As-Yet-Untitled Harry Potter/Torchwood Crossover
an excerpt

Hermione hated floo travel for the grime it left all over her. She suspected that part of the trick to coming out cleanly was practice of one's technique, but Ron's example belied that idea. He'd been travelling by floo since he was a child and he generally came out looking even worse than she did. At least soot on curly brown hair was less noticable than on his. On the other hand, Ginny inevitably looked pristine when she stepped out of fireplaces, so maybe there was something to the theory.

At the Ministry, she stayed only long enough to get into the queue for an outgoing fireplace, and left again. After her meeting with Mr. Avery, she wasn't sure that she wanted to hand him her floo address, security wards and charms notwithstanding. Much better to turn around in a place she'd be expected to go to.

When she finally made it to the head of the queue, she took a small handful of floo powder from the provided container, tossed it into the fireplace, and stepped in as she stated, "Granger Residence!"

She was greeted on the other end with the smell of sauteeing onions, and it was heavenly. Onions and... chicken, she thought. Chicken XXXX, perhaps? Fairly sure she was unobserved, she took a moment to sigh in fond resignation at what was sure to come. "I'm home!"

A voice laced with amusement and exasperation floated into the lounge from the kitchen. "Tippy is hearing the whoosh when you arrived, Miss Grangey." An elf wearing a white cook's apron over a dress made from a deep red pillowcase wandered out and looked her over. "Supper is ready for Miss Grangey when you is ready. Is you wanting a bath first?"

There were times -- many times -- when Hermione wasn't quite sure if Tippy was asking a question, making a suggestion, or scolding her. Hermione involuntarily glanced down at the tile she stood on in front of the fireplace to check to see if she'd tracked in any soot or floo powder. The floor was clean. She herself most certainly wasn't. "Maybe a quick one," she agreed. "Don't!" and she held up a finger to cut off whatever Tippy had been about to say, "Don't draw it for me. I can get it myself."

Tippy gave her a much aggrieved look and muttered something incomprehensible under her breath as she popped out of sight.

Hermione dropped her bag onto an end table as she walked down the hall to her bedroom. In her room, she efficiently stripped out of her dress robes and hung them back neatly in the closet before she wrapped her favorite fluffy bathrobe around herself and padded down the hall to the bathroom.

She decided to just have a shower so as not to keep supper waiting, but she lit a scented candle with her wand as she entered out of habit. Another flick of her wand hurried the process along a bit until the entire room smelled of clover and honey. The Never-Melt candle had been a gift from Ron for her birthday, not long before they went their separate ways. It was a generic woman's present that she later found out that he'd chosen after his sister prodded him not to take the easy way out with a new book. Still, the scent was nice enough and it reminded her in a way of her days at Hogwarts. The fields around the castle inevitably bloomed covered in clover each spring. She kept the candle for days when she wanted to regain her balance.

The hot water felt good on her skin and she indulged in the feeling for a moment, letting the water cascade down on her head and over her shoulders until she started to relax. Courtesy dictated that she not tarry too long, however, so she made quick work of washing up.

A few minutes later, Hermione re-entered her bedroom, towel wrapped around her still-damp hair, to find her favorite pair of old jeans laid out on her bed along with a sweater that, while larger than strictly necessary, was one of the most comfortable pieces of clothing she'd ever owned. "Tippy," she murmered with the same exasperation that marked much of their interaction with each other. Shaking her head yet again at the situation, she got dressed, dug a pair of warm socks out of her dresser to complete the effect, and went to join her elf in the kitchen.

Tippy was standing on a stool stirring something on the stove. Whatever it was smelled delicious. "You don't have to set out clothes for me. You know that, right?" she said calmly as she pulled out a chair and sat down. "It was very nice of you, but I've survived quite well on my own for several years now. You're free. You don't have to stay here and serve me."

Hermione hoped she didn't sound like she was begging.

Tippy was implacable as she filled a plate and set it down in front of Hermione. A snap of her fingers filled Hermione's glass with icy water, which was exactly what she drank when she came home from work most evenings. "Miss Grangey is needing an elf. Friends are saying she was not taking good care of herself. I is helping."

The aroma of the food drew Hermione's attention downward to her plate. She'd been right earlier: chicken XXXXX, complete with caramelized onions. If she didn't miss her guess, it was her grandmother's recipe -- she knew she'd seen Tippy browsing through the box of recipe cards her aunt gave her when she first moved into her own flat.

She *liked* chicken XXXX. Rats. Their ongoing argument about Tippy's employment situation would have to wait for another night. Hermione knew she would have no credibility whatsoever if she pushed the issue while she ate. "Wouldn't you rather be somewhere where you can cook whatever you like rather than stuck here with only me? There are some excellent restaurants in London that are employing house elves now, and I'm sure they'd love to have you," she said, trying one more time.

"Tippy is cooking exactly what she wants to," the elf said stubbornly, "and Tippy is not needing money." And with that, she set another plate on the table, replaced her apron with a napkin daintily tucked in around her neck, and sat down across from Hermione to eat her own supper. Hermione, out of ideas, could only place her napkin neatly in her lap and give up. Tippy had cooked; the least she could do is eat it.