Chapter 32
Happy Holidays
15 December 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland
William Rosier augmented the length of his strides as he entered the library. He was already late, and if there was anything that his Mistress hated, it was for her servants to not be on time when she gave them appointments. Such thoughts should have made him angry, as he was the future Lord of the Most Ancient House of Rosier, and like his aunt had told him, a Rosier bowed before no one but the Dark Lord! But his Mistress had showed him the power of the True Darkness. She knew the secrets of Hogwarts, the secret passages, the bits of knowledge, minor and great, no one but the most experimented and wise students of the school learnt. His Mistress had the power, and the will to use it to her advantage. It was her who had unleashed the Monster of Slytherin against the Mudbloods and the Squib. Thanks to her, those who had not their place at Hogwarts knew fear and terror. The Professors were powerless to stop her, and it was just the beginning of her plans. Plans which were schemed in places the students had no idea they existed in the first place.
Hogwarts' library was a marvel of the Founders, though few students realised the full scope of engineering Rowena Ravenclaw and her three Founders colleagues had created a thousand years ago. With two levels and endless rows no one but Madam Pince the Librarian bothered to count, there were tens of thousands books here, all on the diverse subjects magic could offer. Some of them were rare. A lot of them were nothing more than common. A few were totally useless. But all made the Hogwarts Library one of the greatest depositories of knowledge available in the British Isles.
Yet what really few students failed to realise during their stay at Hogwarts was that for all this endless rows and shelves full of books, the library of Hogwarts was far greater than this. What was available to the common student from the very beginning was the equivalent of two floors of books. In reality, there were close to seven, counting the Forbidden Section. Not the Forbidden Section guarded by Madam Pince, oh no. The real Forbidden Section, guarded by a series of wards and protections put in place by each Headmaster and ameliorated after each the new wizard or witch took office. The one which contained all the scary knowledge the Founders themselves had not wanted any of their students to know. The one no student had had access in Hogwarts history without the approbation of the entire teaching staff. But concerning the four other floors not immediately accessible to the public, activation passwords, runes combinations, wand movements and some other esoteric knowledge were all that was necessary to enter them. The most brilliant Ravenclaw students generally discovered them in due time, not surprising when the library was their refuge, workplace and kingdom. The Hufflepuffs and Slytherins knew some passages, by legacy or cooperation. The Gryffindors had little motivation to enter this area of the castle, much less discover its secrets. William Rosier very much doubted the Lions had a clue of what was stored here.
Passing a long abandoned part of the Divination Section, the Slytherin first-year pushed three runes respectively dissimulated under a tapestry, a row of books and a table, before descending the row of stairs which had appeared from nowhere. This particular secret passage was only known to a few, which made it the ideal location for a secret meeting. Passing a section dedicated to the Ancient Nordic magical tribes, William approached the table located in the middle of this secret section, before bending the knee.
"Mistress."
The figure who sat at the table turned her head towards him, her body hidden behind a black robe and a black hood, only bright red eyes shining in the penumbral shadow of this part of the library.
"Ah, Rosier. How kind of you to come. I trust you have what I need?" Asked the black-robed figure, in a voice which indicated suffering in case of failure.
"Yes, Mistress. Here are your results for the blood inheritance you asked to Gringotts." Said William, rising from his bending position and handing her a roll of parchment. The dark figure seized it, unrolled it and took a few moments to assimilate the information contained.
"A bit disappointing, but not unexpected." Murmured the figure to herself in a conversional tone once she had finished her lecture. The black-robed figure turned her head in direction of William Rosier, red eyes flashing in the half-light.
"I will need a powerful blood ritual on Yule to attune my magic, Rosier. I want to begin a purge of the impure blood which flows in these veins, and the shortest days of the year are the ideal moment to do this."
"Yes, Mistress. I will make the preparations for everything to be ready at Rosier Manor for Yule. What ritual do you have in mind? The Blood of the Inheritance?"
"No." Replied his interlocutor. "The ritual you speak of is useful, I will grant you that, but it is extremely long, several years at least, and it can be countered easily by simple blood infusion. No, the Blood of the Inheritance is not what I need."
"There is the Ritual of the Ancestors..."
"No. I want to do the Sang Royal."
William Rosier's body shivered involuntarily at this affirmation.
"Mistress...this ritual is extremely dangerous!" Protested the young first-year Slytherin.
It was considered Dark and strictly forbidden by the Ministry of Magic in Britain among many other things. In itself, it signified absolutely nothing. The British Ministry had forbidden almost every known documented ritual in the last decades after all. But it was worthy of mention that every single European Ministry had done the same concerning the ritual of Sang Royal. The danger to the one performing the ritual, so great about one-third of the persons who did it never recovered physically and mentally, obviously played a part in this decision. So did the large quantities of human blood required, which often led the organisers of this ceremony to kidnap and butcher some Muggles. Even the Durmstrang Institute of all places had placed it on their black list, as the ritual had been the origin of several Honour Duels, disputed inheritances and some Blood Feuds extremely damaging in pure-blood circles.
"My decision is made, Rosier." The voice of his mistress was no subject to discussion and counter-arguments. William Rosier thus closed his mouth and ceased his protestations. "I am aware of the risks, but the danger of the ritual is outweighed by the sheer benefits I will gain once I have completed it. The first ritual at Yule will attune my magic to the darkness and start the purification process. Once this step is finished, the danger is...acceptable. The last ritual will only need my participation at another Yule ritual, and each phase of the ritual is irreversible."
The Rosier Heir nodded, understanding nothing he would say would change the outcome. His Mistress had decided, and he would obey.
"I suppose I better ensure the preparations for the Yule are perfect?" William voiced it like a question but his instincts told him his mistress would treat as a statement.
"Yes, Rosier. Oh, and begin to approach a few of the brutes in Slytherin House before you leave for the holidays. I will be weakened by the ritual for several weeks, so I think it's best if we hire some muscle to prepare the next attacks for us."
"By your command, Mistress."
19 December 1992, Hogwarts Express, Scotland
"I'm really happy to be out of the castle and going home this year." Huffed Nigel, pushing his heavy trunk in the first compartment of the Hogwarts Express available.
"I see what you mean." Sighed Alexandra, once the group of four were all seated in the compartment. "Between the snow storms and the attacks, winter is really not pleasant at Hogwarts this year."
"I heard only a few students were staying here for the holidays."
"The Weasleys and some older students wanting to study for their NEWTS are all the living who remains." Confirmed Morag. "Apart the teachers who do not go home for Christmas, everybody is gone."
"What did you expect, Morag? People are terrified by the wave of attacks. We have...let's see, one caretaker, one cat, one ghost and four students petrified. And for the moment, the answer of the Professors has been...less than stellar shall we say?"
"Somebody is in a black mood." Smiled the red-haired Ravenclaw.
"Of course I am in a bad mood!" Exclaimed Alexandra. "This is supposed to be a school, Morag! We are children, whose parents paid a small fortune to learn an education in magic and the mysteries which come with it. Attacks which petrify people, troll, monsters, prank wars and hate between Houses are not normal. The Professors doing anything but their jobs is not normal." The Potter Heiress huffed. "We should really wonder if the adults are not all insane. Now that I think about it, it would explain a lot of things..."
"You have said what you had in your heart?" Asked Nigel.
"Damn right. That was an amazing bloody speech." Laughed Morag.
"Language!" Said Hermione.
"Okay, maybe I versed a bit too much in the dramatic and the complaints." Admitted with a groan Alexandra under the laughter of one Ravenclaw and two Gryffindors. "But I stand on my position: the Professors have failed in their duty to keep us safe. And the silence from outside, not a word on it in the Daily Prophet, is weird."
"I admit it's a bit strange." Stated Morag. "Normally, for such an emergency the Aurors should have been called."
"Any idea why they haven't?" Asked Nigel.
"Hogwarts is a law into itself in Britain. The Ministry of Magic has only the authority the Headmaster of Hogwarts wants to give it." Speculated the MacDougal Heiress.
"Wait a minute." Said Alexandra. "Is that why Longbottom, Black and Weasley got nothing but detentions for flying a car straight into the Whomping Willow?"
"Surely." Affirmed Morag with a shrug of shoulders. "If Professor Dumbledore decides Minister Fudge has not the right to intervene, the Ministry can't do a lot to stop him. Not with the chaos at the Wizengamot and the Chief Warlock having one fourth of the votes behind him."
"There must a stop-gap, though." Said Hermione. "If the situation becomes too explosive, there must be something the Ministry can do."
"A unanimous vote of the Board of Governors is the only thing which can force the hand of the Headmaster. Nothing else can. And there are twelve Governors, three of them belonging to the Light factions."
"Which means the Board won't act until it's too late." Affirmed Nigel with a large grimace.
"And maybe their first action will be to get rid of the Headmaster." Alexandra grimaced. Facing three surprised looks, she smirked. "Don't be worried, I haven't been replaced by an impostor in the last ten minutes."
"You had us fooled." Grinned Morag. "But why would Dumbledore be voted out of his seat would a bad thing? We see barely the man once per week at school and I doubt he do that much work in the castle."
"Because for good or worse, Professor Dumbledore is a really powerful wizard who inspires fear and respect to his enemies." Affirmed the Potter Heiress, reminding herself of all the occasions she had felt the power the old wizard commanded. A true volcano of energy was the best description she could come up with. "For the moment, the Heir of Slytherin or whoever is really behind these attacks is stalking, preparing his raids and striking once before disappearing in the shadows. If Dumbledore leaves...Flitwick and Snape are probably the most powerful Professors after him, and they aren't in the same league."
"You fear the Heir would be free to attack with impunity." Frowned Nigel.
And what a joyous perspective it was, when four students had in four months been turned into stone.
"That's all and good, but what if we knew the name of the Heir? What if it was truly Neville Longbottom?" Asked Hermione in her best inquisitive tone.
The two Ravenclaws and the two Gryffindors looked at each other worriedly. That had been the subject of conversation for the last week at Hogwarts. Was the Boy-Who-Lived guilty? Before the latest attack, Alexandra would have been the first to declare the Golden trio's presence at the first crime scene and Longbottom being a Parselmouth were just a tragic, unlikely coincidence. The Hero of Gryffindor was perhaps the worst suspect to support a Dark agenda inside Hogwarts, wasn't he?
This certainty had been brutally smashed into splinters when the Boy-Who-Lived and Ron Weasley had been found on the scene of another attack. Justin Finch-Fletchley and Sally-Anne Perks, two Hufflepuffs second-years, were petrified and the Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff House Ghost, was levitating in a sort of shadow whirlwind, unconscious and under the appearance of a weird, shapeless cloud. It was the latter's situation, which had been the greatest shock, actually. Among the many wizarding families frequenting Hogwarts, it had been widely accepted there were horrible spells created by Dark Wizards to kill, maim and do horrible things to their victims. But a ghost? A ghost was only a magical imprint of a dead person. A ghost was not alive. Neither Alexandra nor Morag nor anyone of the entire student body knew a spell which could affect a ghost, much less neutralise it like this.
Terror had spread in the corridors of the castle, and the vague reassurances of the teachers had done nothing to calm the spreading fear. Neville Longbottom and Ronald Weasley being released twenty minutes after being sent to the Headmaster's office by Professor McGonagall hadn't helped things either. People were whispering the search for the culprit was a half-baked job plagued by the Headmaster's favouritism of Gryffindor House. Alexandra had abandoned the title of 'potential Dark Lord' to Neville, and if there hadn't been so little time before everyone departed, it would have had the potential to develop into a very tense situation.
"What do we do about him?" Asked Hermione.
"Nothing for the moment." Replied the black-haired girl.
"Alexandra..."
"No, Hermione. Unless you have an idea what we're going to face, confronting Longbottom or any potential 'Heir of Slytherin' would be pure suicide. We're not speaking about a nasty fight with some enraged bullies. We're speaking about an enemy who has a weapon which petrifies people and can stop spirits. I don't want to go blind and find out the Heir has another magical power which allows him to kill one of us without any member of our group able to retaliate." Said forcefully the Potter Heiress.
"It wouldn't hurt to establish a preliminary strategy and keep the animals we have close. Atalanta and Crookshanks can alert us if something turns wrong."
"It can't hurt. It will be more useful anyway than Lockhart barging to rescue us!" Smiled Alexandra, lifting a bit the sense of doom which was present.
"His blonde hairs were a bit green this morning weren't they? I wonder what the Weasley Twins pranked him with this time..."
19 December 1992, Oxford, England
"I thought we were not supposed to meet before the 23rd?" Grumbled Gilderoy Lockhart entering the café and sitting on an unoccupied chair, his blonde hair and general appearance a mess which would have destroyed the minds of many of the witches included in his fan-club.
"The plan changed, unfortunately." Replied Hendryk Jones, on the seat in front of him, a newspaper in his hand and the rest of a meal on the table.
"I had no idea my august presence was having such an effect on world events." Remarked the member of the Defence Against the Dark Arts League.
"It hasn't." Said the fifth highest ranking member of the Magical Intelligence Bureau in a humorous tone. "Did you have the opportunity to read the foreign newspapers at Hogwarts?"
"Alas, no." Regretted the blonde wizard, ordering a cup of hot chocolate to the waitress. "Ordering fashion and cosmetic magazines from France is the best I can do without raising any suspicion on my cover. And it's not the rubbish written in the Daily Prophet that helps having a clear view of the political arena."
"In that case, you're going to love this." Affirmed Jones with a frown. "First, we have been put in probation by the ICW."
"Again?" Lockhart laughed. "This must be the what? The seventeenth time in half a century?"
"Eighteenth actually." Corrected Jones.
"May I know what prompted this unpleasant state of affairs?"
"Of course." Said amicably the man who was responsible for all secret operations made by the Union of the Magical American States in Europe. "In October, one of our elite teams of wizards discovered a cell of British wizards infiltrated in Philadelphia. They were busy stockpiling quite a few explosive magical weapons."
"Not very nice of them." Noted Lockhart.
"No, not nice at all." Agreed Jones. "It is our understanding they intended to arm some of our less sympathetic wizard-first supremacists. Naturally, we objected and we stormed their caches, arresting sixteen wizards and witches, four of them British and the rest our own citizens."
"And you've charged all of them, not just the Americans." Told Lockhart. It was not a question. Similar operations had occurred in the past, only for the criminals to be released once they were back on British territory.
"There wasn't any point to give them back to our dear Minister Fudge." Snorted Jones. "The British we put our hands upon were quite happy to sing they had friends in high-places."
"Friends like Lucius Malfoy?"
"Of course not. Nothing links them to Lucius Malfoy. His good friends Nott and Avery have left their imprints all over the place though. If they step one foot on American soil ever again, we will personally arrest and execute them for their crimes." The smile of Jones was rather carnivorous, although there was a point of frustration in it.
Gilderoy Lockhart understood it. Lucius Malfoy was a wizard the MIB had spent a few decades mounting a pile of files upon. Despite a stupendous amount of work, the American investigators were no closer to obtain proper evidence of wrongdoing, crimes and misdemeanours on him. Time and time again, the MIB had launched legal and not-legal operations, only to catch small fry, thugs and Death Eaters of minor importance as the Lord of the Malfoy House made a slippery escape and burnt any relationships he might have had with those arrested. The hands of Lucius Malfoy always came back clean. No one, not the French, not the Italians, not the Americans nor the Germans had managed to find enough proof to arrest and charge Lucius Malfoy in front of a tribunal. There were only a few tangential proofs, some low-level bribery at the level where he played politics and some conflict of influence they could accuse the Malfoy patriarch of, who was also by the way a respectable ICW diplomat member representing the British Isles. It was enough to force him to pay small fines every couple of years. It was however nowhere near what was required to pump him with Veritaserum, break his Occlumency barriers and finally send it to the prison cell this platinum-blonde-haired criminal so justly deserved.
"I suppose Malfoy led the charge to put us in probation?" Gilderoy's question was rhetorical and disabused.
"No, he did not. This honour went to our estimate Supreme Mugwump." Replied his boss.
"Ah." This simple of Gilderoy spoke volumes about his contempt of a man he had once ago long admired and worshipped like the reincarnation of Merlin. "What was the second point?"
"It's not official, but there are talks to reinstate the Tri-Wizard Tournament in the short-term future."
"Tell me you're kidding!" Lockhart felt in spite of himself his visage grow livid. "This Tournament has killed more witches and wizards than the last British Civil War!"
"They are speaking of new rules and new methods to choose Champions." The tone Jones had used to make this weak protest showed how much he believed in it.
"I'm sure it will be a relief for those who die in it." Sighed Lockhart, taking the hot chocolate from the waitress with a muted thanks. "Well at least the Hogwarts students will have experience to handle this tournament of nightmares."
"Is it really that bad?" Asked the MIB agent in a disappointed.
"Depends really how you see it. I think one of the worst problems is the environment: dividing the entire student body in four antagonistic factions is not a good idea at the best of times, and some teachers are very lax in discipline and punishments." The famous British author shrugged. "Of the seven main courses at Hogwarts, I can say with the information I gathered three of them are doing their jobs on par with what every American magical schools expect of its students. Charms, Transfiguration and Herbology are taught by Professors who have mastered the subject, so no critic there. Astronomy is a bit behind the others, as the British have not adapted to the latest innovations on the field, but it is generally correct."
"And the others?"
"Snape is a difficult case." Admitted Lockhart. "The Death Eater and his minion Whitehead are generally detestable human beings, but I have to admit they are doing their best to implement the safety measures of their class and improve the Potions skills of their students, especially the information research and the initiative. The issue I see is that their methods suffer from a Slytherin bias and are considered elitist."
"Explain." For once the voice of Hendryk Jones showed interest.
"The Potion Masters of this school are teaching the first-year students in the same manner they experiment with the students about to graduate. For the young witches and wizards who are willing to work hard and follow the hard guidelines Snape imposes, they rapidly thrive and reach impressive levels in the field of Potions. Alas, for every student who manages to follow this infernal rhythm, there are five or six who abandon the effort before their fifth-year, often with catastrophic grades."
"A lack of pedagogy and a strategy of privileging the formation of Elite Potioneers rather than average ones, then." Summed-up Jones in a thoughtful tone. "Problem is, it is not an uncommon policy. Our sources at Durmstrang indicate they are doing more or less the same thing for all their classes."
"Yes, but Durmstrang has over a thousand students they recruit all over Scandinavia, Germany and Eastern Europe." Noted Lockhart. "That gives them an impressive pool of talents to choose from. Hogwarts, on the other hand, has only a bit over four hundred students for all the British Isles. And there is more." The spy's voice turned grimmer. "While the number of students who graduate with a Potions NEWT hasn't changed in decades, the number of students achieving a Potions OWLs per year has completely collapsed and the composition of those who continue a Potion NEWT is alarming. There have never been more than two Gryffindor taking Potions after their fifth-year in the last five years, and the number is less than five for the Hufflepuffs. All the teenagers who continue are in majority Ravenclaw and Slytherin witches and wizards, who as a result are going to take the jobs of Healers, Potions Masters, Aurors, Curse-Breakers, Ward Masters and so on."
"The most prestigious and influential jobs." Said Jones absently. "And the better paid too." The MIB high-ranking wizard paused to think for a few seconds before speaking again. "All right. And the other classes?"
"Defence Against the Dark Arts is a disaster." Winced Gilderoy. "I would like to say it is my fault because I play the imbecile as part of my cover, but the Junior Professor they hired with me is no better, and all evidence point out to say this class has been a true disaster for two decades. I haven't managed to discover if a curse is truly active, but changing of Professors each year is certainly not doing the program any favour."
"I wonder how Dumbledore is justifying such abysmal skills in Defence from his students." Told Jones in an amused tone. "Dumbledore closed several self-defence courses when he became Headmaster, and now the Defence Against the Dark Arts class is useless?" Jones made a negative nod of his head. "I would not describe it as a good thing."
"Some students deal with it by self-study. But the class of History is utterly and completely lost. When you use a teacher as a ghost, and a boring one at that, you have the results you deserve."
"And the elective classes?"
"Divination and Muggle Studies are the same fiascos as History, if not worse because one is told by a drunk who believes she is a Seer while the other is convinced we are still in the nineteenth century. The three other elective are quite good, but all the others main classes have been disrupted and closed by Dumbledore." The blonde-haired author paused. "Do you want more information?"
"No, I think it will be enough." Said Hendryk in a pensive tone. "Although I will want your full report before you go back to Hogwarts."
"Of course."
"Now let's speak about the Aura Reader."
Gilderoy emitted a loud sigh, with a pained expression which would have in all likelihood not won him any awards in Witch Weekly.
"Let me guess, there are girls and boys at Hogwarts who have the potential to reach Lord or Lady-levels."
"I'm afraid so." The tone of Lockhart's superior was worried. "Eight of them in fact."
"Eight?" That was worse than Gilderoy Lockhart had thought possible calculus. In reality, it was the double of what the worst-case scenario he had imagined. "Who? No, don't tell me. What I don't know can't traumatize me."
"Wise choice." Grimaced Jones. "Especially as some of them promise to be pure monsters in the future."
"That bad?"
"Let's just say Albus Dumbledore should really be careful in a few years. He might not be the Champion of Light any longer when they graduate."
It went unsaid that if one of these potential magical Lords and Ladies rose to the top, they might not only expulse Dumbledore from his prominent positions but also deal with the Light Party as a whole.
"Charming. Absolutely charming." Lockhart shrugged. "Now, what do you want me to do about the little problem of the Chamber of Secrets and the ward stones?"
"The Board is formulating a strategy as we speak. Their recommendations are..."
19 December 1992, MacDougal Manor, Ireland
"Welcome to MacDougal Manor, Alexandra." Smiled Lady Isobel MacDougal, drawing her wand and giving a simple click to the inner steel gates, which opened slowly towards the interior of the mansion. Alexandra fought the nausea coming from the Portkey which had just been used to examine the place of their arrival. Minutes ago, Morag's mother had welcomed them at the arrival of the Hogwarts Express, her husband having been unexpectedly detained at an emergency session of the Wizengamot, and after a quick goodbye to Hermione and Nigel, they had vanished from England to magically appear here in Ireland.
To say the truth, the ancestral manor of Morag's family was really a superb construction, even if part of it was hidden under the snow falling at the moment. The manor had four floors and four great wings giving it a rough shape of a rectangle. They were stone sculptures, fountains and decorations everywhere, some them shining in ethereal light to celebrate the bank holidays of the end of the year. Alexandra would have enjoyed examining it from the outside a bit longer, as the night and the effects of the Samhain ritual the first time she had come had not allowed her to see a lot of the lands surrounding the home of House MacDougal. Unfortunately, the cold, the ice and the freezing wind were present in force, and Lady Isobel, Morag and Alexandra hurried to cross the short distance between the inner gates and the massive doors of the manor. The trunks of the two Ravenclaws were levitated between them. One twirl of the hand, and the manor was opened, letting the Lady and the two girls perceive the warmth and the light waiting for them after their passage in the frozen Irish lands.
Inside, the entrance hall was spectacular. Not in the same class and greatness like Hogwarts of course, but easily twice the space Black Cobra Manor had for the corresponding place. And unlike the home of the now defunct and unlamented Lady Cassiopeia Black, the walls had magical paintings on them, a blue and comfortable carpet covered the floor, the chandelier was golden and diffusing a brilliant magical light. The atmosphere was warm, welcoming, with the wealth and the decorations one expected of a Victorian-era noble residence. It was the complete opposite of Privet Drive and the place of abuse the Dursleys called home. Marching in a corridor where there were several paintings and photos of Morag and her whole family, the house was vibrating of energy, light and good emotions. Alexandra felt herself relax, and for the first time in her life, cheered on at the idea of passing Christmas here.
A 'POP' sounded, and a little creature with a big nose and very large ears, wearing a sort of blue-grey uniform teleported from nowhere.
"Litzy, take the trunks of Morag and Alexandra to their rooms, please." Said in a gentle tone Lady Isobel MacDougal. "Then, would you be kind enough to warn the kitchens to prepare us some tea and biscuits?"
"Yes, Mistress!" Squeaked the little creature. "Litzy will do it immediately! Tea and biscuits in ten minutes!" A new 'POP' echoed, and the miniature being disappeared with the two trunks.
"Who was that?" Said Alexandra as they removed their capes, gloves and all the enchanted clothes needed to protect themselves from the violent cold.
"Oh, it's Litzy, one of our House Elves." Said Morag, as her mother disappeared into ones of the three corridors next to the doors.
"And what exactly are our House Elves? I've never seen one before today."
Morag smiled sadly. Apparently, the subject was not one which put her at ease. "House Elves are the result of experiments many Dark Wizards made in the twelfth century to enslave several magical races to do their bidding. Most of the experiments failed, but by crossing several different species together, they managed to create the House Elves, which need to bond magically with a witch or wizard to survive as their magical cores are not sufficient to function independently. Litzy and eleven other Elves are living here and around MacDougal Manor in service of our House. There are more in other proprieties."
"They are sort of...indentured servants, then?"
"Yes and no." Replied her red-haired friend. "Houses Elves of this home are bonded to my father or my mother, so they have to follow their orders. They can be great cooks, gardeners, clean the manor in one day, be librarians and protect the manor. House Elves are extremely valuable, and my family has tried to make their lives as advantageous as possible. I remember several of them babysit me and played with me before I went to Hogwarts."
"But? I suppose there is a catch."
"Too right." Morag's blue eyes turned a darker colour. "Light and Neutral Houses tend to treat their Elves as close to equals as it's possible to be. They are magically powerful, loyal and bring enormous advantages to your lands and possessions if you make them happy. But the Dark Houses..."
"That bad?"
"Houses Elves in these homes are not important servants." Affirmed Morag as they left the first corridor after the Entrance Hall and arrived in a nice living room with five couches, several chairs, a low-height table and a full library leaning against the walls. "They are just slaves. Two years ago, we went to a Ministry ball for the Summer Solstice organised by House Nott and I saw some of them in the shadows." The Ravenclaw shuddered at the memory. "It was horrible. They were wearing shreds of clothes...and their eyes...their eyes were empty. Full of despair. When I watched them, I knew they had a kind of sick devotion towards their masters, but at the same time, they hated them. I don't know how to explain more..."
"I think I understand. Slaves, but forced to enjoy their servitude, and with the knowledge it will last their entire life."
"Yes."
"And the teachers want us to fraternise with those Houses?" Asked rhetorically Alexandra. "There's a better chance of..." Then she had a horrible thought enter her mind, as she remembered some of the insults the members of Slytherin House threw around each time there met girls or boys having a non-magical ancestry when a teacher wasn't present. "Wait a second. Malfoy and his goons think those who are not Pure-Bloods should be treated like that?"
"They say so."
Okay. The Dark Houses advocated genocide and slavery of those they thought inferior to them like they treated their House Elves. Quite lovely.
"Some of the Dark houses are not as repulsive as you make it sound, daughter." Gently scolded Lady Isobel MacDougal, who had arrived behind the two girls, making them jump on their feet. "But I admit the Notts behaviour towards their elves is abhorrent.
Now, Morag. Why don't you tell me what has happened at Hogwarts this last week?"
Morag's mother walked around the couch where Morag and Alexandra were lying, to sit in the couch in front of them. Without the cape and the winter cloak, Lady Isobel was now wearing only a conservative black robe, that didn't stress much her forms but still indicated she did regular exercise to keep shape. Her hairs were a dark blond almost brown, and her eyes were the same piercing blue as Morag's, though maybe a touch darker. She was tall for a woman, and exhibited a grace which was fluid and elegant. And she was powerful. Since the adult witch had greeted her daughter and Alexandra at King's Cross, the black-haired girl had been able to discern a decent magical aura surrounding Lady Isobel. Weaker than the one around Professor Flitwick or Snape definitely, but more powerful than what she had been able to see around the great majority of the Hogwarts staff.
"There has been another attack, Mother." Said Morag in an angered voice. "And Longbottom has once again been found at the scene of the crime."
"I see." The face of the Lady was still warm, but her eyes were as warm as a blizzard. "In that case I think you are due a lot of training sessions for these holidays, young ladies."
And her voice made clear they were not going to stay reading and discussing theory.
