A/N:Well, hello there. How are you all doing?
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Thank you for reading!
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At one o'clock in the morning, Draco Malfoy, clad in light grey pyjamas, appeared in the Hogwarts kitchens with the bewildered expression of someone who had not consented to being there.
Before him, more than a hundred house-elves in Hogwarts tea towels turned as one, their faces lit with enormous beaming smiles, bowing and curtsying in unison.
This was a disaster. A respectable Malfoy did not appear before an audience — any audience, including house-elves — in his pyjamas.
It had all started two hours ago.
It was an evening after the Easter holidays. He had just finished his lengthy and tedious essay on the magical history of self-stirring cauldrons and was preparing for bed when, with a sharp crack, a strangely dressed little creature materialised before him.
Draco barely recognised Dobby.
The elf's ensemble looked as though it had been assembled by the world's most enthusiastic child with access to a lost-and-found bin. There was a teapot-shaped cosy perched on his head, a dozen mismatched and brightly coloured badges pinned across his chest, a horseshoe-patterned tie, a pair of mismatched socks, and a set of shorts that seemed to belong to no recognisable era. Nothing about him matched, or fit with anything else.
"Dobby has found it!" he shrieked, clutching a slim, black book in both hands.
"Has he? Give it here immediately." Draco jumped to his feet, abandoning any thought of commenting on Dobby's outfit.
Dobby handed the book over with great reverence, thoughtfully already opened to the relevant page.
The description of Horcruxes was only a few lines long — but that was enough. This was precisely the knowledge that had eluded him.
"If one wishes to create a Horcrux, the caster may employ the spell 'Soul Imprisonment' to cleave a fragment of the soul from the whole and seal it within a vessel..."
Soul Imprisonment... Draco tapped his fingers slowly on the desk, lost in thought.
"Copy it." He flicked his wand and a duplicate of the slim black book appeared on the desk. Then he handed the copy — cover so blackened the title was illegible — back to Dobby.
"Well done, Dobby. Replace this copy where you found it." Noticing that Dobby's eyes were already welling up with tears of gratitude, Draco swiftly changed the subject. "Where exactly did you find this book?"
The words were barely out of his mouth before Dobby began slamming his head against the wall.
"Dobby is a bad elf! Dobby has betrayed his master's trust!" the elf shrieked, as though he had committed some unforgivable act.
"Dobby! I order you to stop this instant. Explain yourself," Draco said sharply. He was grateful he'd had the foresight to cast a Silencing Charm on the room before Dobby arrived — otherwise, half the dormitory would have heard by now.
Dobby ceased his self-punishment at once, panting weakly. "Thank you, Master! Dobby searched the entire study! Dobby could not find it!"
His great round eyes, each the size of a tennis ball, blinked pitifully. "So Dobby searched and searched, and finally found it — in that house. That terrible house!"
Draco watched as the little elf collected himself and regained some measure of spirit, hopping from foot to foot with renewed energy. "Which room?" he asked.
"Oh! Master! The master's secret room — hidden beneath the drawing room! It is full of terrible dark magic!" Dobby wailed.
Then he shuddered and lunged for Draco's wardrobe with the clear intention of headbutting it.
"Stop! Dobby, I forbid you from punishing yourself without my express permission!" Draco rubbed his temple in exasperation and called the bowing, grateful elf back. "Why are you punishing yourself?"
"Our master does not permit us to enter freely. It is a secret. There are many dark artefacts hidden inside." Dobby shrank back, quivering. "But our noble young master told Dobby to find the book, and so Dobby found it."
"Dobby, you did an excellent job," Draco said firmly.
He had already resolved to visit that room over the summer. He knew of it — the restricted vault at Malfoy Manor.
In his previous life, he hadn't actually set foot inside until he was fifteen or sixteen, and by that point it had been stripped nearly bare. Whatever had once been stored there before he was old enough to be permitted entry was something he had never thought to investigate.
He'd had no reason to. In his memory, the room had been unremarkable.
Besides, it had later been repurposed by the Dark Lord as a prison cell — filthy, terrifying, and suffused with a particular kind of horror he had no desire to dwell on. He'd avoided it whenever he could.
He had no wish to recall any of that now.
But the room had taken on new significance. He resolved that once summer began, he would go and see what secrets it still held.
Dobby was still standing before him, trembling, face pale.
Draco studied his wretched state with a calculating expression and began to reconsider the elf's worth.
Unexpectedly, Dobby had actually managed to locate information on Horcruxes — something Draco had nearly given up hope of finding.
The little creature was genuinely useful. Irritatingly loud, certainly, but effective; more capable than he had expected.
"Do you like Chocolate Frogs?" Draco said, nodding toward the desk. "There's one on the table. Sit down and have it."
Dobby hesitated, then sneaked a sideways glance at Draco. Seeing no trace of mockery in his expression, the elf shuffled to the very edge of the nearest chair, carefully unwrapped a square of chocolate, and ate it with small, careful movements.
"Feeling better?" Draco asked.
"Dobby — Dobby feels much better," the elf admitted, his colour improving and his breathing steadying. He turned the Chocolate Frog card over and over in his long fingers, examining the portrait on the front with wide, curious eyes.
"Who is it?" Draco asked.
"Cornelius Agrippa," Dobby whispered, as though it were something very special.
"Not bad. That one's considered rare — quite sought-after among collectors," Draco said. "Keep it."
The elf brightened at once, turning the card over in delighted disbelief, seemingly forgetting all about his earlier distress.
Draco watched his expression and said, "My father has told me you are now my personal house-elf, and that you answer only to me. My expectations will be higher than those you've worked under before, but they will also be fair — you are not to punish yourself over matters like this."
Dobby nodded vigorously, bowing until his great ears nearly touched the carpet.
Draco had always known Dobby was an unusual house-elf — an anomaly, even among his own kind.
As he recalled, after leaving the Malfoys, Dobby had gone to any number of households seeking paid employment, actually asking for wages.
He had heard this from Pansy Parkinson, self-styled gossip queen of Slytherin.
Which respectable, old-fashioned pure-blood family would take on such an unconventional elf?
But unconventional was not the same as useless.
Dobby could read, and had retrieved a book on Horcruxes from a warded room. He could Apparate — and had somehow managed to materialise within Hogwarts Castle itself, which was supposed to be entirely secured against Apparition and Disapparition. He possessed a sharpness of mind that rivalled many wizards. In his previous life, Dobby had rescued Harry and the others from right under the Dark Lord's nose — without so much as a wand. Whatever magic house-elves wielded, it operated by entirely different rules, and in a crisis, that could prove invaluable.
In short, Dobby's abilities were worth a salary. It was better to compensate him properly than to risk him one day seeking employment elsewhere — and taking everything he knew about the Malfoys with him.
"Dobby," Draco said carefully, "you're a capable elf. I can pay you, if you'd like." He watched an unmistakable look of astonishment cross the elf's face. "Ten Galleons a week. How does that sound?"
"No!" Dobby's expression shifted instantly from surprise to alarm, as though ten Galleons were a catastrophe. "Master, that is far too much! It would ruin Dobby!"
"Five Galleons a week, then."
"Still too much! Little master, Dobby has not sunk so low! Dobby can live for several months on a single Galleon!" the elf protested.
"One Galleon a week," Draco said with finality, "and no less. You also get weekends off."
Dobby jumped up and tugged at his own ears in agitation. "My master gives Dobby too much freedom! Dobby likes freedom, but not so very much freedom! Dobby prefers to work!"
"Dobby, enough," Draco said, somewhere between exasperated and amused.
How could any creature object to being paid too generously? It was entirely baffling.
"Then tell me what you do want."
Dobby twisted his long, thin fingers anxiously together and peered up at him. "Dobby would like... one Galleon a month. And one day off a month."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Agreed. You may accumulate the days off and take them together, if you prefer — a week at once, for instance. A proper holiday."
As anticipated, Dobby shuddered violently at the word holiday. Draco quickly added, "Or, if you'd rather not take the time off, it converts to additional pay."
"And," he continued, "for particularly good work — like this — there will be a bonus." He flicked his wand and ten Galleons appeared on the table beside the elf.
"That is your reward for what you did tonight," Draco said.
Dobby stared at the gleaming Galleons as though they might vanish. His lips trembled. "My great little master... no one has ever treated Dobby this way before..."
Good.
Now Dobby probably won't spend every other day clamouring for his freedom, Draco thought idly.
"Alright, enough of that. Take them." He paused. "One more thing — how are you able to Apparate into Hogwarts? Hogwarts: A History is quite specific that the castle is protected against Apparition and Disapparition."
"Dobby doesn't know," the elf admitted, shaking his head, his large pointed ears swaying. "Dobby has always been able to come to Hogwarts. He has visited friends here." He suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth, as though he had said something he shouldn't.
"Friends?" Draco asked with interest. "Another house-elf?"
Dobby blinked and nodded nervously.
"At Hogwarts?"
"Oh yes." Dobby relaxed a fraction when Draco showed no sign of irritation. "They are all in the kitchens — preparing food for the school. They serve Hogwarts. There are hundreds of them."
"Take me to see it," Draco said at once, his curiosity fully engaged. "I've always wondered where the Hogwarts kitchens actually are."
He had barely finished the sentence before Dobby seized his arm.
The sensation was deeply unpleasant — as if every part of him were being forced through a gap far too small to fit. His eyes, nose, and eardrums all seemed to compress simultaneously —
— and then it was over.
"We have arrived, little master," Dobby announced cheerfully.
"Dobby," he said, working hard to keep his voice steady, "I did not say now."
In his previous life, Draco had grown familiar with Apparition. He had never particularly liked it as a means of travel. Side-Along Apparition was significantly worse.
Two house-elves had already positioned a velvet armchair behind him. A small table floated into place before he had even sat down.
Several other elves arrived bearing a large silver tray: a steaming cup of cocoa, a full teapot, a small jug of milk, and a generous plate of assorted cakes and biscuits.
"No, no," Draco said hurriedly, as Dobby showed signs of wanting to take hold of his arm again. "I am not taking a second Side-Along Apparition tonight."
He sank into the armchair and accepted the cup of cocoa gratefully.
"Ah. That's rather good. Thank you," he said.
The elves beamed; they bowed, they curtsied, and then retreated to a respectful distance, though several continued to sneak curious glances at him. They all wore tea towels embroidered with the Hogwarts crest and were, Draco noticed, impeccably neat.
"Wait —" he said.
One of the elves halted immediately, curtsying and looking up at him with bright, anxious eyes.
"How does one find this place?" Draco asked.
It was a female house-elf, her voice lighter and clearer than Dobby's.
"Sir, you go down one floor from the Great Hall. In the corridor, there is a painting of a large fruit bowl. Tickle the pear — the green one — and the door will open for you, sir."
"Thank you, Wendy," Dobby said cheerfully, which evidently confirmed what Draco had already suspected — Wendy was the friend he'd mentioned.
"I've never seen any of you before," Draco said to her.
"We do not usually appear before wizards, sir. When we clean the dormitories and common rooms, we do not make ourselves visible," Wendy said, with a polite dip of her head.
"Can you all Apparate within the Hogwarts grounds?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. The Anti-Apparition wards do not affect us," she said simply.
Well. That was rather significant.
It occurred to Draco that he had inadvertently stumbled upon one of the more profound oversights in Hogwarts' security. If the Death Eaters had ever thought to consider what house-elves were capable of, the castle would have been as easy to breach as a sieve — and he would never have needed to spend months in his previous life obsessing over the Vanishing Cabinet.
But then, how many wizards ever gave a thought to what house-elves could actually do? Most pure-bloods regarded them as little more than furniture. The idea of a house-elf possessing abilities that exceeded domesticity would simply never occur to them.
Draco gave the elf a small nod, and she withdrew with another bow.
He sipped his cocoa and turned his thoughts back to the Soul Imprisonment spell — and to Quirrell's current condition.
The Dark Lord had almost certainly merely possessed him; it was unlikely he had actually imprisoned himself on the back of Quirrell's head in the manner of a true Horcrux. If that were the case, how had he managed to flee so cleanly in Draco's previous life?
"Dobby," he said, "from now on, I want you to keep watch on Professor Quirrell. Report anything unusual to me. Stay at a safe distance — do not let him notice you."
Dobby puffed out his chest with tremendous pride at being entrusted with a mission and gave a sharp nod.
With a crack, the elf vanished.
"Wait —" Draco stood, reaching out instinctively — but it was already too late.
He stood alone in the kitchen.
Never mind, he thought, settling back into the armchair. I'll make my own way back.
He was not prepared to endure a second Side-Along Apparition that evening under any circumstances. He finished the last sip of his cocoa with deep satisfaction and set the cup down.
Guided warmly by Wendy, he made a slow and curious tour of the kitchens — a vast stone chamber with a ceiling as high as the Great Hall directly above it. Four long wooden tables ran the length of the room, mirroring the four House tables overhead, with towering stacks of gleaming copper pots and pans arranged along the walls, surrounding a great brick fireplace.
The food must be placed on these tables first, then transferred up to the Great Hall by some manner of enchantment, Draco thought. He filed it away as interesting.
As he made to leave, a small crowd of eager house-elves converged on him and pressed a large bundle of wrapped cream cakes, biscuits, and pies into his arms before he could object.
Draco thanked them politely and made his way out, leaving a row of delighted, bowing elves in his wake.
If there were a Hogwarts elective for kitchen visits, Crabbe and Goyle would trample each other to sign up first, he thought drowsily, biting into a chocolate muffin.
For those two, a place with an endless supply of free food would be nothing short of paradise.
Who would have imagined? He'd always assumed sneaking food from the kitchens was some grand feat. It turned out you didn't even need to ask — the elves simply pressed it into your hands and beamed at you.
He finished the muffin, tucked the bundle under one arm, and quietly made his way down the brightly lit corridor, up the stairs to the Entrance Hall, and then back down the other side into the dim passages leading to the Slytherin common room.