Rumple-Still-As-Crazy-As-Ever-tskin
The Frog Pr-in-What-Way-Is-That-Possible?-ince
Rap-solutely-mental-unzel
Jack the Giant Kill(-Me-Now!)-er
Hansel and Gr(eat-Now-I'm-Hungry)etel
Goldilocks and the Three B(e-Serious-Now!)ear
Beauty and the (Un)Be(freaking-lievable!)ast
The Little Mer-(eally-Deeply-Disturbing)-maid
The Three L(acking in Any Sanity)ittle Pigs
Puss in B(onkers, Absolutely Bonkers!)oots
The W(hat Is in These People's Tea?)ild Swans
The Twelve Danc(incerely Madder Than Hares)ing Princesses
The Pied Piper of H(ow Do You People Sleep?)amelin
The Snow Qu(ite Nutty, Aren't They)een
Ron’s constant preoccupation with the Wizarding Wireless Network was starting to drive Harry starkers. Perhaps it was because they had been out of contact with their families and friends for so long, but more and more Ron was tuning in almost compulsively, hoping that some small bit of news would show up that mentioned someone they knew. Harry understood in a way. He even found himself occasionally wondering about his aunt, uncle, and Dudley, curious how their experience being in hiding was progressing, and in spite of the miserable childhood he’d had, hoping that they hadn’t been caught. He shivered, wondering what sort of fate would await them under Voldemort’s tender mercies.
He was almost immediately distracted from that thought as Ron, for the fifteenth time that day, clicked on the radio and filled the tent with the scratchy, static-laced sounds yet again. At the moment, nothing more than one of the Weird Sisters’ songs was playing, and Ron kept the volume low.
“I don’t think we’re going to learn anything more tonight,” Harry said, trying not to let the song, a particularly loud one that seemed to involve musical saws, grate on his nerves any more than it was already doing.
“You can’t know that,” Ron said sharply. “Maybe there’ll be something important or a bulletin or something.”
“And tonight we’ll be playing a three hour uninterrupted tribute to Celestina Warbeck’s illustrious career as Britain’s favorite singing sensation of the last four decades,” came the announcer’s voice, droning in a way that suggested he was considering fleeing the recording booth before he died of boredom.
“Oh,” Ron said, looking glum. “Well, it was worth checking.”
“Yes, it was,” Hermione said, finishing the last of the dishes.
“Really?” Harry asked incredulously.
“Really,” Hermione said. “We could all do with a bit of news from the rest of the world by now. I think the isolation is starting to wear on us.”
The Horcrux, currently sitting on the kitchen table, seemed to give off a faint, sickly green glow as though it agreed and was enjoying it.
“But not tonight apparently, and my nerves won’t stand old Celestina’s warblings,” Ron admitted, turning off the wireless, though his hand rested on it wistfully.
“You know who I was just thinking about?” Hermione said, sitting down at the table with the other two.
“Considering I was honestly just wondering if the Dursleys were alright, it could be anybody,” Harry admitted.
“Seriously?” Ron said, grimacing. “Maybe we really have been out here too long.”
Hermione’s eyebrows were raised too, but she didn’t seem too shocked. “Actually, I was just wondering how Dobby is doing.”
“Good old Dobby,” Ron said, smiling in spite of himself. “I suppose he’s still at Hogwarts.”
“I’m not so sure,” Hermione said. “Since the whole school’s gone over to the Dark Arts, I don’t know that he’d want to stay there. They might not even allow him to since he’s a free elf. I doubt they want to use anyone who isn’t slave labor now.”
“That’s actually a fair point,” Harry said, frowning. “I haven’t checked the map for him lately, and even if I did, I’m not sure elves always show up on it.”
“Yeah,” Ron said. “There’s a lot about that map that I’m not sure I’ll ever understand.”
“I’ve actually tried to research how that map was made,” Hermione said, “and all I can say is that it really does seem to be one of the most extraordinary magical objects I’ve ever come across. When we see Remus next, we really should get him to explain some of the charms they used to put it together.”
“Yeah, or Wormtail,” Ron said, shuddering. “Something tells me Lupin was the brains in that bunch, though.”
“But you’re quite right, Harry,” Hermione said, switching focus. “House-elf magic is easily strong enough to conceal an elf who doesn’t want to be noticed. It’s usually part of their servitude, making themselves practically invisible so that the household appears to run itself, so it wouldn’t be a stretch at all to think they could do the same with an object meant to mark their presence.”
“So maybe he’s there, and maybe he isn’t,” Harry said. “I’m not sure which one to hope for.”
“I’m going with him being there,” Ron said. “I’d like to think the others have him around, just in case.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, thinking of Ginny, Neville, Luna, and all the others who were still at Hogwarts. “Yeah, I guess I hope he is.”
“At least he has a chance at making his own choices now,” Hermione said, sighing. “Not like all the other house-elves there.”
“Missing spew, are you?” Ron said with a grin at Harry.
“S.P.E.W.,” Hermione said, annoyance creeping into her voice as she corrected him automatically, then frowned. “I suppose when you come down to it, it is a rather unfortunate acronym, though.”
“You think?” Ron said sarcastically.
“Regardless, it’s still a serious problem, and making fun of the name isn’t helping any of those creatures toiling without pay or basic rights,” Hermione said, and Harry was quite pleased to see her spirits up a bit. It was almost like being back in Gryffindor Tower.
“Well, I wouldn’t wish Lucius Malfoy as a master on anyone. I’ll agree with you that far,” Ron said, stretching. “I feel like a story before bed. Any come to mind?”
Hermione seemed to think for a moment, then laughed.
“How about ‘The Elves and the Shoemaker’ since it’s almost what we’re talking about,” she said.
“There’s a story about elf rights?” Ron asked. “Your lot really are odd.”
“In a way, yes,” Hermione said. “It’s not a very long story, but it’s a good one. Once…”
“…upon a time,” Ron said, smiling as he settled back into his chair. “I like that bit.”
“Lovely,” Hermione said, bracing herself. “So glad the traditions of hundreds of years meet with your approval. In any case, once upon a time, there lived a very poor shoemaker and his wife in a little cottage.”
“Do they have kids they shove into a forest to starve or sell to witches for vegetables or try to get to spin straw into gold or something?” Ron asked.
“No, they don’t have any children at all,” Hermione said.
“Oh,” Ron said, looking crestfallen. “They should really get on that. Kids are dead useful for making money in some of these stories.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, though Harry noted she also blushed a bit, and continued.
“They had fallen on very hard times, and the shoemaker had only enough leather left to make a single pair of shoes. He carefully cut out the leather into the proper shape, and, exhausted from hunger, went to bed, intending to stitch the shoes together in the morning,” Hermione said.
“Why does he only have enough leather for one set of shoes?” Ron said.
“Because he’s poor, as I said,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t make sense. How’d he get into a spot where he can’t afford leather? It makes sense that shoes would be more expensive than the leather used to make them, so shouldn’t he turn a profit from each pair of shoes he sells?” Ron said reasonably.
Hermione blinked.
“Well, that does make sense,” Hermione said. “Perhaps he simply can’t find anyone to buy the shoes, or maybe the price of leather has risen sharply for some reason, like a lack of cow hides or something.”
“Lack of cow hides?” Ron said. “How do you run out of cows? Okay, maybe the cows all ran off or fell over a cliff into the ocean or had weird ugly spotty marks or something.”
“Or a bad bout of anthrax,” Hermione said. “Or perhaps the rate of hunger in the area is high enough that cows aren’t being slaughtered in the hopes that their milk will offset a dearth of crops, or there could have been a rash of thefts, or…”
“Okay, fine,” Ron said, “but I still say it’s not quite realistic.”
“The cobbler went to bed, and—“ Hermione said.
“Cobbler? What kind?” Ron asked, looking excited.
“What?” Hermione said, confused.
“Blackberry cobbler’s my favorite, but I’d not say no to apple or blueberry or peach or, well, anything at this point,” Ron said. “Except maybe gooseberry. I’m not fond of it, but even that’s possible at this point.”
“Not that sort of cobbler!” Hermione said. “For heaven’s sake, Ronald, does everything have to be about food all the time!”
Harry’s stomach chose that exact moment to growl at a truly Wagnerian volume. Harry grinned sheepishly.
“Thank you for your support,” Ron said, nodding towards Harry’s abdomen. “I think my point is made.”
“I meant cobbler as a synonym for shoemaker, obviously,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Now if I can just get my Auntie Paulina’s raspberry cobbler out of my mind, I’ll return to the story.”
Harry was relatively sure he heard an answering call from Hermione’s stomach, and he briefly wondered if her Auntie Paulina served that cobbler warm with vanilla ice cream.
“The shoemaker awoke the next morning, ready to begin work on stitching the shoes, only to find an absolutely beautiful pair of shoes sitting on his workbench,” Hermione said.
“Was it the same ones he cut out?” Ron asked.
“The very same,” Hermione said.
“So his wife did it before he woke up?” Ron asked.
“No,” Hermione said.
“He sleep-cobbles?” Ron ventured.
“Sleep-cobbles?” Harry and Hermione said together in disbelief.
“Okay, so maybe I’m still stuck on that last story and the two kids who might have sleepwalked out of their second story garden and into the street,” Ron said. “Fine, who made the shoes?”
“Neither the shoemaker nor his wife knew, but a customer came in the shop and was so impressed with them that he paid a good deal of money for them, enough for the shoemaker to buy leather enough for two pairs of shoes this time,” Hermione said.
“See, now that’s how a business is supposed to work,” Ron said, nodding firmly. “Still, lucky coincidence they were in his size.”
“Oh, in the old days, most shoes were generally only made in one size to begin with,” Hermione said. “There wasn’t even really a right and a left. The person who wore them broke them in, and they eventually stretched to fit the foot and even became specific to which foot went in which over time.”
“So Hagrid would wear the same size shoe as Flitwick then?” Harry asked with a wince.
“I’m fairly sure in an unusual case of very large or small feet, an exception would be made,” Hermione said, “but most people probably put up with some pinching and blistering on a regular basis.”
“That’s why I prefer socks,” Ron said, looking down at his feet and watching his left big toe protruding from the gold and red striped socks his mother had knitted for him.
“In any case, the shoemaker, very curious, cut out the leather into pieces for two pairs of shoes. Then, wondering what might happen, he left the leather on the workbench once again. Sure enough, in the morning, two pairs of shoes were waiting for him,” Hermione said.
“I still say he sleep-cobbles,” Ron said to Harry.
“Once again, buyers came in, bought the shoes, and he was able to buy enough leather for four pairs of shoes this time. The exact same thing happened again when he cut out the leather and left it overnight, and soon he could buy enough leather for dozens of shoes at a time,” Hermione said.
“Shoes for everyone,” Ron said. “That’ll make old Anderson mad. He won’t have so much chance for foot-related injuries.”
“Finally, the shoemaker’s wife said that they needed to find out what was happening, and they came up with a plan. She and her husband pretended to go to bed, but they hid behind a curtain and waited to see the identity of the mysterious shoemaker,” Hermione said.
“As plans go, that’s not exactly the most complicated one ever,” Harry said.
“Sometimes the easiest plan is still the best,” Hermione said with a shrug, “and in this case, they found out what they wanted to know. In the middle of the night a pair of elves appeared in the shop, and they worked busily all night, sewing together the shoes the cobbler had cut from the leather earlier in the day. When they were all finished and the shoes were lined up in perfect, shining rows, they disappeared once again.”
“So a random duo of house-elves showed up and just decided to help out this bloke for no apparent reason?” Ron said, giving her a look of patent disbelief.
“Well, the shoemaker and his wife certainly didn’t actually own them, so I suppose we can assume the elves were in fact there voluntarily, yes,” Hermione said with a smile.
“That’s not how it works,” Ron said, shaking his head vehemently. “House-elves are inherited down a family line, and that’s the only way to get one, let alone a pair.”
“But think about it, Ronald,” Hermione said, a slight strain in her voice. “It couldn’t always have been that way! A whole race of magical beings couldn’t have been always forced to work for someone else. At some point, they had to have all been free, and then something must have happened, a spell or enchantment or something, that bound them to the families they served, but that’s not a natural state.”
“So you’re saying at some point elves might have just wandered about, doing good deeds randomly for people they decided they liked on their own, and then somebody took it into their head that they wanted to keep the elves for themselves and that’s how this all started?” Ron said.
“Very probably, yes,” Hermione said, folding her arms.
“Blimey, Harry, remind me never to do anybody a good turn for no reason,” he said.
“I don’t know,” Harry said slowly. “There’s another option there, too.”
“What’s that?” Hermione said, frowning at him.
“Maybe the elves’ master sent them to work there instead of them just popping in on a coincidence,” Harry said.
“Hmm,” Hermione said, tipping her head to one side and thinking. “Yes, that’s certainly a possibility in this case, I suppose. I did miss that. There could have been a witch or wizard who decided to help the shoemaker and his wife via their house-elves, I suppose, though the story doesn’t provide any explanation of that.”
“What were the elves wearing?” Ron asked. “That should clear it up.”
“Oh, I forgot to mention. They were naked,” Hermione said.
Harry and Ron looked at each other and grimaced.
“What?” Hermione said.
“Well, they do normally wear at least something! Not clothes of course, but at the minimum they’ve got their bits and pieces covered up,” Ron said.
“I admit there were moments I really hoped Dobby was wearing pants under that tea towel,” Harry said.
“Yeah, it’s sort of disturbing that these two don’t,” Ron said. “Their family isn’t doing right by them there.”
“They’re not exactly doing right by them by owning them either,” Hermione pointed out.
“Yeah, but… whatever,” Ron said. “Okay, so either the house-elves are sent by a particularly creepy family, or they’re nudists, but the shoemaker and his wife finally know what’s going on. Now what?”
“They discussed it the next day, and they weren’t quite sure what to do. The shoemaker still cut out dozens and dozens of shoes each night, and each morning they were beautiful shoes again, and in a little while, they had all the money they could ever need for the rest of their lives,” Hermione said.
“It’s interesting he’s still working,” Harry said suddenly.
“Yes, the elves don’t do everything for him. They work together,” Hermione said.
“Except they don’t pay them,” Ron said.
“No, they don’t, but they weren’t compelling them to be there, either, so there’s that,” Hermione said. “Eventually, the wife got the idea that they should thank the two little men by making them a nice suit of clothes each and leaving them on the work bench for them instead of the shoe parts, and they would hide again and see what happened.”
“That won’t end well,” Ron said with a knowing look.
“Oh, but it did! The elves were thrilled when they saw the clothes, and danced and sang for joy as they put them on, then disappeared and never returned again,” Hermione said.
“So they freed them,” Harry said. “Now that’s a bit sticky.”
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.
“Only someone who actually owns a house-elf can free them,” Ron said immediately, exactly as if he’d just spotted the answer on a test.
“Right, which is why I couldn’t free Dobby directly,” Harry said. “I had to trick Malfoy into giving Dobby my sock. It could be my sock, but it had to come from Malfoy if it was going to work.”
“Yes, but…” Hermione said, and a look of horror spread across her face.
“What?” Ron asked, looking terrified.
“I just realized,” Hermione said, raising a hand to her mouth. “All those elf hats I left in the Common Room! None of them actually worked since it’s the school that owns them, so I can’t free them no matter what I do! And here I thought I was letting them go free by the dozens!”
“Yeah,” Ron said, stealing a glance at Harry. “Uh… I guess that’s right.”
“But then the real mystery is what happened to all those hats?” Hermione said. “They didn’t just vanish into thin air.”
“Dobby,” Harry admitted. “He picked them up.”
“He told you that?” Hermione said sadly.
“Well, not so much volunteered the information as I saw him walking around with a hat stretched to roughly the size of a sequoia from all the others under it,” Harry said, trying to suppress a laugh at the memory.
“Oh,” Hermione said, looking hurt. “I suppose… I suppose it is rather an obvious flaw I should have realized. I must have looked ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, as usual completely oblivious to the fact he was making things worse with his bluntness, “but then the elves were angry at you for trying to trick them into freeing themselves by hiding them, so they just stopped coming up to Gryffindor Tower to clean, except Dobby. After that it’s not like they ever saw the whole array of them. Well, other than on Dobby’s head, I suppose.”
“Wait, they were angry?” Hermione said, shocked. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Would you have listened?” Ron asked.
“Yes! Or, well, maybe no. I don’t know,” she said.
“It’s not their choice to be free if you make them do it,” Harry said.
Hermione looked uncomfortable.
“I thought this was going to be a wonderful, empowering story of elf-human cooperation,” Hermione said. “Instead I find out I’m part of the ingrained system of oppression and privilege. I feel like I need a bath.”
Ron cleared his throat abruptly and turned a bit pink.
“I think it’s safe to say the shoemaker and his wife were pretty nice people, though,” Harry said. “They certainly weren’t greedy, at any rate, and they didn’t take unfair advantage of the elves. I don’t think they literally owned them. The story is probably just a Muggle-level understanding of house-elves. They know clothes free them, but they’re not sure about the details.”
“Yeah, like the idiots in these things who give their kids fairy godmothers,” Ron said. “There’s a bit of truth in there somewhere, namely that fairies exist and can be really powerful, but it’s not quite right since they forget about the fact most of them are homicidal maniacs with a sense of whimsy.”
“That’s certainly possible. In certain areas of Great Britain, Muggles really did believe in elves, or brownies as they called them,” Hermione said. “There must have been some sort of precedent for them meeting them.”
“Wait, they call them brownies, but in the story they’re elves, right?” Ron asked.
“Yes, I’m not sure why it’s always translated that way, but it is, even though it’s not technically the proper word. The Girl Guides still use it, though, for some of the younger girls in their group,” Hermione said. “It’s to encourage them to be helpful.”
“Okay, there’s something seriously warped about telling little girls that they’re helpful if they model themselves on a feudal slave relationship model, but I’ll let it pass,” Ron said.
“Feudal slave relationship model?” Hermione said slowly, blinking.
“Your words. Common Room, about two years ago. I do actually listen on occasion,” he said.
“I guess you do,” Hermione said looking impressed.
“So what happened to the shoemaker and his wife?” he asked.
“Oh, they lived happily and comfortably for the rest of their lives,” Hermione said. “For once, it ends well for everyone.”
“That’s nice,” Ron said, yawning. “Good that the elves aren’t running about starkers anymore, either. Could catch a nasty cold that way, or wind up in jail at the very least. Maybe both.”
Harry smiled, but he kept thinking of Dobby, and even of Kreacher and Winky. Hermione might be a tad fanatical about house-elf rights, but she had a point. It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t help wondering what the elves of Hogwarts were going through right now. If Lucius Malfoy had been a hard taskmaster, he didn’t even want to think of how Snape and a coterie of Death Eaters would treat them all.
“It is a nice story,” Harry said, “but I don’t really see the upper class purebloods deciding they have enough money and just letting their elves just go free like those two did.”
“No, I suppose they won’t,” Hermione said. “That’s why someone else has to do something.”
“Can we at least finish finding the Horcruxes first?” Ron almost begged. “Then maybe a nice holiday for a year or so before we try to storm the Ministry?”
“Again,” Harry added.
“One thing at a time,” Hermione said, and Harry noticed she was smiling broadly. After all, that had sounded rather a lot like Ron was at least considering it, which was actually a lot more than Harry had thought would ever happen.
As they turned in for bed, Harry wondered what the world would be like if they did manage to defeat Voldemort for good. It wouldn’t mean everything was perfect or that people would change, or even that the old prejudices would ever go away. Still, an hour later, as he heard Ron almost silently sneak out of bed and click the radio back on, the volume so low that Harry couldn’t possibly hear the words, it would have to be better than how things are now. At least, that was what he hoped.
