Hogwarts' Golden Glory

Hermione went to the kitchen once and became addicted to it.

Then he took Ginny to the kitchen.

A little elf saw Hermione.

It turned its head and called out to the other sprites, "Miss Granger is here!"

Several elves gathered around, looking at Hermione curiously. An older elf placed a plate of cookies on the table, wiping the rim of the plate repeatedly, as if afraid of leaving fingerprints.

"Miss Granger is eating cookies. Miss Granger is too thin."

Hermione looked down at the plate of cookies—golden and crispy, sprinkled with icing sugar.

She picked up a piece, took a bite, and the sweetness melted on her tongue. "...Delicious."

The little elves all smiled, as if they had heard the best praise.

They brought over another dish, and then another.

Hermione was soon surrounded by three or four plates of cookies, cakes and pies of different flavors.

"Enough, enough—" Hermione waved her hand hastily, but the house-elves had already dispersed and returned to their posts, as if they had completed some important ritual.

Hermione looked around and suddenly noticed something. The little elves were all busy, but no one was urging them on.

No one is threatening them.

They don't have that "forced" tension when they work; instead, it's like a natural rhythm—chopping vegetables, stirring, kneading dough, plating—each movement is skillful but not rushed.

Sometimes they would pass tools to each other, and sometimes they would whisper a few words to each other, as if confirming something.

"They..." Hermione began, "Have they always been here?"

“It’s been there for hundreds of years,” Ginny said. “It was there when Hogwarts was built.”

"Do they have holidays?"

"holiday?"

Ginny thought for a moment, "They don't seem to... have any. But they're said to not need them."

Hermione put down the biscuits she was holding. "Don't need them? Of course they do!"

Ginny looked at her, as if she hadn't expected her to ask that question: "I never thought of that, Hermione. They've been here all along, doing a good job, and—they don't seem sad."

"Not being sad doesn't mean you don't have rights," Hermione said.

"Rights?" Ginny repeated the word, as if hearing it for the first time. "What rights do house-elves need?"

Hermione did not answer.

She stood up and walked to the nearest little elf who was cutting potatoes. It looked up, saw her, and grinned: "Miss Granger, is there anything you need?"

"What's your name?" Hermione asked.

"Millie," said the house-elf, his ears twitching slightly, "Millie has been working at Hogwarts for seventy-six years."

"Seventy-six years."

Hermione repeated, "You never left?"

"Leave?" Millie looked as if she had heard an absurd question. "Why leave? Hogwarts is Millie's home."

"Do you get a salary?"

"Salary?" Millie tilted her head. "What's salary?"

Hermione remained silent.

She turned and sat down next to Ginny without asking any further questions. She picked up a cookie, took a bite, and chewed it for a long time before swallowing.

The next morning, Hermione announced something in the common room: "I've decided to form an association."

Harry and Ron looked up at the same time.

Ginny peeked out from under the book. Neville put down his book.

"The House-Elf Rights Promotion Society," Hermione said, "abbreviated as SPEW."

"...What?" Ron asked.

"House-Elf Rights Promotion Association," Hermione repeated, "in short—"

"I heard the abbreviation. What I'm asking is—what?"

Hermione snatched the Quidditch magazine from his hand: "I saw house-elves in the kitchen yesterday. They have no wages, no holidays, no days off, and they've never even left Hogwarts. They're treated like—tools. They need to be freed."

Ron opened his mouth: "Liberate? They don't want to be liberated! Did you ask them?"

"I was going to ask, but I didn't get to the part about salary," Hermione said.

"Did you ask them if they wanted a salary?"

"No, they don't need it. They don't know what they need, which is abnormal," Hermione said firmly.

Harry sat on the sofa, watching Hermione and Ron's conversation, unsure how to interject: "Hermione, you want to... release them?"

"Yes. It's not just about liberating them, but also about giving them the rights they deserve—wages, holidays, rest time, and the right to choose their work."

Ginny put down her book: "So where do you want them to go?"

Hermione said, "They don't need to go anywhere. They can continue working here, but they must be paid, and they are free to leave."

Ron looked at her with an expression as if he'd seen someone about to pour fish and chips into pumpkin juice: "Hermione, house-elves don't get paid; it's their instinct. If you pay them, they'll think you're insulting them."

"Humiliate them?" Hermione's voice rose slightly. "You think paying them is humiliating, and not paying them is normal?"

"You make it sound so easy. Have you even tried paying them?" Ron retorted. "The moment you offer, he practically turns his back and leaves. Don't you think he's crazy?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but found that she couldn't win an argument with Ron for the time being.

She took a deep breath: "I will prove you wrong. Starting tomorrow, I will be counting the number and current status of all house-elves at Hogwarts."

"And then?" Ron asked.

"Then I will propose a motion requiring the board of trustees to grant them a minimum wage and the right to rest."

Ron looked at her, as if he had already given up: "Good luck. I'm going back to my dorm."

Ron stood up and left. Ginny stood up too: "I'll help you organize the documents. Harry, are you leaving?"

Harry glanced at Hermione, then at Ginny, and stood up. "I'm leaving too, Hermione. Good luck to you."

"Wait a minute!" Hermione stood up. "Don't you support me?"

"I support you," Ron said, "but I don't think you can succeed."

Hermione watched the three figures disappear into the distance, then sat down and began writing her first plan. Neville, sitting beside her, whispered, "I can make you a badge."

Hermione looked up. "What?"

“A badge,” Neville said. “My grandma taught me how to make brooches. I can make you a SPEW badge, just like you said.”

"...Okay, that's the first one I support," Hermione said.

In the afternoon, Hermione went to the kitchen.

Millie saw her and greeted her as warmly as she had yesterday. Hermione sat in her usual spot, a cup of hot cocoa and a plate of cookies in front of her. She asked Millie, "If you had a salary, what would you do with it?"

Millie tilted her head, as if seriously considering the question: "Millie... doesn't know. Millie doesn't need money."

"What if you were given a vacation? Where would you like to go?"

"Where to?" Millie thought for a moment. "Millie wants to see the towers of Hogwarts. Millie has never been up there before."

Hermione didn't speak. She lowered her head and took a sip of hot cocoa, feeling something stuck in her throat. She wanted to continue with the statistics, even if it was just for Millie, who wanted to go to the tower for a glimpse.

At the dinner party, Hermione told Harry, Ron, and Ginny about it. "I found out there are over a hundred house-elves in all of Hogwarts."

"That's a lot," Ginny said.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “So I’m going to write a ten-page proposal that includes statistics on house-elves’ working hours and suggested solutions.”

"Ten pages?" Ron looked up. "Who are you going to give them to?"

"Dumbledore."