Title: Snow White and the Seven House-Elves
Author: Amethyst Jackson
Author E-mail: AmethystJackson@hotmail.com
Category: Fairy tale, Romance, Slash
Keywords: Harry, Draco, House Elves
Spoilers: *shrugs* Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, maybe. Possibly for all four books.
Summary: The story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves is fulfilled by Harry Potter and seven drunken house-elves.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: This is a retelling of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. I've made a few adjustments, so it won't follow the story exactly. Do enjoy.
Volume 776, No. 4
Week of June 23, 2002
Hello again, readers. This week we have Amethyst Jackson's first slash article. Ever. Therefore, we're telling you right now to turn and run and don't look back. YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THIS. If you're still with us, you're very brave. I suppose you're worthy of going on, then.
Snow White and the Seven House-Elves
By Amethyst Jackson
He was only mildly frightened when Lord Voldemort called upon him now. He had been kept as a prisoner for years, and Voldemort still hadn't killed him, so he slept with some ease, if not without nightmares. Of course, the bed was hard as stone, and he was sore, scraped, and bruised from all the slave work. But he was alive, and he knew he would escape eventually. He just needed a little help.
It seemed that his opportunity was near when Draco Malfoy walked into the frozen courtyard of Voldemort's fortress where he was shoveling away at the snow. It never mattered how much he shoveled; the snow never stopped falling over the dark, deathly castle.
"It's really you," came Draco's smooth voice. He hadn't expected him to speak. They had been horrible enemies at Hogwarts...until their final year when they had fallen for each other. Of course, he had been taken as a Prisoner of War afterward, and he hadn't spoken to Draco since. Two long, miserable years he had waited for Draco to return to save him, and now here he was. The mixed pain and joy of seeing the person he had so often pined for was almost unbearable.
"Draco," he breathed, dropping his shovel.
"You're alive," Draco gasped, rushing towards him to throw his familiar warm arms around him. Draco's body heat was a welcome change from the icy cold that slipped right through his mediocre clothing. "You're really okay."
"I'm fine," he whispered back, holding Draco tightly as though he might just disappear if he let go.
"Voldemort told us all that he had killed you," Draco said with disgust. "I suppose that wasn't humiliating enough for his taste."
"I suppose so," he replied. "Why are you here?"
"Voldemort called all of us here, the Death Eaters you know." Draco reached out a hand to stroke his cold cheek, his fingertips shooting warmth right down to his toes. "I'm going to get you out of here, I swear it."
He smiled. Draco would keep his promise, he knew. "I love you, Draco," he whispered. "I still love you."
Draco smiled. "I still love you, too, Harry."
"This is the Goblet of Truth," Voldemort declared to the circle of Death Eaters surrounding him. "It will tell me once and for all who the most powerful wizard alive is."
Voldemort pulled out his wand and swirled the liquid inside the blue crystal Goblet, his red eyes shining with anticipation. It was no secret that his only ambition was to be the most powerful wizard alive.
"Goblet of Truth!" he cried, "Tell me now, who is the most powerful wizard on this Earth?"
"It is but the boy of raven hair and snow white skin, of emerald eyes and rosy cheeks, the great Harry Potter. He is the most powerful wizard alive."
"This cannot be!" Voldemort screamed. "He has done nothing but slave work for years! He cannot still be stronger than I!"
"He has always been, and he will forever be," the Goblet replied in its mystical, far-away voice.
"How is this?!"
"Ah, it is love - he has love in his heart, something which you will never possess."
Voldemort threw his arm out and knocked the Goblet off the table in anger. It fell to the ground and broke into pieces, its contents spilling over the stone floor.
"Severus!" the Dark Lord barked. Snape strode forward immediately. "Take the boy away and kill him. And so I know you've done it, bring back his heart."
Severus Snape nodded and walked purposefully out of the room, though his heart was pounding. How could he kill the boy? He was just a boy, after all.
Snape sighed and walked out the massive wooden and metal doors, his feet nearly slipping on the icy floor of the courtyard where Harry Potter sat on the root of a leafless tree. His shovel lay by his side, and his eyes were unfocused, almost as if he were daydreaming.
The tiniest glimpse of pity for the boy sprinted through his mind before he gathered his wits. He knew what to do about this.
"Potter," Snape said coldly. "You are to come with me."
Harry looked up, surprise clear in his jade eyes. "Where are we going?"
"Away," Snape replied shortly. "Just do as I say."
Harry stood and walked with him to the massive steel gates of the fortress. They were outlined with serpents, and entwined in the center was a large Dark Mark. Snape was still revolted by the sight, though he would admit it to no one.
"Will Draco be there when I get back?" Harry asked tentatively.
Snape froze for a moment, and then said upon recovery, "No. He will leave before you get back."
Harry's expression fell. Snape ignored it and led him toward the forest that hid the castle on the left side. On the other side was a large, looming wall that appeared to everyone but Death Eaters to be nothing but air.
Snape whipped out his wand as soon as they were in a secluded area. Suddenly sweating despite the chill, Snape muttered, "Petrificus!"
Harry froze in place, his eyes full of shock. Snape then swapped his wand for a dagger and held it to Harry's throat.
Are you really going to do this? a small voice in his head asked. He's just a child. He deserves to be free, not to be dead.
Snape froze, catching Harry's eyes. He was terrified, and he knew he would die, and no one could do a thing about it.
It was then that he knew he couldn't go through with it. He had managed not to kill a single person since the return of the Dark Lord, and he certainly wouldn't start with the only one who could defeat him.
Snape pulled the dagger away and threw it to the ground, his entire body shaking. How could he have even considered doing that?
He took out his wand again and pointed it at Harry. "Finite Incantatem."
Harry slumped to the ground as the spell freed him and looked up at Snape. "What on Earth is going on?"
"I was sent to kill you. But I can't do it."
Harry scowled. "So what? Going to take me back so someone else can?"
"No, no, that can't happen. Run, just run. I'll lie. He'll never have to know. Go, quickly!"
Harry nodded, turned, and ran straight for the heart of the forest. The trees seemed to throw their branches out to rip at him as he fled. His clothes tore, his skin bled with scratches, and his eyes filled with tears - more at what he was leaving than anything.
Of course, he wouldn't miss the fortress, or certainly not Voldemort, but Draco... Just when he had returned, after those two long years of heartache and agony, Harry had to run. And who knew if Draco would ever find him?
He will, Harry told himself fiercely. Wherever I am, he will find me.
Just when it seemed like the trees would never end, Harry stumbled into a clearing. It wasn't anything special, really, except for the small cottage in the center. It was shorter than your normal building, witch lichen-covered stone walls and a thatched straw roof. In the center was a small doorway with a little wooden door and to either side were windows with wooden panes crossed in the shape of a lowercase T. To the side of the house, surrounded by tall grass, was a small stone well with a bucket perched on its ledge.
Warily, Harry moved toward the house. It looked like people still lived here, but very tiny people they would have to be. Surreptitiously, he opened the door. There didn't seem to be anyone inside. Ducking under the doorway, Harry noticed that the floors were exceptionally clean. Whoever lived here was dead-set on keeping a clean house.
To one side of the tiny main room were several chairs and a few stools with balls of yarn and knitting needles strewn around them. On the other side was a small kitchen with a small iron stove, a tiny refrigerator, and a long wooden table with seven small chairs surrounding it.
Wondering who could live here - actually, who could be tiny enough to live here - Harry crept into the second room. It was bright with sunlight from a window on the east side of the room, showing every little speck of dust in the air. It appeared to be a bedroom containing seven small beds that looked like they belonged to dolls rather than any form of life.
Suddenly, he was very tired, and the beds were very appealing. If he were to push a few together, he could lie down...
But what if the residents of the cottage returned? There was no knowing whether they were nice or not. And Harry didn't have a wand; he hadn't had one for over two years.
The idea of sleep - in a nice bed, no less - was too appealing. Without any more thought of the consequences, Harry pushed the four beds on one wall together and sprawled out over them, too tired to keep his eyes open.
In his weariness, he failed to see the names carved into the foot of every bed.
Snape returned to Voldemort with the heart of an animal. His heart pounded as he walked into the meeting room where the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters would be. With any luck, Voldemort would be fooled, but what if he wasn't?
Warily, he walked into the center of the circle of Death Eaters and kneeled before the Dark Lord, holding up the small wooden box that contained the heart.
Voldemort flipped the lid back and smiled cruelly. "This is indeed the heart of the boy?"
"Yes, Master," Snape replied automatically.
"Let us find out for sure. Goblet of Truth!" he cried, and his voice echoed off the walls, filling everyone's ears with the revolting sound. "Tell me, do I hold in my hands the heart of Harry Potter?"
The Goblet replied, "That is the heart of a bear! Harry Potter is alive and well, hiding in the Black Forest."
Voldemort screamed in rage. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, pointing his phoenix-feather wand at Snape. The last thing he saw before the world went blank was a flash of blinding green light.
"It is being Harry Potter, Winky!" was the first thing Harry heard as he woke from his pleasant sleep, free from nightmares for the first time in years.
"Dobby?" he muttered groggily.
"It is, Mr. Harry Potter, sir! It is Dobby, and Winky, Blinky, Finky, Minky, Linky, and Frock!"
Harry scowled, blinked a few more times to clear his vision, and sat up. Seven house-elves stood in a line before him, Dobby and Winky at the front. A particularly fat and short one stood on the end. Harry assumed he was Frock, being the odd name and the odd build of the pack.
"What are you doing here, Dobby?"
"We is hiding from You-Know-Who!" Dobby replied enthusiastically. "When You-Know-Who took over Hogwarts, we is coming here to live where he will not see!"
"Not see?" Harry asked with puzzlement. "But the Black Forest is his, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is being his. But he cannot see anything in it. 'Tis cloaked in powerful elf-magic, Harry Potter, sir."
"Well, that's good then. Because he's trying to kill me."
"Kill Harry Potter! He cannot kill Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter is being too important."
Harry smiled weakly. "Not as important as you think."
Three months later...
"I have finally figured out how to pinpoint the location of Harry Potter and kill him like he deserves," Voldemort told his band of Death Eaters. "He is apparently living with a group of house-elves, so I'll need some assistance in getting them out of the way. Everyone clear?"
A chorus of 'Yes, Master's followed his speech.
"Very good," he said, his lips curling up in a menacing grin.
"Dobby! Winky! Finky! You've had enough butterbeer already -- no, Frock! I'm not letting you have anymore. Minky, Blinky, I see you two trying to steal the six-pack. Linky! I swear, if you don't stop singing --"
Harry gave up after he received no response. The elves were far too drunk to listen to him, and they probably couldn't hear him anyway over Linky's loud, tuneless singing.
He sat down in the armchair the elves had made for him and sighed. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about Draco for the past three months. For two years, he had wondered whether or not Draco might still love him. And then, that day in the courtyard -- oh, how perfect it had been, knowing Draco loved him still, and being able to tell Draco that he loved him just as much. Of course, Voldemort had chosen that day to have him killed -- that wonderful, beautiful day that might have been one of the happiest days of Harry's life if he hadn't been forced to flee. Sometimes he wondered if it would have been better if Snape had killed him.
BANG! One of the house-elves had jumped off the table and crashed into a chair, shattering it. Linky stopped singing to giggle furiously.
Harry frowned at the elves and tried to return to his thoughts. He wanted to lose himself in memories of Draco. How often they had snuck out of their dormitories at midnight to meet in some classroom or another. Sometimes they would share passionate kisses, other times Draco would simply hold him, and Harry was content to lie there against Draco's warm chest, and then other nights they would just sit and talk for hours on end, until they had to leave for fear of being caught by the morning classes.
Harry fought the tears that pricked at his eyelids. Where was Draco now? It was almost painful to wonder.
BANG! Harry didn't bother to look up this time. If he had, he would have realized that one of the elves disappeared.
A few bangs later, Harry heard a loud, urgent hammering upon the quaint front door. Instinctively, he went to answer it.
He pulled the door back, only to find the biggest surprise of his life on the other side.
"Hello, Harry," said Hermione as she smiled brightly at him.
"Hermione! How did you find me?"
"Never the matter, we've got to be quick about this...Voldemort has a Pinpointing Charm on you. You'll have to drink this potion --" she started rummaging around in her bag -- "in order to take it off. Then we can talk properly."
"Okay," Harry replied, not suspecting any danger from his trustworthy friend of over nine years.
He gulped down the potion she handed to him. It tasted rather nice, like ripe apples off a particularly good tree in the fall.
Instantly, he felt his eyelids droop, and seconds later, he slumped to the floor, fast asleep.
Hermione's face faded away, and an ugly one with red eyes and snakelike nostrils replaced it. Voldemort laughed and sadistically kicked Harry in the stomach. His eyelids never so much as twitched.
"Come on," Voldemort said to his followers who were hidden in the corners. "Our work here is done."
One year later...
"We is doing all we can!" Winky cried. "We is even defeating You-Know-Who for him. But Harry Potter is still sleeping!"
"We is missing something," Dobby said. "We is missing the way to wake him."
Dobby was interrupted my a knock on the cottage door. Somberly, he got up to open it, and was surprised to see a pale man with sharp, handsome features standing in the doorway.
"Hello -- er, Dobby, right? I remember you. Is Harry here?"
Dobby stared at his hands, saddened. "He is being in bad shape, sir."
"Can you take me to him?" Draco asked.
Dobby nodded and showed Draco into a second room.
Draco smiled, seeing Harry's quiet sleeping face. He kneeled beside his bed, just watching.
"He is not waking up."
Draco turned to scowl at the house-elf. "What do you mean?"
"He is not waking up in one year, sir."
Draco's scowl deepened into a frown. "That's prepostorous. Of course he'll wake up."
Draco leaned over Harry, gently touching his face. Surely he would wake for him, Draco thought.
"Harry," he whispered. "Harry, please, wake up."
Harry didn't stir.
"Harry," Draco said again, desperately, forcing back a wave of tears that he hadn't allowed to come for three years.
Slowly, sadly he bent forward and kissed his love's lips, praying it wouldn't be for the last time. He cursed the fate that kept tearing them apart, when Harry was the only thing he needed to carry on.
Draco pulled away, about to stand up, but he stopped upon hearing a noise in Harry's direction.
Harry's eyes were opening. "Draco," he gasped, his lips curling upward.
Draco grinned back. "Is it Snow White or Sleeping Beauty?"
"Doesn't matter. You're Prince Charming anyway."
Draco leaned forward for another kiss, and it was then that Dobby decided these two could use their privacy.
And they lived happily ever after.