Chapter 72: This Will Be a War

Ian wasn’t in the best of moods.

He walked through the corridor beneath the Great Hall, the torches on the walls burning brightly, casting flickering shadows on the murals that depicted countless lifelike feasts and banquets. The hallway smelled faintly of roasted meat and fresh bread, but that did little to lift his spirits.

When he reached a giant painting of a fruit still-life, Ian scratched the image of a pear. The painted fruit squirmed as if it were ticklish and twisted into the shape of a door handle, giggling silently.

He turned it and stepped through.

Inside was a room nearly identical in layout to the Great Hall above—wide and spacious, with a towering ceiling from which an assortment of copper pots and iron kettles dangled, swaying slightly with the occasional draft and clinking melodiously against each other.

On a massive stone hearth, magical flames adjusted themselves automatically beneath sizzling skillets and bubbling cauldrons. A wide variety of dishes were being prepared—everything from traditional English breakfasts to exotic foreign cuisine. Ian wasn’t sure who all this food was for.

“A first-year wizard!”

“The steak-loving gentleman from the Ravenclaw table!”

“He’s clever—found the Hogwarts kitchen on his very first day!”

The room was bustling with activity, filled with peculiar creatures with ears far too large for their small heads and bulbous frog-like eyes that bulged outwards like fists. Their spindly limbs and long, pointed noses gave them a strange, almost insectoid appearance. Clothed in simple linen rags, these were house-elves—magically altered remnants of an ancient defeated race, now known throughout the wizarding world for their boundless servitude.

Before Ian could greet them, a figure emerged from the butchery, carrying a large basin covered with oilcloth. He was taller than Ian by a significant margin—an adult man with an imposing presence.

Ronnie Ehrlich.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

This was the second time Ian had run into him today.

“Good evening, Ian.”

The professor’s voice was calm as he walked toward the doorway, carrying a container that reeked of blood and something foul. Strangely, he called Ian by name without hesitation.

“Good evening, Professor Ehrlich,” Ian responded politely, though a trace of confusion crossed his mind. When they’d met at lunch, Ehrlich had been colder than Snape at his grumpiest. Now he seemed oddly… cheerful?

“Head back soon—it’s almost curfew,” Ehrlich said. “Personally, I’m all in favor of students wandering the halls at night. Builds character. But Filch definitely doesn’t share my enthusiasm.”

He reached the door and, to Ian’s surprise, gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Be careful around him. That Squib has no fondness for wizards, even the young ones.”

“I’ll be on my guard,” Ian nodded. His choice of words made Ehrlich chuckle in approval.

“Don’t be late for tomorrow’s class. I’ve prepared some excellent practice materials.”

With that, the professor gave Ian an almost fatherly pat on the head before leaving the kitchen with his bloodstained basin.

Once he was gone, the house-elves finally dared to approach.

“Sir! Would you like something to eat? Sippy and Sippy’s companions would be honored to serve you!” said one of the elves, beaming with excitement.

“Steak, please. And a glass of lemon water—no honey,” Ian said casually.

Sippy, the house-elf with the largest ears, squealed in joy. A group of elves immediately set to work.

“I knew the gentleman liked steak! Sippy pays attention—Sippy is a good house-elf!”

He selected a thick cut of fine filet mignon and began searing it on a blazing hot iron pan. Another elf respectfully handed Ian a glass of lemon water.

“Perfect. Just the flavor I wanted!”

Ian’s face twisted slightly at the sourness, but his tone was full of satisfaction.

“Labi knew the gentleman liked it sour! Labi is also a good house-elf!” the one who served the drink cried out, practically glowing with pride.

They were entirely devoted, pouring their energy into even the smallest tasks. House-elves had been magically conditioned for generations to serve wizards with absolute loyalty—an outcome of an ancient magical war, woven into their very being like a genetic code.

They appeared silently.
Worked tirelessly.
Vanished without a trace.

And the results of their efforts were always impeccable.

Many young witches and wizards went years at Hogwarts without even seeing a house-elf in person—only hearing tales of how diligent and exceptional they were.

This wasn't just a Hogwarts phenomenon. Across the magical world, house-elves shared the same nature: loyal to a fault, and proud of their service. They found happiness in being useful.

It was embedded in them—magically encoded, not chosen.

The aftermath of an old war had left wizards with total victory.

“Yes, very well done. I really liked it.” Ian gave Labi a thumbs-up. The little elf looked like it might faint from happiness.

“Labi has been praised by a Ravenclaw gentleman! Labi thinks the gentleman is truly a kind-hearted young wizard!”

They were such simple creatures—cheered by compliments, driven by service. In some ways, Ian thought, they might actually live happier lives than most humans.

“Another glass, please.”

As one of the beneficiaries of this system, Ian certainly had no desire to change it. If their work brought them joy, how could it be called exploitation?

The movements to liberate house-elves weren’t necessarily traitorous, but in Ian’s eyes, the inevitable end of such efforts would be war.

Because that’s how nature worked.

The top of the food chain never allowed rivals.

“Sir! Your steak!”

Sippy presented the perfectly cooked filet with exquisite plating, carefully placing the cutlery beside it like a treasured offering.

“Impressive work!”

Ian gave him a big thumbs-up, which sent the elf into a joyous frenzy.

A little praise went a long way with them. Sometimes, Ian thought, maybe they had it easier than most people.

“I hope the gentleman will come again! Labi is always ready to serve!”

“Sippy too!”

As Ian prepared to leave, several elves lined up at the door, happily seeing him off.

“Thanks to our ancestors. Thanks to the Founders. Thanks to Hogwarts,” Ian murmured, stomach full and walking with the lazy gait of someone utterly satisfied. He held Professor Snape’s class notes in one arm as he made his way back to Ravenclaw Tower.

The halls were empty.

Curfew had begun.

“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” said a soft voice.

It came from the brass eagle-head door knocker. Its eyes glowed faintly as it spoke.

“You owe me an explanation.”

Ian blinked, caught off-guard. He had been prepared for a riddle, maybe a logical test—some kind of mental duel worthy of Ravenclaw.

“Uh… what?”

“Is this a test?” he asked, hesitantly.

His heart pounded in his chest.

“No,” replied the bronze eagle, shaking its head gently. “I just hold grudges.”

Its tone was still soft—but with just a hint of smugness.

...

Sorry, everyone. I'm really tired today, so I'll post 3 or 4 chapters tomorrow. Thanks again!