"Oh, by the way, Professor," Harry suddenly remembered something important he felt he needed to share. "There's a House-elf… named Dobby. He seems to… know who the mastermind behind the Chamber of Secrets incident is…"
Harry recounted his two encounters with Dobby in detail: the warnings at the Dursleys', the sealed platform entrance, the rogue Bludger on the Quidditch pitch, and Dobby's vague yet alarming words—about the Chamber of Secrets, danger, and his desperate pleas for Harry to leave Hogwarts.
Sagres listened, then nodded thoughtfully.
"I understand."
A House-elf with free will?
That was truly an extremely rare exception.
In Sagres's understanding, the very existence of House-elves was bound to obedience; to hold their master's will as supreme was an instinct etched into their very bones.
An individual like Dobby—who dared to defy his master and even actively plan "rescues"—was almost unheard of, even if his methods were clumsy and dangerous.
Still, Sagres could understand the root of his actions: a profound fear of dark history.
After all, even in the relative peace of the present day, the plight of House-elves was far from ideal. And under the Dark Lord's reign, their suffering could only be described as hellish.
Judging by how much Dobby knew about the Chamber of Secrets' inner workings… Sagres was almost certain that this House-elf's original master was inextricably tied to the House of Malfoy.
Just thinking about Dobby's "disastrous" rescue attempts—sealing the platform, tampering with a deadly Bludger, breaking an arm…
A cold smile flickered across Sagres's heart.
Fortunate, indeed, that his "rescue" target had been Harry Potter—the so-called Savior, tougher than a cockroach.
…
On the way back to the castle.
"Luna, did you know Thestrals don't eat hay?" Astoria asked, her tone tinged with helplessness.
"I knew." Luna's voice was dreamy. "Their teeth are for tearing rotten meat. It's obvious."
"Then why did you make me feed them hay?" Astoria asked in confusion, Ginny nodding along in agreement.
"Oh, because we didn't have any meat." Luna blinked her large eyes, stating it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "We couldn't come empty-handed, could we? Hay at least showed our sincerity. And they didn't refuse, did they?"
Hearing this, the others fell silent, the kind of silence that said, I understand the logic, but how did it come to this?
Well, at least they tried.
Just then, another thought struck Harry. "What do House-elves usually do?" he asked without thinking.
"Oh, just the usual things," Ron replied casually, ticking them off on his fingers. "Washing, cooking, mopping, serving tea and water, cleaning fireplaces… Oh, and sometimes shielding their masters from curses or being used as punching bags."
"Oh, that's pretty much what I did at the Dursleys'!" Harry said seriously. "Except for shielding from curses…"
"Hey, mate, that's different!" Ron quickly corrected, eager to explain the "special features" of the wizarding world. "House-elves are magical creatures; they're bound by contracts and can't disobey orders. Otherwise, they'll… uh… get really severe punishment—the terrible kind."
"Mmm-hmm." Harry nodded, his tone flat, as though stating something ordinary. "I can't disobey orders either, or Uncle Vernon punishes me with his belt. That's also really terrible. See? Pretty similar."
Ron opened his mouth, ready to emphasize the fundamental difference between "magical contracts" and "human belts" on a magical level. But when he saw Harry's completely flat expression, he wisely shut it again.
"I think this is wrong!" Hermione said firmly. "No one is born a slave…"
"Haha, it's okay, Hermione," Harry waved a hand indifferently, mistaking her words for comfort. "I'm used to it."
"Harry!" Hermione almost jumped, her eyes blazing behind her spectacles. "I'm not comforting you—I'm condemning a decaying social structure built on the exploitation of magical creatures! House-elves should have wages, holidays, and basic respect!"
"Oh, well…" Harry paused, mulling over the weighty statement. Then he shrugged. "That sounds… complicated. But honestly, if all the House-elves were free, my situation would probably improve a bit too!"
His friends exchanged sympathetic looks, their lips moving as if to comfort him, but for a moment no one could find the right words.
Crunching through the snow toward the castle, their conversation swayed back and forth—like the branches of the Whomping Willow—from the tragic plight of House-elves to Professor Greengrass, whom they had just encountered.
"Did you see the notice board?" Harry asked casually. "Professor Greengrass will be taking over the Duelling Club, twice a week, to train us in practical combat skills."
"I'm really looking forward to it—finally not Lockhart, that show-off," Ron added happily. "Seriously, what do you think Professor Greengrass was doing in the Forbidden Forest on such a cold day?"
"Perhaps looking for teaching materials or something?" Hermione said uncertainly. Recalling the Flobberworm from a previous practical lesson, her voice dropped a little.
Ron nodded, not doubting her explanation.
"By the way, Hermione… What exactly does Professor Greengrass teach in his practical class?"
"Hmm… mainly some… extended applications of spells," Hermione answered vaguely.
"It must be really interesting. Too bad we don't have a chance to audit…"
"Um…" Ginny spoke up beside them, unable to hold back. "Do we first-years also have a chance to take Professor Greengrass's class?"
"Of course." Hermione glanced at her. "But you'll need to get Professor McGonagall's signature first."
"What do you two think?" Ginny turned eagerly to Luna and Astoria. "I'm going to try, because everyone says you can learn so many useful things in Professor Greengrass's class."
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