The Return to Hogwarts

“This undoubtedly proves—” Hermione’s brown eyes hardened, “that they are no different from us, that they grieve for the loss of their companions.”

Hermione was about to say something when the house-elves began to sing.

Like the mournful tunes played at a wizard's funeral, the house-elves hummed in unison a sorrowful melody, which was melodious and ancient, sounding nothing like the music that is played in the wizarding world and the Muggle world today.

"Is this their tradition?"

Ron said in surprise,

“Look, Dobby and Sparkle can sing too, and even Doom can. It’s probably like how house-elves are born to do chores.”

Hermione glared at Ron, signaling him to shut up.

To be honest, it was quite a strange scene. The people in the castle could never imagine that while they slept, a rather grand funeral for a house-elf was taking place in Hogwarts' kitchen. Harry remembered when, in his second year, the nearly headless Nick had invited the three of them to his 500th birthday celebration—frankly, a terrible experience.

About two minutes later, the dirge stopped, and the house-elves bowed in unison to the deceased elf.

"This is the highest form of etiquette for house-elves, sir, madam--"

The heavy atmosphere eased somewhat, and Dobby, who was standing in front of them, turned his head and quietly answered their questions.

"Only those house-elves who have served the wizards diligently throughout their lives can receive this honor after their death—"

Dobby looked a little sad. Its lips trembled but it didn't speak. Harry knew very well that Dobby was probably grieving for itself. In the eyes of its companions, a house-elf who had wages and holidays was a disgrace and certainly not considered hardworking.

Hermione's displeasure stemmed from Dobby's statement.

"What are you going to do next?" Ron glanced cautiously at Hermione and whispered, "You're not going to bury it in the kitchen, are you?"

Ron shuddered violently at the thought that the delicious meals he enjoyed every day were actually prepared on a house-elf's graveyard.

“Oh, no, sir—” Dobby shook his head. “House-elves don’t bury their dead like wizards do. We usually… oh, here they come—”

The two house-elves closest to the long table lifted their deceased kin off the table. Then, the elves, with perfect understanding, stepped back to make way for the two elves. Harry and his friends also nimbly retreated to the stove, trying not to disturb the elves' ritual.

Under the watchful eyes of Harry, his friends, and the others, the two elves carried the body to the large fireplace where they had just been talking.

"Oh--"

Hermione frowned.

"If we're going to use cremation, isn't it a bit impolite to use a fireplace? You should take it to the upper grounds and then inform the people in the castle. Professor Dumbledore, Professor Blaine, or Professor McGonagall—they are the Headmaster and Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts; at least one of them should be notified. Ah!"

Hermione screamed in terror before she could finish her sentence, and the two boys, Ron and Harry, were so frightened by what happened next that they almost jumped onto the fireplace, while Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at the two elves, his face turning blue with anger!

Harry thought the two elves would burn their dead kind in the fireplace, which was unacceptable enough, but to his surprise, one of the elves suddenly snapped its fingers!

A flash of silver light passed over the corpse, which was glowing red in the firelight, followed by a gurgling sound and a thud!

The head of an old, lifeless house-elf fell to the ground, rolled several times, and landed at Dom's feet. The headless body, just as Harry and his friends had expected, was thrown into the fireplace.

"What are you doing!" Harry yelled angrily. "Why, why did you take its head?!"

Harry pointed his wand at the sprite who had attacked him, ready to confront it, but Dobby grabbed Harry's robe.

“Sir!” Dobby gestured for Harry to be quiet and winked at him. “It’s a tradition of house-elves, sir. Only house-elves who work diligently and faithfully serve the wizards can receive this honor after death.”

Harry's face flushed red; this habit was utterly absurd!

Perhaps it was a coincidence, but Ruijia and Dongmu stood together. Dongmu seemed to be stunned by the head at its feet. It stared blankly at the head, its eyes flashing with light. Strangely, Ruijia was looking at Dongmu with encouraging eyes.

Without anyone teaching him, Dom slowly bent down and picked up the head, which was still bleeding profusely.

"What are you doing, Dom!" Hermione cried out. "Get that head off! I mean, put it down right now!"

To Hermione's surprise, for the first time since birth, Doom defied her command, staring at the head she was holding with reverence in its eyes.

"I'll show you the way."

"Rega said in a low voice, then it gave a warning look to its fellow creatures around it and pushed them away from in front of Dom."

"This is an honor, Miss Granger. It's hard for a newborn elf to resist such an honor, Miss Granger—"

Chapter 653 The Land of Slumber

2023-12-18

"Wandering around carrying a bloodied head—"

Ron swallowed hard and said with difficulty,

"This is an honor? Merlin's beard, what's wrong with you all?"

Ron's complaints were exactly what Harry and Hermione wanted to say, especially Hermione. What happened made Hermione realize that even though she had tried very hard to understand house-elves, she still seemed to know nothing about them, and she still overlooked the difficulty of changing them.

"I'd like to see--"

Harry's eyebrows were still raised high, his voice was filled with anger, and he gripped his wand tightly as he took the lead.

Under the watchful eyes of many house-elves, Riga led Doom to a secluded corner of the kitchen, where there was a stove that looked like it hadn't been used in a long time. The firebox was black and there wasn't a single spark; the outside was even covered with cobwebs.

For the house-elves, the size and location of the hearth were just right. Reja stepped inside without bending over, and Doom followed without much hesitation, carefully cradling his head in his hands.

"What does it mean?"

These little elves have caused them so much trouble tonight. Ron looked at Hermione helplessly.

"They cut off the heads of their dead kin so they can burn them separately?"

"You misunderstand, sir. Its head won't be burned off; it will be preserved permanently—"

Dobby spoke to Ron, his sharp voice tinged with excitement as a longing welled up within him.

"To preserve it permanently?"

Harry repeated himself, then looked at Hermione, the meaning of which was self-evident.

"I want to go in and take a look!"

Hermione firmly stated that her answer was no different from what Ron and Harry had expected.

I knew it--

Ron muttered something under his breath as he looked at the hearth, which was barely bigger than a dog hole, with a troubled expression. Hermione, however, had already taken action. She took off her wizard's robes, rolled up her sleeves, and followed Dom inside. Harry didn't hesitate much either. He made his wand glow, then held it in his mouth and climbed into the hearth as well.

"Is there any danger inside?"

Ron hesitated and looked at Dobby, but before Dobby could answer, he muttered "Never mind" and followed Harry.

Apart from Dobby, the other elves didn't follow. They stood at the cave entrance for a while, then gradually dispersed to attend to their own affairs. For them, the death of one of their kind was over; what mattered more was serving the wizards in the castle.

boom!

The kitchen is just as busy at night as it is during the day, and perhaps even busier. House-elves also need rest, but in order to support the wizards in the castle, they can't all go to bed at a certain time. So, the idea of ​​shift work naturally came about.

About half of the sprites sleep between midnight and 2:30 a.m., while the other half rests between 2:30 a.m. and 5:00 a.m.

The flames in the kitchen stoves never went out. Because half the staff were gone, each elf had to tend to at least two stoves to ensure that the young wizards and the castle staff had plenty of choices for breakfast the next morning.

When the flustered Reja brought Amosta Blaine into the kitchen, the orderly and busy little elves immediately fell into chaos. They frantically woke up their companions sleeping on the four long tables, and then rushed to Amosta.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Professor Blaine?"

Many of the sprites were saying this, while Amosta, with a somber expression, waved his hand, signaling the sprites to make way.

“Mr. Blaine, over here—”

Rega ran quickly across the four long tables, and Amosta followed closely behind. Soon, he arrived at the stove where Harry, Ron, and Hermione had climbed in earlier.

Tell me what happened in the simplest and clearest language possible, Ruijia--

Amosta said in a deep voice.

Just now in the office, upon hearing that the three little ones were in danger, Amosta immediately ordered Rega to take him to the scene of the incident, without even having a chance to ask what had happened.

As he listened to Reja's flustered account, Amosta squatted down and squinted to observe the stove.

Clearly, this hearth is not so simple. The deep opening of the hearth is far greater than that of a normal furnace, and the opening itself is connected to a space that has been expanded many times over by magic.

Rega's narration was not yet finished. After studying it carefully for a while, Amosta stood up and shook out her wand.

With complex yet swift spellcasting movements, the space encompassed by the dark stove opening began to distort, as if an invisible hand was stirring the calm surface of water. As the distortion intensified, the stove opening was rapidly inflated like a balloon into a space large enough for an adult to pass through.

"Let's talk as we go—" Amosta said before stepping into the black hole.

Amosta walked briskly, but his body moved much faster than his feet. The extremely compressed space made Amosta feel as if he were experiencing a shrinking of the earth, and with each step, space seemed to whistle past his ears.

This is a pitch-black corridor that seems to have no end, and the space that carries the corridor has obviously been tampered with; otherwise, you wouldn't find such a long corridor even if you crossed Hogwarts.

Upon entering, the oppressive chill from all sides caused even the powerful Amosta to shiver involuntarily, as if he had stepped into a cold storage. As his gaze swept around, he understood why Rega hadn't Apparated him directly into this place.

The area encompassing Hogwarts is protected by powerful anti-magic, making Apparition impossible. This corridor is even more effective in preventing Apparition, its powerful and ancient magic, hidden in the void yet connected to its environment, not only prohibits wizards from Apparating but also the teleportation abilities of house-elves. Amostall even suspects that Fawkes's abilities will not work here.

Let's go--

Amosta tossed a glowing ball into the air, glanced at Reja who had followed him in, and then took the lead.

To be honest, Amosta had never seen such a terrifying place at Hogwarts.

The spacious corridor was surrounded by dark stone walls. At intervals along the hard stone walls on either side were wooden shelves, each holding the head of a house-elf. Some of these elf heads had existed there for hundreds, even thousands of years. Despite the low temperatures that helped preserve them, the heads were shriveled and nearly mummified!

Beneath each wooden frame, deep brown streaks stretched from the stone walls all the way to the ground—traces of blood that hadn't yet dried when the heads were first placed there. The stench of decay in the air reminded Amosta of the underground world of Knockturn Alley.

As far as the eye could see, there were heads with humble smiles. Amosta looked at them for a while, then looked away and sighed softly.

It is for these poor house-elves, and also for Harry, Hermione, and Ron.