Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine.

There was no doubt in Hermione's mind as to what sat before her, sniffling and rocking back in forth in a distraught manner, what with its pointed bat-shaped ears, bulging eyes, and its long, gangly arms cradling its oversized head on its equally gangly legs. The gender was always bit tricky to determine on a house-elf, especially since the pillowcase it wore, with arm and head holes poked through, had no specific design or pattern that might hint one way or the other. Hermione squatted down onto her haunches in the storage room doorway, deciding against entering the room and startling the elf further. Though its back was partially turned from them, she could see that the elf's eyes were red from sobbing, and the skin around its eyes was puffy from rubbing.

"Has the elf said anything since you took it into custody?" Hermione asked Stephens, peering up from her crouching position on the floor.

"Not a word, just wailing mostly. Extremely obedient in following us, which I guess is to be expected, but after that it refused to speak," Stephens replied, concern crinkling his features.

Finally, Hermione thought with agitation. The way he had been going on about the elf earlier, it was as if he had a new pet.

"But I don't understand," Thomas interjected as he crouched down next Hermione. "The practice of elf enslavement has been outlawed in this country since... I reckon, the mid-1800s when the Muggles abolished it."

"1865," Stephens corrected solemnly. "It's true. History tells us that the wizarding families didn't want to pay their elves, so they just sold them to traders who shipped them overseas for sale. There hasn't been a sighting in this country for at least a hundred years."

Hermione bit her lip slightly in thought before inquiring, "Have you investigated, then? If it's the only one, I mean. It's seems a rather slim chance that a single elf suddenly appears after a century, doesn't it?"

Snape finally elected to speak. "I was prepared to head the investigation myself, but Stephens insisted that I wait on you," the last word uttered in a hiss of disdain.

So, this is how it's going to be, then, Hermione thought in frazzled annoyance.

"Well, Mr. Stephens, I mean Bob, was just following proper protocol in this situation," Hermione replied airily without bothering to look at Snape's sneering face.

"Given your constant delinquency during your adolescence, I wasn't aware that you even recognized protocol, Inspector," Snape retorted, the sneer obvious in his voice. Hermione almost laughed aloud at this; clearly he and the boys had very different ideas on delinquency.

"Regardless, Detective, we'll need to get to the bottom of this right away given the possible implications," Hermione replied crisply, choosing not to take the bait.

"Which are?" asked Thomas. Hermione watched as the elf blew its nose into its pillowcase suit.

"Smuggling. Illegal smuggling for the purpose of enslavement," Hermione replied quietly. Wondering aloud, she asked, "How shall we get the elf to talk? It hasn't even bothered to acknowledge us since we arrived." She stood up, her legs starting to cramp painfully from the position. Thomas, however, remained on the ground.

"We'll give it something to clean," Thomas replied thoughtfully. Turning his head to peer at Snape's black leather boots, he remarked, "Your boots look a bit scuffed, Detective. If someone has a bit of polish, that task should do."

"There must be some in this closet; it's just a bunch of odds and ends," Stephens said as he began to rummage through the shelves.

The elf continued to ignore them pointedly as office and cleaning supplies were thrown around. Despite Snape's obvious displeasure with the suggestion, Hermione leaned forward and ruffled Thomas' hair affectionately.

"Good call, Thomas. Perhaps you do know how to think on your feet."

Thomas' cheeks reddened slightly at the acknowledgement; he was clearly pleased to have finally done something right in his trainer's eyes.

"Ha!" Stephens called out as he presented Snape with a small circular container of black shoe polish. "Knew there'd be some in here."

Hermione nudged Snape forward slightly, and with an unhidden eye-roll, he approached the elf with the polish in hand, muttering something about the usefulness of Veritaserum.

Reaching the elf, Snape cleared his throat loudly and said, in a slightly stilted manner, "Elf, I appear to have scuffed my boot." The elf, however, did not seem to be listening, sobbing especially hard at the moment. Sighing with annoyance, he glanced over at the other three standing in the doorway. Hermione waved her hand to indicate he should keep going. She almost giggled when she noted the dark look Snape threw her. He would have probably preferred to throw the shoe polish at her head instead.

"Oh my," Snape said, in perhaps the worst attempt at a conversational tone Hermione had ever heard. "It seems my boots are scuffed. If only someone could polish them for me."

Hermione was covering her mouth now, hoping to prevent the outburst of giggles that was playing at her lips. Beside her, Thomas was shaking indiscreetly with laughter. This seemed to work, though, as the elf stared up at Snape with its large, globular, bloodshot eyes and a drop of wet mucous dripping from the tip of its long nose.

"I will do it, sir," the elf squeaked hoarsely, eagerness creeping into its features.

Snape shoved the polish into the elf's bony hands, and after tearing off a tattered end of its clothing, the elf began to shine Snape's right boot. It seemed any sort of distress the elf had felt the moment before had drained, its shoulders relaxing as it focused on the task at hand. Seeing the concentration in the elf's eyes, Hermione took the opportunity to approach as well.

Staring down at the elf, as if to assess its work, she commented brightly, "Well, that certainly looks much better, wouldn't you say, Detective?" Snape responded with a noise of irritation. Hermione ignored him. "Yes, much better indeed. Wonderful job – I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

Without pausing from the task or looking up at Hermione, the elf replied, "I is Flora, ma'am."

Hermione sighed with relief. Progress.

Crouching down next to the elf, Hermione focused on the boot as she gently questioned Flora. "Are you from Washington, D.C., Flora?"

"No, ma'am. I is from London." Hermione lifted her eyebrows in faux surprise, careful to continue watching the elf's work on the boot.

"Well, that's quite a distance from here. How did you find yourself here in D.C.?"

Flora's hands only faltered minutely. "In a crate, ma'am." Hermione could see the frightened awareness in Flora's rounded eyes and decided to take a chance.

Placing a hand lightly on Flora's shoulder, Hermione whispered, "Who is your master, Flora?" However, this seemed to be just enough for Flora, who scrambled away from both Hermione and Snape's boot to lodge herself in a shadowed corner of the room, her entire body trembling. Snape expelled a disgruntled snort and raised his wand slightly in Flora's direction.

"No," Hermione commanded, standing up to block Snape's wand. Whatever former student/teacher awkwardness had remained after all of these years was superseded by Hermione's nearly blinding need to protect the weak. To be completely truthful, she hadn't felt it in so long it was almost overwhelming. "I can handle this, Detective." Snape looked skeptical but stepped back, sheathing his wand. Hermione sighed slightly with relief before turning back to Flora, whose body vibrated with tension. How exactly was she going to handle this?

Settling herself on the floor, only a few feet from Flora, Hermione sat on her folded legs, her bare shins pressed uncomfortably into the cold concrete. "Flora," she called, nearly crooning. "We just want to get you home, Flora. We can't help you if you won't let us." For some reason Flora moaned at this, her tears starting anew.

"I wouldn't dare make any assumptions about your responsibilities, Granger," Snape argued, disregarding formalities, "but I don't have the time to sit here all day waiting for this ridiculous, little..."

"My... my master doesn't wants me! He is sending Flora away!" the elf wailed loudly, easily drowning out Snape. Hermione latched onto this.

"Why, Flora? Why did he send you away? Did you do something wrong?"

Flora sniffled loudly, but her shaking stilled. Hermione couldn't help thinking, hoping really, that the elf was finally making an effort to calm down.

"Flora did nothing wrong," Flora finally responded in third person. She bunched the ends of her pillowcase suit in her hands as she continued. "Flora is good elf. Flora... Flora loves the Martin family. They is good, good people. But it looks bad to have Flora. No, not good at all. So, master sold Flora so Flora could go work for a new family."

Hermione's eyebrows scrunched, perplexed. She had watched her career in the Ministry ruined because of the influence of elf-owning families, and now it was suddenly out of vogue? The uncharacteristically quiet Thomas stepped in to clarify this point.

"Er, yes, she's right. I mean, about it looking bad. You see, since you were, uh, dismissed from the Ministry, it seems the new generation has begun to look down on those old aristocratic-type pureblood families. Among many things, elf servants seem to be the epitome of pureblood excess and, well, their arrogant superiority." It was hard to miss the awkward way Thomas rubbed the back of his neck as he cast an apologetic glance at Flora and fell silent. He met Hermione's eyes, the look lingering. Hermione, however, had no time to dwell on the particulars of that revelation.

More to herself than anyone else, she murmured, "So, there must be hundreds at least, maybe a couple thousand..."

"Precisely," she heard Snape intone insistently behind her, but she ignored him, turning towards Flora once again.

"How many elves were with you, Flora? How many were in that crate?"

Flora's features shadowed as she looked down, her face twisting slightly, as if holding back a particularly wracking sob. "Flora is not being the only one in the crate. Binky... he... he was in the crate too. Binky is my brother!" And with that revelation, Flora was once again reduced to sobs, moaning dejectedly as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Oh, for Christ sakes!" Snape exclaimed in exasperation looking as if he were ready to hex at random. "This is not a bloody soap opera..."

"Shut it, Snape," Hermione growled. After all, they were equals now. Dropping the gentle questioning for a more authoritative approach, Hermione said, "Flora, please listen. We want to help you and Binky, but you have to stop crying. You have to tell us everything you saw and heard before you were taken in by the Aurors." Then, as a second thought, she added, "That's an order."

Flora stiffened. She stifled a sob by desperately stuffing her right fist in her mouth. Pulling it out, her knuckles slick with saliva, she began her recount in a soft whisper punctuated by high-pitched, emotional squeaks.

"Master is taking us to a bald man with very mean eyes. The man is our new master, he says. Our new master is not a nice man. He put us in a big, big cage with lots and lots of other elves. Every day, our new master and other scary men is taking elves, two or three, from the cage. They is disappearing. Flora doesn't know how many days she was in the cage... many." She paused, a hiccup escaping her. The three wizards and the single witch waited on tenterhooks.

"Then, Flora and Binky and another elf is given a potion to drink and put in a big crate. So dark. Flora is scared, but Binky promises our new master would not do anything bad to us. The crate is so dark that Flora fell asleep. When Flora opens her eyes, she is in a strange room. Flora sees other elves, like Flora and Binky, sleeping. Flora gets up to walk around because there's no cage there. Flora sees an open door and walks toward it. Strange men shout at Flora and Flora starts running away, outside. Flora runs and runs, but they is coming after her. Flora is hiding in a bush until a big dog chases her out."

Her story over, Flora sank slightly in exhaustion, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. Hermione, careful not to startle her, reached forward and took one of Flora's hands, giving it an affectionate squeeze. The poor elf was traumatized, that much was clear, and it seemed she was one of many, as Hermione had guessed.

"Thank you, Flora. That was an amazing job. Are you hungry?" Hermione asked.

"No, ma'am. Flora is tired."

"All right, Flora, we'll leave you now." Nodding to the three men behind her, the group exited the storage room as the elf pulled her body onto the cot, bending her knees into her torso as she lay on her side. Hermione gave the elf one last glance before pulling the door in with a soft thump.

The department head, the head Auror, the inspector, and the inspector-in-training reassembled in Stephens' office. Hermione and Thomas retook their seats in their respective arm chairs, Stephens sat behind his desk, and Snape leaned on nearby on a wall, obscuring a rather graphic illustration of a snarling Bigfoot.

"Well," Stephens began briskly, appearing for the first time like the authority figure he was, "it seems we have a rather extensive smuggling ring on our hands."

"We can't be certain of how extensive it is, though, can we, sir?" Thomas pointed out thoughtfully. "We only know that there were more than three elves. We don't even know who the customers are or if this is the final location or if it's only a stop during their shipment."

"Thomas is right, of course," Hermione agreed, watching the tips of Thomas' ears redden. "We'll have to watch the location first, where we found Flora, before we can make any assumptions regarding the complexity and scope of the operation. It would be best if we could search the place, but I assume obtaining a search warrant in Muggle D.C. might prove difficult." Hermione directed the latter of this statement at Snape, who appeared to have quite a bee in his bonnet, so to speak of course.

"Well, I'm not sure where this we originated, as it is my men who will be performing any sort of surveillance or serving a search warrant. But, yes, we may require further cause before we can override any sort of... regulations regarding our entrance into a Muggle establishment." Hermione bristled at this.

"I think it is you who are mistaken, Detective. Thomas and I will be essential components to any sort of investigation of this matter. That is, if you and the Ministry expect to avoid any repercussions from the I.C.W. in regards to the elf sighting itself. And do remember that those fines tend to be quite hefty, Detective."

Snape narrowed his eyes silently, but a shared look with Stephens seemed to demonstrate once again that his authority would be disregarded. Clearly displeased, he pressed his lips into a straight line, as if to contain any explosive reaction which might be ticking behind them.

Stephens sighed from behind his desk, leaning his head forward to ruffle his dark hair in obvious frustration. "I... I just don't know how this happened. I... I just..." His feelings of guilt were evident in his slumped shoulders as his comment merely drifted off unfinished.

Hermione glanced around his office again at the creature skeletons, the maps, Bigfoot. She wanted desperately to wave her hands at the frivolity and yell, "This, all of this nonsense is how it happened!" However, her position wasn't to scold; it was to consult. And, at the end of the day, it was to clean up messes.

Reaching across his desk, Hermione patted his hand with feigned sympathy, mustering her most reassuring tone. "Don't fret too much, Bob. We'll have this sorted out in a couple of days." There, you big baby, she thought with disgust, now you'll be able to sleep tonight. Straightening, she turned to the sullen and sulking Severus Snape, who practically bared his teeth at her upon making eye contact. "Right, then, Detective, shall we retire to your office to discuss our next move?" Where you will undeniably bite my head off, Hermione considered as she and Thomas followed him out of the room.

As it turns out, he only required the emptiness of the hallway to unleash his angry tirade.

"Now, you see here, Granger," he growled, backing Hermione into the opposing wall to Stephens' office while Thomas stood off to the side, watching with frightened confusion. "Much like when you were a student in my classroom, this is my domain. And I certainly will not be taking any suggestions from any know-it-all busybodies like you."

Judging from the manner in which he was staring directly into her eyes at such a close range, she thought for a few seconds that he might try to slip into her mind. However, his obvious and barely controlled rage seemed to negate that possibility, so Hermione stood her ground, meeting his glare defiantly as he stared down at her. After all, this wasn't the first time she was forced to deal with a disgruntled official who seemed to think he knew what was best. On the other hand, none of the previous cases involved the one professor from her adolescence who she was sure truly hated her, or a former Death Eater, for that matter.

Honestly, the whole situation had her head spinning. Snape was dead, and then he wasn't, and elves were banned, but here they were. Not to mention Thomas, who had certainly improved in her eyes but was still another thing on her plate. And, was she losing her mind, or did the hovering Severus Snape smell rather enticing, like the soft smell of baby powder with sharp hints of... peppermint? Merlin, she needed a bloody drink. But first, she needed to sort this out.

Standing up straight, almost smashing the top of her head into Snape's large nose as she did, she was careful to make herself clear. "I will not be intimidated by you, Snape. I am no longer a schoolgirl, and those days seem to be quite behind both of us, I would say. And to be frank, I'm much too tired at the moment to be putting up with any sort of power-grabbing hissy fit you intend on throwing. So, just tell me where to meet you tomorrow, and we shall begin the surveillance. The sooner we wrap this up, the sooner we will be out of each other's hair."

Snape looked as if he had something else to say, but refrained, stepping away. Did her heart just sink slightly at the loss of his randomly enticing smell? She really needed a vacation. And more general human contact.

"Dupont Circle, 10 a.m," Snape finally instructed in a bored voice.

Merlin, it's like he flips a switch, Hermione thought irritably.

Then he turned rather abruptly, his robes billowing behind him in a familiar fashion, pausing only to shout over his shoulder, "Take the Red Line."

Wanting to sink to the floor and scream, Hermione instead turned towards Thomas and, with a silent nod, indicated that it was time to leave.

Well, there she was in the pub below the hotel with her bloody drink. Feeling none too adventurous, Hermione had simply ordered her rudimentary glass of the house red and sat amongst a handful of businessmen, all nursing their own drinks while poring over documents and computer screens. Thankfully, it was silent, save for the soft taps of typing and the soft clanks of glass meeting wood.

Overwhelmed didn't seem like a powerful enough word for how Hermione felt at this moment. It was like everything chaotic in her life had conspired to make an appearance on what should have been a routine site inspection. Well, not everything, unless Ron had suddenly decided to make some unexpected trip to the States or her parents had somehow remembered that she existed. Actually, it was a completely different redhead who joined her in the pub.

"Thought I'd get a drink," Thomas said awkwardly as he took a seat across from Hermione. He didn't quite meet her eyes at first, but when he did, there was a friendliness that made Hermione feel slightly less frazzled.

Smiling apologetically, Hermione replied, "I'll bet you need one after today. I guess I've turned out to be a real mess of a trainer."

Thomas seemed reluctant to meet her gaze and instead said, "No, of course not. I can understand, really. It's not like you had expected to run into your presumed-dead, former professor. Not here, at least. And the house-elves, well, I'm not sure who would have seen that one coming." Hermione laughed lightly at this before taking a sip of her wine.

"You know, one would think by now I would come to expect this sort of plot twist. And yet, here I am, constantly surprised by the strange turns my life takes," she reflected, almost more to herself than Thomas. There seemed to be something else on Thomas' mind, however.

"I apologize if this comes out rudely, it's just, I was very young when the war happened, but I've heard things, of course. Were you... well, did you... when he supposedly died..."

Hermione took a fortifying breath before answering the unfinished question. "I suppose 'yes' is the simple answer," she replied, her voice soft and uncertain. "I know, at least, what I thought I saw. Given recent events, however, I don't think I know anymore."

"Right," Thomas said solemnly, and then added, "and was he always so... angry?"

Hermione nearly choked on her wine. I suppose the history books never really cover that bit, do they?

"Professor Snape, as I knew him, was always very demanding, very precise, and at times, very cruel. He showed blatant favoritism towards his house, had little patience for anyone who was even slightly incompetent, and had a sort of vicious wit that seemed to take the most pleasure out of belittling others."

She paused slightly to consider what she would say next.

"Of course, and I'm sure this still stands today, he's perhaps one of the most intelligent and powerful wizards to have ever graced the halls of Hogwarts. He's much braver than I think he would like to admit. Quite simply, he's a hero. A hero I thought I had watched die without making a single effort to help. But here he is, still alive, and fully prepared to belittle at a moment's notice."

It was odd, but she had said the last part with a strange affection. She had never truly hated Snape, despite the many times he had tried to bring her down a peg. At times, she had even felt a twinge of sympathy, something she was sure would incense Snape were he ever to find out. Perhaps that was why she had carried his death around with her for so long. And now it seemed that all of that had been for naught, and perhaps even worse, that this revelation did not seem make her feel any better.

A/N: Thank you to my beta, justine 34, and Brit-picker, magicalpresence, for their corrections and suggestions.

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