Winky Speaks

There is a time before a House Elf is given a name. Winky remembers as far back as the day she met her Master, but I remember back even further, to the time when I was still I and not Winky, before I learned that to be a good House Elf, one must speak of herself only in the third person, to show that she has no thoughts about herself, and is nothing more than her Master's slave.

My mother told me that slavery was the highest beauty an Elf could aspire to. She told me that when I was old enough, Master would give me a name. I didn't understand why the names of Elves were silly and childish compared to human ones, but Mother knew. She said that our names are the sort at which masters would laugh, to show that we are slaves, and slavery is the highest beauty a House Elf can aspire to.

I didn't understand anything at first. I didn't know what slavery meant, or submission, or any of those other words that Mother and Aunt Tishy used so often. I knew the words were beautiful, though, from the way they said them, with awe and reverence. Aunt Tishy finally explained what slavery meant, long before I met Master for the first time, and became His Winky. It meant that once I had a name, I would become His, His property, and I would serve His every whim. This was true happiness, my Aunt said, and as I saw her face glow, I believed her, and I couldn't wait to be a slave.

There came a day when one of my cousins was given clothes. He had made a mistake with the ironing of Master's son's bedsheets, and they had caught on fire. Master put it out with a wave of His wand, and Mooki ran to shut his ears in the oven door. I heard him wailing with pain as he did so, and I wanted to stop him, but when I suggested it, Mother looked at me like I had said something unforgivable.

"Stop it? Mooki is being a good House Elf and is showing how much he loves being a slave. Being punished for doing bad things is how a House Elf shows he is true and loyal." And being a slave was the highest beauty a House Elf could aspire to. This much I knew.

The oven door was not enough though, and, with much ceremony, Master presented Mooki with a sock. I was not allowed to watch, but I listened, and I heard the way that my family said the word "clothes." It was a filthy curse. Mooki was cast forth, disowned from our family and from the Family, as well. He was tarnished, soiled, a traitor. He could never see us again.

That night, I cried. I had loved Mooki, and now I was never allowed to say his name or think about him, ever again. My mother heard me, though, and once again she scolded me.

"Mooki was being a bad House Elf. He was so bad he didn't deserve to be a slave anymore, and you shouldn't cry for someone so bad. Not if you want to be a good slave. Then you must hate anyone who is a bad slave to the master." I did want to be a good slave, more than anything. And I told myself again and again that Mooki was bad. When I pictured his face in my mind, I made him look like a monster, and soon I came to realize that he really was bad. He had deserved...I couldn't make myself think the word "clothes." It was too naughty.

And then, almost too soon, it came to be the time when I was to meet my Master. I had never seen him before, or any of the other Humans, and though Mother had warned me that they were big, much bigger than us, when I first saw him, I squeaked and hid my face in my mother's tea towel. He was giant, so much bigger than me that I couldn't even imagine how much--he could have crushed me under one foot, if he'd wanted to.

Mother elbowed me sharply then, and whispered, "You is not being a good House Elf. You is being afraid of Master hurting you. It is good if Master hurts you--it is a sign that you are being a good slave." The words calmed me. Being a slave was the greatest beauty a House Elf could aspire to. I looked up at him, willing him to make me a slave, hoping for it with all my might.

Master looked down on me. "She looks to be strong. Are you strong, little Elf?"

"Yes, Master!" I exclaimed eagerly, wishing as hard as I could that he would like me and want me to be his slave. "I is strong. I is a good worker!"

"Excellent," he boomed. His voice sounded like thunder. "I shall call you Winky."

It was the most wonderful feeling I--Winky, I was Winky now--had ever felt. It was like a light turning on in Winky's head--Winky had a name, and she was a slave now. It was just a beautiful as Mother and Aunt Tishy had described. Winky didn't really feel any different, but she just knew being a slave would be wonderful. After all, to be a slave was the highest beauty a House Elf could aspire to.

"Winky is so proud to be a slave of Master!" Winky squeaked to her Mother after the Master had left their presence. "Winky is so proud to have a name, so she can stop using the bad word "I." Winky is a slave now!" Winky bragged. Winky's youngest cousin, who didn't have a name yet, looked up at Winky with wide, excited eyes, and she could barely contain her pride.

* * *

It was many years later that Master gave Winky clothes, and she felt as though her life was over. Winky had served Master well for a long, long time--she had been a slave while Master's son had done evil dark magic, but he was still Master Barty, and she was His slave, and she served Him, because it was beautiful to do so. But Winky had made Master look bad in front of other Wizards--she hadn't meant to, but it had happened all the same--and now she had clothes and nowhere to go, and she was just as bad an Elf as Mooki had been.

Winky was a monster, shamed and hideous.

And then Winky met Dobby, who was an even worse House Elf than Winky had ever been. Dobby wanted to be free. He didn't want to be a slave. Winky told herself that being a slave was the greatest beauty a House Elf could aspire to. She told herself over and over again. But Dobby--bad, evil Dobby--somehow made her think, as he was kind and sweet and found her a job working for good Master Dumbledore at Hogwarts, that maybe, maybe, it wasn't true after all.

Not even Dobby would call himself "I." Even when asking for pay, and days off--the scandal!--he wouldn't do that. But it was something Winky thought about sometimes, when the butterbeer fogged up her mind and made her weep. What if she could take off the name her Master had given her? What if she could just be "I" again? Winky didn't think she was brave enough for that. She would never, ever say anything, or wonder why it felt so much nicer to live in a place where the Elves didn't have to iron their fingers if they burnt the dinner, or mention that having a warm place to sleep made her feel more loved than Master Barty ever had. But in Winky's head, Winky might just begin calling myself "I."