Well, went Harry's inner monologue, she doesn't appear to have enjoyed the walk in from the closest unwarded Apparition point any more than I did. And that expression, yeesh! Oh, yeah, best defense time...

  Before Hermione's thunderous expression could break out into a full-fledged North Sea gale, Harry spoke abruptly.

  "During your time at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, did you ever conduct an investigation into the non-humans that were incarcerated at Azkhaban?"

  The storm clouds left her face as her eyes widened alarmingly. "Why..., no! It never even occurred to me."

  "Nor to me," Harry said bitterly. "All that time, trying to make the damn place barely tolerable, just to keep the damn Dementors out, and I never once thought to enquire..."

  "Do you think there are...?"

  Harry held up a hand to cut her off. "I contacted Kingsley. He reacted the same way. He's putting together an investigative commission that should already be there. We replaced most of the old guard, but the new people aren't that much better. It's not a post that attracts, well, anybody. But, what with many people's attitudes to magical folk, they probably didn't even think to mention their presence or absence."

  Hermione's returning glower was a good indicator of what she thought of 'many people's attitudes.' "What does that have to do with bringing me... here?"

  "There is a house-elf here," Seeing the storm clouds start to gather, Harry hurried on, "A dearly loved, highly paid, free elf, who would be heart-broken to be separated from her family!"

  Hermione gave the frontage of Malfoy Manor a dubious look, but allowed Harry to continue.

  "This elf," Harry continued, "...was at one time incarcerated at Azkhaban for a crime she did not commit. Someone discovered the truth, but could not prove her innocence, due to obstructionism at a high level. That Someone broke her out, faking her death, and found her a safe refuge, pending getting her sentence overturned. This worked out for a good long while, but the War came and her protectors were killed. She escaped the house that had been her sanctuary, but, still thinking she was a fugitive, she could not stop and make a home anywhere. This went on for years. Finally, she just gave up trying. She found this isolated estate, picked out a likely shrub, and then settled in, waiting to die."

  Harry gave the house frontage a look himself. "The son of the house, four years old at the time, found her, befriended her, and basically forced his parents to take her on as a cook. Which, by the way, they have never regretted."

  "This household is now caught up in our same mess. They are under siege by the Unknowns. They believe Draco to be a Blood Traitor, and he has to get his family to safety. His family, including this elf, who will only answer to 'Cook.' But Cook is terrified that if she leaves this house, she will be arrested and returned to Azkhaban."

  Harry paused, catching Hermione's gaze. "I asked you here for three reasons. No, four. I think Cook will react to you better than she would to me. Damned if I know why, I certainly find you terrifying enough. Secondly, your former position at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and your current place in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement make you an authority to be trusted. Third, your reputation as an advocate for Magical Creatures is almost universally known. And, finally, you are uniquely equipped to convince Cook that she is guilty of no crime."

  "You had me until that last," Hermione said dryly. "What are...?"

  "No time," Harry said. "Got to keep on. 'The Moving Hand Writes, and Having Writ, Something Some Things I don't remember. Did you bring a Demelli File like I asked?"

  "Yes," Hermione said testily, reaching into her dimensional purse to pull out a black folder. "What are...?"

  "Got to read Draco in, so I can get him up to speed." Harry grasped her arm and started them toward the entry'

  "Draco?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "What are...?"

  "Everything!" Harry waved an all-inclusive hand. "I'm going to tell him everything. He has to know if he's going to be any help at all. I may end up telling him things that I never told you." He glanced at her stunned expression. "Not intentionally, mind you. That last year of the War, we were so rushed off our feet that some things may have gotten..., forgotten. Say, what is the relationship between those two words, anyway? Never mind, we're here."

  Draco opened the door just as Harry and she reached the portico. For a moment, Draco and Hermione locked eyes.

  "Well, then," she said. "May I come in?" She was clearly hoping the answer would be, 'No.'

  Draco arched an eyebrow. "Of course," he said. "I do have two minor conditions."

  Hermione raised both eyebrows. "Which are?"

  "I would ask that you treat my family, and my staff, without any consideration of our, your and my, past history."

  Hermione nodded. "Reasonable. Consider it done. And the other?"

  Draco looked stern. "You are not allowed to punch me in the face while my son is present."

  Hermione was startled into a snort of laughter, quickly controlled. She gave a wry smile. "What about when your son is not present?"

  "I am not an unreasonable man," Draco waved a dismissive hand. "We can handle that on a case by case basis."

  The tension in the air was noticeably reduced. Harry decided to press on.

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  "Draco, if you would, please introduce Hermione to Astoria. They should probably have a chat before heading down to the Kitchen. I'm hoping that having Hermione brought in by your wife will lessen Cook's apprehensions. That elf has been through enough. Then, please, join me in the study. There is a lot of history to go through. I wish we had time to bring you on slowly, but needs must."

  He looked to Hermione. "I am leaving everything below stairs to you. I promise you my full backing for however you choose to handle this."

  "Wait! You said something about my being able to prove her innocence...?" Hermione looked a little worried.

  Harry smiled. "You will figure it out. You may not have to, but if you do, keep it between you and Cook. Astoria and Scorpius do not have Need to Know."

  Hermione shot Harry a suspicious look as Draco motioned her toward the hall. Harry waved cheerfully as he headed for the study, black folder in hand.

  "D.M.L.E. File?"

  This Folder contains Official Department of Magical Law Enforcement information, and may not be released to Unauthorised Personnel...

  ***

  "Please come in, Ms. Granger-Weasley." Astoria's voice came through the half-open door. Hermione stiffened to her most official posture, only to stop short. This situation did not call for officiousness. Instead, she inhaled, exhaled, and put a warm smile on her face. Feeling much better, she stepped through the door.

  There were two chairs and a rocker drawn up around one end of a low kitchen worktable. Benches to either side showed how the diminutive elf accessed the space.

  Astoria was already seated in the center chair, spots of color fading from her cheeks, now that she was at rest once again.

  "Ms Granger-Weasley, this is Cook, who completely spoils us, and my son, Scorpius. I do apologise for the state of his hair. I sometimes despair of him ever learning to control it."

  Hermione turned the warmth up on her smile. "Please, please, call me Hermione. It's not like I'm here on official business. I was just asked to straighten out this curious situation, which was simple enough."

  The house-elf seemed to calm slightly at these words. She was seated in the rocker beside Scorpius, his fingers resting lightly on her shoulder. The rocker and the chair intended for Hermione were turned so as to face each other.

  "And Scorpius, it is a pleasure to meet you. My daughter Rose is about your age, and she fights with her hair daily as well." Hermione gestured self-consciously at her own locks, currently wrestled into a very tense-looking braid. "While hers is a beautiful red, like most of my husband's family, she got a touch of bushiness from my side..."

  Scorpius gave her a formal little nod, which almost amounted to a seated bow. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madam. As to my coiffure, it would be just fine, if Father could only keep his hands off it. As it is, I would be combing and brushing, dawn to dusk daily, and still look as if I had just woken from sleeping on it."

  While these pleasantries were being exchanged, Hermione's sharp mind was analysing and evaluating the House Elf. Harry's cryptic comments had triggered something in her mind, and she was searching for connections. Something about the elf's papery, translucent skin...?

  Oh. Oh! But, how could that be? She lined the facts up in her mind, and flicked at the first one. Down they toppled, a mental chain of dominos rushing to the very end.

  Hermione thought her smile might suddenly be too bright, but it was obviously reassuring the small person across from her.

  "Cook," Hermone said, still beaming. "This nonsense of you being wanted for any crime is just that, nonsense. I realize you were arrested, and convicted, and sentenced. Unfortunately, this kind of travesty was all too common in the Ministry of that time, especially when the suspect was non-human. Your innocence was finally proved almost twenty years ago. However, whomever faked your death did such a good job..., well, that's neither here nor there. We made some unwarranted assumptions ourselves. At the original trial, it was alleged that you were old, and confused..."

  This got a reaction from Cook. "Old?" she squeaked. "Cook is not old. Barely three hundred is not old, for house elves! Cook's family is known to be pale, and petite, and, and..." She ground to a halt, then started again.

  "Cook was confused, though," she almost whispered the words. "Cook was very confused, for a very long time..."

  "And that," Hermione said, comfortingly, "...was because you were attacked. You were put under a Confusion Charm by a very bad, very strong wizard. It was he who committed the crimes you were accused of, and he who used you to cover up his deeds."

  Great tears were welling up in Cook's large eyes. Scorpius produced a large cloth napkin and slipped it into Cook's grasped hands. She brought it up, catching the overflow, then pulled it back down to speak.

  "Cook... Cook did nothing wrong? Nothing? But how can Miss Miney know this? (Hermione realised with a start that 'Miss Miney' must be her). And who did this to Cook, to...?" Cook stuttered to a halt, approaching memories she had buried so long ago.

  "Cook," Hermione said, reassuringly, "...I can tell you. I will tell you, if that is what you really want. But it is a secret, a big secret that has to stay secret. Since it is also your secret, you can know, but not share."

  Cook's voice was tremulous, "So Miss Astoria, and Mister Draco, and young Mister Scorpius...?"

  Hermione shook her head. "Draco will be working with the Aurors, so you can speak with him at any time, if you need. Astoria and Scorpius, though..., well, knowing this might put them in danger."

  Cook's eyes widened, just as Scorpius' narrowed to slits. Hermione was quite taken aback. It was like having a placid pet rabbit suddenly sprout fangs and horns.

  "I am not afraid of danger!" He enunciated slowly, and precisely. "I will face anything for Cook."

  "But," his mother said calmly, "...do you think Cook wants you to face danger? For her, or for anyone?"

  Cook turned and patted the boy's cheek. He broke his glare to look at the tiny elf, expression softening.

  Gently, Cook said, "No. Bad enough Cook has Secrets. But Cook's secrets are not meant for the Boy." She hopped down from the rocking chair, and swarmed up over one of the benches onto the table top. Standing to her full height of one foot, eleven and one-half inches, she looked to the mother and son.

  "May Cook and Miss Miney speak alone?"

  Astoria nodded, and made to rise. Scorpius was there in a flash. He took her arm in what looked like a polite gesture, while still providing all the support that a ten year old boy could manage. As they left, though, he shot Hermione an unreadable glance.

  Hidden depths, thought Hermione, a little bemused, as she walked over and latched the door behind them. Reminds me of Albus, somehow.

  She walked back and retook her seat, turning it a little so she could face Cook more directly. The elf's diminutive size put their faces at about the same level.

  Hermione started to speak, then hesitated. Making a decision, she began.

  "Cook, I know the name you were tried under. What I do not know is whether you want me, or anyone else, to use that name. Do you have any preference? That is to say, do you want to use that name?"

  Cook opened her mouth, paused, and then closed it. She lowered her eyes, and cocked her head slightly. Hermione didn't rush her, instead taking in the house-elf's appearance. Cook did have a more delicate look than most of her kind. This was especially noticeable in her ears, which lay closer to her head, and looked less likely to droop. That said, she did look elderly to a human's eyes, even if a three-hundred year old elf was barely considered to be middle-aged.

  Cook straightened up, and her ears perked up slightly. "Cook will decide that later. For now, 'Cook' is a good enough name."

  Hermione smiled. "That is fine, Cook. There is no need to rush any decision." She then took a deep breath, and began.

  "Do you remember a man who used to visit Mistress Smith? A young man, he would have been then. His name was Tom Riddle..."