Days at Hogwarts

Chapter 797 The First Basement Level

The diligent little elves were busy in the kitchen stove, where the kitchen was making every effort to prepare for the year-end banquet. The rich aroma filled the entire room, and the quietly burning flames licked the bottom of the pot, making a clear bubbling sound as broth was being simmered inside.

A house-elf stood nearby, dressed in a neat little dress, his two slender hands gripping a soup ladle taller than himself, stirring it shakily, occasionally waving his fingers to adjust the flame at the bottom of the pot, ensuring the broth remained at the right temperature.

Compared to when she first arrived at Hogwarts two years ago, Gilgamesh's mental state has recovered a lot. He stares intently at the soup pot with wide eyes, and only when he blinks repeatedly due to the steam does he resemble the days when he was constantly in tears.

"Giggle giggle..."

A sharp, high-pitched laugh rang out, and the kitchen door opened in response.

The house-elves stopped what they were doing and turned to look.

Entering the kitchen was a young wizard with black hair and black eyes, wearing a standard wizarding robe embroidered with the Gryffindor emblem. He was tall and slender, probably an upperclassman, and his bright, deep eyes gleamed faintly in the dim kitchen.

"Mr. Morgan?"

Shiny tilted her head as she stood next to the soup pot.

Loren's gaze swept over the elf, then fell upon the boiling pot of soup. Hot liquid splattered and steamed as it bubbled and boiled. He frowned slightly. "Why aren't you using magic to stir it? It's easy to get burned like that!"

"Shanshan likes to stir it like this, and she's very careful so she won't get burned."

The house-elf, Sparkle, answered softly, hung the ladle on the shelf beside her, jumped off the stove, and trotted over to greet her: "Mr. Morgan, are you here to see Wheat? He was on duty in the kitchen last night and is resting now. Should I go and call him?"

"Where's Dobby?"

Dobby is slacking off.

Loren chuckled, a smile spreading across his face. He asked curiously, "Why is it that when Wheat doesn't work, it's considered resting, but when Dobby doesn't work, it's considered slacking off?"

"Because Dobby is turning bad."

"Didn't you all think he was a bad guy before?"

"It's even worse now."

Shining's face tightened, and he became very serious: "He listened to Wheat talk about those books, believed the evil Muggles' indoctrination, and went to Headmaster Dumbledore to ask to work only 8 hours a day."

"Dumbledore agreed?"

"I agreed."

"What a bad guy."

"That's right, that's right..." Flashy nodded repeatedly, looking up at him with bright eyes, expressing strong condemnation. "It's already excessive for us to ask for a salary, and he's not even willing to work wholeheartedly. This behavior is a betrayal of Mr. Dumbledore, and a betrayal of Hogwarts!"

"What I mean is, Dobby is only fighting for an eight-hour workday for himself, and Wheat doesn't object to it either. Don't they realize that if the problem isn't addressed at its root, and a minority of Pokémon receive preferential treatment, the extra work will simply be distributed among the other Pokémon?"

"..."

Shan Shan looked somewhat dazed, staring blankly at him.

That's not what she meant.

"I know, Mr. Morgan."

A slightly hurried voice sounded from the side.

Loren turned his head and saw that Xiaomai had walked over at some point, her brows furrowed and her expression anxious as she tried to defend herself.

"I knew this approach had its drawbacks. When Dobby heard me explain the evolution of labor relations in Muggle society, he thought it was normal human treatment, so he went to the headmaster to bring it up. Mr. Dumbledore didn't simply agree directly; he specifically consulted me, asking if I had any suitable reform methods..."

Seeing that he didn't interrupt her, Xiaomai's anxiety gradually subsided, and she slowed her speech, organizing her thoughts as she recounted the events of that time:

"But I still don't know what to do. The Muggle methods can't be directly applied to the Pokémon, and the other Pokémon don't seem to be resisting. Although they despise Dobby's behavior, they are willing to do more work and even take pride in it."

Loren smiled and didn't offer much of an opinion: "No need to be so cautious. Dumbledore won't use his slave-owning methods on you. Professor McGonagall, who is about to take over, is also a gentle person. Don't worry about being fired or expelled from the school. Since there are no unbearable consequences, you should let go of your burdens and move forward boldly. If you have any uncertainties, ask Professor Bubbaji. If you have any ideas, just give them a try."

"I...I understand."

"There will be fewer constraints and restrictions in the future, and you will have more room to maneuver. Your companions generally hold wrong ideas, or as we would call them, ignorance. Don't be annoyed or hate them because of this. Explain what you need to do clearly. If they don't understand, explain it repeatedly. Get to know their personalities, lead them, and guide them. They used to hate Hermione, but I see a few elves wearing the gloves Hermione gave them now..."

Loren muttered a few more words, then came to his senses and realized that Shan Shan had gone back to watching the fire, clearly unable to accept their views.

He found it amusing and turned to look at Wheat: "I came here specifically to say goodbye. Hermione and I are graduating soon, and we'll be leaving the school after the year-end party."

"Mr. Morgan..."

Xiaomai was stunned, looking up at him, lost in thought.

Having known Mr. Morgan for several years and understanding his character to some extent, Xiao Mai knew very well that his former master would not accept a house-elf as a servant. Having read so many books and seen so many videos, his beliefs and thoughts had been influenced to some extent, and he could no longer be as determined as he had been a slave a few years ago.

"What kind of expression is that? We're just graduating, it's not like we're parting ways forever."

Loren feigned disgust: "If you have a summer vacation, you can come visit me. Grandpa Bates would be very welcoming. If my plans go smoothly, I might need your help with something in the future... Hey, are you even listening to me?"

A bright smile spread across Xiaomai's face, and she nodded emphatically, "Yes!"

……

Leaving the kitchen and walking deeper into the corridor, there was a passageway where candles were lit even during the day, but they did not illuminate the surroundings; instead, they made the underground corridor even darker.

It was a long, thin, and eerie magic candle. When the wax burned, it emitted a faint, dark blue light that cast a chill on living people, making it seem sinister. The further you went in, the lower the temperature became. In the corners of the passageways or in the unseen shadows, there seemed to be small voices whispering and rustling.

"Almost... Sir Nicholas Porpington?"

Loren's slightly hesitant voice echoed in the room.

"Oh! Who called me?"

A rougher voice rang out, and a head suddenly drooped from the ceiling, connected to translucent, illusory muscles, tender red and bloody. Nick, almost headless, slowly floated out:

"Oh, Loren, my dear friend, you've come to see me at this hour; have you come to see my new play?"

"Uh, Nick—"

"I can't do anything with you guys. I know you're all eager to see it, but my dear friends, the first impression of a play is best left on stage. Reading the script beforehand will ruin the mystery."

Nick kept rambling on, and if it weren't for the barely suppressed smile on his face, others might have thought he was troubled by this: "It won't be long, it's just before Halloween, I'll sleep it off and it'll be here."

"Nick, I've come to say goodbye."

"What?" Nick, who was almost headless, stopped abruptly.

Loren looked intently at his head, his voice gentle: "Nick, we've graduated. We won't be going back to school after summer vacation."

"Oh, I've graduated."

Nick repeated softly, floating upright in mid-air with a strange expression on his face, seemingly sad, seemingly sorrowful: "Then you won't be able to watch my show next Halloween, nor Myrtle's show at Christmas, nor Easter, and you won't be able to attend my 510th anniversary of death party. You won't have any more chances after that..."

"Perhaps you'll reach a bigger stage in the future."

Loren laughed and joked.

The difference between the living and the ghosts isn't actually that sad.

Nick has been at Hogwarts for five hundred years, and he only remembers the most memorable students in the first few decades; he gradually gets used to it afterward.

That's how Hogwarts is. Every year, new students enroll, and watching them grow up little by little, that vibrant life force allows the ghosts to feel alive. Every year, students graduate and leave. Some may return to the school later, while others may never come back. This feeling of long separation is also part of the vitality of life.

Just thinking of familiar faces like Loren Morgan, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Seamus Finnigan, and knowing he would never see them again, Nick felt a chill creep into his empty, ethereal body, and a slight throbbing pain in his otherwise numb chest.

They were different from the students of the past. In their first year, they raised fire dragons at school to fight the most powerful dark wizard in hundreds of years. In their second year, they chased after a basilisk, and even he almost got into trouble. And then there were the third year, the fourth year...

So many vibrant and alive people will only exist in memory from now on, while the ghost's fragmented soul cannot remember them. They can only be allowed to gradually fade away, becoming like other students from the past few hundred years. Perhaps some of these students will achieve great success and be recorded in history, and their names will still be heard in the history of magic classes. But those who are not so amazing will truly disappear from the ghost's memory.

Nick opened his mouth, not knowing what to say. His head fell off his neck several times, and he couldn't steady it.

In the end, he could only shrink into the corner of his armor, making muffled noises:

"There's also the year-end gala, where you can see the first three acts of the new play."

"Okay, Nick, I'm looking forward to it."

Loren waved and turned to leave the ghost's room.

As they approached the doorway lit by a pale blue candle, a chill ran through them. The candlelight flickered gently, illuminating a thin, ghostly figure.

"He didn't know how to face the separation."

The ghost wore a long robe stained with silver blood, shackles, and its body was slightly transparent. Its black eyes were wide open, and its voice was hoarse: "It's been like this for hundreds of years. I can't face other people's farewells, nor can I face my own."

Loren certainly knew the Blood Man Barrow, but he wasn't very familiar with this ghost. He was somewhat surprised that the ghost would strike up a conversation with him: "I didn't expect Mr. Barrow to be so perceptive."

"I have something I'd like to ask you."

"you say."

"Dumbledore can send ghosts to that world, right?"

"That world..."

Loren raised an eyebrow, lost in thought.

Without a doubt, the world the ghost spoke of was the world of the dead.

Dumbledore's magical skills had long reached the standard of a legendary wizard. He had witnessed Voldemort reversing the remnant soul to create a body, touching the Resurrection Stone to communicate with the dead, and personally witnessing Snape manipulating the resurrection ritual to open a passage connecting two worlds. If he hadn't touched the power of death, Loren would have been more surprised.

After the Voldemort incident last summer, Dumbledore did indeed visit the Realm of Illusions in person, so it's not surprising that he can now guide ghosts.

Seeing his expression, Barrow the Blood Man already knew the answer, and couldn't help but feel a little dazed:

"So, is Helena really leaving?"

"..."

Loren looked at his expression and shook his head slightly.

Who says only Sir Nicholas doesn't face parting? The ghosts in the school all do too.

……

Final exams were over, and all classes were suspended. The door to the underground potion classroom was locked, and it was quiet. The sound of my own footsteps echoed off the walls, as if coming from a further back, which was a little eerie.

I don't know how Slytherin students adapt; they'd probably be terrified of themselves if they came back from their midnight patrols.

Loren shook his head and quickened his pace as he walked inside.

As if knowing he was coming, the office door wasn't locked, just a crack. A candle inside was lit, and the bright yellow light shone through the crack, casting a patch of light on the corridor floor and walls. Pushing the door open, the room was spacious and bright. The display shelves had been removed and moved; there were no longer those eerie embryo specimens, nor the creepy toads and snakes. The Slytherin emblem was painted on the azure wallpaper, clean and tidy, even exuding a touch of elegance.

A figure dressed in a dark green robe sat behind a desk, with a light source placed on the desktop.

It wasn't a candle, but a lamp, which he had given him.

Loren closed the door behind him and greeted the professor:

"Good morning, Professor Snape."

"..."

Snape looked up at him, expressionless, his eyes indifferent: "If you're here to say some pointless farewells, please remember to close the door when you leave."

"Emmm..."

Loren's expression was somewhat complicated.

No wonder his office is underground; this professor's personality is somewhat like that of a ghost.

"If you're bored, sit down and help me grade the third-grade papers."

"oh."

"..."

The office gradually quieted down, with only the sound of quill pens drawing on parchment remaining. The modified desk lamp emitted a warm yellow light, illuminating the entire room.

(End of this chapter)