Half Magic

III

Hermione awoke to a clattering noise. Her eyes fluttered open and immediately focused on the thin, woebegone shape of a house-elf who was in the process of setting fresh logs in the grate.

"Good morning," she said.

The house-elf started and dropped the remaining log he held. At least, Hermione assumed it was a he, judging by the stained tea towel wrapped around his lower half. His eyes were large and luminous, golden as an owl's. "A thousand pardons for waking you, Mistress Granger."

She waved a hand as if to brush those unneeded apologies aside, then pushed back the covers so she could swing her legs over the side of the bed and stand up. It was cold in the chamber; at once she reached for the warm fleece nightrobe her parents had given her the previous Christmas.

Once upon a time she might have tried to keep the house-elf from performing domestic duties on her behalf, but over the last few years it had begun to sink in that house-elves were actually offended by a human's insistence on doing things for herself. She would never stop hating the house-elves' acceptance of their endless servitude. She had just finally realized that arguing with them about it seemed to upset them far more than the work they were asked to do.

So Hermione watched as the unknown house-elf leaned over the grate, clicked his fingers together to make the necessary spark, then commenced poking at the logs and tinder until the flame caught. It was a series of actions she'd seen a thousand times, one so ordinary that her brain required a few seconds to catch up with what she had just witnessed.

"Was that magic?" she inquired. At least her voice sounded steady, although she had to bury her shaking hands in the pockets of her robe.

The house-elf tilted his head to one side. "Pardon?"

"The spark you used to start the fire. Was that magic -- house-elf magic?"

"Yes, Mistress Granger. We have these little magics to help us in our work." His tiny forehead creased, and he added hastily, "If Miss Granger disapproves -- if you would like me to start the fire without -- " And he began to lean toward the grate, as if ready to put out the fire with his bare hands if she found fault with its method of construction.

"No, no," Hermione said at once. "It's a lovely fire. It's just that..."

She hesitated. Did the house-elves even have an inkling of the current state of wizarding magic at Hogwarts, or were they blissfully unaware, their own powers -- for whatever reason -- untouched? Somehow she found that scenario less difficult to believe than she would have liked. The house-elves did everything they could to keep themselves hidden away. There was a strict divide between their lives and those of Hogwarts' human denizens. It was entirely possible that the elves had gone on quietly with their chores and had never noticed anything was amiss. And it was equally possible that the Hogwarts staff, Minerva McGonagall included, had never considered the seamless service they received simply because it was so seamless.

Only Hermione noticed, just because she had an eccentric (to the rest of the wizarding world, anyway) interest in house-elves. She wondered how long it would have taken for someone to pick up on the fact that the diminutive household staff had no problem using the magical gifts with which they'd been born.

Professor Snape must know of this at once.

"Excuse me," she said to the house-elf, who blinked up at her with wide, startled eyes. No doubt he was unused to receiving the common courtesies humans exchanged amongst themselves.

She hurried out of the room and marched across the small antechamber that separated her chambers from Professor Snape's, then knocked on the door. Her bedroom had no clock, and her Muggle watch was still tucked into the toiletry case in her valise, so she had no idea of the time. Not that it mattered. Her news was important enough that it merited a rude awakening.

The door swung inward, and Snape stared down at her. Apparently he had been up for some time, as he was dressed in his black frock coat and matching trousers, although the long robes were nowhere in evidence.

Sardonic dark eyes took in her Muggle nightrobe and bare feet. "And to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

No, she would not blush. Perhaps it hadn't been entirely wise to rush over here after just rolling out of bed, but at least she was completely covered up. The stone pavers might as well have been a sheet of ice against her bare feet, however.

She noted that a faded runner of Persian weave covered the floor under the Potions master's black boots. "Might I come in?"

Without speaking, he stepped aside to allow her entry. The rug felt marvelous against her toes as she moved down the short hallway and into the sitting area. Flames crackled in the hearth, and a leather-backed volume lay face down on the arm of the plump chair which faced the fireplace. Hermione wished she could see the title of the book Snape had been reading, but it was far enough away that she couldn't inspect it without being completely obvious.

He followed her into the sitting room and paused to one side of the fireplace, still silent. Obviously he expected her to explain why she would choose to show up on his doorstep early in the morning while still wearing her nightclothes.

"It's not all magic that doesn't work," she said without preamble. "It's just human magic that doesn't."

Was that a flicker of interest in those cold black eyes? Difficult to say. Certainly his blank expression showed no alteration. "And what makes you think that?"

"I saw a house-elf start a fire just now with only a spark off his fingertip," Hermione replied. Then she felt a flash of irritation -- at herself, for not asking the house-elf his name. His eyes were quite distinctive, and she supposed she would recognize him if she saw him again, but still it had been clumsy of her. "I asked him about it, and he said it was his magic -- house-elf magic."

"Show me," Snape said.

Hermione felt a twinge of irritation at his peremptory tone but decided the matter at hand was urgent enough to ignore his rudeness. It wasn't as if she hadn't had plenty of practice dealing with his brusque behavior during her years as a student.

Maintaining a pointed silence, she returned to her rooms, Snape a quiet shadow at her heels. Too late she realized she'd left the bed a jumble of unmade covers.

But the Potions master didn't spare a glance for the four-poster monstrosity, or its messy sheets and blankets. He stared at the fire, which blazed away happily. The house-elf who lit it was nowhere in evidence.

Mentally Hermione cursed her stupidity. Perhaps she'd become too dependent on a morning cup of coffee to get her brain going these past few years. "I should have told him to stay."

Professor Snape drawled, "Yes, that would have been useful."

"It's no matter," she snapped. "I know the way to the kitchens -- we can find him there and speak to him. Also, we can interview the other house-elves if necessary. It will be more efficient that way."

"Of course."

She refused to let the ironic inflection in those two words bother her. She also realized that if she were about to commence tromping all over the castle with Severus Snape in tow, it might be better to change into something more suitable than a fleece robe and a flannel nightgown.

"If I might have some time to get dressed -- "

"That would be wise." His gaze flickered to the window, where the sun had just begun to peek out from behind a thick bank of clouds. "Half an hour?"

"Twenty minutes." That would mean forgoing a bath, but she couldn't see Snape waiting around for her to wash her hair. She'd just have her bath tonight before bed. It wasn't the end of the world.

Besides, she had a feeling she was going to need the relaxation of a bath after a day spent in the Potions master's company.

***

Of all the ways Severus Snape might have imagined his day beginning, none had included Hermione Granger showing up on his doorstep clad only in her nightclothes. To be sure, she'd been as covered up as any student muffled in school robes, but her appearance had been somewhat disconcerting.

Equally disconcerting was her revelation that house-elf magic apparently still worked. In most cases he would have said he'd have to see such a thing for himself before he'd believe it, but for all her faults, the irrepressible Miss Granger wasn't known for misrepresenting the truth. If she'd seen a house-elf use magic, then she had. Or at least she thought she had.

That put a different twist on things. A blanket negation of magic, unprecedented as it might be, made more sense than one which appeared to selectively suppress one species' magical abilities yet left another intact. Like it or not, the puzzle seemed only to be gaining more and more pieces.

He went back to his room to wait while Hermione changed out of her nightclothes. To pass the time, he picked up the book he had been reading -- a new translation of Cadogan's Flora of the Hebrides. For some reason, he had a difficult time concentrating. In his mind's eye he kept seeing Hermione, her hair a wild tangle around her shoulders, her cheeks flushed with excitement and her eyes shining. She hadn't stopped to think whether it was proper to charge into her former teacher's room in her nightgown and robe, feet bare. No, her only concern was to let him know of her discovery as soon as possible.

Such passion and determination should be admired...except when the mental visual it provided proved to be so distracting. He had no clear explanation for why, save that it had been a very long time since he'd spent much time around anyone, let alone a lovely young woman. That in itself should be enough to take his mind off more important matters.

He stopped himself there. Lovely? Hermione Granger? It was not an adjective he would have ever thought to use to describe her. She had been an awkward girl, after all...teeth too prominent, hair a bushy mess, robes and uniform always slightly askew. Even if he were the type of man to lust after underage girls -- which he most decidedly was not -- she hadn't been someone to attract any particular attention. Well, not that sort of attention, at any rate.

But she had grown into herself these past seven years. The mane of hair had been tamed somewhat, the teeth had assumed normal proportions somewhere down the line, and she carried herself with a grace quite alien to the sloppy schoolgirl she had once been. If he had passed her on the street, he quite probably would have never recognized her.

Well and good. So she had changed. Her appearance shouldn't distract him from the matter at hand, the reason why he was here at all. Minerva McGonagall and the Ministry expected him to solve this mystery. He couldn't very well do that while dwelling on Hermione Granger's dubious charms.

A knock came at the door, and he laid his neglected book aside. Hermione waited outside, dressed in sensible gray wool robes, her hair pulled back into a clasp. A few wayward curls drifted around her face, but overall she looked very neat and plain, quite unlike the wild-eyed woman who had barged into his room a short time earlier. And she had done it in less than the twenty minutes she had promised earlier.

He wouldn't permit himself to praise her efficiency. "The kitchens?"

Something danced in her brown eyes and was gone before he could tell what it was. "Of course, Professor."

Then she turned and strode purposefully down the corridor, back toward the main entrance hall. She took the door to the right and led Snape down another hallway, this one lined with pictures of food, all of which served to remind him that he hadn't yet broken his fast. They descended a wide stone staircase and stopped at a large still life of carefully rendered fruit.

"Never been down here, have you?" she inquired.

Mystified, he responded, "Why would I?"

She appeared to have no answer to that. Instead, she leaned toward the painting and tickled the rounded yellow-green pear that occupied a prominent position in the fruit bowl. The pear giggled, then assumed the shape of a door handle.

"More magic," she said, then pushed the door inward.

Snape wouldn't allow an expression of astonishment to reveal itself on his face, but he had to admit that he was a bit startled. It was one thing to hear Hermione tell him that certain forms of magic apparently still worked and quite another to see it for himself.

The room they entered had high ceilings and an enormous fireplace at the far end. An equally enormous fire blazed there, welcome warmth after the castle's chilly corridors. A small army of house-elves stood at various stations around the chamber: at the stove, chopping meat and vegetables at the huge tables in the center of the room. It seemed overkill, considering how few people currently remained at Hogwarts, but perhaps the house-elves had a difficult time breaking their normal routine.

Smells of warm cinnamon and frying bacon met his nose. His stomach rumbled.

Hermione shot an amused glance in his direction. "I'm sure the house-elves would be more than happy to give us some breakfast after we talk to them."

There being no way to reply to her comment without admitting that most unbecoming stomach growl, he said only, "Do you see the house-elf who laid the fire in your room?"

Her lips quirked, but she was mercifully silent as she scanned the room. To Snape's eyes, the kitchen servants all looked the same. He hoped she had some way of distinguishing the house-elf who had tended her fire.

"Over there, by the hearth," she said after a moment.

Without looking back to see whether he followed, she strode across the room toward the elf in question. Snape tried to ignore the curious (or was that horrified?) looks of the other house-elves as he made his own way toward the fireplace. No doubt they were unused to human intrusion into their domestic realm. He would much rather have preferred to conduct this interview elsewhere, but of course the indefatigable Miss Granger didn't seem to care overmuch about her surroundings.

As he approached, he saw the house-elf cowering away from Hermione, although there was nothing in her stance to suggest any sort of threat. Then again, perhaps the blaze of intellectual curiosity in her eyes was enough.

"No, it was a wonderful fire," he heard her say. She paused, as if to acknowledge his presence, then returned her attention to the house-elf. "It's just the magic you used -- "

"We always use magic," the elf squeaked. Its golden eyes seemed almost to glow in the reflected light from the hearth. Snape had the distinct impression that it briefly contemplated hurling itself into the fire to escape Hermione's questioning.

"I know," she said, with a patience he hadn't expected. "But have any of you stopped to think why the school is so empty right now?"

A pause then, as the house-elf furrowed its sallow brow. "It's the holidays."

"Yes, of course. But usually there are still more people here than this."

Another silence. Then, "We did only cook up ten rashers of bacon this morning."

"Exactly."

The house-elf gave her a puzzled look while Snape tried not to think about those ten rashers of bacon.

"There's no magic," she said. "That is, there's no magic for us. You've gone about your business -- and splendidly, I might add -- but it's difficult to have a school for magic when none of the students can actually use it."

The brow-furrowing which followed this statement seemed likely to dig permanent grooves in the house-elf's forehead. "How can there be no magic?"

"That's what Professor Snape and I are trying to find out."

It seemed as good an entry to the conversation as any. "Have you seen anything unusual?" Snape asked. "Or heard anything?"

A head shake that stopped mid-jiggle. "Not seen, exactly. But some of the other house-elves were saying they didn't want to go back to the seventh cellar."

"The seventh cellar?" Hermione put in. "What's that?"

"Root storage, mistress. Potatoes and rutabagas and such. There's a series of cellars beneath the kitchen. I haven't been, because my job is the fires, and the wood is in the first cellar, but Dash and Blink said they heard something...moving. Wouldn't go back in. A few others went and didn't hear anything, but no one's been for a bit." His eyes opened even wider, if possible. "Has someone been complaining about no potatoes?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Snape replied, halfway amused despite himself. If he stopped to think about it, there had been a definite lack of root-based dishes for the past week or so, but since the food at Hogwarts had always been so varied and uniformly delicious, he hadn't noticed. And if he hadn't, he doubted that the few staff members left at Hogwarts would have noted their absence.

"Well, that settles it," Hermione said. That determined glint was back in her eyes.

As soon as Snape had heard the house-elf mention the cellars, he'd had a notion where this might end up. That didn't make her next words any more welcome, however.

"We must go down to the seventh cellar at once."

26