Chapter 4

“Narcissa is coming over for tea this afternoon.”

“She is? What for?”

“I assume she’s grown tired of the dreary Malfoy manor,” said Severus.

“Yes, sir. That must be it, sir,” said Hermione, taking in the splendor of Severus’s parlor with its view of a brick wall across the street. She could think of only one thing in the room that wasn’t drab, definitely not drab.

She knew what he was thinking. Their search had turned up several locked trunks they believed belonged to Salazar, and it was an ideal time to steal the sets of keys that Dobby had assured them had been in the dungeons for ages and that the Malfoys had forgotten. She told herself that was why he had agreed to have tea with Mrs. Malfoy. She couldn’t think of a diplomatic way of suggesting they just knock the lady unconscious and toss her in a ditch for a while.

“Why me?” she asked.

“You don’t want a professor to get caught raiding the manor, do you?” asked Severus. “Besides, what’s the greater challenge, facing the dangers of a hellhole or facing Narcissa Malfoy for tea? Answer as a true Gryffindor.”

I’ve got to learn how to argue better, thought Hermione.

“Goodbye, Hermione,” he said as she was leaving.

“What was that for, sir?” she asked.

“In case your mission is perilous and you don’t return, I want to give you a proper farewell.”

Hermione growled and slammed the door shut.

On her way to meet Dobby, she remembered her last conversation with the elf.

“Dobby is sorry. Dobby didn’t find the silver spoon,” he had said.

“And I thought they were all born with one,” she had replied.

Dobby had looked confused and had offered, with a tear in his eye, to give back a sock for his failure to find the eating utensil. He had held it out.

“That’s a mitten,” she had said.

“Dobby is offering his favorite sock, the one with a special place for Dobby’s big toe,” he had said. “Miss Hermione is so clever.”

“Yes. Thanks. Glad you like it. I think you should keep it,” she had said.

An hour later, at the manor, Hermione heard Dobby say, “Coast is clear.”

Hermione had been thinking about how the elegant Mrs. Malfoy would make her stately entrance into Snape’s parlor, not like the clumsy appearance of a schoolgirl, and about how Mrs. Malfoy would make a few well-chosen remarks to put Snape at his ease, not like the awkward comments of a student.

A little later, Dobby said, “Dobby has found the dungeons. Dobby’s opened the doors to the chambers of torture and death.”

“Marvelous,” said Hermione.

She was thinking about how Mrs. Malfoy would converse about mature matters that no schoolgirl had been exposed to and about how Mrs. Malfoy would artfully draw Severus out and have him revealing confidences that he would never mention to a student.

Dobby located the ancient sets of key, and they were about to leave when he spied a decrepit object amongst the clutter. He cried out and ran to it. He seized it and held it reverently.

Hermione was about to ask what was special about an old pickax when the strangest thing happened.

The small elf lifted the object high and stood transfixed for a moment before he held forth.

Hear this oft-told tale of Salazar

Hero wizard who came from afar.

Who stood alone against evil trolls,

Head-bashing, bone-crushing, deadly foes.

He swore a fine oath: They Shall Not Pass.

He was determined to kick some ass.

Despite his passion, he was no fool.

For this brave quest, he needed a tool.

He labored long and was never lax.

He made the finest pick of the ax.

To save the tribe and many a friend,

He was ready to risk his own end.

He met the trolls, a ferocious pair,

That swung mighty fists that split the air.

He ducked and rolled and came up behind

To strike a blow of the bunghole kind

Skeptics among us may state their brief

And say such deeds are beyond belief.

But the story told we can defend.

The troll did feel that sharp, pointy end.

For here’s the proof that we all can trust:

That part of the pickax stained with rust.

The first troll yowled and felt a bit ill.

Salazar gave the next one his fill.

He swung at it hard and scored a hit,

But the second troll was tough and fit.

Knocked away like a leaf in the breeze,

Salazar went sailing through the trees.

But he rallied fast and came on strong.

He had given his vow to right this wrong.

The troll was big and strong for its size.

Salazar leaped to take out its eyes.

As the pickax struck and did his will,

The twice-cursed troll flung him over the hill.

He came right back and gave them their doom.

He sent the trolls to their final tomb.

He left the battle with honor due

To come back home to his work so true.

When he returned, there was a delay,

For healing took a year and a day.

Dobby stood spellbound with the artifact still raised above his head. Hermione waited. She wasn’t about to touch that implement of destruction, that essence of Slytherin.

Dobby finally put the pickax down and grinned. “Is famous saga. Favorite among elves.”

“I can see why it would be,” said Hermione. Why isn’t that in the official history? What else do the elves know that we don’t?

“Bring it along, Dobby,” she said, wondering if the pickax was worth placing beside the silver spoon, if they ever found the silver spoon, and thinking it would be a strange juxtaposition. Perhaps if it was cleaned up a bit.

Torn between being afraid that Mrs. Malfoy would return any moment and being afraid that Mrs. Malfoy was still with Severus, Hermione closed the doors behind her, and she and the elf hurried away from the manor.