Storyteller: Josan
Date: October, 2004
Rating: PG
Pairing: None
Warning: Yes, listen carefully, me dears: it's a GEN!
Feedback: jmann@pobox.mondenet.com

It had begun life as a farmhouse: one of those three-storey child's designs, all straight lines, slanted roof with chimneys at either end. Then someone had added, centred at the back, at a right angle to the main house, another similar though much smaller, two-storey house with an enclosed solarium. Continuing that line, someone else had added a one-storey greenhouse, complete with glass roof which was perfect for capturing as much sun as possible. However, that obviously hadn't been enough for some subsequent generation, who had added to it an enclosed section, slightly longer than the greenhouse, with a slanted roof and a single, solid door at the end. The only thing that held the entire design together was the building material: flat field stone with tiled roofs in various tones of brown, depending on age.

And there was land with the house, some eighteen acres. More than enough for specialised gardens, though the greenhouse would be perfect for the more delicate plants he needed. There was a trout stream running through the property, at the bottom of a small slope upon which the house was built. The grounds around the house had already been terraced with small flower and herb beds.

The boundary lines between the properties to either side were hedges composed of hawthorn mixed with some damson, yew with holly: the third, narrower, farthest hedge was a mixture of elder, hazel, sycamore and rose. Most of the hedges were a good 15 feet high, some dating from the early 1700's, and in dire need of a good pruning. Their density also acted as a wind barrier, a practical decision made by whichever owner had orchestrated the initial planting.

A Muggle owner.

Because, of course, no wizard would sell him property, even if he had been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class. And that he hadn't been bothered to pick it up had only added to their mistrust of him.

Severus Snape carefully walked over the property whose purchase he was considering. He needed a place to live, now that he had officially left Hogwarts. And thanks to Albus Dumbledore's uneasy conscience, he had more than enough gold in his Gringotts vault to live the rest of his life, such as it would be, in a certain ease and comfort. Other than an extremely decent donation to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and specific gifts, Severus Snape had been Albus Dumbledore's sole heir. Much to the displeasure of some few, who thought there were far better and more deserving recipients for the contents of Dumbledore's library and vault.

Especially vault.

The Muggle estate agent who was showing him around kept pointing out what he considered to be relevant features. Snape nodded as he plotted out the probable placement of wards and the power such would require from him.

He was getting better, having graduated, according to the healers at St. Mungo's, to mere convalescence. They would be on his case when he returned, the slow ache in his still-repairing body indicating that he had done enough walking for the day. It annoyed his healers, this body of his did, refusing to heal as they wanted. They took it as a personal affront.

Snape had few complaints. If Lucius Malfoy had had his way...

Well, in spite of Lucius, he was alive, a fact that still had the ability to amaze him now and then.

With the excuse of making his healers happy, he used a cane whenever walking more than a couple of feet. He loathed the need for it but he truly had no choice: he required it for balance and probably would for some time yet to come. Still, it represented freedom after lying in a hospital bed for almost two years. Today was the first full day he had been permitted away from the healers' eagle eyes.

He trod very carefully on the uneven ground, hating to admit – especially to himself – that they might have been right in their reluctant to allow him out for this length of time.

The agent was very aware of his infirmity. Snape had to give the man points for at no time did he offer his hand or arm. He did slow his pace and stop often, pointing out the grounds, the trees, casually throwing in a piece of local history or even gossip as Snape's breathing settled.

They discussed the practical details inside the house, whose ground floor had been the extent of Snape's inspection. They sat in the solarium, on two dusty chairs that had seen far better days, property surveys and architectural prints of the house laid out before them on a battered, rickety table.

The structures were sound and the roofs tight. There were fireplaces in most rooms, though the main heating was a radiator system that had recently passed inspection by the proper authorities. The taxes on the property were well within reason and his pocketbook. Both of his neighbours farmed and both had houses well away from the boundary lines so that he was ensured as much privacy as he wanted. A couple of spells would take care of the drive and gate.

The near-by village had several shops that would satisfy his needs and most of them would be pleased to arrange deliveries, once he'd opened up accounts with them. If his needs were more sophisticated, Nottingham was a mere 40 minutes away. And there was always London.

In an attempt to discover if there were other Snapes who would be joining him, the agent did observe, very discreetly, that the residence was quite large for just one person. Snape gave a small smile as his answer and the agent had to settle for that.

Two days later, in the estate agent's office, with some additional conditions agreed upon, Snape wrote a cheque for the entire, undisputed amount and handed it over.

In return, he received a sheath of documents indicating that he was now a man of property.

Knowing one was a man of property and having to deal with the reality of it were, as Snape was all too quickly discovering, two very different matters.

The house came as was, with smatterings of furniture that had been assessed as having no value, neither monetary nor family. There was dust everywhere. Snape sighed as he sat on one of the sturdier couches left in what had been the parlour. He realised now that he should have taken the agent up on his offer of having the house cleaned, in spite of the cost, before his taking possession of it. Still, he was a frugal man by nature and previous circumstances, and that was not something that was going to change.

He had accepted the man's help in setting up accounts for him at the post office and other shops necessary for his needs. He'd even accepted a small stocking up of his pantry with some few provisions for his arrival, three weeks after signing all the papers.

To satisfy local curiosity, Snape had assumed the persona of a Muggle writer in need of uninterrupted privacy. This had come in handy when he'd asked the agent to inform the local shops that he would be dealing with them by mail, since he would not be putting in a telephone. He knew that his inability to move quickly or well would soon be village gossip.

In his planning, he had thought that his Magic would be strong enough for him to deal with the issue of housework and the such, but it seemed that, once more, the healers were being proven right. They had been very much against this move. They'd thought and said so – ad nauseam – to him often over the last three weeks that he was overestimating his abilities.

Snape rubbed his hands over his face. Well, maybe he was, but the need to get out on his own was stronger than his incapacities. He sat back, forcing himself to ignore creaking sounds, hoping the back of the couch would hold.

Well, first things first. He needed a cup of tea.

The agent had assured him that water and electricity would both be functioning when he moved in. Snape could tell that he'd been a little taken aback at Snape's insistence that, as part of the deal, all the fireplaces and their chimneys be immediately usable as well.

The electricity had indeed been turned on as Snape had discovered when he'd cautiously flicked the switch by the front door per the demonstration the agent had provided on request. He wasn't certain he liked this manner of lighting and wondered how long before he reverted to candles. The house was certainly old enough to be more used to that method than this newer one.

He'd moved in under cover of night, knowing that his Muggle neighbours, like wizardry ones, would be more than curious. That he carried all that was his in his pockets might engender a little too much nosiness from his neighbours if he moved in during daylight hours. Hence the midnight hour.

A good idea strategically, a bad one for himself.

He'd spent the entire day at Hogwarts, which had been stressful beyond belief. Both for him and for the remnants of the staff he'd once worked with.

Minerva, now Headmistress, had been gracious. Which had made matters a little easier. That and the fact that she had had the generous courtesy to seal up his personal laboratory and private quarters so that no one had ventured into them while he'd been ‘indisposed', as she so diplomatically called his stay in St. Mungo's. She'd even seen to the packing of Albus's library and had stored the boxes in his quarters.

She'd assigned one of the better seventh years, a Ravenclaw, to help him miniaturise and pack his belongings once he'd gone through his lab to chuck out now-useless ingredients and the contents of whatever potions he'd been brewing that day he'd last been summoned to Voldemort. Knowing how uncomfortable he'd be dining in the Great Hall, she'd invited him to her rooms, a first in all his years at Hogwarts, for a private supper. Unlike the healers, she did not encourage him to delay his leaving, but neither did she indicate how happy she'd be to see the last of him and his belongings.

Anyone associated with Voldemort, even one who had spied for the Order of the Phoenix and been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, was not very popular. The actual war had been quick and, because of that, extremely brutal. No wizard family had been without loss. And though it had been very publically acknowledged that Severus Snape had worked for the Light, there were too many who preferred to believe the faded mark on his arm.

Now Snape acknowledged that his day with its portkeying and apparations had over-used his Magic and his body. He was tired, too much so to do more than hobble into the kitchen behind the solarium and hope to find a pot in which to boil some water.

Ah, the agent must have had an idea that he'd be a little worn. There was a new kettle sitting on the stove, a small teapot with matching mug on the counter, along with a small pan, some cutlery and both a plate and a bowl. He would have to remember to thank the man for his thoughtfulness.

In the cardboard box on the table, he found a pack of tea. Not one that he preferred, but he was in no shape to try and locate the box with his personal items. There was sugar along with bread, a small container of Nescafé, tinned fruit and a can opener. There was even a small bag of apples and a package of chocolate covered oat biscuits. The refrigerator housed a carton of milk, one of cream, a small pack of butter, some orange juice along with a half dozen eggs and some sliced ham.

His Magic was strong enough to boil the kettle and, though his body ached, he took the time to drink a cup before he swallowed the potion the healers insisted he take daily in order for his body to function.

Too tired even to consider the stairs, and leaning heavily upon his cane, Snape made it back to the parlour. The couch had held up to his sitting on it: with luck, it would hold up to his lying on it. He took the precaution of setting up a secure ward on the house before arranging his ‘bed'. Wrapping himself up in his cloak, his robe rolled up for a pillow, Snape lay down and went to sleep.

The morning was a little better. Though his bed at the hospital was more comfortable, the fact that he had slept under his own roof made it easier to ignore the aches and pains of straightening and of initial movement. Several cups of tea and an egg sandwich later, Snape was ready to put into action some decisions he had made about his new residence.

But first, a fire. Even in his dark and dank dungeon rooms, a fire had had the ability to raise his spirits. Not in the parlour, though he would set one up there later, but in what he was going to use as his library.

Among the documents he'd been given were the plans to the house. To the left of the front door were two square rooms that had served as someone's office and the formal dining room. The wall between the two was not a bearing one, so, with a flick of his wand and a few well chosen spells, that wall and its debris disappeared. Another few spells and what furniture there was, other than the chair upon which he was sitting, picked itself up and moved out into the large entry, stacking itself up in a variety of ways. He would deal with those later.

He took a small rest, needing to hoard his strength and Magic. He'd been assured that now that they had developed the proper potion for his body, his Magic would grow stronger and stronger. Oh, he'd never be the wizard he had once been but his power would be sufficient for him to use it as he pretty much wanted. So long as what he wanted, they'd warned, did not require extreme concentration.

When he felt up to it, he removed one of the small boxes from his robe pocket and placed it on the floor, far enough away from him so that when he returned it to size, it would not crush him.

He found himself relaxing as it uncrated itself to expel box after box containing his books. With a smile, he directed the large boxes around him, stacking them, three high. Damn, of all the things he'd missed while lying in that bloody bed, his books had been those he'd most wanted. The friends of his childhood, of his student days, of his days as a teacher and a spy. His most trustworthy friends.

He must remember to send Minerva a small gift as thanks for having protected them for him. A potion for the arthritis he'd noticed was affecting her hands, once he set up his laboratory in the newest addition.

He managed to find the box labelled with his bookcases and placed them carefully around the room before returning them to their original size. By then it was time for lunch and it irritated him that had been the extent of his accomplishments for the morning. Once...

But, no. He would not permit himself to compare what he was now with what he had been. This would take time and that was all there was to it. Not as though he had a schedule to satisfy. He would do this properly and, Merlin, he would enjoy it.

As he ate his ham sandwich sans any mustard, he pulled out a notebook and began writing up a list of items he would need from the green grocer, the butcher shop and the bakery. He inserted each in envelopes that he'd prepared just for this purpose and, carefully stamping each – a novel concept in his mind – he sent them on their way out of a nearby window, down the walkway to the mailbox at the end of the drive, by the road. It was taking a chance, he knew, but he needed to conserve his physical strength for more important matters.

Washing his few dishes, he wondered if and when he should add an owl to his household. For the present time, he could take care of his needs with Muggle solutions, but he hoped that eventually...

But that was for another day. Now he had another important matter to deal with: that of his bed for the night.

Back in the entry, he paused at the foot of the staircase leading up to the next floor, the one with four bedrooms and two bathrooms. He shook his head. For the foreseeable future, he would have to keep to the small loo off the kitchen and be satisfied with sponge baths. Stairs were a little too tricky for him to manoeuver on a daily basis. The parlour would have to do. Merlin knew, it was large enough, equal in size to his new library.

The entry was soon filled with additional, precariously balanced piles of battered, old furniture. Once the room had been cleared and somewhat cleaned, Snape repeated the enlarging spells on the container with the items from his bedroom at Hogwarts. It took the rest of the afternoon for him to set up the parlour so that he had his things about him in such a way as to conserve his energy. The last thing he did before leaving for yet another cold sandwich in the kitchen was spell a proper wizard fire in the fireplace. He nodded in approval. With the heavy Muggle drapes drawn, his furniture in place, it felt...right.

He chewed his sandwich slowly, his energy levels low but his morale high. It helped him through a sponge bath that was more of a lick and a promise. His cropped hair, a style imposed on him by the healers while he'd been unable even to protest its selection, was easy to wipe clean with a face cloth. His footsteps were a little unsure as he made his way to this new bedroom of his. Still, the pleasure of undressing amidst familiar and much loved items, of hanging up his clothes in his own wardrobe, of pulling on a nightshirt that was truly his buoyed up his spirits. He didn't even mind that he had to wear socks to bed, Albus-style, in order to keep his feet warm.

As his bones settled in the small hollow that they had worn into the mattress a life-time ago, Snape allowed himself a small moan of aching pleasure. He used his wand to turn the lights off, then spelled the fire to burn embered.

He fell asleep, a small smile on his face.

They did. After about five minutes, he heard the gravel in the drive rustle as some vehicle went away. Cautiously, wand securely clasped in hand, Snape stiffly moved out of bed, pulled on his dressing gown, grabbed his cane and went to investigate. There were two, small, narrow windows in his front door by which he could see that his drive was indeed clear. He was moving away when he caught sight of something with the corner of an eye.

Opening the door, wand and cane ready to deal with any kind of attack, he found three large cartons containing the orders he had mailed in the previous day.

Well, that was faster service than he had thought he would receive. Checking that he truly was unobserved, he waved the boxes inside the house and shut the door before sending them on their way to the kitchen. There, he discovered from the old clock on the battered sideboard that it was far later than he thought. Closer to lunch than breakfast.

Which explained his aches.

The healers had been very specific that he had to take his potion at the same time every day. He'd now not done so two in a row and he was definitely feeling it. That wouldn't do, not if he really intended to live on his own. It had been one of the conditions of his release that a healer examine him at least once a month until St. Mungo's was certain that he would survive on his own. More, he thought, out of concern for their reputation than his health. He knew that there were several of the healers assigned to him who would have preferred not to be.

He accio'ed the potion to him as he brought the kettle to a boil. He would have to set up an alarm spell to wake him at the proper time. There was no way in hell that he was ever returning to that place.

Consequently, he set a much slower pace this second day. He took the time to prepare some of the food, using a limited knowledge of cooking with his more extensive one of potion brewing. The stew he'd put together would provide meals for several days. Satisfied that he'd done his part for his body, he went off to deal with nourishment for his mind.

By the end of the day, he managed to unpack one entire box of books. He'd sat and inspected each, refamiliarising himself with its texture and feel. He'd read bits and pieces, now and then finding passages that he'd once chanted to himself while dealing with the pain of recovery.

Snape scoffed when he realised how little he had actually accomplished. But, he reminded himself, he had nothing else to do. No classes to deal with. No more balancing act between Voldemort and Albus. No healers to endure. Just time to himself.

That evening, he settled himself in his comfortable bed, the pillows piled high behind him. He had placed a small glass of apple brandy – that he knew the healers would not have approved – on the nightstand, just within reach. He drew up his knees and used them as a support for his reading matter, a journal on potions that he had just received the very day of Voldemort's summons.

The only thing that would have made him happier was to be reading by candlelight rather than Muggle electricity, but in the scheme of all things, that really was a minor matter.

He'd been in residence a week when the first really bad storm of the autumn season hit. Oh, there had been the occasional shower but nothing like the lightning and thunder that were accompanying the torrents of rain falling.

In his library, Snape looked up from the book he was perusing in time to see a flash of lightning blue the late night sky. The following crack of thunder made the windowpanes rattle a little, though he was pleased to see not a hint of moisture make its way around the frame or sills.

So this time, when the knocking occurred at his door, he thought, at first, it was the storm. But it continued even as the storm moved on.

He leaned back, closed his book and rested it on the shelf by which he was sitting. Other than that first day, there had been no attempts to contact him. Oh, he knew that there were people who walked by or stopped their cars in order to peer into the property, hoping to get a glimpse of the new proprietor. But one of the wards he'd set up – he managed his power by layering on a new one every day – suddenly reminded them they had other things to do and off they went.

That someone had breached his wards was cause for concern. Especially in this kind of weather and at this time of night.

Still, he was curious. He might not be at his best, but the wards he'd set up were fairly simple: the layering was what made them so secure. He'd set them up particularly against Muggle and wizard visitors. So who could have passed through?

His picked up his wand from one of the still empty bookshelves and, as quietly as he could, made his way to the door.

Not that he expected to see anyone looking in from the other side of the door. So he was not disappointed when he didn't.

Still the knocking continued, a little less confidently and, dare he think, a little more desperately.

"Who's there?" he croaked, suddenly aware that these were the first words of conversation he was speaking in his house since he'd taken possession of it.

"Professor?"

Snape settled his weight on his left and more stable hip.

"Please, Professor Snape," whined a thin, reedy little voice, barely audible through the oak of the door.

He thought a moment and slowly shook his head. The ‘professor' was what did it, convinced him it was safe to open the door. In all his time at St. Mungo's, he'd been Mister Snape. To hear himself called by his proper honourific, after all this time...

He shrugged and waved his wand, unlocking the door and ordering it to open to the one who stood in the rain.

"Come in, Dobby," murmured Snape, not trusting his voice any louder. He really must remember to use the darn thing more often or he would lose that as well. The occasional spell was most certainly not enough.

The house elf, nervously tugging at his ears, took a step into the entry and jumped even more nervously when the door closed.

"G..g...good eve...ning, Pro...f...fes...sor," Dobby stuttered, shifting from one foot to the other, hands wringing the rain from his long, floppy ears.

"Dobby," Snape acknowledged. Then, when the elf seemed unable to say any more, he prodded, "What are you doing here, Dobby?"

Dobby left off wringing his ears for his hands. He ducked his head all the while looking wildly around the entry as though expecting to be attacked in some manner.

"Dobby." Snape made his voice more authoritarian than he'd had to in over two years. It pleased him to note that the tone still had the ability to make the house elf jump a little. It had been a long time since he'd elicited that kind of response to anything he said.

"Dobby sorry, Professor. He is wetting the Professor's lovely floor."

Snape sighed and knew that whatever the reason the house elf had for showing up at his door, it would take time to get to it. With a gesture of his cane – which caused the elf to cringe in a manner Snape associated all too well with Malfoy house elves – Snape indicated the library and went into it. He was sitting in his chair when he noticed Dobby had made it just as far as the entrance to the room. It was obvious that the elf was waiting for permission to enter.

"Well, come in," he growled. "It's warmer here by the fire."

Dobby hesitated. Snape noted that he looked back towards the front door before he shook himself a little and did as Snape had asked.

Snape watched in silence as the elf held his trembling hands to the warmth, still looking about him as though imprinting the room in his mind.

"What is it that you want, Dobby?" Snape kept his voice soft this time, not wanting to make the skittish elf more so.

"Professor knows that Albus Dumbledore is dead."

Snape nodded.

Dobby's ears drooped even more and he inched a little closer to the fire. Snape noticed that the tea towels Dobby wore were embroidered with the Hogwarts shield.

"Dobby is a free elf, Professor."

"Yes, I do remember that." Which was why the bloody elf was wearing socks that were at the very moment creating a puddle on his floor. Funny how once he would have snapped at the creature but now he found he had somewhere developed the patience to wait him out.

"Dobby worked for Albus Dumbledore. The Headmaster paid Dobby a Galleon and a sock a month."

He seemed to be waiting for Snape to say something, so he did. "Yes, I remember his telling me so."

Dobby turned his back to the fire, his hands rubbing the excess water from that part of his garment. He took a deep breath before continuing. "Albus Dumbledore was a good man, Professor."

Snape nodded again. Albus had been an irritating wizard but, yes, he had also been a good man.

Dobby seemed lost as to where he should go next, so Snape decided to help him. "And now that Albus has died, is there no one who will pay you at Hogwarts?"

Dobby stepped forward, his hands tugging now at the hem of his tea towel. "Oh, no, Professor. Headmistress tells Dobby that she has promised Albus Dumbledore to continue paying Dobby's salary. Albus Dumbledore..." Here he sniffed and wiped the tip of his long nose with the back of his hand.

Snape grimaced and handed the elf his handkerchief, who accepted it tearfully and then loudly blew his nose in it.

"Albus Dumbledore," Dobby took up, his voice quivering, "was a good, kind man. But..."

"But?" Snape gestured to the elf to keep the handkerchief, all the while discovering that there were limits after all to his newly found patience. Would the creature never get to the point, his reason for being here? After he left, Snape promised himself to reset the wards to deny admittance to any magical creature. Damn these house elves and their ability to penetrate most wards.

"ButnoteveryelfisasluckyasDobbysomehavenoAlbusDunmbledoreand..."

Snape held up his hand and the elf stopped in mid-breath. "Again, Dobby, and slowly so that I can understand why you are here."

Of course, the elf took him literally. " But...not...every...elf...is..."

Snape must have conveyed his growing impatience as Dobby reverted to his normal speaking pattern.

"...as lucky as Dobby. Some have no Albus Dumbledore and..."

"And?" Snape had a feeling he wasn't going to like what came next.

Dobby dropped to his knees with a small ‘thunk'. He sat back on his heels, raising his hands to his face and rubbing hard. Then he covered his knees with his hands and spoke to the floor.

"Professor knows that Dobby was once house elf to Lucius Malfoy?"

"Until Harry Potter fooled him into giving you an article of clothing. A sock, as the story goes. Yes, I know that."

Dobby sighed. "Dobby is considered a strange elf for wanting his freedom, Professor." He looked up. "Not many house elves want freedom."

"I understand that, Dobby. It is the way of house elves. Just as I understand why, having Lucius Malfoy as a master, you would desire freedom."

Dobby sighed again, this time with relief, Snape concluded. Yes, he could certainly understand that getting away from Lucius was more important than one's destiny.

"Professor knows that the Manor has been sold."

Snape shook his head. No, he hadn't known that, but he wasn't surprised. There were no Malfoys left and the Ministry would have wanted reparation of some kind.

"New Masters not want Malfoy house elves, Professor. They say Malfoy house elves are evil." This time his sigh was definitely heartfelt. Face grim, Dobby lowered his voice as though he still couldn't believe what he was about to reveal. "They gave all of them clothes, Professor."

Snape winced. So even house elves were bearing the consequences of their masters' choices.

"But what does that have to do with me, Dobby?"

Dobby moved up onto his knees and crawled his way over to the chair. Once there, he nervously placed his hands on the arm of the chair.

"Dobby hears at Hogwarts that Professor is moving into a Muggle house."

Snape allowed his eyebrow to react to that bit of news. He'd mentioned it only to Minerva, in her private quarters. Which once more went to prove the old cliché about the walls having ears. In this case, house elf ears.

"Dobby knows too that the Professor is not well. Headmistress mentioned it after Professor left." Before Snape could make any kind of response, Dobby gestured around the room. "This house is very large, Professor. Too large for you to care for properly."

Snape sat back and allowed himself a slight glare. Yes, the bloody house was probably too large for him, and he still wasn't certain what had drawn him to it. But he really didn't need to have that pointed out to him. On the other hand...

"Are you asking to work for me, Dobby?"

Dobby sighed a little. "Dobby would be very happy to work for Professor. Hogwarts not the same without Albus Dumbledore. And Harry Potter not need Dobby. But Dobby asking not for himself." He glanced once more towards the front door.

Snape closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten before he asked, "The Malfoy elves?"

Dobby grabbed one of Snape's hands and held on for dear life. "Sirtheyaregoodelves...."

Snape gently tugged his hand back. "Dobby, I'm certain they are..."

"Well trained," whimpered Dobby.

Yes, they would be. Or they wouldn't still be alive. The attrition rate of Malfoy elves was quite high, even for those of a Death Eater.

"They want to be someone's house elves again, Professor. No one wants them."

Snape closed his eyes again and tried to find the wherewithal to deny Dobby. Instead he heard himself asking, "How many are there?"

"Not many, Professor. Only three."

"Three!" He glared at the house elf. "Merlin, Dobby, this place is large, but even one house elf would be bored in no time at all. Three..."

Dobby literally threw himself at Snape. "Please, Dobby can help," his voice frantic. "Dobby can give Professor Snape his Galleon a month."

Snape managed to disencumber himself of the clinging elf. He shook his head, mentally cursing one Albus Dumbledore. If the bloody man hadn't hired... But he had and now he, Snape, was going to have to tidy up the consequences because it was obvious that if Dobby had come to him, well...he knew himself well enough to know that he was the elf's last resort.

"Where are they, Dobby?" he snapped, thinking they were at Hogwarts or somewhere safe.

"Outside, Professor." Dobby looked incredibly sad once more. "Other house elves afraid of them, Professor. Even Hogwarts house elves. Afraid that they bring trouble."

Muttering imprecations against one safely dead, interfering old wizard, Snape slowly made his way to the front door, Dobby hopping nervously at his side. He glared one final time at the house elf then opened his door. "Go get them and tell them to come in."

They were a motley crew. Thin, scarred, battered by their time under Malfoy's rule and all too obviously terrified by their banishment from the only roof they had known.

Snape didn't recognise any of them. In Malfoy Manor, house elves were either part of the woodwork or they were dead. There was a male elf who looked about Dobby's age, though, in house elf terms, that meant very little. There were two females as well, whose ages Snape couldn't even begin to guess. All he could determine was that one appeared older than the other. The male was wearing a glove on one of his all too small hands while the females wore small stocking caps, like the ones Hermione Granger had knitted throughout that SPEW phase of hers. Their tea towels were stained and torn, grimed as though they had been living rough.

In spite of himself, Snape was shocked at their condition: these elves had not been cast out recently. Rubbing his free hand over his head, he said, "Look, I know we need to discuss this, but it's rather late. It's past my bedtime." Maybe by morning he would have thought of someone to whom he could send them. If there had been only one...but three! "You'll find food in the kitchen, down the hall. And I suppose you can use the dust sheets that you'll find on one of the chairs there for towels and bedding."

The Malfoy elves looked at Dobby as though for permission to move. He nodded and they scurried away, leaving a trail of drips and footprints on the floor.

Dobby opened his mouth but Snape held his hand up to prevent him from speaking. "Truly, Dobby, I need to get to bed. This rain is not good for me. We will discuss the situation in the morning." He turned around then paused as he suddenly thought of something. "You can stay until morning, can't you, Dobby?"

Dobby smiled timorously. "Oh, yes, Professor. Dobby has time off from Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore said he could."

Snape nodded, restraining the urge to roll his eyes. Yes, of course, the old bugger would give his paid house elf time off as well as socks.

What the hell was he going to do with the three house elves? he muttered to himself as he prepared for bed.

Still, as he pulled the bedclothes over his shoulders, he was surprised to find that the fact that there were other beings in his house made him feel a little more comfortable.

It was still raining when he woke. He could hear the rain against the windowpanes.

But that wasn't what had awakened him: it was the aroma of tea.

He opened one eye and saw a lightly steaming cup awaiting him on the nightstand.

Snape closed his eye and knew that, much as he hadn't wanted, it would seem that he had house elves. He sat up slowly, accio'ed his potion to him then sipped a cup of tea, brewed exactly as he liked it, to chase its taste away. He sighed: it would seem that Dobby remembered him well.

He dressed, made his way back to the solarium, noticing, as he passed the open doorway, that there was a warm fire awaiting him in the library. He saw no one as he went through the kitchen on his way to the loo. Still, he wasn't surprised to find breakfast on the kitchen table when he came out.

And, much as he hated to admit it, he liked the fact that it was there, waiting for him. The eggs were cooked exactly as he had so often requested at Hogwarts, with the bacon just right. The toast was golden, not having had the burnt parts scrapped off as he'd done over the past week. The marmalade was in a small bowl, chipped as it was one of those remnants of no value, but not the jar it came in.

He ate slowly, wondering just what the hell he would do with three house elves. He knew that, large though his house was, it was anything but compared to Malfoy Manor. He could see how that had needed this number of elves, but his establishment was...

And then there was the problem of payment. How much did one pay them? Had Dumbledore set the scale?

Mind, it didn't take Albus Dumbledore to tell him that if he accepted one elf, he couldn't cast out the others to whatever fate awaited them. He wondered if they would expect a Galleon a month as Dobby was paid. And what they would accept in lieu of a sock.

He sipped the last of his tea and, taking up his cane, stood up.

"Thank you. That was an excellent breakfast. And since there's a fire in the library, perhaps we should meet there."

They were at the door when he looked up from making himself comfortable in his chair. Dobby entered, looking less nervous than the night before, though the others remained where they were.

Snape sighed and turned to Dobby. "Tell them to come in." He wasn't yet ready to act ‘Master' with them.

They did so, looking only drier than they had the previous night.

"Tell them to sit down, here, by the fire."

The fact that he was not addressing them made them all more nervous, but that couldn't be helped. He needed to make several things clear if... Oh, bloody hell! ...before he agreed to take them on.

Snape waited until they had settled down on the floor, almost in each other's laps. He noticed that Dobby sat closer to the older of the two females, his hand patting hers.

Snape cleared his throat and thought that the elves were about to jump out of their skin. Hell, he hated that. He had never minded being obeyed. Merlin knew, in his classroom, he had certainly expected any order he gave out would be as soon as it was out of his mouth. But he didn't like this kind of fear.

He'd had enough of fear.

He leaned over and looked at each of the elves. "You will listen to me and then you will think about what I've said. Is that clear?"

Frightened nods again. Dobby frowned at him, as though he wasn't sure he was going to like what was about to come out of Snape's mouth.

"First of all, should you decide to remain here, you must understand that there will never be enough work for all of you to keep as occupied as house elves normally are."

Without even glancing at the others, Dobby nodded. "They understand this, Professor."

Snape gave the elf his most stern look. "Am I to assume that you went through my house sometime last night?"

The elves, even Dobby, suddenly found their feet very interesting.

Snape sighed. "That's what I expected you would do. So you all know that I mean it when I say that, should you decide to stay here, you will probably be quite bored in no time at all. And that should you be, there is nothing I will be able to do about that. It will be just myself and my requirements are relatively few. I will not tolerate being importuned so I am most serious when I say that you would have to find things with which to occupy yourselves."

Once more, Dobby spoke for the elves. "They understand that, Professor. But house elves are very good at finding things to do," he added, nodding enthusiastically.

Snape ignored him. "Should you decide to remain with me, there are some rules that will need to be obeyed."

This time all four sets of eyes dared to look up at him. Good, he was getting somewhere.

"One, there are places you will not be permitted to enter. I intend to make the addition beyond the greenhouse my laboratory and no one will be permitted to enter it, no matter the reason."

Dobby jumped in immediately. "Like as Hogwarts. No house elf ever entered the professor's laboratory there ever."

Snape nodded. "That is correct. Just as no house elf was ever permitted to touch my desk." He leaned forward, knowing that the gesture was threatening, but knowing also that if they did not understand and accept their limits, he would have to refuse them.

"They under..."

Snape held up his hand, stopping Dobby in mid-word. "No. I want to hear them say so. Each one of them."

Their voices were so faint as to be almost inaudible, but, one after the other, they murmured that they understood.

"The next rule is that they are never to punish themselves for any mistake they make, or for my bad mood."

This time not only did they look at him, they did so, their mouths dropped open.

Yes, that would be a difficult rule for Malfoy elves to abide by. Snape was certain that self- punishment had been bred into them.

They looked incredulously at each other, then at Dobby, who smiled as he shrugged, then they looked at him again. Finally, the male elf coughed slightly.

"Yes?"

"Please, Master."

Snape winced. There would be another rule coming up.

"Yes," he said, aware that he was giving permission to speak.

"Master must understand that we exist to serve and to serve as Master wishes. Punishment..."

"Is not part of the deal." He made the effort to keep his voice on even-timbre, knowing that the elves were skittish enough as was. "I know that it was one of the rules in Malfoy Manor, but this is not Malfoy Manor. Those rules are not mine. If you decide to remain here, you will have to follow my rules and my rules state that there will be no punishment."

Merlin knew, he'd had to deal with too much of it to inflict any on others.

"Besides, you will have to deal with my temperament and bad humour. That should be enough so-called punishment for anyone, including house elves."

"Dobby remembers Professor Snape's temper. It is not a pretty thing," he added mournfully. Then he smiled, "But then Professor was working as a spy. Not a good thing for temper."

The elves looked from Dobby to Snape, eyes wide.

Dobby leaned over to confide, "Professor Snape is a real hero of the War. It will be an honour to be his house elves."

The smiles of the females, Snape noticed, firmed up. The male still looked dubious, whether that was from the rule against punishment or Dobby's insistence that he was a hero, Snape couldn't tell.

"There is another rule."

The smiles of the females wobbled and waned.

"If you remain here, you will never address me as ‘Master'. On pain of immediate dismissal."

He'd had to use the term far too often with Voldemort. He preferred never again to hear that particular title.

Again the male elf found the courage to dare. "Then, how are we to address you? Sir?"

Dobby shook his head. "Not sir. You call the professor ‘Professor'. That is what Professor Snape is."

Snape felt the same little flash of warmth he had felt the previous night on hearing Dobby address him as such. Yes, he might not be a teacher any more, but he still had his credentials. He still was a Potions Master and he had earned the rightful usage of the honourific.

"Yes, as Dobby says, that is what you shall call me." Then he added, "Should you decide to remain here. And should you decide to remain here, we will have to come to some agreement about salary..."

And he got no further as there was a definite negative response to that. All the elves began talking at the same time, Dobby included, but not in a language that Snape recognised.

He sat back and listened, ignoring the panicky looks he was getting, hoping that Dobby would get around to explaining just what the problem was.

So it seemed that house elves had a language of their own and that it was composed of many sibilants and rolling ‘r' sounds. He wondered if anyone in the wizardry world knew of it. He himself had never before heard such sounds coming from house elves. But then, apart from Hogwarts where the house elves knew better than to enter any room other than his bedroom or bathroom, he had no real experience with them. By the time he'd been born, the Snapes had long lost any ability and standing to have even one house elf.

He waited while the elves sorted out whatever was troubling them. It didn't take all that long, though from the way Dobby looked, he wasn't pleased with the matter.

"Professor. They," he gestured with a hand at the others who were watching both of them with trepidation, "don't want to be free elves. They don't want clothes. They want to be Professor's house elves as is the normal way."

Snape steepled his hands to his mouth to hide his confusion. "Let me see if I have this correctly. They don't want to be paid?"

Dobby sighed loudly as he shook his head. "They say that is not normal. That maybe it is all right for Dobby, Professor, but not for them." He sighed as he walked over to the chair to confide to Snape. "They think being paid for work is...not acceptable. They not want to be like Dobby." He ducked his head, as if ashamed. "They think Dobby a freak."

To his utter surprise, Snape found himself patting the elf's thin shoulder. "Dobby, you are anything but a freak. Albus was right to pay you for you behaved as no other house elf ever has. It was a brave thing you did, using your freedom to help us."

Which Dobby had, working as a messenger when they'd needed to get into places no wizard could. And he had the scars to prove it as well.

"You should have been awarded a medal, Dobby, for your work."

Dobby turned a dull red. "It's all right, Professor. Albus Dumbledore presented me with a pair..." here he sniffed, "of socks. Lovely socks, Professor. Purple and green and yellow."

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Only Albus... Merlin, but that man had horrible taste in socks!

"We need to get back to the issue here, Dobby. If they do not want payment, what do they want?"

"They want to belong to you, Professor. They want to be normal house elves. They want to give back their clothing."

Snape rubbed his face with his hands. "Dobby, if that is what we agree to, you know they will be bound to the house. Is that what they truly want?"

The male elf said something that had the others gasping. Even Dobby looked stunned.

"What?"

Dobby looked at Snape, swallowed loudly, then checked with the male elf again. At the elf's nod, he took a deep breath, turned and faced Snape.

"He says that if you prefer, he will leave. That way there will only be two elves for the house to care for."

Snape allowed the thought of agreeing to last barely a second before... Oh, bloody hell! He knew he couldn't: it was something that Malfoy would have done.

Angry with himself for not being able to turn these elves away, he glared at all of them. "No," he snarled. "The deal is for all of you, or none at all." He stood up. "I will give you some time to think about what I have said. Dobby, I shall be in my bedroom. When a decision has been reached, come find me."

And he left them to it.

He'd barely sat down on the bed he hadn't had to make when Dobby appeared in front of him.

"Well?"

Dobby's sigh was resigned. "They accept. All as Professor wishes."

Snape stood at the bottom of the stairway going up from the kitchen. It was narrow and had not only a handrail to hold onto, but walls, as the way was enclosed to the top.

There were, after all, only fourteen steps.

Taking a deep breath and keeping his eyes on the top step, Snape carefully made his way up to the second floor, one step at a time. His physio-therapist would have been delighted with how little out of breath he was as he attained his goal. Still, he made certain that his cane was solidly planted on the dusty, grimy floor before letting go of the handrail.

As indicated on the plans, the space under the roof was divided into three rooms and a narrow hallway. Two of the rather small rooms were being used for storage as there were still items and boxes left. The even smaller third was a bathroom with a low toilet and sink, and a child-sized tub. The rooms up here had obviously been used as a nursery at some time.

Each of the other rooms had a good-sized set of windows that allowed in light even though they were sadly in need of washing. Once more, however, they seemed to be snug as there was no sign of rain that might have seeped its way in through the previous night's storm. The ones facing south opened up onto a small porch, nestled in the slanted roof, one of the features he had noted during his initial visit.

"Professor?"

Snape turned to find Dobby watching him.

"Is Professor all right?"

Snape kept one hand on the wall as he made his way back to the bathroom. He checked to see that the water worked properly before continuing back to the stairs.

Dobby was several steps behind him, arms, Snape could tell, ready to offer support should he need it. It irritated him, but he had to acknowledge that Dobby said nothing, only keeping a careful eye on him as Snape made his way back down the stairs without incident.

Still, Snape had to admit that he was pleased to find his chair at the kitchen table pulled out and waiting for him as he dropped into it. Damn it! He had been made to promise he would keep up with his exercises. He had had other things on his mind since moving in. If he weren't careful, he was going to lose the ground he'd finally managed to attain.

He'd caught his breath when he noticed that all four elves were in the kitchen with him. Dobby was standing in front of him, but the others were hiding in the shadows, as if afraid of his attention. "That really has to stop," he growled under his breath.

"Professor?" Dobby stepped forward, awaiting instructions. "What has to stop, Professor?"

But Snape ignored him for the others. He beckoned them forward and, after checking with each other, they did so. Slowly, hesitantly, until they were standing by Dobby.

"All right. You wish to remain here, as my house elves. I have that correct?"

All heads nodded, including Dobby's.

"Dobby says that you have agreed to abide by my rules. Is that correct?"

Again heads nodded, a little more emphatically.

"Then you will have to hand over the clothes given you."

Snape no sooner held out his hand than it was filled with two hats and a glove. He was placing the items down on the table when Dobby, pale as Snape had never before seen the elf, came over and pulled a plain, black sock out of his pocket. With a sad sigh, he offered the sock to Snape.

"Dobby?" What the hell was going on?

"Please, Professor, Dobby would like to remain here with the Professor and his family."

Snape felt momentary shock: Dobby had a family?

In their arrogance, wizards had never considered the social make-up of house elves. Only that they were there to serve them. It made sense, now that he thought of it. After all, house elves had to come from somewhere.

"Dobby knows that the house is not large for all of us, but maybe Dobby could help..."

His ears drooped as did his hand. The sock dangled onto the floor as he sighed again.

"Dobby..." Snape began, shaking his head. He knew he hadn't enough work for three elves, but as for four? Dear Merlin, why the bloody hell was he even taking them on?

But he knew why. He knew that families had been torn apart and destroyed. That the stain of Voldemort was not easily washed away. That this morning alone had shown him that he needed someone to help. But four elves?

Dobby's eyes filled with unshed tears, his ears limp in abject disappointment. He turned and went back to join the other three. Who looked equally upset.

Snape spoke quickly, before he could change his mind and act logically. "Dobby. If I accept your sock, you will be bound to the house. And I shall need someone to run errands for me. House elves rarely leave their roof and you are already used to running errands in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade."

Dobby turned slowly, his eyes wide, the tears slowly slipping off the tip of his long nose. "Oh, Pro...fes...sor!"

"One Galleon a month with an extra sickle every time I need you to run an errand for me. That," he added with a sneer that was a faint imitation of his old self, "will have to do instead of socks."

The male elf was Dobby's cousin, Clim. Well, to be accurate, Snape wasn't all that certain what the relationship was exactly. But after Dobby's long genealogic explanation, Snape decided that cousin was as close as he could conclude. Mindy, the elder female, was easier to label. She was Dobby's sister, while the younger female, Ola, was her daughter.

Snape did not ask about other family members, not really needing to know the answer.

Introductions made, Snape rose to return to the library and his books. "Oh," he stopped on the way out. "The rooms above will be yours. I assume one for the females and one for the males. Or whichever way you determine to use them. Take whatever furniture you find anywhere in the house, other than in the parlour and library. Let me know when there is a need for another food order and, Dobby, make certain to add to that list whatever it is that you and your family need."

He later admitted to himself that the look of stunned surprise on all the elves' faces was rather nice. He doubted that Malfoy had extended any kind of courtesy to his elves. Well, as he had told them...had told his house elves, he was not a Malfoy.

At mid-morning, Snape began to appreciate the presence of house elves even more. There was a soft knock at the door and Dobby's head peered around when he responded with a gruff, "Yes?"

And with Dobby came tea, and a plate of hot buttered scones.

"For elevenses," chirped Dobby, who, Snape noticed, was no longer wearing Hogwarts tea towels, but some toga-contraption made of a swatch of material. With a nervous smile, Dobby placed the tea and plate on a shelf close to Snape's hand. A snap of the elf's fingers and a mug, a sugar bowl and a large linen napkin, yellowed with age, appeared next to them.

"Mindy," confided Dobby, "makes the best scones. Better than Hogwarts."

And she did. Snape closed his eyes in appreciation as the first bite almost melted in his mouth. Dobby hid his giggles behind his hands.

He also brought Snape a meal at noon, much like the ones he had ordered for himself when he had worked in his quarters or in his laboratory at Hogwarts. He nodded his thanks as he continued placing his books, one after the other, on his bookshelves. And there was a hot meal waiting for him on the kitchen table when he finally rose from his chair, stretching the kinks out after a day of indulging himself in old friends.

But the real changes appeared the next morning. Not only was there a cup of tea on his nightstand, the vial with his dose of medical potion was also there. The next surprise was the disappearance of all the furniture that had still been inhabiting the entry.

As he passed the open door to his library, a whiff of something caught his attention. Cautiously, he entered the room to find all the bookcases shining from a fresh polishing. The floor was absolutely gleaming, warmly reflecting the fire already flickering away happily in the fireplace.

From somewhere, his elves had found a small stand and placed it by his chair, which had also benefitted from some polish and, yes, even repairs. The windows had been washed as were, he would swear, the drapes that had been left behind.

Bemused, not ever truly having known just what house elves were able to do, Snape made his way into the second part of the house. There, more surprises were awaiting him. In the solarium, the old, rickety table, which had been too wobbly for him to consider using, was now laid with a cloth of some kind, with china and cutlery. The windows here too were sparkling in the weak, early morning light.

"Mindy wishes to know," Dobby said, as he suddenly appeared, "if Professor prefers tea or coffee with his breakfast." The house elf casually pulled out the chair at the place set and waited for Snape to sit down.

Snape leaned his cane against the table and watched as a bowl of porridge appeared in front of him. "I prefer coffee in the afternoon."

Then, before Dobby could disappear, Snape gestured for him to come near. "Dobby. All these...changes..."

Dobby hopped on one foot then the other. "Oh, Professor said we can use anything we found. There are many things, far too many of them. And many more yet in the big upstairs and the attics and the other parts..."

Snape held up his hand. "Yes, thank you. And thank you for the library. Did any of you get any sleep last night, Dobby? Because, remember, there will be a lot of time to fill in the coming weeks and months."

Dobby suddenly grinned. "Dobby told Professor house elves always find things to do. Dobby told Ola that if she wanted to clean the library, had to do it before the professor emptied any more boxes because, once done, he would never let her touch anything in there again. See, Dobby remembers Professor Snape well."

Snape found himself nodding.

"And Mindy thinks it not right that Professor Snape eats in the kitchen, so..." he gestured to the room.

"And what has Clim decided on my behalf?" wondered Snape, not really able to put much sneer into his tone. The solarium was truly a much brighter place in which to eat, now that it had been cleaned.

Dobby looked uneasy again. Snape braced himself for what was coming next.

Dobby peered up from under the ears he was drawing across his face in his nervousness. "Clim thinks that the Professor is going to want the greenhouse and his laboratory soon. So he is cleaning them out. Clim," Dobby leaned in to confide, "is very good with plants, Professor. He would like permission to clean out the gardens after he has done the greenhouse and the laboratory."

The sound of running water woke him.

Snape nestled into the cocoon of his blankets, knowing that this was Dobby's way of telling him he had spent enough time in bed.

It irritated him but the bloody elf was probably right. Yes, he'd worked late over a potion but it still needed to be bottled.

With a sigh of reluctance, he forced himself to push back the covers, sit up and reach for the cup of tea that was waiting for him on the nightstand. At least he had managed to do something about the taste of the medical potion he still required – and probably would till the day he died – so that it went down far more easily. He'd also tinkered with the ingredients so that much less was far more effective.

Cup empty, he got out of bed, slipping his feet into a pair of fleece-lined slippers. Muggle slippers, purchased in the village, that he appreciated even if there was a good fire in the bedroom's fireplace. With a yawn, he draped his dressing gown over his shoulders as he tottered into the adjoining bathroom and the filled tub awaiting him.

He shaved Muggle style, with a straight razor. It was one more way of proving to himself that his hands were steady enough to do as he wanted. After brushing his teeth, he braided his hair back into a thick, charcoal grey plait as he was spending the day working in his laboratory. He left it loose when working in his library.

Back in his bedroom, his day's clothes were laid out on the made bed. He'd gone back to his old-fashioned suits as he felt more comfortable in them than in the more casual clothing of his recovery and convalescence. Moreover, it was another proof to himself that he was himself again.

At the top of the stairs, he took a deep breath and, brow furled in concentration, made his way down.

They had been his proving ground. The winding staircase up to the second floor with its large bedrooms and bathrooms was comprised of thirty-seven steps that, at first, had been an obstacle course to overcome. Dobby had never allowed him – probably still didn't, though Snape never caught sight of the elf – to attempt them on his own. Once, when he'd stumbled and begun falling, he'd discovered just how powerful house elf Magic could be. Dobby had caught Snape with his Magic before he'd toppled forwards more than a few inches and then had straightened him, propping him up until Snape had got a good grip on the handrail, his cane firmly planted on the step.

After that, until he was far more stable on the stairs, Dobby had silently followed him one step at a time while Snape had permitted himself to grumble about it only under his breath.

Dobby also insisted on his daily walks around the property. Twice a day, unless Snape was busy with a potion. The bloody elf would appear in the library, not saying a word, merely holding his cane and, if the weather warranted it, his cloak and a hat. He waited until Snape, usually with an exaggerated sigh, would put aside whatever he was doing and accept the hint.

Outside, he became Clim's responsibility. And if Dobby was off on an errand for Snape, then Clim would take upon himself to replace his cousin inside as well.

Snape made his way carefully down the stairs, recognising the feeling of accomplishment he still enjoyed when he reached the bottom. These were becoming easier and easier with time.

The door to the library was partially open. He peered in as he passed. Yes, of course, nothing had been touched on his desk. He knew that Ola would have loved nothing better than to organize it for him, but she dusted everything in the room except his desk. All the dark wood shone, reflecting the light coming from the fire and from the windows that sparkled.

The desk was his from Hogwarts, but the large dark rug on the floor under it had been one of the elves' discoveries when they'd cleared out one of the attics. A beautiful, wine- coloured Persian that had been hiding under some crates. It looked as though it had always belonged in this room.

Breakfast was awaiting him in what had now become the dining room of his house. The rickety table in the solarium had been replaced with another find. It turned out that Dobby, besides being his silent, self-appointed physio-therapist, had a certain affinity for wood. The round oak table had been in pieces but, after some of Dobby's attention, it was now a solid presence in the room.

Mindy had taken control of this part of the house as well as the kitchen. He'd come down one morning to walls painted a pale yellow that complimented the golden oak of the furniture and floor. It made the room look sunnier, even on grey, rainy days.

The chairs that surrounded the table had come from some estate auction that he'd attended to get Poppy Pomfrey off his back about "getting out, once in a while." After he'd refused to see any St. Mungo's healer for six months after he'd moved here, she'd sent a message by owl, telling him that she was at his front gate and would remain there for all to see until he let her in. She checked up on him periodically, taking it upon herself to order his elves about. And since his improving good health was the basis of these orders, they obeyed her. Well, Dobby did and then forced the others to do so.

The thing that had attracted him to the chairs, apart from their being oak, was that they did not match and needed a fair amount of repair. He'd known that Dobby would appreciate the challenge.

The porridge was perfectly creamed and sugared. His tea was steeped to the right degree. The toast, eggs and bacon were exactly as he liked them. He wiped his mouth then placed the napkin on the table before calling, "Mindy?"

"Yes, Professor."

Snape allowed himself a small smile at the flour that streaked her cheek and tip of nose. Her apron almost completely covered the bright purple flannel pillowcase she wore.

Once it became obvious to Snape that he was going to live with four elves who adored colour, he had purchased some bright pillowcases – in flannel for the cold seasons, linen for the warmer – and tea towels imprinted with different colourful patterns. He liked his elves to have a variety of items at their choice.

One of the unexpected results had been the lessening of fear Malfoy's three had held for him. Mindy now smiled at him as she waited.

"Do you think it might be possible to have scones for this afternoon's tea?"

Mindy's smile grew. "With blackberry preserves?"

Snape nodded. All of Mindy's preserves were incredible, but her blackberry was a particular favourite of his. Made from his own bushes. Not that there had been many but Clim assured him that the next crop should provide enough for several additional jars over the last.

As he passed through the greenhouse, Snape nodded to the elf dressed in a dark green pillow case. Most of the area was dedicated to the difficult plants that Snape needed for his work, but a corner was reserved for Clim and his vegetables.

It seemed that house elves were mainly vegetarian, liking only a little fish or fowl every now and then. Not that Snape had anything against home-grown vegetables. Winter tomatoes from the green grocer had taught him the benefits of Clim's gardening skills. With Snape's approval, the elf had selected several plots away from the house where he grew different vegetables, flowers and the hardier of Snape's needs. The few fruit trees, scattered about on the property, were also benefitting from Clim's attention. The cellars were beginning to reflect Mindy's joy of canning and preserving.

"Mandrakes getting pimply, Professor," announced the elf.

"Ah," responded Snape and kept on his way to the door that led to his now laboratory.

Once the door closed behind him, he knew he would not be disturbed. Not for any reason. That didn't mean that Dobby or one of the others didn't look in on him: they did. Just to make certain that he was still on his feet. And when a potion required long supervision, one of them joined him, sitting on one of the steps that led down to his fires and work areas.

Among the books Albus had bequeathed to him, many dealt with areas of interest to Snape, but as many did not. He'd placed those dealing with food on the kitchen table and had found himself smiling at Mindy's delighted shrieks of pleasure. The others he had put on his bookshelves and, when Dobby had hesitantly requested, he had agreed to allow the elves to borrow certain subject matters. If Ola or Mindy joined him, they usually did so with one of the late Headmaster's collections of fanciful tales: Clim preferred anything botanical while Dobby was working his way through the books dealing with the customs of different magical creatures.

Snape didn't mind their presence because if he fell asleep, they always woke him before the potion went off.

Now he rolled up his sleeves as he checked that the potion he'd been modifying was indeed the burnt orange he expected it would be. He reached for the ladle and the small bottles that had been properly cleaned by Dobby while Snape had worked on the potion.

He never noticed that, as he filled them, he was humming a tune that he'd heard Clim sing as the elf worked in the greenhouse.

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