I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 416 Little Elf

The fireplace was burning brightly.

The living room was warm and cozy.

Spike was hiding in the corner, peeking at the mistress (Wenda) as she used a spell to examine the two little witches.

Last night, when that lame Auror came looking for the young master, it tried to stop him, but it was to no avail.

Therefore, it had to punish itself, because it was all its fault that it had allowed others to disrupt the Rozier family's chance to prosper.

As a little elf who has served the Rozier family for generations.

Spiby hadn't seen his family, especially the birth of a new life in his master's bloodline, for a very long time.

Other branches are also suffering from a talent shortage, with very few young people left.

This terrified Spike—especially after he met Blake's descendant, which only intensified the fear.

The once powerful and noble Black family has now been reduced to a single male descendant, and it may not be long before this ancient family disappears into the annals of history.

Rosier knew that the Rosier family in England was almost completely wiped out, and the North American branch was not doing well either; if the population continued to decline in France...

What if Rozier is gone?

Are we to become like those poor wretches without masters, destined for the kitchen of the magic academy, to spend generations with the stove?

No—absolutely not.

Spike stared at Hermione from a distance.

Even if that infamous witch were a Mudblood—it would swear it would never utter that word.

That's much better than the disappearance of the elegant and noble Rozier family.

"Madam, breakfast is ready." Suddenly, Spike appeared beside Wenda, bowing his head and putting his hands behind his back as he spoke.

"Hmm—I understand." Wenda nodded indifferently.

The spell she just used was one of those invented from decades of human magic experiments.

It can be used to detect the condition of specific organs of a wizard, such as the heart, liver, kidneys, stomach, or muscle groups.

It can detect all organs of the body.

It is more precise and accurate than the detection spells currently used in magic hospitals.

"Let's go have breakfast," she said.

She led the two blushing little witches to the restaurant.

Rozier's breakfast was not as extravagant as the outside world speculated, typical of a pure-blooded family; it consisted of simple vegetable porridge and a few side dishes.

Wenda has a light palate and doesn't have much of a passion for food. This is related to a period of hardship she went through in the past—back then, having enough to eat was a blessing, as she was being hunted down all over Europe, so she had no time to enjoy fine dining.

After the three of them sat down, Vanda's voice rang out, "I must warn you. Some of the traditions that are taken for granted in the magical world are absolutely wrong."

This has happened in many wizarding families.

"The biggest mistake was early pregnancy." Her eyes were fixed, expressionless, her flat tone as casual as if she were asking the little witch if her breakfast was to her liking. "Pure-blood wizarding families almost universally agree on one idea: the younger the parents, the more powerful their children will be. Weasley—Malfoy—Black. Almost all wizards believe this."

"This is clearly a serious mistake."

"Huh?" The two little witches were full of surprise and embarrassment. What are you saying! I can't believe these words came out of your mouth.

“No need to be surprised,” Wenda said calmly. “In the past, I was deceived.” At this point, she suddenly emphasized her words, clearly harboring resentment towards someone.

She stretched out her slender fingers and rubbed her temples.

The anger in my heart subsided a little.

"Alchemy—cloning—androids." She looked at Hermione. "I think you understand what these terms mean."

Miss Granger paused for a moment, then nodded. "I've heard that Muggles have also studied clones, and Nicolas Flamel mentioned artificial alchemical life in his writings, which is one of the highest peaks of alchemy."

"These were all my topics many years ago," Wenda said succinctly. "In short, you should understand what I mean—think about those things after you're twenty-five."

"Alright." She suddenly stood up and said to Hermione, "There are some things I need to take care of. You can take a look at everything in the manor."

As she spoke, she suddenly tossed out a copper key inlaid with green gemstones and with a rose engraved on the handle.

Hermione caught it instinctively.

"This is the key to the Rozier family vault—no—this Gringotts vault, the legacy of my mother, Owen, which includes this manor."

A deep sense of regret flashed across her eyes.

It's like a raging storm rising from a calm sea.

She's right.

To date, the fact that he has been removed from Rozier's roster remains unchanged.

This estate is actually Owen's property, which he inherited from his mother.

Giving it to Hermione is perfectly reasonable and there's nothing wrong with it.

"Wait—" Hermione looked flustered as she held the key. "Grandma?"

When he tried to explain what he wanted to say again.

Wenda then quickly left the restaurant.

They disappeared down the corridor.

She sat down, somewhat at a loss.

Ginny, on the other hand, was very excited.

Suddenly inheriting such a large estate, what's there to be sad or conflicted about? Isn't this a good thing?

Besides, the lady made it very clear that the manor was Owen's property, and there was nothing wrong with handing it over to Hermione, the mistress of the house.

"Cheer up!" Ginny said from the side. "It can't be a bad thing."

"It's so valuable!" Hermione retorted. "Who knows how much it's worth? I... I'm afraid I'll lose it. Never mind—I'll give it to Owen when he gets back."

"Hmm—he probably didn't even glance at the key before casually letting you accept it," Ginny said seriously.

After all these years, everyone knows Kyrie Irving very well.

Although he loves money, he is not good at keeping it; he spends money as fast as he earns it.

This can be seen from the Christmas gifts he gives to other people.

They only choose the most expensive, not the best.

Because he simply couldn't be bothered to choose.

"." Hermione squinted, thought about it carefully, and it seemed that such a thing could indeed happen.

Well, never mind.

Let's discuss it when he gets back.

The little witch carefully put the key into her pocket, then picked up a spoon and shoveled a mouthful of vegetable porridge.

Ah—it's so hot!

"Whoosh—" He blew on the food in the spoon a few times before swallowing it.

After drinking half a bowl of porridge, Spiby suddenly appeared, holding a letter in its hand, and then walked over awkwardly.

"Miss—there is a letter for you."

"My letter?" Hermione asked, taking the parchment from Spike's hand.

That cannot be called a letter, because it was just a piece of paper, not even parchment, but a Muggle letter.

The handwriting on the letter was crooked and illegible, making it impossible to read what it said.

In fact, Hermione couldn't even tell what language it was.

"What is this? A prank?" she said.

Upon hearing Hermione's words, Spike immediately seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, the worry on his face vanishing without a trace. He then affirmed, "That's right, Spike also thinks it's just a prank. Spike is going to teach that liar a lesson."

"Oh! Wait a minute." Hermione placed the letter on the table.

"By the way, Spiby, are you a free elf?" Hermione noticed the house-elf in front of her. Unlike Dobby, it wasn't wearing a piece of linen, but a faded white dress.

She was even wearing a small cotton-padded jacket, which was quite old, of course.

But house-elves can't get clothes, which is why she asked Spike if he was a free elf.

"Freedom?" Spiby jumped back in surprise, stumbling over a chair in the process. It covered its mouth, as if it had uttered a disgusting word. "That's a truly wicked word. Why would you think that?"

"Hmm?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. She remembered Owen saying that these house-elves were paid, so she asked, "Do you get paid?"

"Yes, the master insists on giving me five Galleons every month." Spike looked annoyed. The young master was good in every way, except that he had to give money to him—he was giving money to every house-elves in the manor. This bothered him a lot.

"What do you do with all that money? Buy new clothes?"

"No—why would Spiby use it to buy something like that? Spiby will save it and return it to the master when he needs it."

"Give it back to him?" Hermione rolled her eyes.

She couldn't understand why something as simple and logical as working and getting paid would be such a huge obstacle among the elves.

The house-elves at Hogwarts shared this idea.

Dumbledore, of course, paid the elves wages.

But they are as if they were kept by their owner, to be returned someday, and never spent.

This immediately reminded Hermione of the movie from last night.

Dobby was so different from everyone else.

Hermione—

Just as Miss Granger was lost in her memories, a familiar, sharp voice suddenly rang in her ears.

She looked in the direction of the voice and saw the entrance to the restaurant.

Owen and Harry were walking side by side.

And at my feet, there was a familiar little guy.

"Dobby?" Hermione was both surprised and delighted.

She noticed Dobby's outfit.

He was dressed in a crisp children's suit, shiny leather shoes, and a deerstalker hat. He also wore a brown trench coat.

It's clearly Parisian attire; all those strange combinations from before are gone.

"A big star!" the little witch exclaimed.

Dobby smiled憨厚ly, but his eyes shone brightly. "No!" he said.

"Dobby only played a minor role." He dashed over to the witch.

Then he took out a photo album from his pocket.

He jumped onto the chair and placed the photo album in front of Hermione.

"These are all stills from the show, behind-the-scenes footage," he said excitedly. "Dobby made a lot of good friends. The Muggle actors all respected Dobby a lot. They loved watching Dobby perform his magic tricks."

Hermione's gaze fell on the photo albums, and sure enough—they were full of photos of Dobby with the actors, all of them.

Although these photos are just ordinary photos and cannot be animated, Hermione can still see satisfaction and happiness in those joyful smiles.

"Muggle actors don't know anything about house-elves. They think Dobby is some kind of strange creature from Avalon or some other mythological story," Harry explained. "That's why they're so enthusiastic."

"That's great!" Hermione nodded vigorously, then patted Dobby on the shoulder. "Now you're the representative of the elves, letting ordinary people get to know the true freedom of elves."

Upon hearing Hermione's words, Dobby immediately straightened his back, his large eyes shining with the glory of responsibility and commitment. He patted his chest and said, "Leave it to Dobby. Dobby will do his best."

After saying that, everyone laughed heartily.

But at this moment, one of the little elves could no longer bear it.

"Traitor!" Spike roared angrily.

"A disgrace to the elves."

It glared hysterically at Dobby, "Spy didn't let you in, how dare you come here and defile the great Rozier."

"Dobby is a free spirit, and Dobby's friends allow him to come in," Dobby retorted, not to be outdone. "Dobby can go wherever he wants."

"How could anyone like a lowly, filthy, stinking elf like you? Liar! You're lying again!" Spike stretched out his bandaged hand, shooing Dobby away. "Get out! Get out of Rozier's house!"

"Enough, Spike!" Owen shouted, frowning. "I let Dobby in."

I didn't sleep well all night, and the noise started as soon as I got home! So annoying.

Dobby—he had just returned home with Harry when he saw a suspicious figure at the door.

Upon closer inspection, I realized it was Dobby.

He said he wrote to Hermione to inform her and was waiting for her permission to go in.

This surprised Owen greatly. When did this little elf learn to use the front door and knock to announce its arrival?

Doesn't he usually just barge in with a "poof" sound?

Perhaps it's because I've met so many people outside that I've finally learned to be polite.

"Spi, what happened to your hand?" Hermione noticed the little elf's hand.

"She's definitely punishing herself; she did something wrong," Dobby chimed in. "That's how elves are; they have to punish themselves because if their master finds out, they'll be in big trouble."

"Is that so?" Hermione looked at it. "What did you do wrong?"

"Spi—Spi." The little elf staggered back, glancing at Owen before looking at Hermione.

Fear and self-pity flashed across the green face.

It knew it had done something wrong, and that its owner should punish it.

After a long pause, a few large tears welled up in Spiby's bulging eyes. "Last night—that lame Auror broke into the manor, and Spiby didn't stop him. He took the young master away. So—oh—it's all Spiby's fault. Spiby is so useless."

As it spoke, it began to hug the table leg and bang its head against it.

Hermione felt awkward.

But there was no time to defend himself.

Because she had to stop the little elf first. "Stop, Spiby. Stop!"

She said loudly, but unfortunately it was no use.

"Fine—since you insist on following orders," she said, "then—as the mistress of the house, I now order you to stop immediately."

(End of this chapter)