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"Oh, by the way, Professor," Harry suddenly remembered something important, something he felt he absolutely needed to tell the professor standing before him. "There's a house-elf… his name is Dobby. And he seems to… well, he seems to know who's really behind the Chamber of Secrets incident…"
Harry went on to recount, in full detail, both of his encounters with the strange little creature. From the first unexpected warning in the Dursleys' home, to the magically sealed Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and then the chaos on the Quidditch pitch when the Bludger went berserk… he described it all. And throughout, Dobby's words had always been vague yet laced with urgency, every sentence echoing danger and dread. He spoke of the Chamber, of the terrible threats lurking within, and pleaded again and again for Harry to leave Hogwarts at once.
Sargeras listened quietly to the entire account, then gave a slow, thoughtful nod.
"I understand."
A house-elf… acting of its own free will?
That was an exceptionally rare anomaly.
In Sargeras's view, the existence of House-elves seemed intrinsically bound to the concept of "obedience." Their very being appeared inseparable from servitude, with their loyalty to their masters so deeply ingrained that it felt more like an instinct than a conscious choice.
Yet this one, Dobby, had gone so far as to openly defy his master's commands and even orchestrate what he believed to be a 'rescue.' Such an act was almost unheard of. However clumsy and dangerous his methods might have been, the intent behind them was unmistakable.
And Sargeras could understand the fear that drove him.
It was the deep-rooted terror of returning to a dark and violent past.
Even now, in an era of relative peace, the plight of house-elves was far from ideal. During the reign of the Dark Lord, however, their suffering could only be described as a living hell.
From the way Dobby spoke, from how much he clearly knew about the events surrounding the Chamber of Secrets… Sargeras could almost be certain of one thing: the elf's former master had to be someone connected to the Malfoy family.
Yet the moment his thoughts drifted to Dobby's so-called "rescue attempts" to save Harry, such as blocking the train platform, sending a rogue Bludger hurtling through the air during the match, and even breaking Harry's arm…
Sargeras felt a thin, cold smile tug at the corners of his mouth.
Truly, it was a miracle that his "rescue target" happened to be none other than Harry Potter, the "Boy Who Lived," whose life seemed stubbornly resilient, harder to snuff out than a cockroach's.
Had it been any other young witch or wizard, less fortunate or less durable, that overzealous house-elf would've personally escorted them to the critical care wing at St. Mungo's… if they were lucky. If not, the outcome might have been even worse.
Without a word, Sargeras gave his wand a quiet wave, and the invisible soundproof barrier that had surrounded them dissolved silently into the cold air. Harry let out a deep breath and walked back to rejoin his waiting companions.
Sargeras's gaze swept over the six young wizards and witches before him, their expressions ranging from nervous to outright guilty. His tone remained calm and even, revealing neither anger nor indulgence.
"For each of you," he said, "five points will be deducted from your respective Houses — for disregarding school rules and entering the Forbidden Forest without permission."
The effect was immediate. Several faces crumpled in dismay, and a chorus of muffled groans rippled through the group. The disappointment hit like a physical weight, but Sargeras paid them no mind.
His next words came sharper, his voice carrying the cool authority of someone who would not repeat himself.
"Unless you have sufficient and legitimate cause, stepping into the Forbidden Forest is strictly forbidden. Next time…" he said, letting his gaze settle briefly on each student, one by one, "…the punishment will be far more serious than a simple loss of points."
Then he tilted his chin toward the castle in a crisp, wordless gesture, his tone brisk and commanding.
"Now. Return to the castle."
The young witches and wizards, as if granted a royal pardon, turned on their heels almost instantly, eager to make their escape…
But just as they took their first steps, Sargeras's voice rang out once more.
"Wait…"
This time, there was a faint trace of exasperation in his tone, like a weary sigh hidden beneath the surface.
He walked over to the nearest Thestral. The creature, gentle and dark, was chewing with effort on a mouthful of dry hay, its jaws moving slowly but without appetite. Despite its efforts, it seemed completely uninterested in swallowing.
Reaching out with practiced ease, Sargeras opened the creature's long, bony mouth and carefully fished out the clump of soggy, half-chewed hay wedged between its teeth. With a look of distaste, he flung the mess into the snow without a second thought.
"Next time, don't feed Thestrals hay," he said flatly. "They're scavengers. They only eat meat."
The moment the words left his mouth, a wave of awkwardness swept over the students. Their expressions all stiffened at once, caught between surprise and embarrassment.
Sargeras gave a slight shake of his head upon seeing this.
Thank goodness Thestrals were gentle creatures by nature…
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On the way back to the castle…
"Luna, did you know Thestrals don't eat hay?" Astoria's tone carried a hint of helplessness, a quiet sigh laced into her voice.
"I did," Luna replied dreamily, her voice drifting like mist. "Their teeth are made for tearing into carrion. Isn't that obvious?"
"Then why did you tell me to feed them hay?" Astoria asked, her brows furrowed in confusion. Ginny, walking beside her, nodded in agreement.
"Oh, that's because we didn't have any meat," Luna said matter-of-factly, blinking her wide, innocent eyes. "We couldn't show up empty-handed, could we? The hay was at least a symbol of goodwill. And besides, they didn't spit it out, did they?"
The group fell silent at that.
No one could argue with the logic, however bizarre it sounded, and so they simply closed their mouths and kept walking, sinking into a shared, quiet state of resignation. It was the kind of silence that seemed to say, "Sure, the reasoning makes sense… but why does the whole thing still feel so wrong?"
Well, at least they had tried.
Just then, Harry was struck by another thought, a question that popped out before he could stop it.
"What do house-elves usually do?"
"Oh, the usual stuff," Ron answered casually as he counted off on his fingers. "Cleaning, scrubbing, cooking, sweeping the floors, serving tea, tidying fireplaces… oh, and sometimes they block curses for their masters or get used as, y'know, emotional punching bags."
"Oh," Harry said seriously, genuinely comparing. "That's pretty much what I did at the Dursleys'. Except for the blocking curses part."
"Oi, mate, that's not the same!" Ron said quickly, trying to point out what he saw as a very important difference in the wizarding world. "House-elves are magical creatures, right? They've got magical contracts and stuff. They can't disobey orders. If they do, well… they get punished. Harshly. Like, really bad."
"Mm-hmm," Harry nodded, as if they were just talking about chores and schoolwork. "I couldn't disobey orders either. If I did, Uncle Vernon would punish me with his belt. Pretty harsh too. See? Not that different."
Ron opened his mouth, clearly ready to explain the difference between a Magical Contract and a Muggle leather belt, to insist that they were not at all the same kind of thing. But when he saw the expression on Harry's face, so calm and detached it might have been about someone else's life entirely, he hesitated, then wisely closed his mouth again.
"I just don't think it's right!" Hermione said firmly, breaking the silence with a sharp note of conviction. "No one is born a slave…"
"Haha, it's fine, Hermione," Harry waved his hand casually, completely unfazed, thinking she was just trying to make him feel better. "I've gotten used to it."
"Harry!" Hermione nearly shot up from her feet, her eyes blazing behind the lenses of her glasses. "I'm not comforting you… I'm criticizing an entire rotten system, one built on the exploitation of magical creatures! House-elves deserve to get wages, to have holidays, and to be treated with basic respect!"
"Oh… I see…" Harry froze for a moment, trying to wrap his head around the scale of what she'd just said. Then he shrugged lightly. "Well, that sounds… pretty complicated. But honestly? If house-elves ever do get their freedom, maybe my situation would improve a bit too."
His friends looked at him with quiet sympathy. Their lips parted, as if to offer him something kind, something warm, but in that moment, no one could find the right words.
Their boots crunched softly through the snow as they walked together toward the castle. The conversation shifted and twisted like the flailing branches of the Whomping Willow, swinging from the harsh world of house-elf injustice back to something more recent, namely their unexpected encounter with Professor Greengrass just moments earlier.
"Did you check the noticeboard?" Harry asked offhandedly. "Professor Greengrass will be taking over the Dueling Club. Twice a week, he'll be training us for real combat situations."
"Finally! No more Lockhart and his peacocking nonsense," Ron added cheerfully. "Seriously though, what do you reckon Professor Greengrass was doing out in the Forbidden Forest in this freezing weather?"
"Maybe… gathering materials for class or something?" Hermione suggested, though uncertainty crept into her voice. She suddenly remembered that Flobberworm from their last practical lesson, and her tone involuntarily dropped a notch.
Ron nodded without question, seemingly accepting her explanation.
"By the way, Hermione…" Harry turned toward her, a bit curious now. "What exactly does Professor Greengrass teach in his practical classes?"
"Um… mostly spellwork," Hermione replied vaguely, "with a focus on… applied usage."
"Sounds interesting," Harry said with a touch of regret. "Too bad we're not allowed to sit in."
"Um…" Ginny, who'd been listening quietly from the side, couldn't hold it in any longer. "Do we first-years get a chance to take Professor Greengrass's class too?"
"Of course," Hermione said, glancing at her. "But you'll have to get Professor McGonagall's handwritten permission first."
"What do you think?" Ginny turned excitedly to Luna and Astoria, eyes bright with anticipation. I'm going to give it a shot, because everyone says you can learn all kinds of useful things in Professor Greengrass's class."
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[Chapter End's]
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