Elfin
Bone White Butterfly
"Hmm, slavery is illegal, so I can't own Harry Potter. No one can. …yah hear that, Rowling!"
House Elves are, as a race, perfectly meek, obedient, and devoted. Except for one night a year.
Call it Elf P.M.S. Synchronized, every bloody Elf at once P.M.S.
Let me make this clear. If you—ever—see a House Elf on October 31st, All Hallows Eve, back away slowly and pray that he didn't see you to at least ten gods. Screw monotheism; your life is at stake here.
Fortunately for humans, the biggest Wizard holiday of the year is Halloween, and it is anathema for a House Elf to be seen. Instead, enchanted gloves careen about for days, readying the party scene. Not a house Elf to be found. So the humans, having no clue about their servants' little secret, remain safe.
x-x-x
But this tale isn't about anyone being safe.
This tale is not about House Elves at all but another kind entirely.
Despite what you may think, there is very little humor in the story I am about to tell you.
But there is a party in it.
A Hallows Eve Ball.
A small boy's world is about to be shattered along with an ancient secret.
And the Witching Hour has only just begun—
Note: if anybody's finished a fic they like, point me at it. Luv, y'all. Nite.