Cogito Ergo Sum

For all his arrogance and ordering, my newest Master truly knows not that he is playing with fire. Pah! Master. He does not deserve the title. My late Mistress always said-ah, but that doesn't matter now, does it? She was just like him, as was every human I've met.

They're all the same, those wizards. They order us and punish us and look down upon us with ease. We're their machines, their mindless slaves. I once served the Blacks, but then came the foolish Master Sirius with the Order of the Phoenix. There was a brief respite in which I served my Mistress Narcissa, but that too ended. Now I serve Master Potter, who's just like the others. I regurgitate my late Mistress's words whenever I can but I don't believe any of it. Pureblood, Halfblood, Mudblood. They're all the same. Despicable primates with superiority complexes.

There are a few house elves that struggle to break free from their bondage-true rarities I assure you. They glimmer of hope and dream of heroics. Those pathetic fools believe that they invent freedom as they parade about in their clothes. This stupid Dobby has left one Master for another. He slaves away among ovens and pans and even continues to punish himself for mistakes. Has his life truly improved?

Then, there are others who blindly serve their masters, bowing and slaving. Whispers and secrets enter their eyes and mouths and never come out. Those one-minded souls know nothing of themselves as they wait upon their families. And when they are freed, they become disoriented and indifferent. In the Hogwarts kitchens, I see Dobby's friend, Winky, drugged and listless. Her life isn't much to speak of either.

I am neither. I don't know what I am but I neither break nor bind. I am an old rag, dirty and worn until one can no longer trust it to clean crystal properly anymore. My bones ache and my muscles creak but no one hears or cares. I am simply expected to serve this whole string of masters, every grumble under my breath an irrevocable sin.

Those red-haired twins, being the true devils they are, called me a "nutter" and their relentless mother wondered what I've been doing all these years in the House of Black. Did any of them realize that I am simply too old to care for anything? Of course not. They did not hear the grunts of pain as I rescue my Masters' treasures away from destruction. They did not comprehend the wrinkles on my body or the white in my hair. They did not hear the faltering rhythm within my chest. These people questioned why my ultimate wish was to have my head mounted along with those of my ancestors. But, surely, if any were in my place, would they prefer the life of servitude instead? I think not.

Now, I'm simply a remnant, a knot that had yet to be tied. I feel as if all these humans are just waiting for my death, drawing out my life until I've been too stretched out and unable to do anything. I am utterly useless in their eyes.

The brown-headed human, that friend of my new Master, is stupid. She thinks that I'm her ally, willing to join her in her useless crusade to provide house elves rights. House elves having rights?! Ha! It will never happen. We will continue to be despised, downtrodden, and subservient. How can she, a dirty Mudblood, try to change that? Her ideas are certainly wishful and idiotic.

Yet, as I wrap myself in her Christmas present, a warm quilt that she had made herself, I can't help but secretly enjoy this comfort. I remain warm even as I jostle around the other house elves on the chilly floor of the Hogwarts kitchen. I can't help but think that if this feeling is true freedom, unfettered by mores and tradition, I think I might begin to like it.