Hermione hadn't spoken a word to Harry in three days.
It wasn't the cold, furious silence Ron used to give him when sulking; this was quieter, heavier, and, in its own way, more dangerous.
Harry knew her well enough to understand she wasn't done with him forever. Hermione's silences were storms—eventually they broke, but not before drenching everything in their path.
He also knew the reason.
It went back to second year, when Hermione had first founded S.P.E.W.—the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. She had gone on about it for weeks, armed with leaflets, badges, and an iron conviction that Hogwarts students needed to rise up against the "systematic enslavement" of house-elves.
Ron had laughed in her face.
Harry hadn't found it quite so funny, but neither had he wanted to get involved. In the end, he'd joined mostly because she was his friend. The grand campaign had fizzled almost immediately, though—only a handful of people joined, and after one badly attended meeting, the whole thing quietly died.
Harry thought that was the end of it.
It wasn't.
When he'd hired Dobby last year, Hermione had cornered him about it in the library.
"You can't just own him, Harry," she'd said, glaring. "House-elves deserve—"
"He's paid," Harry had interrupted, keeping his voice low. "A proper wage, days off, whatever he wants. It was his idea to work for me."
That had shut her up… for a while.
Now, however, the Winky problem had started.
It happened two nights ago. Harry, Neville, and Dobby had been in the Room of Requirement, finishing up a training session, when Winky appeared to bring Dobby some food. She looked different now—clean, well-fed, dressed in a proper uniform—but she still had that timid air about her. Harry introduced her to Neville, explained she was helping out at the Black Manor.
The next day, Hermione had overheard Seamus asking Harry who "the new elf" was.
She'd found him after lunch in the corridor outside Charms.
"You've taken another house-elf?" she'd asked sharply, arms folded.
"Yeah. Winky," Harry said. "She's… happier with us."
"Is she paid?"
Harry hesitated. "No. But she doesn't want to be paid. She—"
"Harry!" Hermione's voice was horrified. "You of all people should know better! She's been conditioned her whole life to think she doesn't deserve wages—"
"She doesn't want them," Harry repeated, his patience fraying. "What she wanted was a home, and I gave her one. She's free. She can leave any time she wants."
"That's not enough," Hermione snapped. "If you really cared about her rights—"
"This isn't about her rights," Harry cut in, his voice cold. "It's about what she wants. And right now, she wants to be where she feels safe. You think I should force her to take wages she doesn't even want? How's that freedom?"
Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line. "You sound just like—" She stopped herself, but the look in her eyes said enough.
And then… she stopped talking to him entirely.
Now, sitting in the Gryffindor common room with Neville, Harry pretended to read while Hermione worked furiously on an essay across the room. She hadn't so much as glanced at him.
Neville leaned over and murmured, "She's not going to keep this up forever, you know."
Harry smirked faintly. "Yeah. I'm counting on it."
He didn't feel guilty. Not this time.
Harry had been avoiding SPEW since the Winky row, and as far as he was concerned, Hermione had been avoiding him too. So when she marched up to him in the corridor one Thursday afternoon—hair a little wild, eyes bright with the kind of zeal that meant she was in the middle of something—he knew trouble was coming.
"Harry," she began briskly, "I need your help setting up an abandoned classroom on the fourth floor. I'm turning it into a temporary meeting room."
Harry didn't even look up from the Defense essay he was pretending to finish. "And why exactly are you asking me?"
"Because," Hermione said as though it were obvious, "you're a member of S.P.E.W."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Am I? Last I checked, you kicked me out because I have my own house-elf."
She hesitated, her lips twitching in something between guilt and stubbornness. "I've… rethought a few things."
That made him glance up. "Oh?"
"Yes," she said firmly, clasping her hands in front of her. "I've realised that drastic change isn't going to happen overnight. People aren't going to free their house-elves just because I tell them to. Even the elves themselves don't want freedom—not the way we define it."
Harry leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Finally catching on, are you?"
She shot him a glare but didn't rise to the bait. "The new goal of S.P.E.W. is different. It's not about forcing elves into something they're not ready for—it's about making sure they're treated well. Properly."
"Define 'properly.'"
Hermione's eyes lit up the way they always did when she had a list ready. "Appropriate clothing—not just pillowcases. Their own sleeping quarters instead of being forced to sleep in kitchens or cupboards. Adequate rest periods. No unnecessary punishments. And… a general respect for their wellbeing."
Harry considered that. "That sounds… reasonable," he admitted cautiously.
"It is reasonable," Hermione said, her voice warming with hope. "And I've already got people interested. Viktor Krum's joined."
Harry blinked. "Krum? The same Krum you were calling a reckless brute after the first task?"
Hermione coloured slightly. "Well, he… understands what it's like to be treated as less than human. His family's village had servants—not elves, but—well, it's complicated. The point is, he's on board."
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "And that's all it took for half the school to join, isn't it?"
Hermione's cheeks pinked further. "Some people may have joined because they like Viktor," she admitted. "But some are genuinely interested. A few of the Beauxbatons girls signed up because they think it's shameful the way wizards treat elves."
"And the rest just want to feel good about themselves without actually thinking too hard about it," Harry muttered.
Hermione ignored the cynicism. "The point is, S.P.E.W. has momentum now. And I need your help getting the meeting room ready before the weekend."
Harry let out a slow sigh, closing his book. "Fine. But I'm not making speeches."
She smiled—just a little, but it was there. "I'll settle for you moving furniture."
The afternoon sun slanted through the high, dusty windows of the unused classroom Hermione had originally picked for the S.P.E.W. meeting. Harry stepped inside, glanced around at the narrow space, the cobwebs clinging to the beams, and the single crooked staircase just outside the door.
"It's not bad," Neville said politely, but his voice lacked conviction.
Harry folded his arms. "It's also on the fourth floor. Which means every Beauxbatons and Durmstrang student will have to fight their way through moving staircases, sticking floors, statues that lunge at you for a laugh, and portraits that won't shut up about your hair or your shoes."
Hermione frowned. "It's not that bad—"
"It is," Harry interrupted. "If you want people to actually turn up, especially foreign students, make it easy for them. Ground floor. Less chance of anyone getting lost or tripped up by the castle's idea of a prank."
Dobby, who had been bouncing on the balls of his feet since they'd arrived, suddenly piped up. "Harry Potter, sir, is right! The castle is tricky! Dobby will help find the perfect place!" His large eyes gleamed. "And Dobby wants to join the S.P.E.W., too!"
Hermione's expression brightened immediately. "That's a brilliant idea, Dobby! You're a free elf—you can explain things from the house-elf's perspective. It'll make people listen."
Dobby beamed so hard his ears wobbled.
It didn't take them long to find a more suitable space: an abandoned classroom near the entrance hall, with tall windows that let in plenty of light and wide double doors for easy access.
"Perfect," Harry said, surveying the room. "Close enough to the Great Hall that even someone half-asleep can find it."
They decided to ask permission before doing anything, so they made their way to the greenhouses, where Professor Sprout was knee-deep in a bed of puffapods.
"A meeting room for S.P.E.W.?" Sprout repeated, brushing soil from her gloves. "That's a fine idea, Miss Granger. You're taking on a noble cause." She gave Hermione an approving nod and a smile. "You may use the room, certainly. In fact—" Her eyes twinkled. "I think I'll attend myself. Someone should support young witches and wizards doing something good for others."
Hermione almost squealed in delight. "Thank you, Professor!"
Back in the classroom, the four of them got to work. Dust and cobwebs vanished under a wave of cleaning charms. Benches were transfigured into tiered seating, sloping toward a small stage at the front. The chairs on the stage became elegant enough for what Hermione called "the organisation officials," though Harry privately thought that sounded a bit pompous.
Neville, with his new wand, was casting like a different person. Every time a charm landed perfectly, his face lit up with a grin so bright it was contagious.
"That's the tenth time in a row you've nailed that transfiguration," Harry said, passing him another stack of chairs to work on.
Neville's smile widened. "Feels good to finally get it right the first time."
An hour later, the place looked ready for business. The bench arrangement gave it the feel of a small theatre, with enough space for the forty-two people Hermione had already confirmed.
Neville stood back, admiring their work. "We should invite a few professors. If they turn up, more students will take it seriously."
Hermione's eyes lit with agreement. "Yes! We'll go now. Neville, you can help me talk to them."
Harry exchanged a quick glance with Dobby. They'd done their bit for the day. "You two do that. We'll… leave you to it."
Hermione gave him a suspicious look. "And where will you be?"
"Training," Harry said simply.
Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't argue—perhaps she knew better than to try.
A few minutes later, Harry and Dobby were slipping away through the quieter corridors, bound for their usual training spot. Meanwhile, Hermione and Neville set off in the opposite direction, already discussing which professors to approach first.
Hermione and Neville began making their way through the corridors, stopping at groups of students to talk about S.P.E.W. Hermione had a stack of parchment flyers in her hands, each one neatly written with the meeting time, location, and purpose.
Some students nodded politely, some gave vague promises to "try to make it," and others simply shrugged. Neville was doing his best to smile and hand out the flyers, though he looked like he'd rather be repotting venomous tentacula.
They had just rounded the corner near the Transfiguration courtyard when a drawling voice cut through the air.
"Well, well," Draco Malfoy sneered, stepping into their path with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him like two thick-necked bookends. "If it isn't the Ministry for Silly Walks."
Hermione's chin went up immediately. "It's called S.P.E.W., Malfoy. The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."
Malfoy snorted. "The what? Let me guess—you're trying to free all the house-elves so you can knit them little hats and sweaters? How touching." Crabbe and Goyle chuckled on cue.
Neville stiffened beside her. "It's about making sure they're treated properly."
"Oh, of course," Malfoy said, smirking. "Because everyone knows house-elves are desperate for a nap and a new pillowcase." He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice so it dripped with mockery. "They like serving wizards, Granger. Even yours probably prefers scrubbing floors to listening to you blather on about rights and equality."
Hermione didn't blink. "Dobby will be the main guest at our meeting. He's going to tell everyone exactly how the Malfoy family treated him—and why organisations like ours are needed."
Malfoy's smirk faltered for a second before returning, sharper this time. "Oh, the little traitor's still licking your boots, is he? Typical."
Neville's hand twitched toward his wand, but Hermione stepped forward before he could draw it. "You can laugh all you like, Malfoy. But after tomorrow, everyone will know what your idea of 'proper treatment' is. And they won't be laughing with you."
Crabbe shifted uncomfortably, and for a moment, Malfoy's grey eyes hardened into something colder than his usual smugness. Then he shrugged, flicking an imaginary speck from his sleeve.
"Have fun with your little tea party," he said, before turning on his heel. Crabbe and Goyle trailed after him, still snickering, but not quite as loudly as before.
Neville let out a breath. "That went well."
Hermione handed him another stack of flyers. "Come on. We've got twenty more students to talk to before dinner."
Neville groaned but followed her into the next corridor.