Chapter 74: Ambassadors


"i dunno how i'd be helping. other than like, as moral support," Sans remarked, leaning back against the wall as Hermione paced in front of him.

This was the most antsy he'd ever seen her. Sans knew that she could get fidgety, especially when she was deep in a research hole and always reaching for another book or grabbing more parchment or whatever. She just wasn't usually so… directionless.

Not that she had no plan at all. From her request, she definitely had an idea of what she wanted to do, but she was second-guessing herself hard.

"Honestly, moral support would be great." The box rattled as she turned again. "I just— I don't understand. I didn't before, either, but you had a point."

"i did? when?"

She waved with her free hand. "It was months ago now. You said I should ask them. I shouldn't just… assume that I know what's best." Looking down at her box of pins—still mostly undistributed—Hermione finally stilled. "I've been reading about them, their history, everything I can find, but…"

"but history's written by the victor, right?" he finished for her, wry. At her surprised glance, Sans shrugged. "i've been having similar issues, actually. seems most european wizard-types have opinions about wandless societies."

"Wandless societies?"

"yep. given my personal talents," a wave lifted the various desks around the room, lightly arranging them back into 'abandoned classroom' rather than 'secret meeting room', "i was curious how wizards approach magic sans wands."

The pun may have been missed, but from the look in her eyes she definitely noticed that his phrasing implied a certain non-wizard-ness about himself. Nothing she hadn't already suspected, of course.

He continued to his main point before she could launch into any followup interrogation. "it's kinda disconcerting how hard it is to find anything about them."

"Are you—?" Hermione already had her mouth open, the question clearly on the tip of her tongue, before just as clearly reconsidering. "Wait. You're implying that… they don't have any information about it, because they purposefully don't want anyone to know."

"whoever 'they' is." Another shrug. "i doubt it's that intentional. more… internal bias stuff."

Looking at her box—her S.P.E.W. kit, assuming it hadn't been renamed yet—she nodded to herself. Determined. Then turned for the door. "We should get going."

"where to, by the way?"

"The kitchen."

"won't they be… busy there?" Sans asked, following her into the hallway. "with all the dinner prep and stuff."

She looked abruptly sheepish, and mumbled an answer he didn't quite catch.

"what?"

"That's the point." Hermione looked embarrassed—somewhat apologetic, too, though those to which she probably owed the apologies were not present at the moment. "I think they've been avoiding me. At least when I'm by myself, or when I have this." She gave the box a little shake, for emphasis. "And I figured—"

"that they'd have to be there."

A nod.

"okay, and i'm hesitant to ask, but…" He tilted his head, trying to project non-judgment. "why are they avoiding you, exactly?"

The pink on her cheeks was crawling up her ears, and she sped up slightly. "I think I was a little… overeager. Definitely when, uhm, I was leaving clothes for them. Just some! Before I decided it would be best to do more research. And then, well…"

"mm-hm, yes, you do get pretty intense with the questioning."

"Sorry?"

"no, no, that's great." He remembered the full-parchment-length bulleted list of questions she'd sent him, the fact that he'd barely answered any of them, and waved her apology away. "feels like people around here need to be asking more questions, frankly."

Even if that would end up making things trickier for him personally, given he's essentially an undercover agent. The lack of any particularly close examination of his oddities was, admittedly, quite useful.

But still. As much as he loves using the 'because magic' excuse, the fact that it actually works so often is a bit disheartening. Sometimes it works because people get fed up with his obtuse-ness and stop bothering to ask, which is the intended mechanism. But sometimes they really just… take it as a reasonable justification.

(Which, well, technically—)

"Feels like more people should be answering them," she replied, pointedly.

He grinned back at her, amused.

Though Sans hadn't personally visited the kitchen before now, it behooved him to know the castle inside and out: he had done some long-distance investigating way back at the start of the school year. It was several floors below them, directly beneath the Great Hall. No door down there, though, just magic on and through one of the adjacent walls. That layer of metaphysical color coating a painting of a fruit bowl was presumably the entrance, though he hadn't bothered to check how it worked.

The hallway outside the kitchen was clear, and nobody was nearby.

His grin became a touch sly.

As they came up on the next corner, he stretched his magic. Out, and down. Wall to wall, then wall to wall—a seamless connection from one space to another. He hadn't built a shortcut like this in a while because, honestly, it is funnier to just drop people through the floor. This would be less like a door (or chute), and more like a threshold. A smooth, open transition.

Just as unexpected, but a lot more subtle.

"c'mon, i know you don't want easy answers. where's the fun in that?" he quipped back, just as she rounded the bend.

And they continued down a hall that should have been several flights of stairs away.

Hermione got a few steps in before stopping short. She turned, left then right, as if trying to reorient herself. Then she spun to face him, eyes wide. "Did you just—?"

"just what?"

"You know what I'm asking about, Sans," she lightly scoffed, gesturing broadly to their surroundings. "But… that seemed different than before, at Christmas."

"same trick," he made a circle with his thumb and index finger, then another circle between two cupped hands, "different scale."

She stared at his hands for a moment, glanced briefly at the walls around them, and then walked back to the corner they'd just turned. Seeing where she was headed, Sans gamely kept the connection open.

Hermione went right up to the threshold of the shortcut and, again, stared. "I can see the other hall," she observed, somewhere between incredulous and inquisitive. Her shoe scuffed over the mismatched stones along the boundary. "Even though I've seen you vanish before, I've never seen… what would you call it? 'Through' to the other side?"

"i pick what comes through, light included."

"Wicked," she breathed, for once sounding her age.

Sans grinned, letting the shortcut close with an unnecessary flourish that sent ripples from wall to wall as proper spacial continuity reasserted itself. "so, i assume you know how to get in?"

Her eyes had gone a bit unfocused, gaping up at the new-old stairs that had replaced the wrong-floor hallway—or, rather than saying 'replaced', it might be more accurate to say the staircase 'reasserted itself'. Either way, after a quick shake, Hermione returned to the matter at hand. "Yes, of course."

The key was, as Sans had guessed, the still-life painting of a bowl of fruit. She walked up to it and… tickled the pear. Weird, but given the eccentricities he'd seen (Monster and wizard alike), not the weirdest. With a giggle and a wiggle, the painted pear transformed into a green doorknob.

"There we are." Hermione took a steadying breath. "Ready?"

Sans nodded. Then stopped, as he suddenly realized: "ohh… they are definitely gonna try and make me eat something."

At his plight, she just smiled and opened the door. "Well, maybe we can use that? We could cut a deal for more information."

"a meal deal. that's pretty sly for you."

Hermione looked like she wasn't sure if she should take that as a compliment.

It was, as predicted, very busy in the Hogwarts kitchen at dinner time. The room looked to be a mirror of the Great Hall, if perhaps a bit wider to account for its kitchen-ness: space for stoves and counters and so on. Four long tables here matched to four tables above, in inverse: food appeared on one, vanished from the other. Magic in the wood resonated between them.

It looked like the bulk of the actual cooking (the meat of it, hah) was done by this point, but that didn't stop the hustle and bustle. After all, that food still needed to be served. Which was, apparently, the tables' job.

Entrees were plated from cookware to serving dishes before being carried—or, more commonly, floated—over to the tables. Then, almost as soon as it was set on the table down here, a burst of magic sent it to the tables up there. Easy, nice and simple. Sans watched a house-elf ladle out a final sploop of soup, direct the big porcelain bowl into position, and then poof.

The magic didn't really resemble his own shortcuts, though the end result looked very similar to an untrained eye: in one place, then another. Instead, Sans was more reminded of the two-way notebook(s) Sirius used to gossip with Perkins.

Two-way tables, in a way. Neat.

Elsewhere in the kitchen, final garnishes were being added, salads getting one more toss, fresh bread sliced, and even some puddings were being queued up for poof-ing. He wouldn't have thought anyone would be ready for dessert yet, but seeing as there were dirty dishes already reappearing to be cleaned, the house-elves definitely had a better sense of the meal-timing than he did. No surprise there.

Also no surprise—as soon as they stepped through the door, they were spotted. The house-elves clearly recognized both of them (alas), though in very different ways: the contrast between concerned for and concerned about. At a guess, they were still not pleased with his eating habits (or lack thereof).

A house-elf swiftly herded them to a human-scale table and chairs in an out-of-the-way nook, whereupon another elf set out dishes already loaded with dinner. Neither introduced themselves, and they were quick to scamper back to work before Hermione could snare them with any questions.

"so." Sans looked over the busy room. "ya think they always keep this table here, just in case they have guests?"

"Probably," Hermione sighed, poking at one of the broccoli on her plate with a fork. "Did you know, when I learned that it was house-elves who cooked the meals here at Hogwarts, it was… I was appalled. Refused to eat anything."

Sans had heard about that third-hand from Sirius (or third-paw, really), who had in turn heard about it second-hand from his godson.

"I mean, it's slavery! It's a product of slave labor!" She gestured to the plate, and, more to the point, the work it represented. "But then, just…" Another sigh. "At the same time, if I don't eat it… then it's just wasted."

"the food and their effort both, right?"

Because, despite what basic common-sense and morality might say about their circumstances, the house-elves do seem to genuinely enjoy the work. But at the same time… that's no excuse. Just because they might take pride in what they do, doesn't mean wizardkind should get a free pass to use them.

Which leads, of course, to why they're both here: wanting to learn more.

She nodded, slowly picking through her meal.

Sans looked over his own plate—or bowl, rather. Apparently some enterprising house-elf was trying to work around his (troubling, by human standards) lack of appetite with a simple but filling meal with mild flavors. He'd been given a small serving of steaming oatmeal.

"Do you think this was a bad idea?" Despite sitting mostly still, Hermione was seemingly more nervous than she'd been when pacing in the classroom. "Maybe, putting us here, was just… attempted redirection. Getting us out of the way."

"i mean, it did do that."

She frowned. "That's not what I meant. What if they don't come talk to us? Even though we're not going to— We really do just want to talk."

As if on cue, the background hum of work lulled for a moment. Well, the work didn't pause, but the chatter of the elves talking with each other did. Which let one voice ring clear through the room, a surprised: "Miss Hermione is here?!"

Rumors of their arrival had filtered through the busy crowd—eventually reaching the large ears of one particular house-elf, even if his ears were tucked under a knit hat. And given nearly all the other house-elves were just wearing Hogwarts tea towel togas, his extra clothing made him easy to pick out from the rest. He was still wearing a towel, but like a long vest over what appeared to be a maroon child-size sweater that fit like a dress. Plus one oversized glove, the aforementioned knit hat, and what appeared to be three different socks: one black sock on his right foot, and two of different colors layered over his left foot.

Hermione spotted him right away—and, from the way she smiled, it was obvious that she recognized this particular house-elf. Likely a friend, and one she would've known would be here: a foreseen distraction, then, and a welcome one.

The elf was hurrying their way. "Miss Hermione!"

"Hello again, Dobby!" She pushed her plate aside, happy to focus on the bright-eyed house-elf. "Harry likes the socks you got him for Christmas, by the way. I don't think he's had time to visit since the break."

Those big eyes went a little misty. "Harry Potter likes the socks?" he sniffled.

"Yes, he, uh—" The look Hermione sent Sans was definitely of the 'oh no, help, please' variety. Tears tend to have that effect on a lot of people.

"so your name's dobby?" he benevolently intervened. "i'm sans."

Dobby wiped his face on the tea towel he was wearing—a multi-use garment if ever there was one. "Oh, yes!" he said, happy tears replaced by just plain happy. "Dobby has seens you with Harry Potter and Harry Potter's friends before, sir!"

"really?"

While he'd been aware of house-elves doing house-elf stuff in his vicinity, he didn't exert that much effort monitoring them during cover-compliant activities. For example, he didn't really care if one spotted him practicing wand magic in his free time so long as they didn't see him teleport away afterward. He always made sure there were no living (or, given the ghosts, un-living) beings around to directly witness anything suspicious.

(Walking out of sight before vanishing is fair game. Technically, nobody sees anything.)

Whatever, it's nice to have a name and a face for one of the unobtrusive presences he'd noticed these past few months.

Hermione seemed to realize further introductions were in order, and gave a quick explanation for how they knew each other; apparently, Harry had basically tricked Dobby's abusive master into freeing him. A sock had been involved. After that, he'd spent some time traveling and looking for work before ending up at Hogwarts. Dobby had been working in the castle for over a month now, though his human friends had only been able to come see him once (excluding the current visit, of course).

"Harry Potter is truly a great wizard," Dobby said, nodding to himself, one hand tugging at the top of his black sock.

Sans couldn't recall if Sirius had mentioned Dobby before, which probably meant he either hadn't known his godson's house-elf friend was at Hogwarts or he simply hadn't thought much about him among everything else. It could go either way: wizards, as a whole, seemed to have a cultural blindspot where house-elves were concerned. They didn't really talk about the elves much, like how a regular person might not discuss vacuum cleaners or preferred dishwasher detergent in casual conversation.

That comparison wasn't exactly flattering.

"Mmm, but Dobby is wanting to ask you," he tilted his head, curious. "What can we's do for you, Miss Hermione?"

"Well, I was hoping to ask somebody about house-elf culture and history. Do you—?"

"Oh!" Dobby's big ears flicked back toward the busy kitchen work, listening, clearly hearing something through the noise that they could not. "Oh, but Dobby must get backs to work, miss, sir, but I knows just who to ask! Dobby will send them!"

The house-elf clapped, snapped, and promptly vanished.

Hermione stared at the empty space where he'd been standing, blankly processing that parting remark. And, in short order, was badly startled when a different house-elf appeared at that spot with a soft pop.

The newly-arrived elf looked to be quite a bit older than any of the others Sans had met, at least judging by the wrinkles drawn across their face. Like the other Hogwarts elves, they were wearing a tea towel—one worn thin by time, clearly well-loved, and belted at the waist by a faded ribbon. Their ears were quite large, even by house-elf standards, and drooped down to frame a soft green gaze. No doubt those eyes had looked after countless generations of students.

"This one is Ambee," the aged house-elf introduced themself. "This one is willing to listen, Miss Granger, as this one remembers the concern of others like you. And of those here, this one has served longest."

"Oh, uhm, hello." Hermione still seemed a little off-balance from the rapid departure-arrival turnaround. "…How long have you been at Hogwarts?"

Ambee tilted their head, one of their ears flicking a few times as they considered, counting up. "While only ever one Household, seven other headmasters and headmistresses, this one remembers."

Hermione's eyes widened. "But then, you must be nearly 300 years old!"

"Still young, yes?"

While Hermione thought that through, presumably trying to work out if that reply was being serious or sarcastic, Sans focused on a different point. "hogwarts, a school… counts as a 'household'?"

"Of course, sir, our place is always a Household," Ambee replied. "Ours."

Right. Well, presumably they do live here full-time, so that does make a certain amount of sense. A Household of house-elves. Fitting.

"Now then. How can this one serve?"

Hermione grimaced at the phrasing, but pressed on; she had questions, after all. Opening her box, revealing that the promotional pins inside were actually buried under a pile of notes, she grabbed the writing-covered parchments and a quill.

Though the elder house-elf held themself with dignity, after seeing all those papers… it looked like they might be second-guessing this whole operation. Just a little.

"I know you didn't appreciate the clothes I was leaving in Gryffindor Tower," Hermione started. "But I really was just trying to help! It's horrible that you're basically kept as slaves, and I wanted to do something about it."

Ambee said nothing, still watching, ears alert. Listening.

"I stopped when I decided I should learn more about your people, your culture," Hermione continued, with a small glance to Sans. "Learn why things are the way they are. But books have been vague at best, and it's not like I've had the opportunity to speak to many of you." Likely because they were avoiding her. "And those I have met have had… a range of opinions."

"kreacher and dobby do seem like opposites."

"And Winky," she added, a glint of anger lit in her eyes. "She was fired by her last 'master'."

"winky?"

Hermione scanned the kitchen for a moment, winced, and pointed out a house-elf across the room. The elf, presumably Winky, was wearing actual clothes under a tea towel vest: like Dobby, though much less eclectic. And, while the towel was in good shape, the clothes were torn and stained.

Winky wasn't helping much with the dinner chaos either. After some watching, it seemed like she would assist with something if directly asked, but didn't have the motivation to seek out stuff to do. Very relatable, but also very concerning given that she just curled around a bottle of almost-certainly alcohol when left to her own devices.

And sure, Sans was no stranger to hitting up a bar when life started to bruise. But, counterpoint, ketchup is non-alcoholic and mainly he was there to see his friend. Grillby might not have known what troubles were bringing Sans in, but he was a comforting presence all the same. And the fire monster gave generally good advice—'hot tips', one could say—even though not all of it was relevant for a time-loop scenario.

('Give it time', sure. Yeah. All the time in the world.)

"you said winky was… fired?"

Ambee was the one to answer, with a solemn nod. "Winky was, yes. It is terrible. Terrible, yes—we knows Winky loved her family very much."

Hermione twitched, probably at the reference to the fact that a veritable slave considered her masters to be family. But she stayed quiet for the moment.

"This one was told that Winky had stolen a wand, and so was dismissed," Ambee continued, and that last word was said like a curse. "Winky does nots talk about it to this one, or to anyone else."

A stolen wand, huh. Something about that sounded… vaguely familiar.

"I was there when we got the wand back, actually." In an aside to Sans, Hermione explained, "It was at the Quidditch World Cup, when Harry's wand was stolen to cast the Dark Mark."

"the what?"

She stared at him. "The… The Dark Mark. You know? It was there, at the end—"

"oh, right," he snapped his fingers, recalling what she had to be talking about. "you mean the skull-snake thing."

Sans had detonated a blaster right in the middle of the mark almost as soon as it had formed, and he hadn't really given it any thought afterwards. With one brief exception, when he spotted a moving picture of it taken just before-during-after the explosion in the newspaper: a passing observation that Papyrus would have hated to see the image of a skull used in that design, for that purpose.

…Should he make a cultural appropriation joke? No, nobody here has the necessary skeletal context.

"still, the capital letters? is it actually called that, like, officially?" It certainly was a 'dark' image—in both the foreboding sense and in color palette—but that really wasn't a very creative name.

Human and house-elf both blinked at him for a moment, bemused.

"How did you hear—?" Hermione shook her head. "Whatever. It's not as though He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named told people what to call it specifically—he certainly wasn't walking into the Ministry to make sure they wrote it down correctly! But everyone calls it that."

"huh. the 'dark lord'," he did obviously mocking air quotes, "and his 'dark mark'. evil branding, i suppose, though he skipped it for 'death munchers'."

"We're getting sidetracked." She looked back across the busy room, frowning in concern as Winky took another swig of whatever was in the bottle. "Winky was… freed, as a punishment."

"One must leave their Household when they are dismissed," said Ambee, with an air of remorse.

"But why?"

"Foolish question." The old house-elf's ears folded back, defensive. "One must be punished when one does wrong."

"But it wasn't—!" Hermione cut herself off, catching Sans's slight headshake: reconsider, refocus. She took a deep breath. "Not that. Just, why is freedom a punishment?"

"It is not."

"It— What?"

Ears flicked forward again, looking surprised. "Freedom, as you think of it, miss, is no punishment. How could it be? But to be free…" They shuddered. "When an elf is freed, they can no longer tend their Household. They must leave their Household."

She looked shellshocked. "I— The books—"

"so… you wouldn't mind being 'freed'," Sans surmised, "if you didn't have to leave?"

"Were this one freed from here, but not freed from here," Ambee smiled, "this one would be doing just what this one has always been doing."

"Oh my goodness," Hermione breathed, with growing clarity. "It's not freedom you don't want… it's exile."

The old house-elf considered this for a long moment, comparing the words and their connotations with the patience of age, before nodding once. "Just so, miss."

"But then," she grabbed one of her notes, "Why the self-punishments? The rags instead of clothing? You mend our robes when something happens to them, why not make your own clothes?"

"…You are very strange."

"I— Excuse me?"

"Nothing." There was another quiet ear-flicking moment, as Ambee clearly thought something through. "Others like you have been pleased, after learning we do not mind the work."

"hermione is very thorough."

"This one sees that."

Hermione herself still looked puzzled, and a bit like she thought maybe she ought to feel a little insulted but wasn't sure why.

Before she could properly settle one way of the other, offended or not, Ambee moved the conversation forward. Gesturing to the tea towel they wore, they said, "Our clothes come from the Household, there is no want for anything else."

"And getting fabric to make clothes doesn't count? It's… not from the Household?"

"Is a canal, as a creek?"

"Uhm?"

"artificial versus natural, i'd guess." Sans gave his now-quite-cold oatmeal a sticky stir, just to have something to do with his hands. "would you say you grew your own vegetables if you just bought them and left them in the yard first?"

Which meant, theoretically, a house-elf might not mind making clothes for themselves from plain fabric if the Household included somebody else who did sewing and thus already had a stock of cloth for separate use. But then again, perhaps elf fashion just likes the look of pillowcases and towels.

Which didn't explain why some house-elves didn't bother to maintain their outfits, regardless of material. Though the main example that came to mind had been of decidedly un-sound mind when Sans first met him: Kreacher. The elf had been… in rough shape, to put it mildly, and the cloth he'd been wearing was almost more rips and tears than actual fabric. Fortunately, Kreacher had upgraded to a rather nice black pillowcase at some point since then.

But the question remained.

Was it sheer loneliness that led to Kreacher's previous disheveled state? Maybe even depression? Or was it just plain neglect, indifference?

It's not like Sans had a lot of examples to compare. Winky's clothes were mess, and from the brief description he'd just gotten from Hermione, Dobby had been similarly ragged when he'd been serving his old master. But the rest of the Hogwarts house-elves seem to be pretty put together, for a group that wore toga tea towels.

Or, now there's a darker thought…

Could poor self-care be a sign of internal frustration with their masters, an attitude that they might feel the need to punish themselves for?

Sans had noticed that Ambee was leaving Hermione's question of self-punishment unaddressed. Almost pointedly.

Now, a lot of house-elf attitudes weren't unfamiliar to him, even if he couldn't personally relate. He'd met woshua monsters, after all, and they love to clean. It's basically their whole schtick—woshua would wash anything they wanted to, if not necessarily what anyone else wanted them to wash. They enjoy the work. But while they may be disappointed in themselves for an item not perfectly cleaned, a woshua wouldn't literally beat themselves up over it.

So, honestly, that was the part of this whole wizard-elf arrangement that felt most… off, to him. The punishments, the servitude—that doesn't just happen.

Hermione and Ambee had gone off on some tangent about equivalent wages based on all of the various chores the house-elves took care of—which the elf plainly thought was somewhat demeaning—and Sans took it as a chance to look around.

In a different light, so to speak.

Sans very cautiously—carefully—let his less mundane senses open up to listen to the colors of magic winding through the kitchen and, more to the point, the house-elves themselves. It was not quite a true CHECK: he didn't want to risk discovery, though he was sorely tempted by the extra information.

The house-elves were magically rooted into the stone and mortar of the castle, and that connection continued into the dirt and bedrock underneath. They were of the space—the Household, perhaps. It was particularly interesting to compare that impression to human wizards and witches, inward magic versus outward magic, with monsters standing at an equilibrium between.

But there was… something strange. Nothing particularly obvious, no ethereal chains or invisible knots. Just a gossamer glimmer, like cobwebs—clinging. That almost-nothing impression was coiled up in their magic, and it felt false in comparison to the rest: like the difference between a potted plant and one of those plastic decor leaf-things. Fake, but convincing.

Sans turned over that thought, considering, as he turned over the magical impression in his metaphysical hands. The more he turned, the more an idea grew.

Because that gossamer thread felt almost familiar.

Like puppet strings.

Like the Imperius he had cut out of Cassius.

(Like a red wraith, though with a touch a thousand times more delicate.)

Right then. If he's interpreting this impression correctly, then this entire arrangement between wizards and house-elves needed to be torn down. The arrangement itself, specifically. There's no problem with elves working in wizard homes—they can keep on keeping on just as they have been, if that's what makes them happy—but the coercive cobwebs have to go.

He refocused on physical reality, letting the half-CHECK fade from his senses.

"what if we could remove the magic that keeps you—" not 'slaves': no matter how true, the word would probably not be appreciated, "bound?"

They were still mid-debate; Hermione had just capitulated that plenty of work could be done without compensation, but was determined to point out the differences between volunteer work and house-elf labor. His question crashed right into the argument, stopping them both short.

Ambee blinked at him, long and slow. "This one does not want to be freed. This one tells you this, sir."

"i'm not saying we set you free, i'm saying we give you back your freedom." That probably wasn't any clearer. Sans tried again, picking words carefully. "even if you do want to stay where you are, you shouldn't be forced to stay where you are. shouldn't be forced to leave, either."

Hermione nodded, and though she might not know exactly where he was going with this, she could pick up the thread and follow it. "It should be your choice—whether you stay or go, what you do. And your choice of what to do for… your Household."

"We do not want to be free—"

"from what i heard, you don't want to be forcibly removed."

"These are the same thing," Ambee insisted.

"they don't have to be."

Aged hands curled into fists, ears folded back, nose wrinkled in distaste: the old house-elf was not going to budge.

At least not with that approach.

"when did house-elves start serving wizard families, anyway?" he asked, pivoting.

Suspicious of the sudden topic change (good instincts), Ambee's big green eyes narrowed and their ears flicked back and forth. But, after a moment: "House-elves have always served their Household."

A non-answer, but telling. "need a better question, then," he judged. "house-elves serve their households… but what is a household, really?"

"A Household is a Household."

"Some house-elves serve wizarding families, but the Hogwarts elves obviously serve the school. And I've read that the Ministry has house-elves, too." Hermione was looking down at her papers, but, from the look in her eyes, she wasn't actually seeing them. "Have house-elves really always served wizards, in some way?"

"This one has been a Hogwarts house-elf for this one's entire life."

And that wasn't a plain 'yes' or 'no', which he suspects means the actual answer leans more towards the 'no' side of things. House-elves have not always served wizards in the way that they do today.

It was made to be this way.

Probably by the Ministry of Magic, if Sans had to guess. Probably a lot of governments, actually, assuming that there were house-elves living outside of the borders of so-called 'Magical Britain'—

Outside the borders.

Borders which aren't so much marked out on a map as they are divisions between people: magical versus muggle. A place like Diagon Alley is 'Magical Britain', but the normal apartment complex a block away is not. Not really.

And wouldn't it just be terribly inconvenient, for wizards and their secrecy, if a house-elf could want to make those apartments their Household?

Sans opted to keep those suspicions to himself for now, instead asking, "do any elves just look after the land, somewhere no wizards live?"

"…This one heard stories, when this one was much younger." Ambee tugged at their earlobe, still cautious of where these questions were heading. "Stories of wizards moving to Households and building there, if they wanted a house-elf's help." Then their voice dropped to a whisper, as though to impart a secret. "This one also heard that this was true of Hogwarts."

Hermione looked thrilled, in a shocked kind of way. "I'd read that Helga Hufflepuff brought the house-elves to work at Hogwarts, but… it was the other way around wasn't it?"

"Whether true, miss, this one cannot say," replied Ambee, quickly. "We's only pass the stories on."

"Assuming that is true, then house-elves were enslaved at some point after Hogwarts was established." She jotted something down. "Mind you, that doesn't give us a particularly narrow range."

Ambee had twitched, just slightly, when Hermione directly called their circumstances slavery. But the old elf didn't actually say anything about it. Interesting.

"hey, it's somewhere to start." Sans pushed away his barely-touched oatmeal, standing up with a stretch. The dinner rush was wrapping up, so he figured they should too. "maybe real old stories, folktales and the like."

Hermione gasped. "Brownies!"

"you want dessert?"

Ambee stifled an amused snort, and turned away to hide their expression when Sans glanced at them. "Wizards do not call us by that name often anymore, miss," they said, once the unprofessional urge to laugh had passed. "Us elves have gone by many names, this one could not know them all."

"But, even I heard stories about Brownies when I was growing up!" Hermione sounded like she was protesting something, but wasn't clear on what. "I'm muggleborn!"

"you probably heard of dragons and unicorns, too," Sans remarked. "the magical world wasn't so cut off in the past."

Certainly not nearly as cut off as monsterkind had been under the mountain, and the humans top-side definitely still had stories about them. That had caused a few diplomatic problems, actually, since old folktales of monsters in the dark don't make a great foundation for amicable relations. But they'd been working on that, up on the surface.

At least until things would reset again.

Point is, it makes sense that non-magical society would still have its fairytales. It would be worth looking into them, at least to compare differing accounts. Maybe they'll find some wizard censorship that muggle stories dodged, that'd be neat.

Hermione finally seemed to pick up on the fact that Sans was getting ready to head out, and quickly started gathering up her things.

"Has this one helped you, Miss Granger?"

"Oh! Very much, yes, thank you." She put the lid back on her box and tucked it under her arm. "Though in some ways I feel like I just have more questions now!"

"eh, you know how it goes," Sans said with a shrug and a sly grin. "truth is often stranger in fiction."

"…I don't think that's how that goes."

"still true."

"And the actual phrase makes more sense, in this case," Hermione continued.

"well, that's assuming we're not in fiction right now."

She stared at him, blank. "What?"

Ambee interrupted them with a snap of their fingers, lifting the dirty dinner dishes into the air—though they gave Sans a pointed look when they noticed how little he'd eaten. "This one is pleased to hear that this one has helped you, miss."

"Can I— I mean, would you mind if I came again, to ask more questions?"

"This one lives to serve." The old house-elf considered Hermione for a moment, no doubt noticing her wince. "You are always welcome to ask questions," Ambee added, the wrinkles around their eyes crinkling with their smile. "Understanding the needs of the Household is a great virtue."

"see?" Sans quirked a brow at her. "you can ask all the questions you want."

Smiling despite herself, Hermione scoffed and turned to head for the door. "Now you're just making fun of me."

Sans, of course, just grinned.


Author's Note:

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Undertale.

The tournament is cool and all, but yaknow what's even cooler?—fighting for civil rights.

Happy New Year! Though we're not quite there yet for me, as of posting.
2024 certainly had it's ups and downs—definitely one really BIG down, but… I guess we'll just have to see what we can make of it! Here's hoping 2025 is a good year for everyone!
(I'm going back to college for a Master's degree, actually. A bit nerve-wracking, but also exciting!)

I haven't really written much with the house-elves up to this point, basically just Kreacher. But man, I feel like the books could have done so much more with the elves. It's so weird that this whimsical magical society just… has an entire race enslaved, and nothing happens with that! Like, my gosh, you can't just introduce magical slavery and then just ignore it.
The house-elves can like the work, sure. They can like helping out, cooking and cleaning and looking after people. No problem! But c'mon, that does NOT justify literal slavery! Nothing does! And you cannot look at how Dobby acts in the second book and tell me that there's not some kinda magical compulsion going on there.

I want to finish the year off on a high note, so I'm also posting a quick chapter for The Undesired Second Chance!
Next chapter will probably take a month or so, and I'm not sure which fanfic my brain will latch onto… I'll just keep writing every day and see which get finished first, I suppose!

As ever and always, thank you all so much for the reviews, follows, and favorites!
And again, Happy New Year!

Join the Discord if you're interested! Invite code: m3CFXnC

Stay safe, and see ya on the flipside, everyone!