The morning air was crisp and cool as Eira stepped out of the castle doors and onto the wide stone steps. The world outside the Great Hall stretched into a calm, living scene, painted with soft September light. The lawns shimred with dew, each blade of grass catching the pale sun like a thread of glass. A group of younger students darted across the open field, chasing one another with bright laughter, their cloaks flaring behind them. A little further away, two older students lingered beneath a beech tree, their heads bent close in a hushed, private exchange, their hands brushing together with shy hesitation. Others strolled in pairs or small groups along the edges of the lake, their voices low and careless, weaving the atmosphere of an ordinary, youthful morning.
On the far side of the grounds, Hagrid’s massive figure was hunched beside his pumpkin patch, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he coaxed a stubborn vine into its fra. Every so often, the thump of Fang’s paws could be heard as the boarhound bounded around him, sending birds scattering from the hedgerows.
Eira descended the steps and wandered at an easy pace, not with any destination in mind, but simply to see the grounds as they were—what had changed, what had remained the sa. It felt strange, almost indulgent, to walk without urgency.
Breakfast still hovered in her thoughts, Hermione Granger’s voice rising above the hall like a spark struck in dry tinder. The girl’s passion had been amusing in its rawness, her determination to shake the habits of centuries both admirable and, to Eira, faintly naïve. Eira found herself intrigued by that restless energy—yet it did not weigh on her as anything of deep importance. It was sothing curious to observe, like a performance played for an audience who did not yet know whether to clap or jeer.
She had just rounded the path toward the greenhouses when hurried footsteps echoed behind her.
"Eira! Eira, wait!"
Hermione ca jogging up, cheeks flushed, her bushy hair bouncing wildly with each step. She was clutching the satchel she carried everywhere, as though her notes and pamphlets could serve as a shield against the world.
Eira stopped, turned, and gave a sly smile. "Hermione," she said warmly. "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were chasing like I’d run off with your boyfriend. Shouldn’t you be too busy founding the Union of Liberated Elves to be running after ?
Hermione flushed, half-laughing and half-flustered, then rolled her eyes. "Very funny. Honestly, Eira, this isn’t about jokes—I really do need to talk to you."
Eira’s grin softened into sothing kind, a gentleness in her expression reserved for friends. "Alright then. Walk with . You can lecture as we go."
They fell into step together, the lightness of the exchange still hanging in the air before Hermione’s urgency pressed forward. She bit her lip, then finally blurted out, unable to keep it inside any longer.
"You saw what happened at breakfast," Hermione said, her voice tight with indignation. "You saw how they mocked , how no one takes this seriously. But you—you could change that. You’re a governor of Hogwarts. You have influence. If you put pressure on the Board, you could make them pay house-elves wages, give them freedom if they wanted it. You could—"
Eira lifted a hand, cutting her off with a gesture so calm it made Hermione falter.
"Slow down," Eira said softly. "You’ve barely drawn breath, and already you want to overturn centuries of practice with a single vote. Do you even hear yourself?"
Hermione flushed but held her ground. "Yes, because it’s wrong! It’s wrong to enslave house-elves, to take advantage of them. You said it yourself—you’ve seen it. They deserve more. If you, soone with influence, spoke out—others would follow."
Eira tilted her head, her green eyes studying Hermione intently. "You truly believe that?"
"I know it!" Hermione exclaid, fists clenched. "If enough people see it’s possible, if soone like you shows them—it could change everything."
For a long mont, Eira said nothing. Then she gave a soft, humorless laugh.
"Hermione... you are fiery. I’ll give you that. But fire burns as much as it warms. You think the world works as cleanly as your heart tells you it should. It does not."
Hermione frowned. "What’s that supposed to an?"
"It ans," Eira replied, her voice steady as stone, "that you cannot simply declare freedom and expect centuries of tradition to lt away. House-elves are not rely servants tucked away in kitchens. They are woven into the fabric of our society. Business, estates, families—all rely on their labor. Remove that suddenly, and you do not have liberation. You have collapse."
Hermione’s cheeks flad. "So you’re saying it’s better to keep them enslaved? To let cruelty continue because it’s convenient?"
"No," Eira said sharply, stopping on the path. The edge in her tone made Hermione falter. "Listen carefully, Hermione. I said it cannot be done suddenly. If you demand factory owners suddenly pay wages to workers they have never considered employees, what do you think happens? Do you imagine they nod politely and sign a parchnt? They will laugh. They will rage. And then—"
Her expression darkened, voice lowering to a near whisper. "Then they will kill them."
Hermione’s eyes widened. "Kill—what? No, they wouldn’t—"
Reviews
All reviews (0)