The mood wasn’t too good.
Ian walked through the corridor beneath the Great Hall, where torches on the walls blazed fiercely, and the different decorative paintings depicted countless vivid and lifelike delicacies.
When he arrived in front of a large painting of fruits, Ian scratched the pear in the painting, and the painted pear giggled and twisted into a door handle as if it was ticklish.
He opened the door and entered.
A room laid out exactly like the Great Hall appeared before Ian’s eyes, vast and spacious, with various copper pots and iron kettles hanging from the high ceiling.
They gently swayed with the occasional breeze, emitting a pleasant jingling sound.
On the large stone stove, flames were automatically adjusting in size under the influence of magic, cooking an array of dishes from traditional English breakfasts to exotic cuisines.
No one knew which groups these extra meals were for.
"It’s for the first-year little wizard!"
"The gentleman who likes steak at the Ravenclaw table!"
"He’s truly clever, discovering Hogwarts’s kitchen on the first day!"
There were also many bizarre creatures in the room, with ears disproportionately large to their heads, eyes that protruded from their faces like frog’s eyes and about the size of fists.
With pointy noses, limbs like chopsticks, and the iconic burlap clothing, they were the famous house-elves of the wizarding world, descendants of defeated old foes transformed by magic over generations.
Before Ian could greet these house-elves, a figure carrying a large basin emerged from the slaughterhouse. He had the height of an adult, much taller than Ian.
Ronnie Ehrlich.
Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
Today marked the second time Ian encountered this professor.
"Good evening, Ian."
Holding a basin covered with oilcloth emitting a fishy odor, he precisely called out Ian’s name when he saw him at the doorway.
"Good evening, Professor Ehrlich."
While responding politely, Ian felt a little puzzled. Seeing this professor at noon, he still had a demeanor even colder than Snape.
Why was he suddenly so enthusiastic now?
"Better head back soon, curfew is about to start. Although I wholeheartedly support little wizards going for night walks, Filch will definitely not let you off easily."
"Be careful, that Squib bears ill will towards us wizards." Ronnie Ehrlich even patted Ian’s shoulder with a big smile at the doorway, clearly in a good mood.
"I’ll be cautious about that," Ian nodded.
Ronnie Ehrlich seemed very pleased with Ian’s choice of words.
"Don’t be late for tomorrow’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class, I’ve prepared some great practice tools for you."
The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher approvingly ruffled Ian’s hair and then left the kitchen carrying that large basin of unknown, bleeding malodorous contents.
"Sir, would you like something to eat? Sibby and Sibby’s companions are honored to serve you!" The house-elves only dared approach Ian after Ronnie Ehrlich had left.
"Steak, please, and a glass of lemonade, no honey." Ian’s choice prompted a cheer from the house-elf named Sibby, and several house-elves began bustling around.
"I knew this gentleman likes steak, Sibby is a qualified elf who knows how to observe!" The house-elf with the largest ears was Sibby.
He chose a large, exquisite fillet for Ian and began sizzling it on the iron pan under high heat, while another house-elf respectfully handed Ian a glass of lemonade.
"This is the taste! Spot on!"
Ian’s face showed a slight grimace, but his tone was very satisfied.
"Rabi also knows the gentleman loves sour lemon! Rabi is also a qualified elf!" The house-elf who handed over the lemonade started cheering with joy.
With dedication and wholehearted effort, house-elves have served wizards since birth, completing much of the menial and dirty work at Hogwarts.
Appearing quietly.
Then disappearing quietly.
Leaving behind only perfect work results.
Many little wizards in their years of study may never notice their presence, only hearing about how diligent and excellent the Hogwarts elves are.
In fact, not only the peculiar creatures of Hogwarts, but house-elves in other places share a similar nature, viewing their service to wizards as an honor.
This has been written into their "genes" by magic.
It’s the spoils the wizards gained after ancient wars ended.
"Yes, very good, I really like it." Ian’s thumbs-up made the house-elf named Rabi hold his hands together blissfully, almost fainting from happiness.
"Rabi was praised by the Ravenclaw gentleman, Rabi thinks the gentleman is a truly generous little wizard!" The high-pitched voice of the house-elf Rabi was filled with excitement.
Such is their race, feeling happy from compliments, feeling joyful from working. The one Harry Potter met was likely a genetic mutation.
"One more glass please!"
As a beneficiary, Ian certainly did not wish to change anything. If work brings joy to house-elves, how can it be considered mistreatment?
The calls to liberate house-elves may not be a betrayal of wizards, but Ian believed the ultimate result would most likely be the start of another war.
That’s just the rule of nature.
The apex of the food chain will never allow the coexistence of other races.
"Sir! Your steak!"
House-elf Sibby carefully plated the perfectly cooked steak with utensils and placed it before Ian like a treasure.
"Very skillful!"
Unreserved in his praise, Ian gave house-elf Sibby a thumbs-up, and it danced with joy like another house-elf.
Simple praises could satisfy these elves, many times they live perhaps more comfortably than humans.
"I hope you will come again next time! Rabi is always at your service!"
"So is Sibby!"
Before Ian left.
A few house-elves happily stood at the door and saw him off.
"Gratitude to the ancestors, gratitude to the founders, gratitude to Hogwarts." With a lazy gait unique to those who are satiated, Ian returned to Ravenclaw, hugging Snape’s notes.
No one around.
Already curfew.
"I’ve been waiting all day for this opportunity, you should answer why." The bronze eagle head on the door asked but didn’t pose any interesting questions.
"Huh?"
Ian, ready to engage in a philosophical debate, was bewildered.
"Is this a test?"
Ian tentatively asked in a low voice?
His heart was pounding.
"No, I just hold grudges."
The bronze eagle head on the knocker shook its head.
The voice remained gentle.
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