Twelve Steps from Robes

The customer threw herself down on the nearest barstool. Tom, who was already reaching for the Bailey's Cream, froze.

"Double Firewhiskey. Neat."

He took a bottle and a glass.

"Make it triple."

She swallowed it in two gulps and pushed the glass towards him.

"Another one."

The second drink went down as fast. Only then did she relax and lean against the bar.

"You won't believe what happened..."

* * * * *

He glanced nervously up and down the street, but this was obviously the place. He went down the steps and stretched his hands to press the handle. The cellar room was really big, at least nine by twelve feet. He stood in the doorway, feeling sick with nerves. The wave of nausea came again and he felt his stomach clenching.

Nothing in the warmly lit room should have caused such a reaction; the small crowd in the centre looked friendly, several pictures, mainly still life with large quantities of food, were joyful in their multi-colour way. The ceiling had been painted to resemble the night sky, but the artist also added the setting and the rising sun (on both sides of the horizon), a flying phoenix and a large tray, bearing cups, a steaming teapot and a tea-towel, which flapped gently.

"It's me," he thought gloomily, "I am the problem."

Two of the group noticed him and smiled, obviously wanting him to come and join, but he hesitated, feeling for a handle behind him. He didn't want the company. What he needed was a large drink, to calm his trembling knees and soothe his aching muscles.

Somebody else noticed him and was coming over: a woman in a nice pink blouse and azure-green skirt, with a hat that sat a bit awry on her head. He took a step back, but didn't run. This was his last chance, his very last chance, as the woman's clothing reminded him.

"Hi!" said she, "Welcome! I is Winky and I is a butterholic."

"Grlaaudiourls."

Her large brown eyes showed a bit of surprise, so he took a deep breath and said again, "Leodius."

"Nice to meet you. I is happy you is coming. Come. We is starting in a minute."

She tugged his pillow-case and he allowed her drag him into the centre of the room. The others greeted him with warm smiles, but there were no more introductions. They sat on assorted small chairs and stools arranged in a casual circle; after checking that everybody was comfortable, Winky stood up.

"I is very happy to be meeting you again and please greet Leodius, who comes today for the first time."

There was a faint murmur of welcome. Leodius scanned the group. There were just nine of them, not counting Winky and himself, most clad in different towels and pillow-cases, careful, as he noticed, not to display any insignia which would identify their Masters. He himself had searched for a long time for a pillow-case without a monogram. He was a shame enough to his Master as it was. He trembled again, wanting desperately to run to the wall and bang his head against it... or better yet, get a butterbeer. But there were three, again Winky excluded, whose garb meant they had been expelled. They looked much worse than the others and it was not the question of the thinness and dirt. Blood shot eyes with heavy circles around them, greyish ears... Yes, he knew the symptoms, saw them often enough in the mirror. So this is my fate, he thought, and was almost sick on the floor.

"Today, first speaker be Gladdy."

Gladdy turned out to be one of the expelled ones. She didn't look glad in the least. In fact she looked the worst and unhappiest of the whole group. She didn't get up from her stool, didn't even lift her head, just started to speak, gazing at the floor somewhere behind Leodius' feet.

"I is Gladdy and I is butterholic." Her voice was harsh and only sometimes rose to its normal high pitch.

"I had served my Masters since I was small. They is... hard. Gladdy had lots of work and tried to be good elf, but had to punish herself often, often! I was ironing my fingers once a week at least. I baked my feet in the oven, when I burnt a cake. Oh, Master Bul...!" She choked on the name, stuffed a hand into her mouth and with the other fist started banging herself on the head. From the muffled sounds they could understand only "is" and "bad elf". She calmed down after a moment; the effort drained her energy and she slumped even more in her seat.

"Gladdy was a bad elf. Gladdy had to punish herself very, very often. But it hurt, I pained!" her voice shot up for a second, then fell again, "Gladdy drunk a drop of Masters' medicine and hurt no more. Gladdy was good and worked hard. Then Gladdy was a bad elf and had to beat herself with a pan. Gladdy hurt a lot, but Gladdy drunk a bit of Masters' Firewhiskey and hurt no more." She paused for a moment. "I started to be not afraid, I punished herself, then had a drink. It was good. I became really bad elf." "I was stealing a bottle of butterbeer. I beat myself with a pestle on the head, beat very much! But still drank the beer. Master found Gladdy drunk. When Gladdy wake up she is having Master's old sweater on her. Gladdy begged him, but Master said he wouldn't have a drunkard in the house."

She stopped and pulled back the long sleeves of her black sweater, which she wore as a dress.

"Gladdy became really bad elf, sat at the pubs and asked for drink. Some gave me. Some kicked me. I sneaked into the kitchens and drinking the remains of the glasses. Sometimes Gladdy was allowed to wash dishes. A good Master Wizard said he would take Gladdy home, if Gladdy stopped. But I wanted to be back with my Masters."

"There was a big party in the pub. Nobody was watching Gladdy. Wizards drank and danced. Lots of glasses were falling on the floor, whiskey, wine glasses. Gladdy licked all clean."

"I woke up in the cell. The Auror told Gladdy she was found in the Muggle place and Muggles saw Gladdy. I wanted to punish myself, bang my head on wall, but he was not allowing me. He said I was to go to Azkaban. But I didn't want to go Azkaban, didn't, didn't! I was a bad elf, but was afraid. He said I may go St. Mungo's, to be cured. They cured me. It hurt, hurt very much. They charmed me. If Gladdy drink again Gladdy is sent to Azkaban immediately. Gladdy wants to drink, but is afraid."

She fell silent. Before somebody said anything encouraging, the second expelled elf started to talk. His story was very similar. Lots of punishment from the Masters. Taking to drink. Drinking more and more. Thrown away. Living in the gutter for two years. Found by the good wizards, who brought him to St. Mungo's. He was not guilty of anything, but they charmed him, so he couldn't drink again. He wanted a new Master, but nobody wanted an elf who drank.

Leodius shivered. So this was the future. He would be expelled. He would live... or die in the gutter. But a voice in the back of his large, flat head said "no, my Masters are good, they won't throw Leodius out." He looked at the tattered clothes of the three expelled elves and smoothed his pillowcase. One of them noticed it and his yellow eyes misted.

"I is telling different story," said the elf, who came late, and sat on the bench in the back, when Gladdy was half-way with her tale. He was clad in a lilac-coloured towel, draped like a Roman toga, which clashed horribly with his red hair. "But I is a butterholic, too. I is called Bicker."

Leodius was not really listening any more. It didn't really matter to him whether this elf had not yet been expelled or had found new masters. Another grim story of loss and even partial resurrection would just deepen Leodius' own desperation. He was longing for a long gulp of butterbeer... or possibly champagne...

"... champagne," said the elf and Leodius jumped in his chair. Was he talking aloud? No, it was still the speaker, Bicker.

"Everything was in bubbles and Masters were dancing and singing and Master said 'C'mon old chap, have a drink, don't be so gloomy.' I had a half a glass and everything was so nice, pink bubbles were coming out of my ears" (he had unusually big ears, even for an elf) "and everybody was laughing and Bicker was happy, because Bicker made Masters happy. My Master is very popular, he is being invited everywhere and Bicker goes with him. And he is good Master, he always says, 'Get the poor chap a butterbeer. I can't stand people or even elves who do not have fun when I am present. Ladies, am I fun?' and all the ladies say that he is and Bicker is given a butterbeer."

Oh, it had started with New Year party for Leodius too; he remembered the happiness and bubbles coming out of his nose. And nobody noticed, because everybody was dancing and drinking. And it was so easy afterwards, having a small gulp of Master's brandy on the way to the sitting room or getting the leftovers in the butterbeer bottles.

"Bicker must stay sober, Master needs me. So I is never drunk. Master is happy and allows Bicker to address his letters for him. He gets many letters and I is sending his pictures. And when we sit long into the night, Master says 'Good work, that was fun, ol' chap, let's have a nightcap before turning in.' Bicker is a good elf, obedient elf. Master gives Bicker a glass and Bicker is drinking it. But," he swallowed, the next words didn't want to get through his throat, "but if I was not given I would take it myself!"

He covered his face with his large hands, utterly ashamed. His broken posture didn't fit his elegant demeanour. Everybody was looking at him intently, and there was a faint murmur of support. Somehow he got more attention than the previous ones, who were obviously in greater need.

Winky stood up, thanked the speakers and reminded them about their aim. She set up the terms of the next meeting. The group broke into twos and fours; they started to talk, sipping their tea. Leodius, very uncomfortable, was alone. Winky noticed and came to him. He was subdued and not very talkative, but she understood. They both knew the problem. She told him about the beginnings, how she found the place, how her friend Dobby helped her to rebuilt and repaint it. She told Leodius she was ready to talk at almost any moment, if he only needed to. If he seriously wanted to overcome his problem, there was help available. There were medicines, potions and even mediwizards. She even promised to arrange for somebody to talk to the Masters, if necessary. And what was most important, there was support from the others, she said.

As they were talking the other elves were leaving, stopping to say good bye and shake hands. The last to go was Bicker. On impulse Leodius clasped Bicker's hand with both his own.

"Leodius is grateful to Bicker," he said, "Bicker's story... it was just like Leodius'."

Bicker tightened his grasp and smiled. "I will be happy to see Leodius next time," he said.

"I guess I is leaving, too," said Leodius to Winky.

"You has to spare Winky a few more minutes," she said, "it is tradition that last one is helping washing."

Leodius looked around, spotted teacups and plates and blushed. He was a bad elf! Winky must have read his thoughts, because she grabbed his hand.

"You is not to punish yourself, you is to help washing," she said.

They had just finished, when the door creaked open and a witch came in.

"Hi, Winky, I am sorry I am late, did you wait long?"

"No, Miss Granger, Winky is not waiting long, Miss!"

"Will you introduce me?"

Leodius stared with his huge eyes at Hermione, speechless. He never expected to meet her, the living legend, who helped save the elves and their Masters from Voldemort. The legend smiled at him, amusement dancing in her brown eyes, and then sat on the floor, so she was at the same level as them.

"Miss Granger, Miss mustn't sit on the floor! It's cold and dirty and..."

"And this skirt needs washing anyway. I am Hermione Granger," she extended her hand towards Leodius. She waited patiently for three seconds before he shook himself out of his stupor and took it.

"I is Leodius, Miss Granger."

"You came today for the first time? That's great. It can be very hard for you, especially in the beginning. But other elves will help you and Winky is simply wonderful."

Winky blushed a bit and bowed to straighten nonexistent wrinkles on her skirt.

"But most of the work you'll have to do yourself, Leodius. But you'll cope, you'll see. How are your masters?"

"Master is very good!" Leodius was indignant. After all it was a very personal question.

"Of course," Hermione was serious, but the corners of the mouth gave her away, "do you need to punish yourself often?"

"No, Leodius is trying to be good elf. Master is very kind to Leodius. But Leodius..." he jerked toward the bench to hit it, but she stopped him.

"I know, you have the problem. Wait, punishing won't help you. How did you learn about the meetings?"

"Master is giving Leodius a parchment." He pulled out a small leaflet. On the front cover bright letters asked, "Do you REALLY want to lose your elf?"

"So they work." Hermione looked at Winky. "I'll prepare more for distribution. I got a donation for the S.P.E.W., so no problem here."

"Spew?" Leodius was puzzled.

"S.P.E.W.: Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. It takes care of the organisational side of the Butterholics Anonymous and acts as intermediate between them and wizards. Finally there is some use of it, as my friend Ron would say."

"Miss Granger is the President!" stressed Winky.

"Oh." Leodius was impressed. "So the S.P.E.W.," he very carefully pronounced each letter separately, "made the meetings?"

"No, no! The meetings were Winky's idea, she wanted to help others. I only helped her a bit in the beginning."

Leodius had to sit down. He heard so much and he was overwhelmed. How had such an elf as Winky managed to ask the great Hermione Granger for help? How did she organise it all? It was really too much and he hadn't had a drink for a long time. The realisation came suddenly and painfully.

"So Miss Granger is helping you," he said, less to Winky, more to order his own thoughts.

"Miss Granger is my Mistress!" Winky announced proudly.

"But... but you is clothed!" blurted Leodius, before he thought better of it.

Winky looked at Hermione with a pained expression.

"Miss Granger says I must have clothing. She says I can not be her elf if I has no clothes. Winky wanted to be her elf, because Miss Granger is a good Mistress, so I said I is having clothes Miss, Winky will bear them."

Hermione was still sitting on the floor, a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

"I'd better tell you the whole story. But let's have some supper, I'm starving. Are there any of those biscuits left? I'm sorry you already washed up, but I need a cup of tea."

Winky immediately ran to make some tea and fetch the remaining biscuits. Hermione made Leodius sit and told him whole story, from the beginning of S.P.E.W. in her fourth year of school. She told him about her knitting and about poor Dobby, almost suffocated by twelve shawls he had to wear. About the pamphlets she tried to distribute, her quarrels with Ron and other students, about Kreacher and the heads in Grimmauld Place, about the Final Battle and meeting of the students in Hogwarts some time afterwards.

"And this stupid blockhead..."

"Miss Granger, please, please! I is not allowed to hear such things, Miss!"

"Listen carefully, Leodius, it's a part of your treatment." Hermione winked at him. "So he turns to me and shouts 'if you're so bloody concerned with elves' happiness, why don't you make one of them happy? So far you haven't made any of them any better! And you have a good opportunity, right here, too!'

'What do you mean by that?' I asked.

'Your damned hats only made Dobby work himself half to death, because he did the work of twelve...'

'That's because the other elves are too obstinate and don't see...'

'You're obstinate, not them! They do what they want to! So why don't you do something for a change instead of talking?'

'Like what?'

'Like taking care of Winky! She longs for a family! And she'll drink herself to death soon.'

'That's because...'

'That's because nobody wants to take her, except for Dumbledore! Take her as your family elf, maybe you'll save her!'

'Ron Weasley! If you think I will become a slave owner...'

'So you prefer her to die than gave up your stupid ideas? You care more about ideas than about her!'

I was so mad I stormed to the kitchen going to prove that him wrong. And I found Winky in bad shape."

"Miss Granger took Winky in," said Winky, nodding vigorously, "Winky was a bad elf, but Miss Granger is a good Mistress and she took bad Winky!"

"You were a very sick elf, Winky." Hermione shook her head, "She was unconscious for four days and then ill for another week. And afterwards she suffered symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. That was a mess. Fortunately I had Madam Pomfrey to help me. We patched you up." she patted Winky's shoulder delicately and the elf's eyes glistened. "Hey, easy. Let's tell Leodius how we got your dresses."

Winky covered her face with hands. "Please, Miss Granger!"

"Well, you said you'd have clothes..."

"But Miss Granger said, no, Winky must get special clothing." said Winky with pained expression, "And Miss Granger took Winky into Madam Malkin's."

Leodius gasped. Winky nodded gravely.

"Winky is good elf, Winky bore it through without complaining!"

* * * * *

Neither Winky nor Leodius knew the truth about this legendary visit, which grew with every telling, as every proper legend should.

"Miss Granger! Welcome! How can I help you?"

"Good morning. I'd like to you to fit some robes for this little lady."

"Yes, of cour...." Madam Malkin eyes followed Hermione's gesture and reached its destination. One had to say Madame Malkin was a professional. She didn't choke, gag or gasp. Her voice died slowly and she even remembered to close her mouth. After a second she straightened up, looked at Hermione, and then at Winky, who tried to hide behind her large hat, wishing she was at any other place, then at Hermione again, at Winky, at Hermione.

"We..."

"Yes?" The silkiness of the question would have made Snape proud. Behind it was seven years of goading boys into doing homework, listening to McGonagall, fighting with Voldemort, battling with the Potions Master, quarrelling with Ron. There was just the merest hint there, the hint of a storm, which, let loose, wouldn't have left one stone of the shop upon another. Had it been at "Flourish and Blots", where the whole staff was male, it would have ended really badly. Fortunately Madam Malkin was a woman, a woman of great empathy.

"What kind of dress do you have in mind?"

"Hmm, let me think..." Hermione pulled a large notebook from her bag and opened to a page marked with red ribbon. "Three sets of everyday robes, you know, something practical, one more elegant and one really extra, for great occasions. Maybe I'll be in the mood to throw a great party. Then we'll need a light woollen cloak for autumn and a heavier, winter one. And would you do us a favour? I know you don't stock it here, but could you arrange with some other shop for some working clothing, something for gardening, a couple of aprons, some hats to match the dresses, wide brimmed ones, please. And please remember about the ear holes. Gloves and scarves, same colours as the cloaks. That would be all, I reckon."

"What colours for the robes?"

"Please ask Winky," Hermione gestured toward the elf, "I am not sure I know her tastes. I think I'll have a look at those robes."

Madam Malkin was left alone with the elf. Part of her was screaming at the whole world. But the professional in her won and she bent a little.

"So what colours would you like to wear?"

The poor elf was still clutching her old hat, pressing it against her tightly shut eyes. She was trembling so badly that Madam Malkin forgot her annoyance and pitied the poor creature.

"There, there, no need to be so nervous," she patted elf's shoulder awkwardly, "come, let's see what we can do for you."

She led Winky by the shoulder towards the mirrors. She summoned the measuring tape, shrunk several robes to check the cut, and motioned her assistant to bring her samples of fabrics. She actually had to lift the elf onto the stool to fit the robes, because Winky was too frightened to jump up herself.

"Do you think it fits me?" Hermione appeared in a silk dressing gown with a rather low cut décolletage. Madam Malkin looked at her for a longer while, before her brain understood the question. She eyed Hermione with professional criticism.

"Well enough, Miss Granger. I'd deepen the shade for a tone and we'll need to trim the waistline a trifle, to make the best of your figure. A young lady such as yourself should show off her charms."

"I'll take it, then."

"Would you like me to fit it for you now?"

"We'll have to wait for Winky's clothes, won't we? So just please have it sent it along with them. Do you mind sending the bill to Gringotts? No? The robes will be ready tomorrow? Splendid! Thank you very much and we'll be going. Good day!" Hermione took the still shaking Winky by the hand and walked out of the shop. When they were far from the shop, she turned and crouched in ront of the elf.

"You survived this, Winky," she said straightening elf's hat, "so now you're ready for everything. Nothing can be worse, can it?"

Winky nodded vigorously, still speechless, swallowed, wiped her eyes with a fist, and firmly grasped Hermione's hand.

"And I bet you'll make quite an impression on Whacky and Stiffy in your new robes. We'll have to go The Phoenix to introduce you." And I'll have my gown ready at the same time, she thought and smiled, giving Winky's hand a small squeeze.

At the same time, inside the shop, Madam Malkin was dictating the orders so fast her staff had difficulty writing them down.

"...And when you finish these robes, you may have the rest day free," she finished.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. I'll take care of those." Madam Malkin took the parchments and picked up her hat. Briskly she went down the street, calling on three shops, where she left the notes as to what should be sent to her next morning. Finished, she marched straight into The Leaky Cauldron and threw herself down on the nearest barstool.