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To be fair, Severus thought that teaching Potter Occlumency would be worse. He had braced himself for scenes of Potter defying authority figures, of Potter talking back to his Muggle teachers, of Potter getting spoiled by his middle-class aunt and uncle, who would no doubt allow him ice cream on Monday and non-stop television on the weekends.

He saw none of that.

Was Potter so skilled that he would deliberately choose which memories to show him? Severus doubted that. The boy had little self-control, his mind was anything but organized. But what did that mean? Was it possible that, perhaps, Severus had been too hasty—

He tripped over something on the ground.

After seeing Potter off, he had headed over to the Potions laboratory to filter out the Invisibility Potion. The lights were dim, so he had not seen the pile of rags below the work desk.

He reached for the pile, intending to throw it into the fireplace—and realized it was alive.

“What the—?”

“Eughh,” the pile said, dripping drool on his hand. He stood it up on its wonky legs, grabbed it by the tiny shoulders. It slowly lifted its head, and he saw the huge, bloodshot eyes, the flappy pointed ears.

“What are you doing here?” he asked the house-elf. He was annoyed; he really was hoping to go to bed before midnight once in his life.

“Sleugh. Sprooff,” the elf slurred.

“Are you drunk?” Severus asked. He looked around and saw an overturned bottle of absinthe. Damn, he had been saving that.

“Naaah!” the elf replied and burped.

Laying the elf carefully back on the ground, Severus lit the torches with a silent Lumos.

He rummaged in the supply cabinet, getting out peppermint, hellebore and dried belladonna root. He mixed them in boiling water and within ten minutes, whipped up a simplified Sobering solution. He diluted it ten to one with water, hoping not to poison the elf any more than the absinthe already had.

He offered the potion to the elf and it gulped it down hungrily.

He watched its pupils dilate and constrict. Finally, the big eyes focused. The elf looked him up and down and then jumped away.

“Master! Winky has been a bad elf. Please, forgive us!”

And indeed, this was Winky, he realized. The former servant of the Crouches. She looked like she had taken a turn for the worse since he last saw her.

“What were you doing here?”

“Nothing, nothing, Sir!” wailed Winky.

“Calm down.”

“Winky is calm, Sir.”

“You’re shaking.”

“Winky is not shaking,” said Winky, shaking.

He crouched down on one knee in front of Winky.

“You are not allowed here,” he said to her, slowly and clearly. “You are not allowed to steal any of my supplies. And you are most definitely not allowed to drink them. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, Winky knows, Winky would not touch anything that belongs to a wizard without permission.”

“But you did, Winky. You drank the absinthe and spilled the rest. Do not let it happen again.”

Winky blinked, her eyes filling with tears. “Winky—”

“Also, I forbid you to drink.” He thought about what he said and added quickly: “Alcohol, that is. You can obviously drink water.”

His knee was hurting him from resting on the cold stone, so he got up again.

“You are free to go now,” he dismissed the elf.

Winky gathered her peculiar knitted layers of clothes and scurried out of the laboratory.

*

“But is that the truth, Severus?” the Dark Lord drawled.

He looked into the red, reptilian eyes. “Yes, my lord.”

“You would not keep anything from us, would you?”

Absurdly, the pronoun made Severus think of the house-elf he had found in his laboratory. The Dark Lord could not see the exact memory, but he caught onto the hint of disrespect immediately.

“I. Will be. Obeyed!” the Dark Lord exclaimed, getting up from his seat. As his anger rose, so did the Death Eaters around him seem to shrink. Severus dropped his head; his hair fell into his face. Like everyone else, he hoped to look sufficiently contrite.

“Master, I only live to—”

Severus was not able to finish the sentence. The curse hit him like a burning whip. It coiled around his insides, forcing him to fall to his knees. It seared and burned through him, it was impossible to withstand—and then it was gone, just as suddenly as it had appeared.

“Incompetent! All of you.” The Dark Lord paced about the room. “Why is it that the Prophecy is still far out of our grasp, Lucius? Why is it that our best men and women still rot in Azkaban, John? How come we have still not been able to kill any of the Order, Thorfinn?”

One could hear a pin drop in the silence.

“Go, Severus,” the Dark Lord hissed. “Return to Dumbledore. And I expect you to bring something worthy to us, this time.”

Careful not to seem too eager to leave nor too hesitant to obey, Severus scrambled to his feet and escaped back to Hogwarts.

He headed straight to his Potions storeroom for a calming solution. His hand was still quivering as he opened the door—and jumped in surprise as a filthy pile of rags fell out.

“Winky! What are you doing here this time?”

What she was doing was the same thing as before. Reeking like a Muggle pub on a Saturday, she swayed on her feet.

“Maaas-tergh,” she said and passed out.

Having revived the elf with a mixture of Sobering solution and coffee, Severus seated her at one of the desks in his empty Potions classroom.

“What is happening?” he asked her. “Was I not clear in my instructions? How could you disobey? Did someone set you up to this?”

“Winky is so very sorry, so very sorry!”

“I do not want you to be sorry, Winky. I want you to do what I tell you.”

The elf howled and banged her head on the desk. “Bad Winky! Wicked Winky!”

Severus began to suspect he was even worse with house-elves than he was with children. Why couldn’t they just listen?

“Stop!” he ordered Winky.

She stopped immediately, fixing him with her bloodshot eyes, waiting for further commands.

“Why do you keep getting into my supplies? I didn’t even know house-elves liked alcohol.”

Winky began to sob.

“Stop crying!” Severus ordered her again. She drew the snot back into her nostrils, her eyes bulging.

Severus had no idea how to approach this. So he did what he did best—made it all even worse:

“I do not want to ever catch you here again. Do you hear me? And if I do, you will be punished.”

Winky slinked off the chair and out of the classroom, her knitted skirt dragging behind her.

*

“Keep your hands off the tablecloth, Snape. Kreacher has just washed it.”

Severus was waiting to give his report to the Order with no one but Black for company. The Dark Lord had been ecstatic at the Death Eaters’ escape from Azkaban, so there had been no torture.

Black was unshaven, with dark circles under his eyes. He poured himself a tumbler of Firewhiskey and sat down at the head of the table, looking in the opposite direction from Severus.

“Does Kreacher drink?” Severus asked him.

Black looked at him as if Severus had just confessed his eternal love.

“House-elves don’t drink, Snape.”

“I know one who does.”

“Maybe it does that to stand your company. That, I would understand.” Black took an ostentatious sip of the Firewhiskey.

Severus didn’t respond and turned away from Black, not paying him any attention.

When it came to Black, Severus always knew just which buttons to press to elicit the desired reaction. It somehow came naturally to him.

Once ignored for long enough, Black returned to the topic himself. “House-elves don’t do anything for fun. They live to serve wizards. The only time a house-elf will drink alcohol is when you order it to. But they don’t have very high tolerance, so I wouldn’t do that too often. Unless you want to wash your dirty laundry yourself.”

*

The next time Snape caught Winky red-handed, weeks had passed since the last incident. He’d partly forgotten about her, partly assumed she had stopped. But she had just been more careful.

“Who ordered you to do this?” he asked her.

“N-n-no-one, Sir.” She was only slightly flushed and wobbly this time. He had caught her early.

“Then why are you here?”

She stared at him. He stared back, but house-elves were resistant to Legilimency; their innate magic too powerful for a wizard to break.

“Do you not have anything else to do?” Snape asked.

“Winky has nothing to do, nothing to do anymore, Sir!” Winky wailed and then fell to the ground, pulling her hair out in great mottled tufts. “Winky is useless! Completely useless!”

“But …” Severus was at a loss. “You have the whole school to clean. Is that not what you are supposed to do? You can’t possibly be ever done with that.”

Winky’s huge eyes were shining with tears, her squeaky voice shaking with emotion: “Winky used to be Master Crouch’s elf. Winky used to be special, important. She was her master’s right hand. She was not just a house-cleaner.” She spat out the last words with surprising disdain.

Did house-elves have career levels?

“There is no shame in cleaning, Winky. It is important to keep things organized. Many a wizard has found that to be his fatal failing.”

“Pffft.” Winky folded her arms and looked away.

Severus raised his eyebrow. “Are you allowed to be this defiant?”

“Winky is a free elf,” Winky grimaced on the word free as if it was a slur. “Winky can do what she likes.”

“Should you then not use your freedom to do something more … worthwhile?”

Severus realized he was searching his memory for some of Dumbledore’s catchphrases. It is our choices that define us. Do what is difficult rather than what is easy. Was that how that went? Didn’t sound right. Anyway, none of the pieces of supercilious wisdom were quite applicable now.

“With Master Crouch’s and Master Crouch’s death, Winky’s life has lost its meaning,” Winky told him.

“Winky,” Severus said, “have you considered that… it is in the darkness that we find the light?”

He cringed at himself. Why was it only Dumbledore who sounded wise saying this rubbish?

Perhaps because he actually meant it.

Or did he?

“Listen, Winky,” he turned back to the elf. “There is nothing I can do for you. But you have to stop stealing from me.”

“Winky will not get caught again, Sir, she swears!”

“No—that is hardly enough. If you ever touch my supplies, you will regret it. The well has run dry, elf.” He straightened to appear more intimidating. But the truth was, he was just tired. Tired of all this nonsense. “Find a different way to spend your time. Find a hobby or, for Merlin’s sake, do something about the knitted clothes.”

“Winky has no other hobby.”

“Drinking is not a hobby.”

Although, when he came to think of it, it had been the favorite pastime of his father. And a number of other people he knew: Trelawney, Hagrid, Black, Mundungus Fletcher.

Seemed like anyone who had to deal with Dumbledore on a more regular basis was bound to hit the bottle eventually. The only reason that was stopping him some days was that the Dark Mark could start burning any time.

“Right,” Severus said to Winky. “Listen. I don’t have the time or energy to deal with you. I already have enough on my plate as it is.”

He thought about Potter and Occlumency, the Dark Lord and the Prophecy, Dumbledore and the Order, Umbridge and her decrees, Lupin and his potion, Black and his questioning, all the students and their essays.

All the students and their essays.

All the students and their essays.

“Unless,” he said. “Unless … Winky, can you read?”

Winky fixed him with her protruding eyes and blinked. Well, of course, she couldn’t read. Why would house elves know how to read? Even the Crouches weren’t crazy enough to-

“Winky can read English, French and Latin,” Winky informed him. “Winky started a study of Ancient Greek, but-”

“English will suffice, Winky.”

*

Severus almost felt like humming while cutting the ingredients for the Wolfsbane potion. He had not felt this refreshed in months, and all it took was an extra hour of sleep these past few weeks. There had been this heavy cloud dragging him down ever since the Dark Lord returned. He had thought it was fear. Fear of death, fear of failure.

Was it really possible that it had been just lack of sleep?

“Alright, read the next one, please,” he said to Winky.

“The uses and abuses of Mimbleweed. Mimbleweed, also called the Hag’s toes, is native to the Siberian taiga and-”

“Stop,” Snape said. “Can you spot the mistake?”

Winky frowned in thought, scratching behind her bat-like ear. “Mimbleweed does like the shade of coniferous trees, so taiga seems correct. But the location…”

“Yes?”

“Oh, I know!” Winky squeaked. “It is native to the Canadian taiga.”

“Yes, that’s right. Also, there are no hags in Siberia. Only baba yagas.”

Winky scribbled the correction onto the parchment.

At first, Severus had Winky only read out the essays and he would dictate the corrections to her, but she soon caught on and seemed interested in learning more about Potions and the various ingredients. Severus liked students interested in studying so he saw no reason not to encourage her.

When they were finished, Winky picked up another parchment.

“Veritaserum. What is Veritaserum, we might ask ourselves. What is it indeed and why do we wonder?”

“Who’s the author?”

“Harry Potter,” Winky said.

“He’ll just blabber on to meet the required length. Just give him an A so Dumbledore gets off my back.”

Winky bent over the parchment. “Oh,” she said. “Winky has made a mistake. The A does not look like master Severus’s A, it looks more like Winky’s A.”

“Potter won’t notice any change in handwriting, let it be.”

*

“You’re welcome to come along, Winky,” Snape said to Winky at the end of the school year. “I have a number of potions I’ll need to work on and I would appreciate your help.”

“Winky would be honored to accompany her master to his summer mansion.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

*

“Ah, but this is exquisite, Severus,” the Dark Lord hissed appreciatively, holding the vial of Noctura’s Shroud in his corpse-like fingers. “It took you such a short time and it is even better than the last batch. It is almost as if …” he fixed Snape with his unsettling gaze “... you had some ... assistance.”

It was always bait and switch with the Dark Lord. But Severus knew this game well. “I had a house elf help me.”

As expected, the Dark Lord howled with laughter and, with a slight delay, so did the Death Eaters. Bellatrix laughed so hard she overturned her goblet, banging her fist on the table. Pettigrew squealed like a pig, his furtive eyes dancing about the room.

“S-s-severus, you-” the Dark Lord chortled. “You always know the right thing to say. Next time you’ll tell us you had centaurs over for dinner.”

“Or-” piped up Pettigrew. “That you fell in love with another mudblood.”

Severus looked at him and, for a while, he did not say anything. The Death Eaters fell quiet. The Dark Lord leaned forward in his chait with interest.

“Only when hell freezes over, little rat,” Severus finally said, his voice cold and dark. “And do not offend me again.”

“That is right, Wormtail,” said the Dark Lord. “Do you know what a mark of a good servant is?”

“N-n-no, my lord?”

“A good servant speaks only when spoken to. You could take a page out of any house elf’s book. And do you know what I think?”

“N-n-o, I wouldn’t presume…” Pettigrew’s brow beaded with sweat, the whiskers on his chin and cheeks quaking.

“I think it is high time we put you to proper use. You will accompany Severus to his house and assist him - like a house elf would. You will maintain his house and see to his guests while he is busy working for me. Do you understand?”

Well, Severus thought. He, just like Pettigrew, had walked right into that one.

*

Another school year arrived.

Very soon into it, Severus realized what the true meaning of having too much on his plate was. Luckily, Winky had become an irreplaceable teacher's assistant and she enjoyed the Defence Against the Dark Arts Essays even more than she had done the ones for Potions. There were many unique insights about fighting the Dark Arts coming from her, too.

It was shortly after Ron Weasley was poisoned that Severus decided he would have to ask Winky for more.

“Winky, as much as you enjoy reading essays and making Potions with me, I have a different favor to ask.”

“Does master Severus want Winky to go buy those magazines for him again?” Winky asked in a low, confidential tone.

“No. No, no, no. Nothing like that! Winky. I need you to keep an eye on a student. You know him - Draco Malfoy. I need to know where he goes, who he talks to, and what he does. Also, I need you to alert me if he were in any danger. I would not ask this if it wasn’t important. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Winky can make herself invisible and follow him anywhere. Just like Dobby and Kreacher do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dobby and Kreacher started following Draco Malfoy a week ago. Harry Potter had ordered them to.”

“I see, well, you know what, Winky? Would you have time to check on Harry Potter, too?”

*

When another school year rolled around and Severus returned to Hogwarts as the new Headmaster, Winky proved invaluable to him. And not only as an assistant.

All the other faculty members had, understandably, withdrawn from him, and there was only so much he could talk about with either Dumbledore's or Phineas’s portrait without wanting to fall onto the sword of Gryffindor.

Winky helped Severus protect the students and spy on the Carrows’ actions. She kept him informed about everything that was going on on the Hogwarts grounds and in Hogsmeade, too. And not only that, she was the one voice in the darkness that seemed to want to ease his burden rather than add to it.

When the end was drawing near, he realized he better use the time that was left to clarify some things with her.

“You should stop calling me that, Winky.”

“What should I stop calling master Severus?” Winky asked. She was finally wearing normal clothes thanks to the supplier of the horrendous knitwear apparently having closed shop. 

“I’m not your master, Winky. It’s an outdated term. Or, well, a term used under very different circumstances.”

“But what should I call you?” Winky asked.

Severus had to smile at the first-person pronoun. The second-person too.

“Call me by my first name, like you do, just without the master.”

“Oooh,” Winky’s voice shook. “To be on a first-name basis with such a great wizard, Winky is honored.”

He suppressed the urge to fish for more compliments as to his greatness. There has never been a greater wizard than Dumbledore, Winky. Or do you think I might compare? And in what ways?

He suppressed the urge again. Not everything was about him.

“It is an honor for me too,” he said to Winky who had helped him and assisted him and stood by him at the darkest hours.

“To refer to yourself by your first name?”

“No. To have had such a friend as you’ve been to me, Winky.”