"What's your name?' Coraline asked the cat. 'Look, I'm Coraline. Okay?'
'Cats don't have names,' it said.
'No?' said Coraline.
'No,' said the cat. 'Now, you people have names.
That's because you don't know who you are.
We know who we are, so we don't need names."

― Neil Gaiman, Coraline

Amala Fudge was not nearly as stupid as she pretended to be, Minerva decided firmly.

Oh, the woman had fairly simpered her greeting when "Lady Minerva of House Ross" had been announced, and had not yet had a single original thing to offer to the conversation, but Minerva had seen the dark gleam of intelligence in her eyes as they sipped lemon tea and nibbled on crisp almond biscuits.

The marriage of Lady Amala of House Patil to Cornelius, Heir of House Fudge had always been considered an odd one. In Minerva's previous life, their union had only vaguely registered through the dense fog of her loss, but she was now more alert to wizarding society's gossip. The ancient Patil family aligning itself with such a young Pureblood family had caused a minor uproar, and her brother, Naresh, was rumoured to have given his blessing as Head only because their line was assured in his tiny twin daughters.

Could it possibly be a love match? Amala was certainly a stunning woman. Her robes cunningly combined the sari with a traditional British gown, and the cornflower blue was a rich and elegant foil against her dusky skin. Her dark hair gleamed in a heavy coil around her head, and the crests of her old House and the one she had married into were inked beneath a dainty ear. Her appearance was a careful blend of tradition and pride.

Minerva realised abruptly that it suited the beautiful woman to be underestimated, and that she would have to tread carefully.

"I wished to offer my condolences," Minerva began. "I hear that you are adjusting to a changed House in the wake of the war."

Amala stiffened. The mask of poised hostess faltered briefly, but she recovered enough to mouth her acceptance of the nicety. Minerva could trace no genuine grief for her parents-in-law, whom they must have laid to rest in the last couple of months. (They had been late casualties of the war, and few enough had grieved for the hard Lord Robert and his ambitious wife.)

"We have all lost someone, Lady Ross," came the polite reply.

The title made Minerva twitch toward the heavy Head of House ring on her finger, a movement which was not missed by her hostess's sharp gaze. It had been necessary to fetch it to provide the equal standing she had required for this meeting, but she had never expected to step into the role. Malcolm had been groomed by their grandparents for Head, not she. (She was not about to allow anyone to know how unprepared she felt, and the goblins had not suspected a thing in her demeanour when she had come to claim the ring that morning.)

She ached at the thought that not two weeks earlier, it had been on her brother's hand.

"That is true indeed," she returned, and the gravel in her voice lent the words more rawness than she had intended. It had the effect of easing the stiffness in her hostess' shoulders, though, and so she pressed on.

"We are all faced with the task of rebuilding our Houses after such dark days, Lady Fudge." Minerva settled her delicate cup in its saucer and turned to face the woman more squarely. "I require assistance to do so for my own family."

"How might House Fudge possibly be of assistance?"

Amala's tone was incredulous, but she immediately attempted to soften the words. "I beg your pardon. Surely you must see…" She waved a slender hand in lieu of finishing the sentence. Minerva did see. This was not what Amala Fudge had been expecting. House Ross was old. Perhaps not as old as House Patil, but certainly older than House Fudge. No self-respecting House would have dreamed of asking for assistance from such a young Family.

"I hear that you are amply situated with house elf stock," she said simply. "I wish to see if something might be arranged."

Amala's gaze had turned calculating. Certainly they had more than enough - it had been everything she could do to keep the wretched creatures occupied with such a reduced House to serve - but how did her guest know?

"We are indeed well-supported," she admitted slowly. "I am in no rush to trade valuable family retainers, however."

Minerva was amused against her will. Amala Fudge was not going to make this easy. She had not, however, come unprepared.

"Indeed, the worth of an elf to its House is great. I believe it can be measured though. I wish to aid a young House in its quest for worthiness."

The gentle barb hit home, but as it was only acknowledging Amala's hasty remark her hostess was more intrigued than offended. "You will have some scheme in mind, I imagine."

Minerva's lips quirked. "I had wondered if House Fudge possesses a family tapestry yet?"

She knew very well that it didn't, or at least that it was highly unlikely. Amala's expression, equal parts wistful and wary, confirmed it. Her birth family's tapestry was a thing of beauty, and her transition to a young Family without one had clearly smarted.

"That is a generous offer." The words were guarded.

"I am desirous of purchasing two elves with a youngling or with breeding potential," Minerva responded briskly. "I wish to train my own elves, you understand. With that in mind, I think it is reasonable."

Amala brightened. That was certainly less absurd a trade. Caution and greed warred as the witch assessed the knots on Minerva's shoulders with a deeper appreciation of what was being offered. A family tapestry created by a Master of Minerva's calibre would be nigh-on indestructible. It would probably rival the Patil family tapestry in quality.

She pondered for a moment, and snapped her fingers when recollection hit her. "I do have an elf which would meet your requirements," she said. "It has recently given birth to a male, I believe. It belonged to my late father-in-law's estate, so I am not too familiar with it, but my own elf leads me to believe it is a useful and well-mannered creature." Her brow creased. "As to the sire, I am uncertain which elf that is. It is likely to be one of the others from the estate, so they should be accustomed to working together."

Minerva tried not to choke on her relief. Perhaps Fate was allowing one thing to be straight-forward.

"That would be acceptable, as long as all are healthy."

Amala nodded. "Yoddle!" With a crack, the elf who had announced Minerva earlier appeared.

"Milady?"

"Fetch the female house elf which has recently given birth, will you? And the male which sired the elfling. Ensure she brings her youngling." Yoddle blinked, clearly surprised, but when his mistress raised an eyebrow at his hesitation he nodded.

"Of course, Milady. Yoddle is fetching them."

A few moments later, Crooky and an unfamiliar elf were standing before them, her son swaddled in her skinny arms. She curtsied to Amala, and murmured "Mistress".

"You will answer Lady Ross's questions, elves."

"Yes, Mistress," they chorused. Crooky turned an expectant gaze on Minerva, whose discomfort with the process, which smacked of a livestock inspection, deepened. She cleared her throat.

"What are your names, elves?" she asked.

"Crooky, Lady Ross," came the reply. The short, stocky elf by her side bobbed his head.

"Frome, Milady."

"And you and the youngling, you are all healthy and strong?"

"Very, Lady Ross."

"And you are hard-working?"

"Of course, Lady Ross." There was a note of indignation in Frome's voice, and Minerva felt she had been thorough enough. She turned to Amala.

"Will an Oath of Intent suffice until the contracts can be exchanged? I would like to put the elves to work as soon as I can."

There was some surprise in her hostess's face, but it was swiftly smoothed away. Amala inclined her head in a regal nod and conjured a handkerchief, which she passed to the elves.

It took only moments. Minerva, former Headmistress that she was, knew well what to expect as the bonds were transferred, the robust strands of the adult elves and Renly's delicate thread. So when the strands flared to life next to the bond of her Apprentice, she had to hurry to stifle the shock on her face. That was certainly not a bond of slavery. She told them to meet her at her flat in a somewhat dazed voice, and then cleared her throat.

Focus, Minerva.

"I will require the necessary samples from yourself and your husband as soon as the contracts are exchanged so I may begin work on the tapestry," Minerva said, her voice stiffer than she had intended as she reined in her racing thoughts.

"Of course." Amala's voice was tight with excitement. She hadn't noticed Minerva's distraction.

"Would you require me to collect them in person, or will my elf be secure enough?" History had taught wizards to be very careful with bodily fluids.

"The elf will do," came the smooth reply.

Minerva inclined her head. "I bid you good day, Lady Fudge. Until next we meet," and with her hostess murmuring the appropriate response, she took her leave.

Surely there was a joke which began something like this, Minerva thought dryly as she straightened from the Floo. Two elves, a bird, and a boy, all on a sofa…

She stilled, damping her amusement. Her apprentice was looking remarkably harassed for someone with strict instructions not to move a muscle unless his need for the chamber pot was worth more than his skin. He had obediently remained on the sofa, but seemed to be trying to fade into the fabric to escape the bird perched on the opposite arm. The elves were stood awkwardly in a cluster to the side. The noise she had made in flooing back into the room had caught their attention, and as she straightened they turned as one to look at her.

The raven (for it was a raven - a white one) rustled its plumage with a distinctly smug air, and greeted her.

"Hello, Madam."

Minerva McGonagall stared. At Severus' beseeching look, she decided to fetch the whiskey.