Harry, Ron, and Hermione were already quite familiar with sneaking out at night to visit Hagrid.
Since Percy had graduated, the biggest obstacles to roaming the castle in the middle of the night were Filch and his cat, Mrs. Norris. Tonight, fortune smiled upon them as they managed to evade Mrs. Norris's watchful gaze. However, as they descended the grand stone staircase, they encountered an unexpected hurdle. Several groups of younger students, likely first-years still reveling in their newfound freedom at Hogwarts, were skulking about the castle corridors.
Hermione, her bushy hair barely contained beneath the Invisibility Cloak, bristled with indignation at this blatant disregard for school rules. Her fingers twitched, itching to throw off the cloak and deliver a stern lecture to these wayward youngsters. However, Ron, displaying an uncharacteristic bout of prudence, gently restrained her with a hand on her arm.
"Oh, don't bother, Hermione, You're not a prefect yet!" His words, though meant to pacify, seemed to have the opposite effect on Hermione.
"The current Head Boy and Girl are completely useless!" Hermione hissed indignantly. She crouched lower, her keen eyes following the movements of the younger students as they passed by in huddled groups. "The school turns a blind eye to this flagrant rule-breaking. Oh, this is Professor Watson's responsibility—"
Hermione now seemed to have some grievances against Professor Watson and complained about him for quite a while. Harry wanted to remind her that they were currently breaking school rules themselves.
As they maneuvered through the castle, it became increasingly apparent that the Invisibility Cloak, was struggling to conceal their growing forms. Once able to easily cover the three of them, it now barely reached their ankles, leaving them in constant danger of exposure. They stumbled awkwardly across the castle grounds, the cool night dew seeping through their trouser cuffs and chilling their skin.
Hagrid's hut, situated at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, still had its lights on and it seemed the night owl Hagrid was still awake. The trio crossed the slightly muddy vegetable patch, their feet sinking slightly into the soft earth with each step. The pungent aroma of pumpkins and various magical herbs filled their nostrils as they approached the sturdy wooden door. Harry raised his hand and knocked firmly, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night.
Immediately, a cacophony of barking erupted from within, followed by the frantic scratching of claws against wood.
"Quiet, Fang!" Hagrid's gruff voice boomed from inside, barely muffled by the thick wooden door. The sounds of heavy footsteps approaching grew louder, and then the door swung open with a creak of protest from its aged hinges.
As the door opened, revealing Hagrid's towering form, Harry also simultaneously removed the Invisibility Cloak.
"Ah, it's you three—" Seeing the three youngsters standing in front of his hut, Hagrid merely raised an eyebrow, not seeming surprised at all, as if he had expected them.
Harry's gaze immediately fell upon Hagrid's hands, and he felt a twinge of concern. Each of Hagrid's ten sausage-like fingers was wrapped in white bandages, looking even more swollen than usual, which was saying something given Hagrid's naturally massive size.
"What happened to your hands, Hagrid?" Harry asked, unable to keep the worry from his voice.
"Just a minor injury—" Hagrid mumbled vaguely, his tone dismissive. He beckoned them inside with a bandaged hand, "Come in quickly. If someone catches you here, I'll have no choice but to give you three detention myself."
As they filed into the warm, cluttered interior of Hagrid's hut, Harry's mind raced. He knew, without a doubt, that the injuries on Hagrid's hands must have been caused by the Blast-Ended Skrewts, Hagrid's latest and most dangerous "pets." They had already experienced the ferocity of these bizarre creatures, Hagrid's new summer creations, just a few days ago in their Care of Magical Creatures class. The memory of their scorching blasts and razor-sharp pincers made Harry wince in sympathy for Hagrid's hands.
"Oh, get off, Fang—" Hagrid's exasperated voice filled the small space as Fang, overcome with excitement at their arrival, pounced on Hermione. The enormous boarhound's wet nose pressed insistently against Hermione's school bag, his powerful sense of smell detecting something unusual within. Hermione clutched her bag tightly to her chest, using her free hand to gently but firmly push away Fang's snooping muzzle.
Hagrid moved to the fireplace, where a large copper kettle hung over the flames. He added more water to it, preparing to make tea for his unexpected guests. Then, he turned and lumbered into the small kitchen area, rummaging through cupboards in search of something edible to offer his late-night visitors..
Ron, always curious and often the first to speak his mind, asked with undisguised interest, "Who would discover us?" His eyes darted around the hut, as if expecting to see someone lurking in the shadows.
"Professor Moody, he comes every day—" Hagrid's voice drifted back from the kitchen, accompanied by the clinking of mugs and plates.
Harry and Hermione exchanged surprised glances; their eyebrows raised in silent communication.
Harry, voicing their shared curiosity, asked, "Does he patrol the grounds every day?"
"Oh, not just the grounds—" Hagrid emerged from the kitchen, balancing a plate of his Treacle Fudge in one bandaged hand. He set it down on the rough wooden table with a solid thunk, then turned to admonish Fang, who was still whimpering and sniffing at Hermione's bag. With a gentle but firm nudge of his boot, Hagrid shooed the persistent dog away.
"He's a good man, voluntarily helping me patrol the Forbidden Forest, Thanks to him, I have plenty of time every day to take care of the Skrewts. You should thank him too, with Professor Moody around, you don't have to worry about anyone trying to sneak into the school grounds. Well—"
Hagrid sat down on the bed, causing it to sag significantly under his weight. He looked at the three of them and asked, "So, what's the problem?"
The implication in Hagrid's words was clear - they usually didn't come here unless there was an issue to be solved. This realization made Harry feel a twinge of guilt. He made a mental note to visit Hagrid more often. But now wasn't the time to dwell on that. Both Harry and Ron turned their gaze to Hermione, silently urging her to take the lead.
Hermione took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling with the motion. "We need your help with something, Hagrid—"
"Of course—" Hagrid tilted his head, his wild beard shifting with the movement. His dark eyes now held a spark of keen interest as they fixed upon Hermione's bag. It was clear that Hagrid, like Fang, had sensed that something unusual was hidden within.
Hermione's eyes darted to the window, scanning the darkness outside for any sign of movement. Satisfied that they were truly alone, she pursed her lips, swallowed hard, and then, with trembling fingers, unzipped her bag. Carefully, as if handling the most delicate of treasures, she reached in and gently lifted out the small creature nestled within.
It had to be said that the baby house-elf looked much cuter than the adult ones. Whether it was Dobby, Winky, or Kreacher, none of the house-elves Harry saw were as adorable as Hermione's.
"Oh, stay still, Fang, that's not a gnome!" Hagrid's warning came too late as Fang, overcome with curiosity and excitement, let out a series of sharp barks. The sudden noise sent the newborn Fréodom into a state of panic. It stood trembling on the rough wooden floor, its frail legs barely supporting its weight as it faced Fang, who towered over it like a furry mountain.
Fréodom was clearly terrified. Its large eyes, glistening with unshed tears, darted between Fang and the towering humans surrounding it. If not for the clear bond it had already formed with Hermione, its self-proclaimed "Mistress Granger," it would have likely fled in blind panic or perhaps even attempted to disapparate.
Harry and Ron, who hadn't gotten a clear view of Fréodom earlier in the dimly lit common room, were now staring at the timid creature with undisguised wonder.
"A house-elf—" Hagrid's voice was filled with wonder as he stood up from the bed, the sudden movement causing the floorboards to creak ominously. He roughly pushed Fang aside, his strength easily moving the large dog, and crouched down to peer at Fréodom with his beady black eyes. He even extended a carrot-thick finger to prod Fréodom's chin, examining it very carefully.
"This is a newborn, right, Hermione?" Hagrid's voice was even softer now, filled with wonder. "I reckon it's just been born—"
To Fréodom, Hagrid must have seemed like an absolute giant. The little elf's eyes grew wider, its tiny form trembling more violently with each passing second. Just as it seemed the poor creature might faint from fright, Hermione swooped in, scooping Fréodom into her arms with the protective instinct of a mother. She cradled the elf close to her chest, turning to glare angrily at Hagrid, silently reprimanding him for his rough handling.
"Where did you get this?" Hagrid, realizing his mistake, shrugged, then noticed the fabric covering the newborn house-elf and the missing piece from Hermione's robe. His expression turned amused, "You've become its mother, haven't you, Hermione?"
Ron, unable to contain himself any longer, burst out laughing and even Harry's lips curled into a smile.
Hermione, ignoring her friends' amusement, focused all her attention on comforting the frightened elf.
"Don't be afraid, Fréodom," she comforted gently, "That's Hagrid, he's my friend. He only looks scary, but he's actually very nice—"
Fréodom, seeming to draw courage from Hermione's words, peeked out from the safety of her arms. Its large eyes, filled with a mixture of fear and curiosity, darted between Hagrid, Harry, and Ron. Then, as if suddenly remembering its place, the little elf began to squirm.
"Friend of Mistress Granger—" Fréodom's voice was high-pitched and squeaky, barely above a whisper. It seemed to feel it was presumptuous to remain in Hermione's arms. With surprising agility for one so young, it slid down from Hermione's embrace to stand on the floor once more.
Though still visibly frightened, Fréodom's sense of duty appeared to override its fear. It bowed deeply to Hagrid, its long nose nearly touching the floor.
"Is there anything Fréodom can do for Mr. Hagrid, sir? Fréodom is good at many tasks!"
Hagrid, his eyes twinkling with mischief, saw an opportunity he couldn't resist. "If possible," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind, "the dishes in the kitchen haven't been washed—"
"Hagrid!" Hermione's shout of indignation cut through the air. She lunged forward, grabbing the excitedly trembling Fréodom and pulling it back into her embrace. Her brown eyes flashed with anger as she glared at Hagrid. "You don't need to do anything for anyone, Fréodom. You're just a child!"
Ron, still chuckling, shook his head in amusement. "Now I understand why Mum always wanted a house-elf—" he said, finding the entire scene quite entertaining. "They're really hard-working!"
Hagrid, realizing he might have overstepped, raised his bandaged hands in a gesture of innocence. "I was just joking with it, Hermione—" he said, his booming laugh filling the small hut.
Harry, observing the scene, couldn't help but recall Professor Watson's assessment of Hagrid. His words rang true - Hagrid's love for magical creatures was undeniable, but his understanding of their needs and vulnerabilities sometimes fell short. Harry still vividly remembered their first year when Hagrid had attempted to raise a baby dragon named Norbert in his wooden hut. His attitude towards it had been even gentler than his current treatment of Fréodom. He had practically considered himself Norbert's mother, cooing over the dragon and seemingly oblivious to the danger it posed.
Hagrid, clearly realizing he had touched upon Hermione's sensitive nerve, decided to change the subject. He grabbed Fang's ear, gently but firmly dragging the curious boarhound to the other side of the room. The dog whined in protest but obeyed, settling down on a large cushion in the corner. With Fang safely out of the way, Hagrid turned back to the trio, his expression now serious.
"Tell me—" he began, his voice low and rumbling like distant thunder. "Where did you actually get this little one?"
Hermione, still cradling Fréodom protectively, took a deep breath. Her eyes darted to Harry and Ron, seeking silent support, before she launched into the tale she had recounted to them earlier in the Gryffindor common room.
"That's remarkable!" After hearing Hermione's account, Hagrid exclaimed admiringly, "Professor Watson—for a powerful wizard like him to bother saving a house-elf in difficult labor. Headmaster Dumbledore is same. These great men, they never easily discriminate against anyone. Even for a house-elf, they still feel the need to save it!"
Harry nodded in agreement, recalling Dumbledore's kindness towards all magical beings, from centaurs to merpeople. However, Hermione's face darkened, her brows furrowing in a way that Harry recognized as a prelude to one of her impassioned speeches.
"But he watched a house-elf who had just given birth go to work," Hermione said, her voice tight with barely contained anger. "He even told me to order Fréodom to work in the school kitchen too!"
Hermione's words tumbled out in a rush, her frustration evident in every word. She spoke of old Kreacher at Sirius's house. She railed against Barty Crouch from the Department of International Magical Cooperation, recounting how he had treated his house-elf Winky with such heartless cruelty at the Quidditch World Cup.
Her voice rose in pitch and volume as she circled back to Professor Watson's seemingly indifferent attitude towards Reega, Fréodom's mother, and the newborn elf itself after saving their lives.
"They all think it's perfectly normal!" Hermione exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with indignation. "They think house-elves deserve to be enslaved by wizards just because they're obedient!"
"Wizards like Professor Watson wouldn't think any creature is born to be enslaved, Hermione—" Hagrid said patiently, his eyes focusing on the young witch with unexpected intensity. "It's you who doesn't understand the situation, not Professor Watson."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Hagrid held up a bandaged hand, silencing her. "For many centuries," he continued, "house-elves have been viewed as personal property by wizards. You want to fight for their rights, to let them enjoy holidays and wages, and that's admirable. But how will you convince those who use them? Most of those who own house-elves are influential figures like Lucius Malfoy, and they're not so easy to persuade—"
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