章 483: 0482 Unexpected

A Tribute to Maggie Smith (1934 - 2024)

Before diving into this chapter, I just wanted to take a moment to honor Dame Maggie Smith, who brought Professor Minerva McGonagall to life in a way that touched us all. Her portrayal was a perfect—everything we imagined Professor McGonagall to be. The magic she brought to the Harry Potter world will always stay with us. Rest in peace, Professor, and thank you for all the memories.

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....

"Oh, no!" Hermione blurted out nervously. Her anxiety made her unaware of what she was saying, but Professor Watson's calm purple eyes seemed to see through all lies. Hermione lowered her head, her face turning crimson. She stammered,

"Seamus, Dean, and Lavender too... So many people regret giving up the physical education class." Her voice wavered, thick with emotion. "Professor Watson, if you'd be willing to give them another chance—" She paused, struggling to find the right words, her fingers nervously intertwining as she spoke.

Hermione couldn't continue. Professor Watson's calm, steady gaze felt like an immense mountain pressing down on her head, making it impossible for her to look up.

In the suffocating silence, a faint wailing sound could be heard. The sound was as weak as a gentle breeze brushing against one's cheek. Hermione didn't hear it, but Bryan glanced towards a dilapidated classroom with a rusty door hinge, his expression slightly moved.

In the suffocating silence that followed, a faint wailing sound could be heard, barely audible above the ambient noises of the ancient castle. The sound was as weak and ethereal as a gentle breeze brushing against one's cheek, easily mistaken for the wind whistling through the drafty corridors.

Hermione, lost in her own thoughts and anxiety, didn't register the sound. However, Bryan's keen senses picked it up immediately. He glanced towards a dilapidated classroom with a rusty door hinge, his expression shifting slightly.

Gathering her courage once more, Hermione pressed on, her voice gaining a hint of desperation. "Of course, Ron regrets it too. They didn't expect—" She trailed off, realizing how weak her argument sounded even to her own ears.

"Didn't expect my class to become interesting?" Bryan interjected, his tone level and composed as he redirected his piercing gaze to Hermione. There was no anger in his voice, just a calm curiosity that somehow made Hermione feel even more uncomfortable.

Hermione's anxious heart sank, already anticipating Professor Watson's response. Sure enough, Bryan sighed softly and said slowly,

"Your noble qualities are touching, Hermione, but I think you must have known what my answer would be before you approached me, didn't you?"

Hermione's cheeks were flushed red, her slightly protruding front teeth biting her lower lip until it bled a little. This was indeed a very difficult situation for her. First, she knew clearly that she couldn't help Ron get another chance from Professor Watson. Second, she, who had always followed the rules, was now actively seeking Professor Watson to overturn them.

"Everyone wants to become better," Bryan said earnestly, his voice taking on a gentler tone, as if sensing Hermione's inner turmoil. "But often, effort alone isn't enough to solve problems." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "It also requires vision, wisdom, luck... that is, a series of opportune factors to help us get a chance to change our fate. Do you understand what I mean?"

Hermione nodded with difficulty.

Professor Watson meant that the students who gave up this class lacked these qualities he mentioned.

Seeing Hermione's crestfallen look and reddening eyes, Bryan pursed his lips and continued,

"Life is a very wonderful journey, Hermione. No one can determine exactly how to live it happily or meaningfully. Perhaps now you think your friends who gave up my class have lost a precious opportunity, and it's a terrible loss. But if you could look at the problem from a higher perspective, it might actually be a good thing for them. So, I don't think you need to worry too much about this matter. Everyone's life can only be controlled by themselves; you can't intervene—"

Hermione listened to Professor Watson's words in a daze. For her, only becoming more excellent could reflect her own value and bring happiness. For young wizards of this age, mediocrity was also very frightening. She couldn't understand how losing such a precious opportunity could possibly be a good thing for Ron or any of the others.

"Mmph!"

Hermione was lost in thought, still trying to understand Professor Watson's words when suddenly, the intermittent groaning she had mistaken for wind whistling through the corridor windows became clear. She realized it wasn't the wind at all, but painful wailing.

Hermione's face showed a hint of panic. She quickly turned to look at the classroom behind her, its door covered in cobwebs, her mouth slightly open.

"Who's in the room?"

No answer came, but the pained noises continued, growing more intense with each passing moment. Hermione could hear the person in the classroom trying desperately to suppress their cries, but the pain had clearly exceeded the limits of endurance and couldn't be suppressed by willpower alone.

"Is someone hurt?" Hermione's voice rose an octave, panic seeping into her tone. She stepped back involuntarily, the color draining from her face until she was as pale as the Hogwarts ghosts. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed Professor Watson's sleeve, her fingers clutching the fabric tightly as if it were a lifeline. "Professor, what's going on?" she asked tremblingly, her eyes wide with fear and concern.

"Oh—" Bryan's mouth twitched a few times, his face full of complex emotions. The usual calm and composed demeanor he wore like a cloak seemed to slip for a moment, revealing a hint of uncertainty beneath. "It's not someone being hurt. How should I put this... This situation is indeed quite rare. It's my first time encountering it, but since we have—" Bryan frowned, "We can't ignore it—"

What exactly was going on?

Hermione tilted her little head up, staring at Professor Watson's face. She had never seen the confident, composed Professor Watson speak with such a difficult tone. What situation in this classroom could make even Professor Watson look so troubled?

"There's a situation in there, Hermione. I need to go in and deal with it. You see—" Bryan began, his tone suggesting he was about to dismiss her.

Hermione was stunned. She hadn't expected Professor Watson to suddenly send her away. Her eyes couldn't hide her disappointment. Hermione nodded slightly, her shoulders slumping in defeat. Her footsteps were slow and reluctant as she began to walk back the way she came.

In any case, she tried to reassure herself, she didn't need to worry about Professor Watson. Whether in Hogwarts or in the wizarding world outside, there probably wasn't anything that could truly harm him.

The words burst from Hermione's lips before she could stop them. She had only taken a few steps, her feet moving of their own accord as her mind raced. Suddenly, as if possessed by a force beyond her control, she stopped and turned to look at Professor Watson, who was rolling up his sleeves, and abruptly asked.

"May I ask what's happening inside, Professor Watson?"

Click—

As if in response to Hermione's inquiry, a loud click echoed through the corridor. The rusty doorknob, weakened by years of neglect, broke off completely, clattering to the floor with a metallic ring. From the pitch-dark classroom came a flurry of panicked, rustling sounds, like a creature desperately trying to hide or escape.

Bryan was about to push the door open when he didn't expect Hermione to suddenly stop and probe further.

"Oh—" Glancing at the little witch who was looking at him with concern, Bryan pondered for a few seconds before saying in a complicated tone,

"There's a house-elf hiding in the classroom—"

"A house-elf!" The young witch's delicate features suddenly lit up. Hermione repeated in surprise, gasping for air.

"Yes—" Bryan nodded slightly. "This house-elf, um, seems to be giving birth and, well, it appears to be a difficult delivery. I'm afraid without help, she probably won't survive this ordeal."

A house-elf... in difficult delivery.

In the darkness, Hermione's mouth fell open in shock.

"But how did it end up here?!"

Hermione completely forgot Professor Watson's request for her to leave. Any thought of obedience or following rules vanished in the face of this new, urgent situation. She ran back towards the door, her movements much more nimble and purposeful than when she had been leaving. In a few quick steps, she was once again in front of Professor Watson, staring up at him with her bright orange-yellow eyes wide open, silently demanding answers.

"Why isn't anyone helping it? Madam Pomfrey is... Shouldn't it go to the hospital wing?!" Hermione's words tumbled out in a rush.

"The hospital wing is for serving faculty and you young wizards, Miss Granger—" Bryan was visibly amused by Hermione's reaction. He chuckled, "House-elves aren't part of the hospital's service recipients—"

"Oh, so no one takes care of them?!" Hermione's voice rose, indignation coloring her words.

Hermione suddenly remembered Kreacher, the house-elf at Sirius's home, who prepared lavish meals for them despite his decrepit body. And Winky, the house-elf who, on the night of the Quidditch final, had done nothing wrong but was severely burned by Professor Watson's magic while following orders, only to be ruthlessly abandoned by Barty Crouch Sr., the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.

Hermione cried out angrily, "Oh, even if Hogwarts is like the outside world and doesn't give house-elves holidays or wages, surely someone should have considered this situation?"

Her mind raced, searching for a solution. Suddenly, an idea struck her. "Hagrid... it should go to Hagrid! Hagrid has a soft spot for magical creatures; he always helps them. I... I'll go find him right now!"

Hermione was already turning, ready to sprint down the corridor in search of Hagrid when Professor Watson's calm voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Objectively speaking, Hagrid's passion is for those magical creatures that appear dangerous. House-elves are probably not of much interest to him—" Bryan said calmly and rationally, his words acting like a bucket of cold water on Hermione's fiery determination. "Don't bother, Hermione. By the time you bring Hagrid here, this poor house-elf inside will probably be done for. Let me see if I can provide some help for this little elf first—"

"But--"

Hermione looked flustered, as if she had completely lost her composure. It wasn't her fault; after all, no class at Hogwarts, no book in the library had ever taught her how to handle such a situation.

Bryan had regained his calm. With a harsh screech, he pushed open the door.

They were immediately hit by an overpowering stench of rotting wood, so strong it was almost suffocating. Hermione quickly covered her mouth, coughing repeatedly, while Bryan had already stepped into the classroom. Seeing this, Hermione swallowed her unease and hurried after him.

There wasn't a single light in the room, only a thin stream of moonlight filtered through the curtains. It took Hermione a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Squinting, she carefully examined her surroundings and realized it was a semicircular room, unlike the classrooms they usually used.

In the center of the classroom lay a pile of rotten wood, presumably the remains of decayed desks and chairs.

Over the past thousand years, Hogwarts had many such classrooms. They had once been in use but were abandoned for unknown reasons, sometimes lying dormant for centuries. The classroom they were in now had likely been forsaken for quite some time. Even with poor visibility, Hermione could tell from the soft feel of dust accumulation beneath her feet.

The unfamiliar environment made her uneasy. Hermione instinctively reached out to grab Professor Watson's sleeve for reassurance, but she pulled her hand back defiantly mid-air. The thought that the school could be so indifferent to house-elves' rights, to the point where a pregnant elf had to hide in such a place to give birth, made Hermione grit her teeth in anger.

Bryan pulled out his wand, letting a soft white light emanate from its tip. He directed it towards a bulging curtain, which was also the source of the intermittent wailing and crying.

"Come out, little one--"

In the wandlight, Hermione noticed a distinct dark stain on the floor leading from the pile of rotten wood to the curtain. She narrowed her eyes to look closer, and when she realized what it was, her expression suddenly became distressed.

It was blood!

The trail was made by the house-elf's blood mixing with the accumulated dust on the floor. The house-elf had crawled out of its nest of wood chips and tattered cloth before they entered, hiding behind the curtain.

House-elves couldn't disobey their masters' orders. At Hogwarts, the students and staff were the house-elves' masters.

The decaying curtain rustled, and a weak little creature crawled out on all fours from behind it.

The moment Hermione saw the little thing clearly, she immediately covered her mouth to stifle a cry, but her eyes still instantly welled up with tears.

The house-elf wore only a single garment that looked like an apron, its sole piece of clothing. Now, even this was soaked and stained with blood. Something was protruding from the lower half of the elf's body, and after a moment's thought, Hermione understood what it was.

"Most honored Professor Watson... Esteemed young witch--"

Even in this condition, driven by some deep-seated instinct or training, the house-elf trembled as it tried to pull itself up against the wall to bow to them. The effort was clearly excruciating, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to rush forward and stop it.

"How... how may Reega serve you?" the house-elf asked, its voice barely a whisper, pale from blood loss.

"Lie down!" Hermione's tears flew as she shouted, her voice almost breaking, She turned to Professor Watson, her eyes pleading. "Is there any way, Professor Watson? We have to help it!"

"Calm down, Miss Granger--" Bryan glanced at Hermione, adopting the serious tone he usually used in class. He looked at the house-elf, his brow furrowing involuntarily. "Your name is Reega, is that right?"

Reega nodded timidly, but when she saw Bryan approaching, she suddenly panicked.

"Oh, Reega is dirty, Sir--" Reega cried, "Reega is not a good house-elf, Reega has caused trouble for the Most honored Professor Watson and Esteemed witch."

"What are you saying?!" Hermione was almost driven to despair by Reega's words. She wanted to ask this little elf if it truly understood what it was going through, yet it was still apologizing to them!

"Lie down, move slowly. This is my order, Reega--" Bryan looked at the emotionally charged Hermione, his voice steady. He knew that using the language of orders was the surest way to get the house-elf to comply, even if it sat uncomfortably with him. "And you, Miss Granger, if you can't control your emotions, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave."

Hermione's sobbing was cut short. She turned to glare at Professor Watson, her eyes full of disbelief and anger. Was it possible that seeing this scene didn't affect Professor Watson at all? Was he like those other wizards who believed it was perfectly reasonable to order house-elves around?

Reega continued to whimper softly that she had caused trouble for the great Professor Watson, that she was an unqualified, shameful house-elf. But at the same time, she had to obey Professor Watson's order, slowly lying down on a clean, soft cushion that suddenly appeared behind her.

"Close your mouth, don't waste your energy--" Bryan gave Reega a second order. He crouched beside the little elf, examining her for a few moments, his expression growing serious.

Hermione took a few deep breaths to suppress her emotions. She knew clearly that right now, in this place, only Professor Watson could be of help.

"Wh-what's happening, Professor--" Hermione asked, her voice trembling. She didn't dare look at the bloody scene, only focusing on Professor Watson's serious profile and Reega's pained face.

"Hmm-- based on my assessment," Bryan hesitated before saying, "Simply put, its baby is too big and, well, it's stuck."

"What should we do now?"

As it turned out, no one is an expert at everything. There will always be things you're not good at.

Bryan scratched his head, looking quite troubled. Which serious wizard had ever done this sort of thing?

The feet of the house-elf's baby was coming out first. He wanted to simply pull Reega's child out, but feared such a rough method might cost both elves their lives.

The soft cushion Bryan had conjured was already stained red with blood. By the looks of it, this house-elf wouldn't last much longer, so there wasn't much time to hesitate.

"Miss Granger--" Professor Watson's voice remained steady, which calmed the anxious Hermione somewhat. She took a deep breath and said, "What can I do, Professor?"

"This--" Bryan rummaged in his space bag for a moment. He pulled out a vial of potion glowing with a blue aura and handed it to Hermione. "Feed this potion to the house-elf. It should help restore some of its energy--"

Hermione took the potion and hurriedly pulled out the cork. She carefully slid one hand under Reega's head, gently lifting it, while bringing the vial to Reega's mouth with her other hand. The little elf clearly understood what Professor Watson and the young witch were trying to do, and looked terrified, as if she believed it was shameful waste for a house-elf to drink a wizard's potion.

However, Hermione didn't give her a chance to refuse. She poured the potion into the house-elf's mouth without hesitation.

Meanwhile, Bryan stood up. He took out his wand and traced complex, mysterious patterns in the air. Dreamlike, brilliant starlight burst from the wand tip, drifting down like snow towards Reega and quickly absorbing into her overtaxed body.

Hermione didn't know what spell Professor Watson was casting, but it was clearly related to healing. She noticed Reega's pale, furry body regaining color at a visible rate. The dullness in her lamp-like eyes began to fade, replaced by a spark of life.

"Oh, it seems to be working, Professor!" Hermione exclaimed joyfully. Her palm was pressed against the back of Reega's head, and she could feel the little elf's body, which had grown cold from blood loss, gradually warming up. She could even sense the rapidly returning vitality in that frail body.

"You have to do this yourself, little one--" Bryan said without interrupting his spellcasting, looking into Reega's eyes.

Finally, after five minutes--

Accompanied by a high-pitched, sharp, and painful wail, a tiny creature slid from the cushion onto the floor.

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章 484: 0483 Their Fate

The newborn creature was astonishingly small, barely larger than a pair of goblin's hands placed side by side. Its body was covered in a downy coat of fur so fine and pale it seemed to shimmer in the dim light. Where the fur thinned, one could glimpse delicate pink skin beneath, as fragile-looking as tissue paper.

The little elf, having just endured the tumultuous journey into the world, lay motionless on the cushion that had served as its birthing bed. With a soft, almost inaudible sound, it rolled off the cushion onto the cold stone floor, its eyes tightly shut as if in the throes of a deep, peaceful slumber.

"Oh—" The sound escaped Hermione's lips unknowingly.

As she gazed upon the tiny creature, a dam within her broke. Tears, hot and plentiful, sprang to her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks. She raised a trembling hand to cover her mouth, barely stifling the sobs that tried to overtake her.

"It's incredible—" she choked out; her voice thick with emotion.

Beside her, Bryan stood calm in stark contrast to Hermione's emotional display. His face was a mask of concentration, brow furrowed deeply as he scrutinized the newborn elf.

Hermione, her heart overflowing with tenderness for the tiny creature, couldn't contain her excitement. "It's a little girl, isn't it?" she asked, her voice pitched higher than usual in her enthusiasm. Her amber eyes sparkled with joy as she added, "She looks exactly like her mother!"

Bryan's gaze flickered briefly to Hermione, his expression a mixture of resignation and something deeper. Without a word, he crouched down next to the newborn elf. Extending a finger, he prodded the elf's belly with some force.

"Oh, she's resting!" Hermione exclaimed; her tone sharp with indignation. She shot Bryan a look of pure anger, her previous tears forgotten in the face of what she perceived as unnecessary roughness. "Don't touch her!"

But Bryan paid no heed to Hermione's protests. The veins in his forehead became more distinct as he continued his examination, alternating between poking and rubbing the elf's tiny abdomen. Despite his increasingly forceful aids, the little elf remained motionless, its eyes stubbornly shut against the world.

As Bryan worked, a horrifying transformation began to take place. The elf's skin, initially a delicate pink so translucent one could almost see through it, began to change color. First, it flushed a deeper pink, then rapidly darkened to a deep crimson red. With each passing moment, the hue deepened further, taking on an ominous purple tinge that spoke of oxygen deprivation.

Hermione, her anger giving way to mounting anxiety, moved to intervene. She reached out, intending to pull Bryan's hand away from the fragile newborn. But Bryan, anticipating her action, smoothly blocked her with his elbow, never taking his eyes off the elf.

"Look carefully, Miss Granger—" Bryan said gravely. "This young elf isn't sleeping. She's suffocating—"

'Suffocating?!'

Hermione's mind whirled, unable to process the implications for a moment. Then, as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes, she truly saw the elf for the first time since its birth.

Hermione's body went rigid, her blood turning to ice in her veins as the reality of the situation crashed over her. With frantic eyes, she re-examined the tiny body on the floor. The absence of movement in the elf's chest, which should have been rising and falling with the rhythm of life, was suddenly, horrifyingly obvious.

A wave of despair washed over Hermione as the inferences became clear. Had all their efforts been for naught? Had they ultimately failed to save both mother and child? The thought was almost too much to bear. Hermione's face turned pale, as if struck by lightning.

In the midst of this unfolding drama, movement from the corner of the room drew their attention. Reega, the house-elf mother who had so recently hovered at death's door, was weakly crawling towards them. Her large, luminous eyes flashed with various emotions: Confusion swirled in their depths, giving way to fear, then a desperate, pleading look. But in the end, no words passed her lips. She simply stared at Bryan, her gaze blank yet somehow expectant.

Bryan, for his part, was in an unfamiliar territory. The details of wizarding healthcare, particularly when it came to magical creatures, were not his area of expertise. His mind raced through various possibilities, discarding and considering options at lightning speed. In the end, he made a decision born of his Muggle upbringing.

Turning to Reega, Bryan spoke with seriousness that diluted the uncertainty he felt. "I'm not certain if we can save her—"

With swift, decisive movements, Bryan set to work. His fingers now surprisingly gentle given their earlier forcefulness, carefully cleared the sticky amniotic fluid from the corners of the little elf's mouth. Then, with utmost care, he grasped the newborn's tiny body and turned her face-down.

What followed was a tense, rhythmic sequence of actions. Bryan's hand, large enough to support the elf's entire body, began a series of measured pats on her back with occasional pauses to rub.

Hermione, raised in the Muggle world like Bryan, recognized the technique immediately. Her eyes widened with a mix of hope and excitement.

"That's the Muggle way!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying a note of wonder. Memories of educational television programs flashed through her mind, scenes of emergency responders performing similar actions on human doll infants. After watching for a few moments, her natural curiosity got the better of her. "Will it work, Professor Watson?"

Bryan's response to Hermione's first exclamation was a noncommittal snort, but he offered no answer to her question. His focus remained entirely on the task at hand. Hermione, undeterred by his lack of response, continued to chatter, recounting in detail what she had seen on television and offering her own thoughts on the procedure.

The decaying classroom, with its peeling wallpaper and crumbling plaster, became a stage for this most primal of dramas. The persistent rustling of Bryan's movements was the only sound breaking the tense silence. It was as if Death and Life themselves stood in opposite corners of the room, waiting with bated breath to see which would claim victory.

For Hermione, it was the longest and most agonizing wait of her life. She stood to the side, her body tense with anxiety, watching Professor Watson's every move as he worked to revive the tiny elf. The feeling of helplessness weighed heavily upon her; her extensive knowledge of magic seemed utterly useless in this critical moment.

As the seconds stretched into minutes with no change in the newborn elf's condition, even Hermione's normally bright and determined eyes began to dim with despair. The hope that had flared so brightly at the sight of the newborn was slowly being extinguished, replaced by a sorrow so deep it seemed to physically weigh her down.

With a heavy heart, Hermione turned her gaze to Reega. The house-elf mother stood as still as a statue, her large eyes fixed unblinkingly on the motionless form of her child in Professor Watson's hands.

Cough, cough—

Just as dark despair was about to completely envelop Hermione's heart, she suddenly heard a faint coughing sound.

The sound was so weak that for a moment Hermione thought she had imagined it. But when Professor Watson, who had paused for an instant, suddenly resumed his efforts with renewed vigor, Hermione knew her ears had not deceived her.

"Uwah!"

The cry that followed was unlike anything Hermione had ever heard before. It was high-pitched and reedy, carrying notes of distress and confusion. But to Hermione, standing in that dark, musty classroom, it was the most beautiful sound in the world. It was as if someone had suddenly thrown open the curtains, flooding the room with brilliant sunlight.

"She's alive!" Hermione cheered was loudly. She began to jump up and down, her bushy hair bouncing wildly, tears of relief and happiness flying from her cheeks with each enthusiastic leap.

Curiously, Bryan's reaction was far more unresponsive. There was no smile of triumph, no sigh of relief. Instead, his eyes narrowed as he studied the tiny life now squirming in his palm. His light purple irises seemed to flicker with an inscrutable light that Hermione, in her elation, failed to notice.

"Here you go—" Bryan's voice was neutral as he bent down to return the newborn to its mother.

Reega, the house-elf who had endured so much in the past hours, seemed unable to fully process what was happening. As Bryan placed the baby in her arms, she accepted it instinctively, but her body remained hunched and motionless.

"She needs clothes!" Hermione's exclaimed breathlessly. Her eyes darted around the dilapidated classroom, searching for anything that could be used as makeshift clothing. The only option she found was a set of moth-eaten curtains hanging limply from a nearby window, but even in her frantic state, Hermione knew they were far from suitable.

For a few seconds, Hermione stood biting her lip, her brow furrowed in concentration as she struggled with the problem. Then, with a look of determination, she drew her wand. With a whispered incantation and a precise movement, she used a Severing Charm to cut a generous piece of fabric from her own robe.

Moving with gentle care, Hermione draped the cloth over the newborn elf, ensuring it was snug but not restrictive. As she stepped back to survey her handiwork, she caught sight of Professor Watson. His eyebrow was raised, his expression a mixture of surprise and something else Hermione couldn't quite decipher.

The tender moment was interrupted by a tiny, timid voice that seemed to fill the entire classroom despite its softness.

"Master—"

The source of the voice was none other than the newborn elf herself, who struggled out of Reega's arms and onto the floor. Attempting to stand for the first time, it stumbled several times, nearly falling. But it managed to straighten up, clutching the piece of cloth Hermione had given her, and bowed respectfully to Hermione.

"Oh, she can speak!" Hermione's voice was filled with wonder and amazement. The realization that this creature, just a few minutes old, was capable of speaking and walking had completely overturned her understanding of magical beings.

"Unlike human babies, some magical creatures are born with full consciousness and racial abilities. They pass on experiences through blood bonds—" Bryan explained calmly to the astonished Hermione. "This allows them to enter the world with a level of awareness and capability that human infants take months or even years to develop."

"That's amazing—" Hermione said eagerly, but suddenly her expression changed as she realized something. She took two steps back, looking at the newborn elf in horror. "I— I— you're mistaken. I'm not your master!"

"Oh, I'm afraid she hasn't made a mistake, Miss Granger—" Bryan's calm voice cut through Hermione's panic like a knife. His tone was matter-of-fact, as he explained the situation. "House-elves receive clothes in only two situations. The first is when they're dismissed by their previous masters, who give them clothes as a symbol of their freedom. The second is when they're accepting a new master, and they receive clothes then as a symbol of their new bond."

He paused, his gaze moving from Hermione to the newborn elf and back again. "Normally, these clothes accompany the house-elf for life. So, congratulations, Miss Granger. You've acquired a house-elf."

"No!" Hermione cried out in panic. "I don't want— I don't need a house-elf. I don't want to be anyone's master!"

Before Hermione could finish speaking, the newborn elf, who could barely walk, threw itself at Hermione's feet. It let out pitiful sobs and pleas, "Master, please don't send me away. I belong to you."

Just as Hermione thought the situation couldn't become any more complex, another unexpected turn of events caught her completely off guard.

Reega, the mother elf who had remained silent throughout this exchange, finally stirred. She gazed at her child at Hermione's feet, for a long moment. After taking a few deep, steadying breaths, she then asked with utmost respect, "Honored Professor Watson and esteemed Miss Granger, is there anything Reega can do to serve you?"

"What?" Hermione cried out. "Serve? Oh, I don't need— Wait, you need rest, Reega. Surely, you're not planning to continue working? And what about your child!"

"There is none—" Bryan said calmly.

In the wake of Bryan's answer, Reega bowed low, her long nose nearly touching the dusty stone floor at both Bryan and Hermione.

Then, without further ado, without even a glance at her newborn child still huddled at Hermione's feet, Reega disappeared. The crisp "pop" of her disapparition echoed in the musty classroom.

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, her mind struggling to process what had just transpired. The sudden absence of Reega seemed to have stolen her voice. When she finally managed to speak, her words came out as barely more than a whisper, tinged with disbelief and a growing sense of dread.

"Where— where did she go?"

"Perhaps back to the kitchen to tend the fires, or to clean, or to wash clothes for the students and staff of this castle—" Bryan said, his tone complex as he pressed his lips together.

"But her… her child..." The words seemed to physically pain Hermione as she choked them out.

"Heh, Miss Granger—" Bryan's complicated laugh masked the heaviness in his heart. "You didn't think house-elves have the same tradition of caring for their young as humans, did you?"

"Oh, of course—" He added, almost as an afterthought. "If their offspring don't immediately find a master, they do help look after them until the young ones find a wizard willing to accept them."

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