"Dinner's over." In the Entrance Hall, Hermione Granger sneezed slightly, looking through the doorway at the Great Hall, which was empty except for candles, her disappointnt evident in her voice.
They'd just lingered too long at the Black Lake.
When they rushed back through the rain, the students had already left the Great Hall, and even gluttons like Crabbe and Goyle, who were accustod to sitting from beginning to end, were nowhere to be seen; the tables were spotless—even the bowl of Muggle peppermint humbugs that were often left untouched had been removed.
"It's all right—I have a solution." Draco's tone didn't sound very worried.
"What solution?" she asked curiously, looking up at the boy who was busy attending to her.
"Wait," he said softly. At that mont, he was busy gently touching her with his wand, drying her wet clothes and fluffing up her tangled wet hair.
He was very close. Close enough that he could embrace her at any mont—anywhere at all. Hermione's mind raced with jumbled thoughts, her eyes blinking rapidly and anxiously.
The rain seed to amplify her senses. She could sll the rain, and the damp wind brushed against her cheeks. Her body trembled slightly, whether from the cold weather or the turmoil in her heart, she couldn't tell.
Slowly, the tip of his wand slid across the front and sides of her robes, and she could feel the dampness disappear, just as she could feel the shiver the wand tip caused when it grazed her.
He was casting the most ordinary drying and warming charms on her. But she felt this seemingly nonchalant boy was casting so strange, scalding spell on her, amidst a faint scent of cedarwood.
Her lips were slightly parted, and her whole body felt warm—especially where the tip of his wand had touched.
Points connect to form lines, and lines connect to form surfaces.
However, the boy who was warming her body and even her soul continued doing this with a natural expression, seemingly oblivious to her tense body and trembling heart.
Then he stretched out his arm, not touching her body, but hovering around her, the tip of his wand gliding delicately across the back of her robes.
His face looked so calm, so focused. He was tracing her with the tip of his wand, not looking into her eyes, but at her hair.
Hermione stared at his slightly reddened ears, her breathing quickening. She bit her lip, lost in a daze. She felt like a rabbit trapped in a snare, and he was the snare itself.
Eventually, this was over. He then began focusing on dealing with her thick, bushy, curly hair.
This was the end of one kind of tornt, and the beginning of another.
For a fleeting mont, his cool fingertips brushed against her cheek as he picked up a small strand of her damp, curly hair. The spot he touched instantly burned, reminding Hermione of the scalding heat of his grip on her wrist in the rain.
The touch sent shivers down her spine. She clutched her robes tightly with her fingers, incredibly nervous, yet unable to resist him.
She knew her imagination was running wild.
She knew she was powerless against him. She was helpless against this boy who intended to treat her like a younger sister, yet made such intimate gestures toward her.
She could only stand there, dazed and confused, enveloped in his ever-closer scent of cedarwood, welcoming whatever he did.
*This is bad. This is terrible.* She felt feverish all over.
By candlelight, she raised her eyes to secretly observe him, and suddenly noticed a few strands of hair still dripping with water on his forehead, and then his sincere grey eyes behind the hair.
So sincere, so pure, so innocent.
Amidst the restless pounding of her heart, she muttered to herself, "Can't even take care of himself, yet always worrying about others."
"What?" He fiddled with her hair, not having heard her clearly, so he raised his eyelashes to ask.
"It's nothing." Hermione shook her head and exhaled.
She couldn't continue like this—it would only end badly. She took out her wand and, mimicking his actions, tried to cast drying and warming charms on him, then commanded in a mock-stern manner, "Lower your head."
Draco had just accomplished his grand goal of "keeping Hermione neat and tidy."
Satisfied, he ruffled the ends of her dried hair. Hearing her command, he lowered his wand, tilted his head, and obediently let her tend to him, his grey eyes following her darting gaze.
"All done!" After a while, Hermione, her face flushed, glanced at his clean, platinum-blond hair with a sense of accomplishnt. She couldn't help but touch his hair, then mustered her courage to et his gaze. "All done."
"Thank you." He smiled at her again, looking sowhat silly, with a hint of happiness in his eyes.
This was nothing like the reserved, introverted boy he usually was; he was more like a child who'd just eaten his favourite sweet.
However, a child's smile might be bright or radiant, but it would never make one blush and feel heart-pounding like this.
Looking at him, Hermione felt her ears burning. Before her heart leaped into her throat, she asked him again, "Draco... what was that solution you just ntioned?"
"Oh, co with ." His smile widened, seemingly with a hint of mischief. Draco tentatively took her arm again, and seeing she allowed him to hold it and didn't refuse, he smiled with satisfaction. "I'll take you to an interesting place."
His unusually mysterious deanor aroused Hermione's suspicion and curiosity. So she suppressed her shyness and let him guide her as they walked down the stairs toward the Hufflepuff common room, all the way to the corridor below the Great Hall.
The stone-paved corridor was spacious and bright, decorated with various delightful paintings of food. Draco led her to a painting of a bowl of fruit, smiled mysteriously at her, and then reached out a finger and gently tickled one of the pears in the painting.
Hermione was surprised to find the pear actually started wriggling, chuckling, and then gradually turned into a green door handle.
"This is sothing new," she couldn't help but say.
Draco opened the door, suppressing a laugh, and made a gentlemanly gesture to the astonished Hermione. "Ladies first—welco to the Hogwarts kitchens."
Hermione flushed again at his smile.
She coughed lightly and stepped through the door, imdiately stunned by the spectacular sight inside: at least a hundred house-elves, dressed in tea towels emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest, stood in a kitchen almost identical to the Great Hall above, all smiling, bowing, curtsying, and surrounding her.
She looked at Draco and saw he was perfectly at ease, as if he were in his own ho. He leaned down familiarly and said sothing to a female house-elf, who curtsied to them, took two steps back, and ran off excitedly; a mont later, seven or eight house-elves ca rushing up, carrying several large silver platters:
One silver platter was filled with pies, sausages, jacket potatoes, puddings, and oddly shaped spring rolls; another was filled with all sorts of cakes—Hermione saw her favourite avalanche strawberry cake and Draco's favourite chocolate gateau; another had a large teapot emitting the aroma of black tea, along with glasses for milk and juice, and even a large jug of pumpkin juice.
"Thank you, Winny," Draco said gently. The house-elf was overjoyed and bowed repeatedly before retreating. The other elves also bowed slightly and followed suit, lining up to retreat into the kitchen beyond.
"Sit down," Draco said. He waited for Hermione to sit first before following. Casually spearing an oddly shaped spring roll with his fork, he studied it lazily for a while before finally tasting a bit.
"This is unbelievable!" Hermione took a sip of pumpkin juice, the warming sensation awakening her taste buds. She glanced at Draco. "This explains a lot of your behaviour."
"What behaviour?"
"Why you always have sothing to eat in your pocket." Hermione shook her head, then laughed with sudden realization. "I've always wondered where you get those green apples. And George and Fred—I'd wager they know this place too. They've been taking food from the common room all these years; we always thought they were incredibly resourceful—"
"Oh, house-elves are very hospitable. You've probably noticed that asking for food here is the easiest thing—you'll be laden down in no ti," Draco said smugly.
They quickly satisfied their hunger. Hermione took a sip of tea, hesitated, and said, "Actually, I've always been curious about how house-elves are treated... I'd like to ask them..."
Draco raised his eyebrows—a typical Hermione Granger act of truth-seeking—never missing an opportunity to investigate.
"All right. But you'd better watch your words and tone when you ask questions, so as not to offend them. I don't want to be turned away when I co to ask for food one day," he warned her.
"I'll be careful," Hermione said seriously and nervously.
He beckoned the elf nad Winny to co over and answer Hermione's questions. Winny seed very nervous and hurriedly asked him, "Sir, is there anything you're unhappy about?"
The other house-elves peeked out from the kitchen doorway, looking at them with so unease.
"No, it's this young lady who wants to ask a question." Draco nodded toward Hermione.
Winny then timidly looked up and gazed at Hermione with a puzzled expression.
"You've treated us very well, Winny." Hermione smiled at her, trying to soothe her. "I was just wondering about your pay and treatnt here. You know—salary, holiday ti, things like that…"
Winny didn't relax despite Hermione's comforting words.
Upon hearing words like "salary" or "pay," a look of terror imdiately crossed her face. Her round, tennis ball-sized eyes widened, and she shrieked, "Miss, we doesn't need any pay! We is good elves, we is not depraved!"
Hermione was startled by her reaction. Then a look of indignation flashed in her eyes. "You an to say you've been cooking and cleaning for the entire castle without any pay?"
Winny puffed out her chest, which was wrapped in a clean tea towel, nodded proudly, and said, "That's what good house-elves does!"
Hermione could tell the little elf before her was very proud of her job.
"But this is wrong—this is slave labour," she murmured, suddenly feeling as if everything she'd just eaten was stuck in her throat.
Draco glanced at Hermione, and before the house-elf could be frightened to death by her, he gently waved for Winny to leave.
Winny didn't seem as happy as before. She tried her best to maintain a respectful deanour, giving Hermione and Draco a flawless curtsy, then hesitantly backed away, muttering discontentedly, "Sir, Miss, you is putting Winny in a difficult position! First, a house-elf gets clothes! Then, wages and pay! This pure land of Hogwarts is being corrupted..."
"Who got clothes?" Hermione couldn't help but call out to her again.
"Oh, miss, it's a disgraceful elf! Winny advises you, sir and miss, not to go to the kitchen to see her!" the elf shrieked, and hurriedly retreated.
This only piqued Hermione's curiosity. She turned to Draco and said, "I want to go see."
"All right, since we're already here." Draco yawned, nodded at her, and got up to follow.
They walked through the long kitchen to where the house-elves gathered. They found the "disgraceful little elf" with ease, simply because a certain corner was like a vacuum—completely isolated by the house-elves—where only two familiar figures sat together.
"Dobby?" Draco said in surprise.
"Winky?" It was Hermione's voice.
The two elves turned around at the sa ti; it was Dobby and Winky.
Dobby wore a tea-cosy embroidered with a golden snitch on his head and sothing resembling a children's football jersey, maintaining a cheerful deanour; whilst Winky, dressed in a neat blouse and skirt, sat on a stool by the fire, her face streaked with tears.
"Winky, are you working at Hogwarts now?" Hermione imdiately grasped the key point.
As if recalling her past experience of being dismissed, Winky's lips trembled, and then she burst into tears, which rolled down from her large brown eyes.
"Oh dear—" Hermione said worriedly. "Winky, don't cry—tell what's wrong…"
"Dobby, I need an explanation. You took extended leave just to do this? Settle your friend down?" Draco ignored Winky's sobs and looked at Dobby.
Dobby's happy expression vanished. It bowed hesitantly to Draco, looking at its young master uneasily, seemingly unsure whether what it was doing was right, and even more unsure whether it should imdiately punish itself by banging its head against the fireplace.
"Don't punish yourself." Before it could act, Draco reacted and quickly said, "I want to know why you didn't tell or bring her directly to ."
Hearing this, the wailing Winky looked up at him and said in an affronted, shrill voice, "Mr. Crouch said the Malfoys is all bad wizards! Very bad wizards!"
Dobby looked at Draco hesitantly, his eyes wide with fear, unsure whether he should apologize for Winky or alleviate his guilt by hurting himself.
Hermione glanced at Draco with concern, only to find he wasn't angry at all, but instead gave a cold laugh. "Mm, that's a reasonable excuse. Go on, Dobby—explain this to clearly."
"It was Dobby who found Winky a job! You knows, young master, it's really, really hard for a dismissed house-elf to find a new job—" Dobby said loudly.
Upon hearing this, Winky cried even harder.
"Winky doesn't want to co to young master's place. She's prejudiced against him! Dobby tried to persuade her that she could get paid, have holidays, and even get a raise if she did well, but she was even more unhappy after hearing that…" Dobby said in a shrill voice. The house-elves in the kitchen all looked away from them when they heard this, as if they'd heard sothing rude and offensive.
"Get paid? Winky hasn't fallen to that level yet!" Winky's wet face suddenly turned furious.
Hermione sighed, then suddenly glanced at Draco with an unexpected look, a mixture of complex emotions in her eyes.
*Draco—he's a rare good master, actually.*
Draco gave her an innocent look—*what's wrong?*
But Hermione didn't say anything more; she was busy looking at Dobby again.
"Dobby thought and thought—where could possibly accommodate a dismissed elf? Finally, he thought of Hogwarts! Professor Dumbledore even said he was willing to pay her wages, but Winky didn't want to take them..." Dobby said excitedly. Winky let out another loud sob.
"Winky, you should be happy! Professor Dumbledore is much better than Mr. Crouch! Mr. Crouch wasn't kind to you—you didn't do anything wrong! He was so cruel to you…" Hermione tried to comfort her.
"Don't insult Mr. Crouch, miss!" Winky cried, pressing her fingers to the hem of her skirt. "My poor master, what will he do without Winky? He needs Winky's help..."
"What kind of help does he need from you?" Draco suddenly asked, recalling the strange incident Dobby had ntioned during the holidays. "To take care of your young master?"
"Young Master needs to be properly... no, there is no young Master!" Winky suddenly scread, looking at Draco with the sa terrified eyes as if he were a venomous snake. "You is all bad wizards, very bad Dark wizards, trying to fra Mr. Crouch!"
"He's not!" Hermione tried to correct her. "Winky, he's not—"
"Save your breath," Draco waved his hand, speaking to Hermione with an indifferent attitude. "House-elves are all quite stubborn—you can't reason with them."
"That's the worst part about you," she said defiantly. "Why do you assu they're unreasonable? You have absolutely no patience to make any effort with them!"
"Fine, whatever you want." Draco sat down casually to one side, beckoned to Winny, and asked her to brew a fresh pot of tea.
The little elf nodded eagerly, her face regaining its vitality—the anger from being offended half an hour earlier had vanished—she curtsied excitedly and left happily.
"Slave labour," she muttered, glaring at him.
"Didn't you see Winny's expression?" he said lazily, raising an eyebrow as he scrutinized her indignant face. "Are you happier when you're encouraging her to fight for her rights, or when I'm making requests?"
"Even if she seems happier whilst she's working, it doesn't an it's the right thing to do," Hermione said indignantly. "Unpaid labour is slave labour!"
"All right, I respect your opinion." Draco made a gesture of surrender, wisely choosing to keep quiet.
He knew that going directly against Hermione Granger on the issue of house-elves' rights definitely wouldn't end well. To be honest, he was quite apprehensive about confronting an "outraged Hermione."
Hermione thought he'd backed down, and turned around triumphantly, intending to comfort Winky again, trying to make the grief-stricken little elf realize that leaving Mr. Crouch was a good thing.
However, a quarter of an hour passed, and she'd gained nothing but a dry throat. No matter how she tried to persuade her, Winky would remain silent. The little elf simply buried her sorrowful face in her skirt and wept, "Poor Master... there's no Winky to help him anymore..."
"Hermione, co and rest for a while," the boy said gently to her.
Hermione was annoyed. She realized Draco seed to be right. He seed to understand house-elves better than she did. She sighed, walked over, and sat down in the chair next to him, sulking.
"The tea's ready. Want to have a sip to soothe your throat?" He worked with the tea set before him, a hint of a smile in his voice.
"I don't drink tea." She glanced at the steam rising from the teapot and said stubbornly. "That's tea brewed from the blood and tears of house-elves, full of oppressive flavour."
"Actually, I made the tea. I didn't let them do it in the end," Draco said slowly, beginning to pour tea into the empty cup before her. "You can drink it without worry. There's absolutely no house-elf blood or tears mixed in; and as for , I personally don't think making tea for you is oppressive."
Hermione glanced at him discreetly and found him smiling, with a knowing look in his eyes.
He seed to see through her thirst, resentnt, and disappointnt.
"All right," she said, much mollified now, though sowhat awkwardly. "Then I'll have so. Thanks."
"In fact, why not talk to a house-elf who's willing to talk to you?" Draco suggested, observing her docile sipping of her tea. "Why don't you talk to Dobby? I think he's probably the only house-elf in this kitchen who won't get angry at your questions."
"Of course, of course!" Her eyes lit up, and she turned to Dobby, who was beaming with joy. "You just said you get wages, right? Can you tell the specifics of your salary and benefits?"
The little elves nearby had been listening with great interest to Hermione's advice to Winky, but when she and Dobby started talking about "salary" and "holiday" again, they all looked away and moved to a distance, all looking as if they were afraid of catching Dragon Pox.
Dobby paid no attention to the other elves' actions; he was busy excitedly telling Hermione, "Dobby started with one Galleon a month, and one day off a month—"
"Oh, that's too little!" Hermione did a quick ntal calculation and gave Draco a reproachful look.
Draco was lost in thought about Winky's words, "Young Master needs to be properly..." and didn't notice her gaze.
"No, Master wanted to give Dobby more pay and more holiday! But Dobby couldn't! Dobby refused!" Dobby jumped up and explained in a panicked, shrill voice. "Later, Master still gave Dobby a raise—it was terrible! Dobby now gets ten Galleons a week and one day off a week!"
"Goodness—" Hermione exclaid in surprise. She hadn't expected Dobby's pay rise to be so rapid.
"Dobby doesn't need all that salary and holiday!" Dobby shuddered. "Master must stop this terrible practice of raising wages!"
"Oh, co on, Dobby, this salary and holiday ti are nowhere near the average wage in the Muggle world…" Hermione retorted.
"That's enough, that's enough... No more... Dobby has to go check on Winky..." Dobby seed unwilling to discuss the topic further, fearing Draco would seize the opportunity to raise his salary again. The little elf gave the two a hasty bow and hurriedly fled to the other end of the kitchen.
"You heard it too. It's not that I don't want to give more—it's that he doesn't want it," Draco shrugged. "Every ti I've given him a raise over the years, he throws a trendous tantrum."
"Oh, Dobby's thinking really needs correcting. Who would complain about having too much pay? Besides, I was blinded by Dobby's situation. I didn't know most house-elves were treated so badly—with no pay, no holidays, and treated like slaves." Hermione looked worriedly at Dobby's back, then glanced around at the house-elves watching them from a distance, and said to Draco.
"It has always been this way," Draco said calmly. "I've told you before. There is no fairness in the wizarding world, only order. House-elves serve wizards—this is the rule that's been passed down in the wizarding world since ancient tis."
Hermione glared at him defiantly, slamming the empty cup down on the table with a thud—startling the worried house-elves who'd been secretly watching them—and a look of what could be called "stubbornness" settled in her eyes.
She didn't want to stay here anymore. Every sweet cake aroma here now seed to transform into a suffocating, oppressive atmosphere of denied house-elf rights.
"I'm leaving." She stood up and walked briskly, her voice echoing in the empty kitchen. "Draco, I think this is wrong! I must do sothing to change this rule!"
"Of course you would," Draco muttered. He waved to the elves who were about to hand him pastries, whispered "thank you," and hurried after the girl who was walking briskly.
"I don't have high expectations…" he said casually as he opened the hidden door behind the portrait for Hermione. "How could a tradition that's lasted for thousands of years be changed overnight by anyone?"
"But you have changed!" Hermione stepped out the door, turning back to look at him. "Why are you willing to pay Dobby wages?"
"I—" Draco hesitated, unable to finish his sentence.
He was an exception.
After going through so much, he'd finally changed a little.
Even though he'd changed, his reasons for being lenient with Dobby weren't simple—they were a mixture of gratitude, pragmatism, and fear.
"Tell why! If you can do it, why can't others?" Hermione asked matter-of-factly.
"You can't judge the whole group based on a few isolated cases." Draco choked up, not directly answering her question. He said with annoyance, "There's only one or two house-elves who want wages. The rest of the house-elves consider 'receiving wages' a disgrace—you've seen that, haven't you?"
Hermione frowned.
To so extent, Draco was revealing certain unspoken, harsh realities to her. Yet she still felt stifled and irritated—she wasn't receiving the unwavering support and encouragent she usually expected from Draco.
He was dampening her enthusiasm. And clearly, he wasn't on her side.
"Do you also support the enslavent of house-elves?" she asked him. "Which side are you on?"
"I'm not taking sides," he said. "I respect everyone's perspective. But which side do you consider yourself on? The house-elves' side? Do you think they approve of you taking their side?"
Hermione was stumped. She pursed her lips and pondered—for a mont reminding Draco of Professor McGonagall when faced with Longbottom's Transfiguration work—adopting a look of being speechless yet determined not to give up.
After walking up the stairs for a while, she suddenly said sternly, "Draco, you're being sophistic. They think that way because they don't understand they're being oppressed!"
The essence of this matter wasn't so simple.
Why were wizards born superior? Why were house-elves born to be slaves?
Hermione always felt no race should be discriminated against, exploited, or enslaved.
Everyone should be equal, free, and respected. This was the ideal promoted in the Muggle world she'd grown up in, and she deeply believed in it, thinking it was social consensus.
However, she increasingly discovered that many wizards in the wizarding world didn't seem to think that way.
The most terrifying thing was that even the enslaved house-elves had beco accustod to this oppression and even took it for granted.
*What should I do?* Hermione frowned in distress, her mood suddenly sinking.
She stopped talking and silently walked upstairs. She pondered deeply, secretly vowing to find a solution to help the house-elves and bring so just, fair treatnt to the wizarding world.
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