HR Chapter 72 It Will Be a War

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The mood was grim indeed.

Ian walked along the corridor beneath the Great Hall. Torches blazed fiercely on either side of the stone walls, and the countless painted delicacies in the decorative portraits seemed almost too real, too tempting.

Reaching an enormous fruit bowl painting, Ian gave the painted pear a tickle. The pear, as if ticklish, squeaked and twisted into a brass door handle.

He pulled it open and stepped through.

A room mirroring the Great Hall in size and layout stretched before Ian. It was incredibly vast, with all manner of copper pots and iron cauldrons suspended from the high, vaulted ceiling.

They swayed gently in the imperceptible drafts, creating a pleasant clink-clonk sound.

Flames in the massive stone hearth automatically swelled and subsided under magical influence, cooking a dizzying array of dishes, from fry-ups to far-flung feasts.

It was anyone's guess who these extra helpings were destined for.

"A firstie wizard!"

"The lad from Ravenclaw who's mad for steak!"

"Clever clogs, finding Hogwarts' kitchens his first week!"

The room teemed with peculiar creatures, their ears disproportionately large, their eyes bulging like frogs' eyes, almost the size of gobstones.

With pointed noses, twig-like limbs, and their trademark tea-towel attire, they were the renowned house-elves of the wizarding world, ancient and subjugated beings whose minds had been reshaped by magic for generations.

Before Ian could offer a greeting, a figure carrying a large bucket appeared from what seemed to be a butchery. He towered over Ian, a fully grown man.

Ronnie Ehrlich.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

This was already Ian's second encounter with the professor today.

"Good evening, Ian."

He carried a bucket covered with an oilskin, emitting a decidedly off smell. As he approached the entrance and spotted Ian, he even correctly recalled Ian's name.

"Good evening, Professor Ehrlich."

Ian replied politely, though he couldn't help but be perplexed. When he'd seen the professor at lunchtime, the man had been colder than a Dementor.

Why the sudden change of heart?

"You better get back. Curfew's about to start. While I fully support young wizards sneaking around at night, Filch won't be so understanding."

"Take care. That Squib's got it in for us wizards." As Ronnie Ehrlich reached the doorway, he even clapped Ian on the shoulder, grinning broadly, clearly in high spirits.

"I'll keep that in mind," Ian nodded.

Ronnie Ehrlich seemed genuinely pleased by Ian's response.

"Don't be late for Defence tomorrow. I've got some splendid practice dummies lined up for you."

The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor ruffled Ian's hair approvingly, then departed the kitchen, carrying his large bucket of still-bleeding, foul-smelling unknown contents.

"Sir, what would Master like to eat? Sibi and Sibi's friends are ever so eager to serve!" The house-elves only dared approach Ian after Ronnie Ehrlich had left.

"Steak, please, and a glass of lemonade, no sugar lumps." Ian's choice made the house-elf named Sibi squeal with delight, and several house-elves began bustling about.

"Knew Master loved steak! Sibi's a good elf, Sibi sees things!" The house-elf with the largest ears was Sibi.

He selected a prime cut of sirloin for Ian and began sizzling it on an iron skillet over the magical flames. Another house-elf respectfully presented Ian with a glass of lemonade.

"That's the stuff! Perfect!"

Ian's face puckered slightly, but his voice was all sincerity.

"Rabi knows Master likes tart lemonade! Rabi's a good elf too!" The house-elf who handed over the lemonade began jumping up and down with glee.

Dedicated and wholehearted, house-elves were born to serve wizards. Much of the drudgery, heavy lifting, and mucky work at Hogwarts was accomplished by them.

They appeared silently.

And vanished silently.

Leaving only perfectly completed tasks behind.

Many wizards could go through their entire school career without truly noticing their presence, only hearing whispers about how diligent and dependable Hogwarts' elves were.

Indeed, it wasn't just these odd creatures at Hogwarts. House-elves everywhere were almost all of the same make, viewing their service to their masters as a privilege.

This was a "binding spell" etched into their very "essence."

It was the prize claimed by wizards after the ancient Goblin Wars.

"Yes, splendid. Just the ticket." Ian's thumbs-up made the house-elf named Rabi clasp his hands together, nearly swooning with joy.

"Rabi has received praise from the Ravenclaw gentleman! Rabi thinks Master is such a kind young wizard!" The house-elf Rabi's high-pitched voice rang with excitement.

This was the essence of their kind. They thrived on praise and found happiness in their work. The house-elf named Dobby Harry Potter encountered was likely an anomaly.

"Another glass, if you please!"

As a beneficiary of their service, Ian had no desire to change the status quo. If labor brought house-elves joy, how could it be deemed exploitation? Calls for their liberation might not be a betrayal of wizards, but in Ian's view, it would likely ignite another conflict.

Such were the laws of nature.

The apex of the food chain would never allow another race to stand beside it.

"Sir! Your steak!"

The house-elf Sibi presented the perfectly cooked steak, artfully arranged, with a knife and fork placed with care, as if offering a treasure.

"Your skills are remarkable!"

Ian didn't hesitate to compliment, giving the house-elf Sibi a thumbs-up. Sibi began to dance with delight, mirroring the joy of the other house-elves.

Simple words of praise were enough to satisfy these elves. Often, humans didn't live as comfortably as they did.

"We hope you'll return soon, sir! Rabi is always ready to serve you!"

"Sibi too!"

Before Ian departed, several elves stood at the entrance, beaming as they bid him farewell.

"Grateful to our ancestors, grateful to the founders, grateful to Hogwarts." Ian, with the leisurely gait of someone who had feasted well, carried Snape's notes and textbooks back to Ravenclaw.

The corridors were empty.

Curfew had already begun.

"All day, I've been waiting for this opportunity. You should tell me why now." The bronze eagle head on the door spoke up but didn't pose any particularly interesting question.

"Huh?" Ian, who had been prepared for a philosophical debate, was utterly baffled.

"Is this a test?" Ian whispered tentatively.

His heart raced.

"No, I just hold grudges." The bronze eagle head on the door shook its head.

Its voice remained gentle. 

(End of Chapter)