His mood was far from bright.
Ian made his way along the corridor beneath the Great Hall, where torches flamed on either side. The paintings on the walls all displayed an abundance of sumptuous foods, depicted so vividly they seemed almost real.
He stopped before a grand painting of fruit. Scratching the pear within it, the painted fruit wriggled, giggling as if tickled, and morphed into a doorknob.
Ian turned that knob and stepped inside.
He found a chamber mirroring the Great Hall's layout—spacious, with a lofty ceiling. Copper pots and iron pans hung overhead, swaying gently in the occasional draft, producing a soft metallic chiming.
A massive stone stove, its flames regulated by magic, roared away, cooking a variety of dishes ranging from traditional English breakfasts to exotic fare. It was unclear who might benefit from such meals.
"A first-year wizard!"
"It's the Ravenclaw gentleman who loves steak!"
"He's clever—found Hogwarts' kitchen on his first day!"
Moving around the chamber were strange creatures:
Ears far too large for their heads, frog-like eyes bulging out the size of fists, thin limbs, all draped in pillowcase-like garments. They were house-elves—descendants of some forgotten conflict, bred by magic to serve wizards, unwaveringly loyal and eager to please.
Before Ian could greet them, a taller figure emerged from a side room carrying a large basin wrapped in oiled cloth. He stood considerably taller than Ian.
Ronny Ehrlich, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
It was Ian's second time seeing him that day.
"Good evening, Ian,"
Ehrlich said casually, balancing the pungent, foul-smelling basin as he neared the exit. He recognized Ian without hesitation.
"Good evening, Professor Ehrlich,"
Ian replied politely, though somewhat puzzled. At noon, this professor seemed even more aloof than Snape. Why was he suddenly so cordial?
"You'd best head back soon—curfew's approaching,"
Ehrlich advised.
"I personally approve of first-years wandering about at night, but Filch—that Squib caretaker—won't let you off easily. Watch out for him. He despises us wizards."
Ehrlich patted Ian's shoulder as he spoke, smiling broadly—apparently in high spirits.
"I'll remember,"
Ian nodded.
The professor seemed pleased with Ian's wording.
"And don't be late for tomorrow's Defense Against the Dark Arts class. I've prepared some splendid practice tools."
Smiling, the professor ruffled Ian's hair and then left the kitchen, lugging his stinking, blood-oozing basin.
****
"Sir, what would you like to eat? Sibi and the others stand ready to serve you!"
No sooner had Ehrlich departed than a flock of house-elves rushed over—apparently, they only dared approach once the professor was gone.
"I'll have a steak—and a glass of lemon water, no honey,"
Ian requested.
Sibi, the elf with the biggest ears, cheered at once, and several companions got to work.
"I knew this gentleman enjoyed steak! Sibi's an observant and capable elf,"
the big-eared one cried.
He tossed a fine fillet onto a sizzling iron plate, letting the grease crackle and pop. Another elf humbly presented Ian with lemon water.
"Yes, perfect!"
Ian's face winced briefly at the sourness, but his tone conveyed delight.
"Laby also knew you liked sour lemon, sir! Laby's a good elf, too!"
the elf handing him water exclaimed, hopping in excitement.
These house-elves worked wholeheartedly, taking genuine pleasure in their tasks. For centuries, Hogwarts had depended on them to handle myriad chores—arriving silently, then vanishing silently, leaving immaculate work behind. Many students might never notice them at all.
Across the magical world, house-elves typically shared this mindset. They saw serving their wizarding masters as an honor—an outlook deeply woven into their "genetic code" by the old wizards' victory in an ancient war.
"That's lovely. I really do like it,"
Ian said, giving a thumbs-up.
Elf Laby, who had brought the water, looked ready to faint with joy.
"Laby was praised by a gentleman from Ravenclaw—he's such a generous wizard!"
the elf exclaimed in a shrill, ecstatic voice.
(Recall that Harry Potter once encountered a rather unusual elf; presumably, that one was a rare genetic aberration.)
"Another glass!"
As the direct beneficiary of their service, Ian saw no reason to disrupt their system. If it made them happy, why meddle? Some "Elf Liberation" movements might not necessarily be a betrayal of wizardkind, but Ian guessed such efforts would ultimately spark new wars.
That was simply nature:
The top rung of the food chain never admitted an equal partner. So, conflict was bound to erupt eventually.
****
"Here's your steak, sir!"
announced Sibi, who had seared the meat to perfection. He placed it elegantly on a plate with utensils, presenting it like treasure.
"Brilliant job!"
Ian praised lavishly, giving Sibi an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Like Laby, Sibi broke into dance, easily contented by a little praise.
For them, a minor compliment was enough to spark genuine elation. Indeed, sometimes humans lived with heavier dissatisfaction than these cheerful creatures.
"May you visit us again—Laby's always here to assist!"
"And Sibi as well!"
When Ian prepared to leave,
the elves gathered at the door, giving him a warm send-off.
"Thank the Founders, thank Hogwarts…"
Ian mumbled, strolling away with a contented gait, hugging Snape's advanced potions text under his arm. By now, the corridors lay empty under curfew's approach.
****
"I've been waiting all day for this moment—now you owe me some explanation,"
called the bronze eagle knocker as he reached Ravenclaw Tower. It didn't pose the usual riddle, but rather a pointed statement.
"Huh?"
Ian had braced for some philosophical puzzle, only to be caught off guard.
"Is this a quiz?"
he asked hesitantly, heart fluttering.
"No—I'm merely bearing a grudge,"
the eagle head replied, its tone still soft yet distinctly resolute.
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