The door slammed shut.
The office fell quiet. Just Douglas and Sirius Black.
The easy, careless look had drained from Sirius's face. He crossed to the map, and his eyes caught the light from a dozen tiny glowing points.
"He's taken the bait," he said, his voice low.
No triumph in it. Just that particular stillness before a storm breaks.
Douglas lifted his teacup and blew gently across the surface, scattering the lychee flesh floating in the red tea.
His voice was perfectly level. "What else would he do?"
"Play your part well, Mr. Director."
"We need to know everything about him before he shows his teeth."
Douglas was still turning that thought over as he stepped out of the office , and nearly walked straight into Hermione.
She looked miserable.
Time rewinds. Yesterday.
The classroom was thick with dust. Sunlight forced its way through grime-caked windows and fell in murky, broken strips across the floor.
Harry and Ron hadn't come willingly.
They were attending the first official meeting of the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare , a society with, at present, exactly three members.
Dobby stood behind a battered lectern, shaking with barely contained excitement. It wore a perfectly tailored miniature tailcoat, and its tennis-ball eyes blazed with pride and joy. On the lectern before it: a scroll of parchment and several gleaming Galleons, arranged in a neat row.
"S.P.E.W. has received its first official seed funding!" Dobby announced, its voice trembling. It extended one careful finger toward a single gold coin. "This one was donated — in tears, and with great reluctance — by the great Mr. Holmes's beloved pet, Mr. Wangcai!"
Ron's mouth twitched.
He couldn't help it. His brain had already conjured the image: a Niffler clutching a Galleon to its chest, weeping, glancing back over its shoulder with every step.
Hermione cleared her throat and rapped the lectern sharply, yanking their attention back.
"First item on the agenda." Her voice left no room for argument. "We lobby the Hogwarts kitchens to secure a weekly wage for all House-elves. Even if it's just one Knut."
"Hermione." Ron couldn't hold it in. "They like working. You're just making things harder for them."
"It's not harder, Ron. It's respect." She fired back immediately. "Professor Holmes works for werewolf rights. Your godfather does. Even Professor Lupin. Why can't we do something for House-elves?"
"That's completely different! Werewolves don't want to be werewolves. House-elves actually like what they do!"
They went in circles from there. Neither one budged an inch.
That evening, Gryffindor common room.
Firelight painted the stone walls a deep, warm red.
Hermione stood in the middle of the room and made her case, passionately and thoroughly, to an audience that looked at her like she'd lost her mind.
"What's next?" a fifth-year called out. "Equal rights for the chair legs?"
Laughter. Loud and unkind.
Hermione's face went red to the roots of her hair. She kept her spine straight and her chin up, but her voice, just slightly, gave her away.
The next morning, she was walking the corridor with her head down when she nearly collided with Douglas on his way out of the office.
"Looks like your great cause has hit a small snag," he said, stopping. He looked at her with quiet attention , that was enough. He'd already read the whole story.
He steered her inside.
Dobby poured her a cup of hot cocoa and added a generous lump of sugar without being asked.
Douglas let her talk. He didn't interrupt once while she got through it, voice cracking at the edges. When she finished, he was quiet for a moment.
"Every idea feels out of place when it's new," he said at last. His voice had a steadying quality to it. "The first wizard who argued that goblins deserved the same rights as humans , he was called a lunatic too. Completely, thoroughly mad."
He turned to face her. His eyes were serious, and kind.
"But the ideas that feel untimely are usually the ones that end up changing things."
"The method, though. The method matters."
Hermione looked up at him, eyes still wet.
"You can't force-feed a whole bottle of honey to someone who's never had candy. They'll think it's poison."
He tapped the desk with one knuckle, slow and deliberate.
"There's a saying from the East , cast a brick to attract jade. You offer something small and plain to draw out something precious." He let the image settle. "So: no more talk of wages. For them, that word means their entire identity is up for renegotiation. It's frightening. It's the unknown."
"Talk about appreciation instead. Gratitude for hard work — that's all it needs to be."
"Take your seed funding. Go to the kitchen. Throw them a party. A proper one."
"You're not there to change them. You're there to say thank you."
Something shifted in Hermione's eyes.
The confusion, the sting of last night , it cleared, just like that. She understood. Not force. Not imposition. Guidance.
Dobby, standing to one side, had begun trembling from head to foot.
A party. Hosted by the great Harry Potter's own friends. For the House-elves.
The honor of it. The sheer, unprecedented, blinding honor.
"Once the party goes well," Douglas continued, sketching out the next step, "you follow it with a Hogwarts culinary competition. Let them cook for their house's pride. Let the professors and students cheer for their work."
"Once they're used to being respected , used to being celebrated , they'll start wondering on their own whether they deserve something more."
He reached into his pocket and produced a small silver locket, delicate and precisely made. He held it out to her.
"A gift. It's called Heart Sense."
"It won't let you read minds. But when you reach out to someone, it lets you feel what they're actually feeling , their real emotional response, not the surface one. That tells you what to say. How to find the way in."
The locket glowed with a soft, warm white light , like cupping a sliver of moonlight in your palm.
Hermione took it.
The fight was back in her eyes. All of it.
She wasn't the same person who'd stormed into arguments and bounced off every wall. She was something better now. A leader who was starting to think like one.
She regrouped.
She found Harry and Ron.
She found Dobby, who was so overjoyed he looked about to pass out on the spot.
Together, they marched toward the kitchens.
At the end of the corridor, the familiar painting hung in its usual place , a large bowl heaped with fruit, perfectly still. Hermione reached out to tickle the fat pear.
Her fingertip was almost there.
Then it came.
A sharp, wrong sound, like metal dragged hard across stone. It tore out from somewhere deep inside the kitchen.
And right behind it: a sound someone was trying very hard not to make. A whimper, choked down, soaked in pain.
That was not the Hogwarts kitchen. Not the one that smelled of warm bread and rang with cheerful noise.
Something was very wrong.
---
PS: Daily question.
Which of the following statements about "House-elf freedom rights" is correct?
A. Giving a House-elf clothing automatically terminates its bond with its master.
B. A freed House-elf must still follow the traditional customs of its former master's family.
C. A House-elf's right to free choice takes precedence over a wizard's household needs.
D. Only House-elves aged 200 or older are eligible to seek their freedom.
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