Chapter 510 Slave Labor

A few seconds later, Professor McGonagall placed a three-legged stool on the floor in front of the first years and, on it, an extremely old, dirty, and patched wizard's hat.

Everyone looked at it, and for a moment, there was silence in the Great Hall. Then, a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat began to sing.

This time, the Sorting Hat described the story of the Four Founders founding Hogwarts, the qualities of each of them, the different virtues they valued, and what a young wizard or witch should possess.

Gryffindor sought unparalleled courage. Ravenclaw sought cleverness. Hufflepuff valued hard work above all.

Slytherin, on the other hand, sought ambitious and power-hungry young wizards.

The letters were intricately designed, and no one knew how the Sorting Hat had created them.

The Great Hall resounded with applause as the Sorting Hat finished.

Professor McGonagall immediately unrolled a large parchment and looked seriously at the young wizards in front of her.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool," she said to the first years. "When the hat announces your House, you will go to sit at the corresponding table."

Under Professor McGonagall's direction, the nervous first years were successively sorted into four Houses.

As soon as they put on the hat, it would immediately shout out the name of the House the young wizard or witch belonged to.

This year's Sorting ceremony was going very smoothly, and Evan remembered that it took a long time.

As a legendary magical object, the Sorting Hat harbored a part of the thoughts of the Four Founders.

It could use a spiritual spell to instantly see the hidden thoughts of a young wizard and judge accordingly.

Evan suspected that if a young wizard mastered a mental protection spell like Occlumency and was stronger than the Sorting Hat, then its magic wouldn't work. Of course, so far, no such young wizard had appeared.

"Creevey, Dennis," Professor McGonagall shouted.

The tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, stumbling over Hagrid's overalls just as Hagrid himself squeezed through the door behind the teachers' table.

Roughly twice as tall as a normal man, and at least three times as wide, Hagrid, with his long, wild black mane and beard, looked slightly alarming, giving the new kids a deceptive impression.

But anyone who knew him knew that Hagrid actually had a very loving heart.

He winked at Evan as he sat at the end of the staff table, watching Dennis Creevey put on the Sorting Hat.

The tear in the brim burst wide open and shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Colin let out a sigh of relief and began leading the enthusiastic applause.

Amidst everyone's applause, Dennis, beaming with happiness, took off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried to join the others.

"Colin, I fell into the lake!" she exclaimed sharply, throwing herself into an empty seat. "It was awesome! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back into the boat!"

"Awesome!" said Colin, equally excited. "It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"

"Wow!" said Dennis, as if in his wildest dreams, no one could expect more than being thrown into a stormy lake and pushed back by a giant sea monster.

If he knew Evan was about to go to the lake to communicate with the Mermaids, how excited he would be!

The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fear on their faces advancing one by one to the three-legged stool, the line diminishing slowly as Professor McGonagall reached the L's.

"Oh, hurry up," groaned Ron, massaging his stomach.

"Ron, the Sorting is much more important than the food," said Nearly Headless Nick discontentedly.

"Of course it is if you're dead," Ron retorted!

Nick looked slightly unhappy, not responding to his words but murmuring to Evan.

Finally, the Sorting ended with Kevin Whitby being assigned to Hufflepuff.

Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and stool and carried them away.

Professor Dumbledore stood up. He smiled at the students, arms open in a welcoming gesture.

"―I have only two words to say," he told them, his deep voice echoing throughout the hall, "Let's feast!"

In the next moment, the empty plates in front of everyone were suddenly magically filled.

Each young wizard began to eat heartily, and Nick watched with melancholy as they filled their plates.

Ron's words seemed deeply moving to him. He had not tasted food in hundreds of years.

"You are lucky to have a feast tonight, you know?" Nick remarked gazing at the large steak in front of Evan. "There were issues in the kitchen earlier."

"Why? What happened?" Harry asked with his mouth full of food.

"Peeves, of course," said Nick, shaking his head that wobbled dangerously, adjusting his ruff collar a bit higher on his neck. "The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast... Well, it's completely impossible. You know how he is, utterly uncivilized. He can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We had a council of ghosts, and the Fat Friar was in favor of giving him a chance, but with much wisdom, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron strongly opposed it."

The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a thin and silent specter covered in silver bloodstains, indicating the horrific experience before his death. He was the most powerful of all the ghosts, and at Hogwarts, only he could truly control Peeves.

"That's why Peeves seemed so upset about something, he tried to throw water balloons at us down the hallway," Ron said nonchalantly. "What did he do in the kitchens?"

"Oh, the usual," Nick shrugged. "He caused mayhem and chaos. He flung pots and pans everywhere. The place was swimming in soup. He terrified the house-elves to the point where they were beside themselves..."

Clang!*

Hermione had knocked over her golden goblet. The pumpkin juice slowly spilled onto the tablecloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione paid it no mind.

Evan felt a pang of guilt. Now that Hermione knew that Hogwarts had house-elves, she would surely bring up her ideas about treating elves well again.

Hermione had spoken to Evan about it from time to time, feeling the need to do something for the house-elves.

Hermione's ideas couldn't be considered wrong, but they were entirely impractical, and Evan didn't know how to sway her.

When Hermione decided on something, she didn't easily change her mind, and she held onto it steadfastly, no matter how arduous the path ahead.

Evan knew this all too well and understood that trying to dissuade her was pointless. He could only choose to support her.

"Are there house-elves here?" Hermione asked, looking horrified at Nearly Headless Nick. "Here at Hogwarts?"

"Of course," said Nick, surprised by her reaction. "There are more elves here than in any other dwelling in Britain. There are over a hundred."

"I haven't seen any of them!" Hermione said incredulously. "I thought Dobby was the only one..."

"Well, they hardly ever come out of the kitchen during the day, right?" Nick said. "They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning... take care of the chimneys and such... I mean, you shouldn't see them, right? That's the sign of a good house-elf, isn't it, not knowing they're there?"

Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed, as if Nick had said something dreadful.

"But, do they get paid?" she asked. "Do they have holidays, right? And sick leave, pensions, and all that?"

Nearly Headless Nick laughed so hard that his collar slipped, and his head swung, hanging by an inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still connected it to his neck.

"Sick leave and pensions?" he said, putting his head back on his shoulders and securing it with his ruff collar. "House-elves don't want sick leave and pensions!"

Hermione looked at her barely touched plate, then placed the knife and fork on it and pushed it away from her.

"Slavery!" Her breathing became heavy, and she said with disgust, "That's what this dinner is. Slavery! I know it perfectly well. Turns out what we eat every day is shameful."