0487 Stubborn

0487 Stubborn

Hagrid's words not only surprised Harry and Ron but also made Hermione frown. She realized once again that adult wizards' perspectives differed from those of young wizards.

For weeks now, Hermione had been focused on how to rescue house-elves from what she perceived as their miserable circumstances. Her mind had been filled with visions of liberated elves, living dignified lives free from servitude. However, she hadn't fully considered the deeply ingrained attitudes of the many wizards and witches who had grown accustomed to using house-elves in their daily lives.

Ron's casual mention of his mother's long-held desire for a house-elf suddenly took on new significance. Mrs. Weasley was undoubtedly a kind and good-hearted person. If even she held such views on house-elf ownership, Hermione could only imagine – with a shudder – the likely reaction of wizards like the cruel and arrogant Lucius Malfoy to any notion of liberating these magical creatures.

"But Professor Watson promised me," Hermione said, her voice taking on a stubborn edge as she clung to this ray of hope, "that if the elves agree, he's willing to give them wages and various holidays—"

As the words left her mouth, she suddenly realized just how accommodating and broadminded Professor Watson had truly been in accepting her ideas. A deep frown etched itself across her features as she unconsciously folded her arms tightly across her chest, her mind racing to formulate arguments that might persuade the wider wizarding community beyond the relatively liberal Hogwarts. As she pondered, she barely noticed Fréodom, the small house-elf, sliding off her lap and tiptoeing quietly across the rough wooden floor of Hagrid's hut.

Hagrid's beetle-black eyes softened with sympathy as he gazed at Hermione. He leaned forward in his enormous armchair, which creaked under his weight, and said gently but firmly, "You can't expect everyone to be like Professor Watson and Headmaster Dumbledore, Hermione." His words cut straight to the heart of the matter, making Hermione's shoulders slump slightly. "How many people can be as noble as them? And even taking Professor Watson's requirements,"

Hagrid continued, his tone growing more serious as he stroked his wild, tangled beard, "You let house-elves get paid, but what will they do with the money? No wizard will sell things to house-elves – it's just not done. The Galleons they earn through hard work will just attract the attention of some bad folks, mark my words. You don't expect the Ministry of Magic to stand up for them, do you?"

"Impossible!" Harry interjected forcefully, his green eyes flashing with indignation behind his round glasses. The memory of recent events was still fresh in his mind as he added, "During the Quidditch World Cup finals, the Ministry wouldn't even let Remus sit in the best seats. They even sent Aurors to watch over him and others like him, treating them like criminals!"

"Yeah—" Hagrid's lips curled into a smile, but none of the three young Gryffindors noticed the underlying bitterness that tinged his expression.

"So, you see, Hermione," Hagrid continued, his voice a low rumble, "this whole situation isn't as simple as you think. Now, let's talk about the holidays you mentioned. That's another thing that's just not realistic. Holidays aren't something house-elves look forward to like we do. They're born to take care of people; it's in their very nature. They like it that way, understand? If you don't let them work, they'll feel sad, lost even. And as for paying them wages? Well, most elves will take it as an insult to them."

Hermione, her mind whirling with counter-arguments, immediately seized upon a memory. "But I heard that when Harry freed Dobby," she retorted, her voice rising with passion, "Dobby was absolutely overjoyed!!"

"Yeah, yeah," Hagrid nodded, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. "There's always gonna be a few oddballs in every species, ain't there? I'm not denyin' that yeh might find a handful of peculiar elves who fancy the idea of freedom. But convincin' the vast majority of elves ter fight for somethin' they don't even want? That's a fool's errand, Hermione. It's just not gonna happen, no matter how noble yer intentions might be."

Suddenly, Hagrid's demeanor shifted, his eyes crinkling with delight as he gestured towards his cluttered kitchen area. "Just look at this little fella over here! He's already makin' himself happy!"

Hermione's head whipped around, her bushy hair flying, as she cast a startled glance towards the kitchen. To her dismay, she discovered that Fréodom had sneaked away while she was engrossed in the heated discussion. The tiny elf was now enthusiastically assisting Hagrid, having already quietly scrubbed Hagrid's enormous, basin-sized bowl until it gleamed in the firelight. Currently, the eager elf was vigorously wiping down Hagrid's massive, perpetually greasy black stove, its frail arms working tirelessly.

"Stop, Fréodom!" Hermione shouted, her voice sharp with frustration and anger. The sudden outburst caused Fréodom to jump in fright, the cleaning cloth slipping from its long-fingered hands and falling to the floor with a soft plop.

As Hermione rushed over, her face flushed with a mix of emotions, Hagrid tilted his shaggy head back, his eyes roaming around the cluttered interior of his one-room home. With a note of wistful regret in his voice, he said, "Ter tell yeh the truth, I could really do with a house-elf 'round here ter help keep things tidy. Why, just the other day, Professor Moody dropped by ter offer his services in patrollin' the Forbidden Forest for me. Nice of him, really. But he also suggested, in that gruff way of his, that I might want ter consider givin' the place a bit of a spruce up—"

However, she also set strict rules for both Hagrid and Fréodom. Her voice was firm as she laid out her conditions: she wouldn't allow Hagrid to order Fréodom around like a servant, nor would she permit Fréodom to do anything other than play and relax while at Hagrid's hut. She told them that she would try to come here every day to teach Fréodom the 'correct outlook on life.'

As the trio made their way back to the castle under the cover of Harry's Invisibility Cloak, Hermione's mind was already racing ahead to her next steps. "I need to get started on creating the official guidelines and a specific action plan for our society right away," she muttered, her words tumbling out in an excited rush. "We'll need to have some sort of striking, eye-catching emblem or badge to distinguish our members from those who are still waiting to be persuaded to join our cause. After all, we might end up with a significant number of members very quickly—"

Ron made a strange coughing sound that sounded suspiciously like poorly disguised mockery, but Hermione either didn't notice or chose to ignore it.

"Harry," she continued, undeterred, "next Wednesday, we need to promote this during Professor Watson's physical education class. Professor Watson has already expressed his support for us." Her tone was confident, brooking no argument.

Harry bit his lip, really wanting to remind Hermione how angry she had been with Professor Watson earlier today, and that the professor hadn't actually agreed to anything she was now proposing. However, he held his tongue, knowing that in her current state of excitement, any attempt at reason would likely fall on deaf ears.

The three of them walked quickly through the grounds into the shadow cast by Hogwarts Castle, their feet making soft squelching sounds on the damp grass. Harry and Ron were walking particularly fast, clearly eager to get away from Hermione and her impassioned planning as soon as possible.

As they climbed the worn stone steps outside the castle's imposing main doors, the soft glow of torchlight spilling out from within, Harry nearly tripped due to his hasty steps. His foot caught on the edge of a step, and he stumbled, barely managing to catch himself before falling.

"Oh, do watch your step there, Potter—"A hoarse, deep voice suddenly cut through the night air, coming from behind the massive, closed doors. In the quiet of the evening, this unexpected sound was like a thunderclap, stunning the three of them into immobility.

'We're done for—' This panicked thought simultaneously arose in the minds of Harry, Ron, and Hermione as Professor Moody's limping figure stepped into the moonlight.

"That's a mighty fine Invisibility Cloak you've got there, whose is it?" Moody's both normal eye and his vivid blue magical eye were focused closely on the spot where the three of them stood frozen, leaving Harry with no hope of slipping away undetected. With a sinking feeling, he realized that he had encountered the third wizard who could see through his Invisibility Cloak.

"It's mine, sir—" Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper as he voluntarily pulled down the shimmering fabric. The three young wizards stood obediently outside the door like a trio of quails caught in the gaze of a hawk, enduring Moody's penetrating scrutiny.

"Normally," Moody began, his scarred face unreadable in the shadows, "shouldn't you be explaining to me why you're wandering around the castle grounds at bedtime?" Unexpectedly, there wasn't much anger in Professor Moody's voice, which gave Harry a glimmer of hope that they might yet escape punishment.

"It's my fault, Professor Moody—" Hermione stepped forward with a flushed face, no longer speaking in an overbearing tone. Lowering her gaze to avoid Moody's intense stare, she fabricated an explanation on the spot. "I had an urgent question about Blast-Ended Skrewts that I simply had to ask Hagrid. Harry and Ron were worried I might encounter danger if I went alone at night, so they insisted on accompanying me—"

Harry and Ron both frowned, their faces a picture of confusion as they opened their mouths to refute Hermione's creative explanation. However, before they could utter a word, Hermione swiftly and secretly pinched the soft flesh at their waists making them hiss in pain.

"I see—" Moody's gruff voice was tinged with an odd note of amusement as he continued to stare at Hermione's face, "And you also brought a gift for Hagrid, didn't you, Miss Granger? I must admit, you're quite a noble young witch—"

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