The Sugar Quill
Author: OBHWF Girl  Story: The House-Elf Revolution  Chapter: Default
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Hermione walked dazedly down to the kitchens

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House-Elf Revolution

By Olivia Frost

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Hermione walked dazedly down to the kitchens. Ever since the beginning of her sixth year, Hermione pushed more to free the House-Elves. And, much to her delight, her petitioning hadn’t gone unnoticed. She sent letters to a few workers for the Ministry and one came to talk to her about her cause. He didn’t agree with her work but made a deal with Hermione anyway. Hermione spent her spare time making hats and writing letters to House-Elves all over Britain in hopes to get one hundred signatures from the elves.

            Now it was finally her turn. She’d gotten more than enough signatures and many wizards even supported her cause – take that, Ron! It was a dream come true. Finally, her efforts were being recognized.

            Hermione suddenly found herself in the kitchens. She must’ve dozed off--she could have sworn she was just passing the library. Hermione looked around the kitchen; she’d never seen it so empty. The House-Elves were always hard at work before dinner, the poor dears. It was strange though, almost eerie; none of them were here! Perhaps Dumbledore gave them a holiday? Yet school was still in session and they were needed to prepare the food and clean the castle. Besides, Hermione wanted to tell them the good news!

            Of course, they could be elsewhere in the castle, cleaning, but still, it was so close to dinner, and they usually did their cleaning at night…..

            “Hello?” Hermione called out, expecting a mob of small elves with squeaky voices to run out with tremendous amounts of food. Nothing. Hermione called out again but again, nothing.

            When she searched around, she found at least 20 dead House-Elves.

            Hermione screamed and backed away, tripping over a small figure. She looked up at the small thing from where she lay on the floor.

            “Miss Hermione,” sobbed Winky shrilly. The small elf took a swig of butterbeer before continuing. “The House-Elves all goooonnnnee! Miss, bad Miss. House-Elves are not wanting freeing! Now they are deeeaaadd!” Winky burst into tears and hiccupped a few times, then curled into a fetal position, crying into her knees. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment.

            When she opened them again, she found herself lying in a bed in the hospital wing with a sharp pain in her arm. The first thing she saw was a pair of large green eyes; she screamed.

            “Dobby? What are you doing here?”

            “Dobby has come to warn Miss of grave danger! Miss Granger must not go back to the kitchens!”

            Hermione sat up and stared at Dobby with suspicion. “Why not?”

            “Dobby is not free to say, but House-Elves is not happy. Dobby wishes you could go back, Miss! Dobby knows freedom is good, but not all think as Dobby does.”

            With one swift motion, she stood and pulled a nearby cloak around her. “I have to go, Dobby! Are the House-Elves in trouble?” Dobby’s lip quivered, and he tried to cajole Hermione back into bed. Hermione pushed past him and ran out of the hospital wing.

            As she stepped out, she found herself in an empty corridor. She ran one way, but it went on forever. The corridor was completely deserted. No portraits lined the walls to help her, no statues, no armor, and no doors caught her view, nothing but endless stone walls. But there was a soft enough glow for her to see.

            Where was she? What was this place? Surely it couldn’t be Hogwarts. Hermione shivered from the cold and moved to pull the cloak tighter to find she was no longer wearing one--just a long, white, wet nightdress. She felt blood drip from her nose and plugged it, trying to think what to do.

            “Hermione Granger, Dobby told you not to come here” The green-eyed elf behind her lowered his head quietly. Hermione glared at the small creature.

            “Dobby, where am I?” she shouted angrily, advancing toward him. Suddenly, Dobby’s head popped up, revealing razor-sharp goblin teeth. He smiled wickedly at her, as his fingertips turned to claws, eager to slash at her skin. His eyes turned entirely red, even his pupils, and glowed brightly in the dark corridor. His skin turned rough and wrinkled, almost like a goblin.

            “Miss Hermione is in danger!” Dobby grunted madly. “Miss Hermione must stay AWAY – nobody listens to Dobby!” The demented elf advanced on Hermione. She stumbled away from him and scrambled for her wand out of instinct. She pulled a fake chicken out of nowhere and threw it aside. She needed her wand!

            “Miss Hermione,” squeaked another voice behind her. Hermione whirled around to find Winky standing about ten feet away, a butterbeer bottle in her hand. She looked tired, hung-over, teary, and almost insane. Hermione ran toward the small creature, but before she could get to her, Winky put up her hand, and Hermione hit an invisible barrier. Dobby cackled behind her.

            “Winky! What’s going on? Help me! Dobby is mad!” Hermione shouted as she turned to find Dobby’s teeth had grown longer and were dripping with thick, red saliva.

            Winky burst into shrieking sobs and threw the bottle against the wall. Her face roughened and aged into its goblin mask. Her teeth grew long and sharp, and her nails morphed into dangerous claws, just like Dobby. Her eyes became black, almost as if nothing was there, and glowed with madness. She roared like a high-pitched lion – impish and mutinous.

            Hermione shrieked and backed away from Winky until Dobby let out his own roar. She was trapped between two mad, rebellious House-Elves!

            “Miss KILLED the Elves! Blood is on this castle! Blood is on these walls! Blood is on your clothes! Blood is on your hands! Blood is on your HEAD!” cried Winky, her voice deeper than normal. Hermione stared: the butterbeer Winky threw against the wall turned into blood and ran down the stone. Her knees trembled, and she could hardly stand on her own. Nothing was this horrifying. She felt her nose and mouth dripping blood and wiped it away, but when she did, she saw her hands soaked with blood, staining them red. She tried to wipe it away on her white hospital gown, but the bloody handprints stained the cloth, and the redness of her hands still remained.

            Tears formed in Hermione’s eyes. What was going on? She wanted to wipe away her tears, but the blood would only soil her face. Winky and Dobby stood still, looking amused at her horror. She felt a warm liquid tickle her feet. Rivulets of blood came from where Winky was standing, covering her toes in red.

            Hermione now shook with terror. A chill ran down her spine, and a cold air surrounded her body. She looked up at Winky and covered her mouth to keep from screaming. There, behind Winky, lay at least 200 dead House-Elf corpses. Their bodies bled freely; it was the worst thing Hermione had ever witnessed.

            The depth and volume of the blood rose, covering her ankles. Now there were an additional 200 behind Dobby, all reeking of rot and decay. Dobby was muttering to himself, and Winky sobbed quietly , though their ghastly appearance remained. She looked pleadingly at the two. She wanted to get out!

            At first, Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes. The Elves were rising up from death. They took on the same goblin-like appearance as Dobby and Winky, only much more determined and resentful. They were out for revenge for the blood spilled. The blood she spilled!

            Hermione’s breathing grew heavy and erratic. She was hyperventilating. The Elves all moved forward as one. Their eyes flashed, and a look of revenge played at their lips. Hermione cried freely now, and her body was trembled uncontrollably.

            “Winky! Dobby! Stop! Please!” Hermione begged, backing against the wall, but they continued forward.

            “Why should they?” asked a voice across from Hermione. She looked up and tried to run to Ron, but had no strength left. However, the Gryffindor in her wouldn’t give up. She mustered as much energy as she could and moved toward him but ran into another invisible barrier. Ron leaned against the wall, eating an apple, as if nothing was going on.

            “Ron, help me! Please,” she pleaded quietly, her eyes wet from tears and panic. Ron shrugged indifferently.

            “Why? I told you not to interfere, but you didn’t listen to me. Your own ignorance, pride, and stubbornness got you into this mess, so you can get yourself out. You are the cleverest witch Hogwarts of our year,” he said sarcastically, then took a bite from his apple and started walking away. “And if you’re not going to listen to me, try listening to them.”

            With a smirk and a snap of his fingers, Ron disappeared. Hermione looked one last time at the Elves, who were very close now. She shut her eyes and breathed heavily, trying to block out her fear and the cries of the Elves. They were singing…..

Feel elf blood, warm and red

Many humans have often said:

Take the elves and set them free

But never, ever shall they see. . . .

 

Thou is blinded by fame and greed

So narrow-minded to not take heed

Thou tellest elves to go up and rise

Elves tellest thou, thee is very unwise

 

Thou tellest elves to rebel, rebel!

Against wizardry’s slavery spell

But these words thou must remember

The elves shall never surrender

 

Elves lovest peace and harmony

Even if it is what thou callest slavery

Elves shall not listen to mindless pollution

And never shall there be a House-Elf Revolution!

She opened her eyes as House-Elves pounced on her, ready to kill and sacrifice her for the price of their blood. She braced herself - ready to fight back….

           Hermione awoke in her dorm, screaming at the top of her lungs. Sweat covered her whole body, and her head pounded manically. A good number of the tower residents woke up from the noise.

            Awful nightmares.

*~*~*~*~*

My first attempt at gore and horror. Plot bunnies seized my mind, so send the howlers to Mr. Rabbit, not me. Reviews, however, are eagerly welcomed and greatly appreciated.

Olivia Frost

 

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