Curled up on the cold paving stone of the basement, Winky was still drunk. For several months, the little elf had only been getting drunk on Butterbeer and was getting more and more liquefied in the recess of the castle's rooms. The other elves, now indifferent to the sinking of the newcomer, were used to dodge her in the kitchens of Hogwarts without even looking at her. Dobby was the only one watching her snort and be shaking all over, wondering how he could ever stop her pain. Resolute, he stuck his little hooked fingers into the wreck's arm and disapparated.



Two tangled elves suddenly apparated in front of a bare wall, with their backs to the hideous and ridiculous tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, and the next moment a varnished wooden door appeared in a wall's recess. Dobby joyfully opened the door and abruptly pushed Winky into a much narrower Room of Requirement than usual, among piles of hats strewn across a curiously tiled floor and amidst half a dozen coloured woollen scarves hanging from threads suspended from the room's two vaults. Then the few cloths stretched here and there were still dripping in a loud plop!

"Where's W-winky?" the little elf hiccoughed, disoriented.

"Winky and Dobby are in the Come and Go Room!" Dobby rejoiced, clapping his hands with excitement.

"Winky knows what is the Come and Go Room! Winky wants to know why the Come and Go Room looks like a giant drying rack."

"The Come and Go Room looks like a giant drying rack because Dobby is going to show Winky how to do her first laundry."

Winky's face was just two big glazed beads. "Whisky must have misunderstood."

"Dobby is going to teach Winky how to do her laundry."

"But it's forbidden!" she suffocated.

"Not at Hogwarts, not for Free Elves!"

Winky turned pale and seemed so close to faint that Dobby felt utterly baffled for the first time in his life. It was incomprehensible to him: wasn't the day he was released the most beautiful one of his lifetime? Dobby scratched his neck. Somehow, he had always been a free elf, long before Lucius Malfoy 'gave' him his first sock. Was that the difference? Dobby scratched his nose. Was Winky still captive inside her head? At the end of the day, weren't the only chains eventually mental psychological? Dobby stamped. If she hadn't been born free, then Dobby would teach her to become so.



Smelling the floral perfume that was filling the air, Winky staggered among the mounds of clothes and explored the room, trembling but curious. Dobby thought she would probably pass out if she discovered the huge collection of socks lying in the small alcove at the back of the room. Winky was not yet ready for so many emotions. Winky was still a child, she was only twenty-seven years old.

"Dobby bought his basin with his own salary!" he proudly revealed as she touched with her fingertips the steel bowl on the table at the back of the room.

"Dobby should be ashamed of earning a salary," she stuttered as she pulled her hand out as if she had been burned. "Dobby should feel ashamed to even have the idea of washing his clothes, you stupid old... you old..." The words drowned in the back of her throat and she blew her nose with her own hands.

"Most Muggles have machines just for that!" Dobby carried on with emotion, ignoring his friend's angry look. "But Dobby doesn't need a machine, Dobby washes his socks by hand, alone! When Mr Malfoy freed him, Albus Dumbledore offered to use the Coming and Going Room for this, and since then, Dobby has been a happy elf."

"Dobby is a silly elf," Winky laughed between burps.

"Dobby is going to show Winky how to wash her socks. Dobby will tell Winky his secret, and Winky will listen carefully, so Winky will be a happy elf too."

He grabbed her by the shoulders and carefully placed her on the soft cushion that had just appeared on the floor. Faced with this apparently relentless rhetoric for a drunken elf, Winky yielded, and, softened, now seemed ready to watch Dobby expose his art.

"Dobby first has to warn Winky not to mix light and dark socks, as they could rub off on each other," he said in a falsely stern way.

"Winky doesn't even have a sock. Winky won't mix them up," she muttered.

"Winky can wash everything here, not just socks. Dobby can lend her socks. Otherwise, Winky can ask Miss Granger to knit—"

"Winky doesn't want new clothes."

Dobby nodded without letting go of his huge smile, because he knew that he would have to take it easy.

"Here's the trick: Winky has to fill the small basin with water about two-thirds full."

Winky nodded vigorously as he snapped his skeletal fingers and water appeared in the container. He then grabbed a dirty sock that had been lying on the floor.

"Winky has to put in what she wants to wash—"

"Here Dobby's sock," the little elf intervened with a hoarse voice.

"Exactly. Next, Winky must use a mild soap so as not to damage the garment, but Winky can use Dobby's if Winky wants!" he exclaimed, handing him a fuchsia-pink bottle with a beaming face. Dobby was barely trying to contain his joy, noticing that she was eventually playing the game. "With her hands, Winky must gently stir and rub the embedded dirt—"

"Winky finds it easy."

"Then, Winky has to rinse her clothes to remove any remaining product," Dobby added in a high-pitched voice reflecting his joy. "Winky can let her socks drip on the threads that Dobby suspended in the Coming and Going Room! That way they will dry well!"



Muzzy, Winky clicked her tongue against her palate, staring at the still damp cloths hanging above their heads. She then felt awfully dizzy. Was happiness within reach, as Dobby claimed? If she occasionally rubbed her dirty pillowcase, would she eventually smile again? Would she be as happy as she had been with her masters? Her masters... she felt her ears drooping and her eyes misting up.

"Oh no! Winky shouldn't cry! Winky's loincloth will smell so good! Winky will be able to be in fresh, clean clothes."

"Winky would have wanted her head cut off so badly…" she sobbed.

"Enough!" Dobby squealed, glaring at her. "No one is going to chop Winky's head off!"

"No, no, no. Winky's head should have ended up on a spike!"

"Stupid old tradition! Stupid tradition!"

"What would her masters say if they saw her..." she moaned. "M-m-misters Crouch…"

"Winky is the only mistress of herself!" Dobby became outraged.

"Bad Winky! Bad Winky!"

She wouldn't listen to him anymore. Now the elf was trying to hit her head on the ground and was howling, waiting for each new impact. However, her friend asked the Room to make a small cushion appear under her tiny head to absorb the shock every time, and she didn't manage to hurt herself once. Dobby softly rubbed the red and gold sock he held in his hands, waiting for her to get tired or to get worn out in her business.



After long minutes, when the fury had effectively subsided, he gently approached her, caressed her hunched back, perceived her jerky breathing, and murmured as if to reassure her: "Someday Dobby and Winky will speak about 'I' and 'Us'."

She suddenly felt like retching. "Winky feels like vomiting."

"Winky can vomit all over her now that Dobby has shown her how to do her laundry," he marvelled as he enthusiastically handed her the basin.