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?”

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.

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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