Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat

Chapter 42: Sticky Indeed

---

At 4:45AM Sunday morning, the peaceful gloom of Malfoy Manor's grand entryway was disturbed by an eruption of green flames from one of the fireplaces on the landing high above.

A shiny black Wanmaker wand soared out of the flames first. It described a ballistic arc, bounced twice on the elegant hand-woven Persian rug, and came to rest in the center of the landing.

Next Draco Malfoy made his appearance, courtesy of a mean-spirited shove by Special Ops' Rudeo Nesbitt. He stumbled and managed to catch himself on all fours, then pounced on the wand and whirled on his knees to face the fireplace as if he expected Nesbitt to come out after him. But the green flames flickered and died, and he was left alone in the near-darkness.

Alone, that is, except for Hermione in her fly form, and a diminutive house-elf who peered at him over the top step of the grand staircase with drooping ears and apprehensive eyes.

---

Malfoy put his hands on his knees and bowed his head for a moment.

"Weasley, Weasley," he muttered to himself. "What the hell have you done?" He sounded weary and disbelieving. He massaged his eyes with his non wand-hand, then sighed and climbed rather stiffly to his feet, storing the wand in his forearm-sheath.

The house-elf stood up as well. The little fellow was wearing nothing but a tool-belt of sorts consisting of a number of different scrub-brushes strung together on a piece of rope. "Hewo Mathter," said the little fellow, tongue protruding oddly. The tongue was curiously large - so large it didn't quite fit into his small green mouth.

"Dingle," Malfoy acknowledged distractedly. He barely gave the house-elf a glance as he started down the steps into the ballroom.

Dingle turned to follow, bare feet slapping on the marble and scrub-brushes clattering together. "Mathter vewy late, Dingle hope Mathter all wite. Anything Dingle can do for Mathter?"

"Are you done with the staircase yet?" Malfoy inquired coolly, not bothering to look down as he spoke.

"No," said Dingle, shoulders drooping. He came to a halt and let Malfoy walk away from him. "Dingle not done yet," he said softly. "But Dingleth tongue vewy thore."

It was awful enough to see real evidence that Malfoy still owned some elves. But was he really forcing that poor elf to clean that enormous staircase with his tongue? How perfectly horrid! Hermione had to wonder what S.P.E.W. had come to when they allowed someone who actively abused his elves sit on their board as the owners'-representative.

Just as she was entertaining the rather reckless idea of going back and changing to human form to try to convince the elf of the benefits of freedom, two more elves appeared with a BANG and started skipping along on either side of Malfoy.

"Master is back!" enthused the first of them.

"Master all wet," tsked the other. "Not good get wet in cold weather Master, might become ill."

"I'll try to remember that next time," said Malfoy sourly. "Has either of you seen Sticky about?"

"Blatz not see Sticky, but Blatz here to help instead," said the first elf opportunistically. "Anything Master want, Blatz do right away."

"Misty too," exclaimed the second elf, seizing hold of Malfoy's hand in an apparent attempt to draw his attention away from Blatz. "Master need anything right now? Misty very helpful."

"Blatz more helpful than Sticky and Misty both," began the first elf, but Malfoy flicked his hand free and waved them both away.

"Not now. Go find Sticky and tell him I wish to speak to him at once."

They fell back, disappointed. Then Blatz looked at Misty imperiously. "Blatz find Sticky first."

"No, Misty find Sticky first," said the other elf, thrusting her rubbery green lower lip out defiantly.

And with two BANGs, they were gone.

"Pestilential little beggars," muttered Malfoy.

---

Hermione knew that the Malfoy family had owned five house-elves at the time of the elves' legal emancipation. With Poopsie having been freed since, that left four. The four must be Dingle, Blatz, Misty, and Sticky. The poor things!

---

Malfoy crossed the cold empty floor of the ballroom, heading for some large double-doors set at the far end. Beyond the doors lay a formal dining room, with two massive tables stretching its length and serving counters lining one side. Tall leaded glass windows, currently black with night, surrounded the room on the other three sides. A chandelier crossed the ceiling in a sinuous curve, forming a wingless dragon or flying snake out of thousands of hanging crystals.

Malfoy strode through this room without interruption and entered a more modest door at the rear. This led to a kitchen lined with counters, pantries, gleaming cabinetry and racks of implements. All was dark and quiet; this particular kitchen was probably never used except during ballroom events where hundreds of people had to be fed.

It was here that a fourth elf intercepted him with a resounding crack! that echoed off the high ceilings.

"Hello Master Draco, Itsy has many letters for yous," enthused the little one, who was dressed in a public owl-service mail sack with holes cut for the arms. She had a huge bundle of scrolls and envelopes clutched in her arms.

Itsy? thought Hermione suspiciously. I thought the fourth one was Sticky?

"Not now, Itsy," said Malfoy, as he pushed through a door at the very back of the kitchen. It was apparently a servant's door leading into the main Manor, for he emerged into an area of much older construction, thick-walled and low-ceilinged. The corridor's walls were lined with elaborate tapestries separated by gargoyle sconces bearing magically lit torches, and an exquisitely knotted Turkish tribal rug ran down its length.

Undeterred by the brush-off, Itsy bounced after Malfoy.

"Letters from Margie Jackson and James Patterson," she said. "Many letters from Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. Harry Potter Master! Should open them now."

Malfoy looked increasingly stressed out. "Wonderful."

"Letters from Blitzkrieg and Rammhome and Faraday Publicists. Big letter from S.P.C.M.A…."

"Put them in my study," said Malfoy. "I'll deal with them later."

"Master not remember? Desk burned up in study," said Itsy. "Put on floor?"

Pop! PopPopPop! Four or five more elves appeared, blocking Malfoy's way halfway down the corridor.

"Master's here!" Hermione heard another elf's voice squeal from somewhere in the distance.

What on earth, she thought, temporarily distracted from the question of just why Harry Potter would be owling Draco Malfoy. How many elves are there?

Two of the newcomers were Blatz and Misty again. They pushed a third elf forward, one who was looking very nervous indeed.

"Blatz found Sticky," said Blatz triumphantly.

"Misty f-" began Misty, before receiving a sharp elbow in the ribs from Blatz. "Umf," she finished up, rubbing her side.

---

Sticky was a male elf of about average height. He was wearing what appeared to be a crisp new copy of the Daily Prophet strung on a bit of string to form an effective loincloth.

Malfoy stopped and stared at Sticky with an intensity that rivaled that of his stare at the Aurors at Segal's Roost. Under this scrutiny, Sticky's ears wilted in a pitiful display of submission.

"Sticky," said Malfoy, quietly and ever so dangerously.

"Y-yes Master!" squeaked the unfortunate elf.

"Didn't I charge you personally with destroying my Time Turner, two years ago almost to this very day?"

Ah, thought Hermione.

If Malfoy had a Time Turner, that was another possible explanation for the surprise appearance of the additional wand in St. Mungo's courtyard.

If Nesbitt had done something so awful it was worth avoiding at any cost, Malfoy might have gone back and left the wand for himself in order to get out of whatever-it-was. Resulting, instead, in the version of events Hermione witnessed. Hermione didn't know what could be worse than getting shoved into a torrent of freezing water and shot up with hexes a few times, but it was certain that Nesbitt of all people would be capable of it if there was something.

"Yes, Master did tell Sticky destroy Time Turner," the elf quavered.

"Really," said Malfoy softly. "And did you do it?"

"Er," said Sticky. He grabbed his own ears and pulled them down almost to his shoulders. The other elves watched with interest.

Malfoy pressed the fingers of his free hand to his forehead and appeared to attempt to gather patience.

"That wasn't quite a yes, Sticky," he said.

Hermione couldn't help but notice that a few additional elves had sneaked in and were watching from around the edges. Word apparently travelled quickly at Malfoy Manor.

"M-master," said Sticky, twisting and yanking at his ears in a torturous fashion. "You loved yous Time Turner so very much. Sticky always knew you be wanting it back someday." A mix of sighs came from the watching elves, ranging from groans of dismay to something very like admiration. This seemed to spur Sticky to greater desperation. "But Master, Time Turner is gone!"

After a long moment, Malfoy removed his hand from his eyes and fished in his inner pocket for his flask. He tried to take a swig from it, but only a few drops came out. He sighed.

"Bitsy, refill this please. The rest of you are dismissed. Not you, Sticky."

The smallest of the elves reached up with both hands and accepted the flask, then hurried off surrounded by a flock of the others. Hermione heard the beginnings of a nervous-sounding argument. It sounded like sparrows squabbling.

"Hands off Blatz. Master give Bitsy flask."

"Master drink too much. Not filling flask all the time, Bitsy."

"None of Pokey's business! Flask is Bitsy's job!"

"Pokey right Bitsy!"

"Get lost Wicki! Nobody ask Wicki and Pokey!"

The squeaky voices faded, to be followed by several echoing BANGs after the elves had gotten some distance away.

---

House-elves were a very distracting subject for Hermione, but the concept of a Time Turner becoming involved in this Batwing mess was significantly disturbing. She hadn't really thought it through before, but if there was a Time Turner, things could turn more than a bit ugly.

Now that they were alone in the hallway, Sticky stared up at Malfoy with his knees trembling.

"Sticky, Sticky, Sticky," said Malfoy. There was a longish pause. "Whatever am I going to do with you? First that business with Ginger's cage, and now this. It's really the last straw, I think; too many incidents with the same house-elf won't do at all."

"O master!" cried Sticky, flinging himself at Malfoy's feet and hugging him around the knees. "Not free Sticky! Not shame Sticky with clothes! Time Turner is destroyed! Even though Master loved his Time Turner very very much and Sticky almost couldn't bear to do it."

"I didn't love it, I was addicted to the damned thing," said Malfoy sharply. "Why else do you think I wanted it gotten rid of permanently? Now if you didn't destroy it, what did you do with it?"

---

Sometimes when a moment of sudden intense clarity struck, it was entirely unwelcome. Hermione was coming to realize she'd made a colossal mistake in suggesting the use of a Time Turner to Malfoy back at Segal's Roost.

Not that she'd literally meant for him to actually use one, mind you. She'd only mentioned it as an example of one way to get some sleep before coming in to Batwing early in the mornings. Her point had been that Malfoy needed to spend more time at Batwing, and that there was always a way to make it happen provided he used the proper amount of imagination.

But now it seemed Malfoy had taken many of her suggestions quite literally, and despite the bad reaction to them he'd shown to her face, he'd lost no time in implementing her ideas more thoroughly and decisively than she'd ever expected. Hadn't he parted ways with his job at the Ministry less than twenty-four hours after their meeting? And if Nesbitt could be believed, Malfoy was in the process of rapidly giving up most of his political obligations as well. Now a Time Turner had entered the picture.

Hermione never thought she'd see the day when she was terrified by the effects her advice had had on a client, but that day had arrived.

What on earth is he thinking? she thought. There was no doubt in her mind that he was doing all of this because she suggested it; everything matched up. But they'd only been suggestions… tips… advice….

Malfoy could in no way, shape or form handle operating a Time Turner responsibly. For goodness' sake! She had now spent three and a half days watching him do his best to kill himself through overindulgence with everything from whiskey and greasy food to combat drugs and chronic lack of sleep, and she knew from unfortunate personal experience that a Time Turner could be very addicting indeed. Someone as prone to that sort of behavior as Malfoy was wouldn't stand a chance with one. She wouldn't be surprised if he had come to the brink of ruining himself with it before. God knew what act of will it had taken him to give it up … and now she'd gotten him started on it all over again!

And this was not going to make life any easier for the Aurors and for Arthur. As frustrated as she was with them right at the moment, they were on the side of the law. If she'd inadvertently helped Arthur by getting Malfoy to leave his Ministry position, she'd more than made up for that with this blunder. In fact, she wouldn't be surprised if she'd managed to undo all of Special Operations' work in wearing Malfoy down, because now no matter how frazzled Malfoy got, the combination of Memoralias Charm and Time Turner would make it theoretically possible for him to undo any number of mistakes.

And thirdly, as if the rest of it wasn't enough, she'd also just unleashed a monster when it came to her own tracking of Malfoy's actions. However was she going to make sure he never got near Freida and Georgia, if there were more than one of him at any given time? It was impossible! Impossible short of following him through every single Turning, which meant sticking very close by and literally landing on his person right before he did it. If Malfoy had any skill with the Time Turner at all, the five or ten minutes it'd take to get his revenge on her daughters could be slipped in so subtly Hermione might miss it unless she was in his pocket twentyfour-seven. Hermione remembered running rings around her friends with the Time Turner in school, and she'd been only thirteen years old at the time.

I'm going to have to be a lot more careful about what I tell Malfoy to do about Batwing, thought Hermione. It was clear that for whatever reason, her words were having a profound effect upon the situation.

---

"Well?" Malfoy demanded.

Sticky burst into tears. "Sticky not know, -" he began squeakily.

"Bother," said Malfoy. "Do go fetch the Time Turner and stop making a spectacle of yourself. And when you're finished, join Dingle in cleaning the Grand Staircase. It's taken him forever."

"Dingle has very small tongue, Master," said Sticky faintly. "And staircase very large. But no Time Turner exist anymore."

Malfoy frowned.

"Not exist! Sticky made sure of it," the elf insisted, his little green hands still gripping Malfoy's damp robes. "Is nowhere, Master!"

Malfoy drew the Wanmaker wand and showed it to Sticky. "Then what about this?"

Sticky's ears quirked in confusion. "Er… Sticky not know anything about wands."

"Ah," said Malfoy. "Well, let me give you a brief education about wands."

Sticky cringed as if he expected to be 'taught' with a wicked hex rather than words, but Malfoy continued.

"Firstly, wands are very expensive. Some people cannot afford one at all, while others cannot afford new ones. Unless I miss my mark, this particular wand is worth over a hundred thousand galleons."

"Oh," said Sticky, staring at it in awe.

"And wands like this don't lie about in puddles waiting for random strangers to pick them up. They certainly don't happen to choose random strangers. No, they are made very painstakingly in specialized shops, where people must go to spend several unpleasant hours attempting to figure out which one is the wand for them," said Malfoy.

Sticky looked worried.

"Ah yes," said Malfoy. "And since this wand seems to be quite suited to me, I can only imagine I did spend that time. I don't seem to recall having done it yet, so I must have done it about an hour and a half from now, at 6AM, when I have an appointment for a private fitting at Ollivander's."

Sticky's ears drooped. "Master, think you buy that wand in future and bring back to puddle?"

"Indeed," said Malfoy. "And I would go so far as to say that I must also have gone back and fulfilled my duty to the Dark Lord, rather than missing His call as Rudeo Nesbitt supposes. Otherwise I likely wouldn't have lived long enough to complete the selection of a wand. The Dark Lord does not suffer being ignored gladly."

"But," began Sticky.

"Which brings me back to my original question," said Malfoy. "Did you, or did you not, destroy my Time Turner? A simple yes or no will do."

There was a short silence.

"Yes," said Sticky.

Malfoy's face darkened with fury.

"Yes!" said Sticky desperately. "Yes, yes!"

"That does it," said Malfoy. He jammed his wand back into the sheath, then started unbuttoning his robe.

It took Sticky a moment to comprehend what Malfoy was doing, but when he did, his eyes widened with panic.

"No no no! Not clothes!"

"What on earth do I want with a house-elf who lies and disobeys?" said Malfoy. "There are plenty of others who'd be thrilled to take your place."

"But Sticky did arrange for destroy Time Turner!" Sticky waved his hands frantically. "Sticky did!"

"Well I highly doubt that," said Malfoy, "since I didn't hallucinate that I found that wand in that puddle, and I don't see how else it could have so conveniently arrived there."

"Maybe a different Time Turner in Mistress Narcissa's things," gibbered Sticky, clutching pitifully at Malfoy's robes and trying to do up some of the buttons Malfoy had already undone. "Sticky very new, Sticky not knowing. Pringle and Cholly are knowing, Sticky ask them and they look, only take a little time -"

"Honestly, can you see my mother using a Time-Turner?" Malfoy sniffed. "Have some respect. And get off me!" He slapped Sticky's groping hands away from his midriff and undid the buttons once again.

Wait a minute, thought Hermione in a rush. Had Sticky described himself as new? Had Malfoy actually acquired some of these elves years after their race had been legally emancipated? That would certainly explain why there were more of them than there were supposed to be. Did S.P.E.W. know about this?

But no - it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but her job and the safety of her family. She had to concentrate on that now.

Malfoy squirmed the rest of the way out of his robe and thrust it in Sticky's direction. "As your owner and master, I present to you-" he began.

Pop! The robe disappeared from his hand as if it had never existed.

"What the - " exclaimed Malfoy, astounded.

"Robe vanish," said Sticky breathlessly. "Oops! Not give Sticky, how unfortunate!"

"Why, you impertinent -" began Malfoy with a snarl. He whipped out his wand again.

Sticky squealed, "Sticky go ask Cholly and Pringle!" And before Malfoy could grab him, he'd vanished with a Bang.

Hermione didn't know whether to be sorry Sticky hadn't been freed, or triumphant that the elf had managed to get his way despite Malfoy's intentions.

Malfoy looked as confused and outraged as she felt, but probably for completely different reasons. He aimed a cursory warming-charm at himself, wrapped his arms around his thin under-robe, and stomped off in a huff.

---

Hermione followed him through several increasingly fancy corridors until they arrived at what appeared to be his bedroom suite. It was lavishly appointed, with an enormous four-poster bed masterfully carved with twining mermaids, a formal dressing area with floating mirrors and jade-and-ivory screens, and several doors leading off to other rooms.

"Nally!" yelled Malfoy. "Matsy!" He strode past the bed to a squat mahogany writing-desk with many drawers and cubbies, and started rummaging through it trying to find something.

"Lazy wretches. Where are you? Matsy!" He scowled petulantly and slammed the drawers open and closed harder than necessary. Finally he found what he was looking for: a handful of brown glass vials with rumpled labels. Hermione could see that "PnM" was handwritten on at least some of them in Malfoy's own hand. Pain no More, she guessed.

"Never mind," he called.

---

Like the Philosopher's Stone, medical remedies had been a focus of alchemists' obsessions for centuries. Unlike the Philosopher's Stone, there were countless ways to make potions to ease ailments - as many ways as there were wizards. The same went for painkillers specifically; Pain no More wasn't a particular potion so much as it was a family of them, with a general range of base ingredients, cooked up to the individual wizard's preferences.

Making medical potions at home had been technically illegal for quite some years now, as the Wizarding world grew more regulated and safety became more and more a concern. However, there was little hope of actually stamping out such a widespread practice any time soon. The number of wizards and witches who brewed their own remedies on the sly outnumbered those who didn't by an order of magnitude. The vast majority who broke the law did so because they failed to see what harm there could be in mixing up a bit of Mum's own wart-removal creme or dabbing on a few jots of Grandpa's old mosquito repellant - even if it gave them a wicked blue rash. And for the most part, such activities were harmless.

But anybody who could throw together an impromptu Floo Powder out of found objects knew enough about Potions to get himself into serious trouble. And judging from what Hermione had seen of Malfoy so far, it was a safe bet that he brewed his own Pain no More because he wanted something more hard-hitting than the safer and more reliable prescription painkillers given out by St. Mungo's, and the consequences bedamned.

As Malfoy retrieved one of the vials and uncorked it, Hermione discovered the contents smelled of strong tea, honey, willow-root and calendula - definitely Pain no More. The traditional ingredients were almost powerfully-scented enough to mask the evidence of more esoteric substances: True Love's Tears, powdered Sunspots, and distilled Whale Song. These last were items most people wouldn't even be able to find, much less afford. But Malfoy now had easy access to all of Batwing's catalog. There probably wasn't a potions ingredient in the world he couldn't get his hands on if he wanted it badly enough, and Hermione doubted he allowed price to stand in the way either.

She watched as he downed the contents of the vial and wondered if he had considered trying to crack the mystery of Everlasting Glue himself. Even if it was guaranteed to fail, it'd be less of a waste of those vast resources than what he was doing to himself now.

---

A door along the side of the room opened, and an aged wizard emerged looking woozy and half-asleep. His silvery hair was mussed and he was just shrugging the rest of the way into what appeared to be a manservant's uniform.

"Mister Malfoy, my apologies," said the wizard. "We were expecting you at two-thirty."

"So was the Dark Lord, and I'm a bit more concerned about His opinion than yours, Wilson," growled Malfoy.

"Oh yes, quite," said Wilson with a little chuckle that somehow managed to convey delight with Malfoy's wit instead of the supreme annoyance any normal person would have felt in his situation. "Shall we get you prepared, then?" he inquired.

"Yes, but be quick about it," said Malfoy.

"Of course," said Wilson graciously, bowing slightly and disappearing into another room.

---

It was about this time that it hit Hermione, gut level, that Malfoy was going to lead one of those Death Eater raids tonight because of that elusive Time Turner. Before buying the wand, before going to Hogsmeade, before anything. Because of her suggestion, Muggles would die who wouldn't have otherwise.

She felt sick as she watched Wilson return with an armload of heavy black cloth. Malfoy used magic to dry off his remaining clothing, and did a hasty job of slapping on some Adam Balm without bothering to disrobe any further. Then Wilson helped him into what at first glance appeared to be Muggle bullet-proof body armor. On closer inspection it was clearly Wizard-made, but there was no doubt as to what had influenced its design. Of course it made perfect sense; bullets were always going to be a risk when dealing with Muggles. Malfoy himself had been hit by bullets once before, and almost been killed by them. Something like this would offer some protection to the body and upper legs without interfering with any magical protections he might also use.

But still - between this and Malfoy's attempt to buy information on Muggle painkillers off St. James a few hours before, Hermione was starting to wonder just where he drew the line when it came to wizarding re-use of Muggle technology. Maybe Nesbitt was right about that monopoly Malfoy had created. With the resources at his disposal, his ignorance of Muggle law, and with the right consultants - greedy for reasons of their own - driving his actions, there was really no particular reason he couldn't have done it. And if he really did think it was all right to use Muggle technology so long as it was recreated in Wizarding terms first, then the fact that the monopoly had been in the defense industry did suddenly seem a lot more ominous.

After the armored robe came a black head-and-neck wrapping that left only his face exposed, and then Wilson helped him into a heavy black felt hooded robe of more traditional and symbolic design. A Death Eater's robe, thought Hermione.

For the first time, she began to think in terms of what she, personally, might be able to do to stop him from killing someone. There wasn't much, but she did have a few advantages -- he didn't know about her fly form, or even that she was watching. And, she knew his weaknesses.

During the process of the robing, several house-elves had appeared in the doorway and around the edges of the bedroom.

One of them was Bitsy, the tiny elf Malfoy had given his flask to. She popped up in front of him, next to the vanity.

"Have you filled it then?" he said, holding out his hand. "Give it here."

Bitsy nearly fell over herself as she offered the flask up. "Yes, Master Draco sir, Bitsy fill it exactly as Master wanted. Bitsy hopes there is something else Bitsy may do to serve Master, right away and with no arguing or complaint -"

"That will be all, Bitsy," said Malfoy heavily. He glanced past her to a tall skinny elf who was yearning anxiously in his direction. An expression very like pain flickered across his face. "Nally, what is it now?"

The skinny elf clasped her hands together. "Nally hopes Master not be drinking whiskey and Pain no More at the same time," she began deferentially. Then Wilson was forced to step back, and Nally was forced to duck as Malfoy scowled and threw the flask at her. It struck the wall and clattered loudly to the floor. "Nally is sorry, Master!" the elf squeaked, covering her eyeballs with her hands. "Nally not thinking before talking!"

"I should say not," said Malfoy in annoyance. "Does anyone else want to contribute any helpful suggestions before I decide how to run my life?"

Bitsy went to retrieve the fallen flask and presented it to Malfoy again.

"Er," said Sticky from behind Malfoy's back, just as he took it from her. "Matsy find Time Turner."

Malfoy spun around, causing Wilson to back off again, and causing Sticky to fling his arms over his head defensively as if he expected to have the flask thrown at him too. But Malfoy's attention darted quickly past Sticky to another elf lingering in the doorway. She was a fat little creature wearing a clean white silk pillowcase neatly monogrammed with an "M" in gold thread.

"Matsy find," she said proudly, holding up her chubby fist. There was a delicate gold chain wrapped around her hand, and dangling from it was a tiny glass snake twisted into an ouroboros with white sand inside.

"I knew it!" said Malfoy, his voice low and furious. He shoved the flask into an inner pocket then held out a hand for the Time Turner.

"All Sticky's fault," said Sticky woefully. He sank down to the floor, gripping his own ears.

"Sticky not destroy Time Turner himself," said Matsy, as she minced forward to let Malfoy have the device. "Sticky tell Poopsie destroy it for him. Bad Poopsie not destroy it but hide it instead, in scullery."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. All around him, more elves had silently appeared. There had to be ten or fifteen of them in the room now! They all were nodding in response to Matsy's words.

"Bad Poopsie try to keep it for evidence," said one of the males who hadn't spoken yet. "Freed elf not care for Master, not like good elves. Poopsie kept Time Turner, just waiting for chance to get Master in trouble. Poor Sticky not knowing. Not knowing at all."

Sticky was practically rocking back and forth in misery. "Poopsie said she knew good place to destroy it. Forge-fire, very hot, destroy it completely. Sticky believed Poopsie! Poopsie promised."

"Not smart believe bad elf, Sticky," observed Nally from behind Malfoy.

"Bad elf try to trick you," said Bitsy, who was practically clinging to the back of Malfoy's robes. "Get you in trouble with Master. Make you do bad thing."

"Sticky very, very sorry," said Sticky. "Sticky beats head on floor in sorryness for being tricked by bad Poopsie." Whump! The elf proceeded to drive his forehead into the floor so hard his feet flew into the air and Hermione would have gasped had she been in human form. The second and third thumps weren't nearly so hard as the first, and the floor was carpeted, but still. It was the floor! And he was beating his head against it!

Malfoy fingered the Time Turner wordlessly for a moment, as they spoke. The impacts of Sticky's head against the floor continued to sound out rhythmically into the room as Wilson got down on his knees in front of Malfoy and finished buttoning the heavy black robe. The elves watched as Malfoy shifted, then wiped away a false tear - one of the many possible side effects of Pain no More. Finally he looked up.

"It's not Poopsie's fault she was freed," he said severely. "And I won't have you making her your scapegoat. It's entirely unacceptable."

The elves all ducked their heads, but Hermione noticed they looked quite thoroughly unconvinced. For that matter, Malfoy didn't try to refute their accusation either. It stood as leveled, unanswered.

"And you," he addressed Sticky. "Stop that at once. If I want you to damage yourself, I'll tell you."

"Yes, Master," said Sticky immediately, aborting his head-banging in mid-thump. "Sticky very sorry. Sticky very very sorry. And -"

"Yes yes, everybody is always very sorry," growled Malfoy bitterly. "Much good it ever does me. That's enough, Wilson."

"Then I shall retire until you have need of me again…?" Wilson started to ask, but halfway through his question Malfoy brushed past him and swept out of the room.

After a moment, there was a mad rush as all the elves tried to follow Malfoy out at once.

"Very well then," said Wilson with a smile, apparently satisfied that the proprieties had been observed. He rose creakily to his feet, clutched briefly at his back, then disappeared back into his own chamber. He drew the door closed, leaving Hermione alone in the opulent bedroom.

Good God, she realized. I have to catch Malfoy before he does something unforgivable with that Time Turner.

In a trice, she had buzzed out of the room in hot pursuit of the sound of quarrelling elves.

---