Harry Potter: The Golden Viper

0483 Their Fate

The newborn creature was astonishingly small, barely larger than a pair of goblin's hands placed side by side. Its body was covered in a downy coat of fur so fine and pale it seemed to shimmer in the dim light. Where the fur thinned, one could glimpse delicate pink skin beneath, as fragile-looking as tissue paper.

The little elf, having just endured the tumultuous journey into the world, lay motionless on the cushion that had served as its birthing bed. With a soft, almost inaudible sound, it rolled off the cushion onto the cold stone floor, its eyes tightly shut as if in the throes of a deep, peaceful slumber.

"Oh—" The sound escaped Hermione's lips unknowingly.

As she gazed upon the tiny creature, a dam within her broke. Tears, hot and plentiful, sprang to her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks. She raised a trembling hand to cover her mouth, barely stifling the sobs that tried to overtake her.

"It's incredible—" she choked out; her voice thick with emotion.

Beside her, Bryan stood calm in stark contrast to Hermione's emotional display. His face was a mask of concentration, brow furrowed deeply as he scrutinized the newborn elf.

Hermione, her heart overflowing with tenderness for the tiny creature, couldn't contain her excitement. "It's a little girl, isn't it?" she asked, her voice pitched higher than usual in her enthusiasm. Her amber eyes sparkled with joy as she added, "She looks exactly like her mother!"

Bryan's gaze flickered briefly to Hermione, his expression a mixture of resignation and something deeper. Without a word, he crouched down next to the newborn elf. Extending a finger, he prodded the elf's belly with some force.

"Oh, she's resting!" Hermione exclaimed; her tone sharp with indignation. She shot Bryan a look of pure anger, her previous tears forgotten in the face of what she perceived as unnecessary roughness. "Don't touch her!"

But Bryan paid no heed to Hermione's protests. The veins in his forehead became more distinct as he continued his examination, alternating between poking and rubbing the elf's tiny abdomen. Despite his increasingly forceful aids, the little elf remained motionless, its eyes stubbornly shut against the world.

As Bryan worked, a horrifying transformation began to take place. The elf's skin, initially a delicate pink so translucent one could almost see through it, began to change color. First, it flushed a deeper pink, then rapidly darkened to a deep crimson red. With each passing moment, the hue deepened further, taking on an ominous purple tinge that spoke of oxygen deprivation.

Hermione, her anger giving way to mounting anxiety, moved to intervene. She reached out, intending to pull Bryan's hand away from the fragile newborn. But Bryan, anticipating her action, smoothly blocked her with his elbow, never taking his eyes off the elf.

"Look carefully, Miss Granger—" Bryan said gravely. "This young elf isn't sleeping. She's suffocating—"

'Suffocating?!'

Hermione's mind whirled, unable to process the implications for a moment. Then, as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes, she truly saw the elf for the first time since its birth.

Hermione's body went rigid, her blood turning to ice in her veins as the reality of the situation crashed over her. With frantic eyes, she re-examined the tiny body on the floor. The absence of movement in the elf's chest, which should have been rising and falling with the rhythm of life, was suddenly, horrifyingly obvious.

A wave of despair washed over Hermione as the inferences became clear. Had all their efforts been for naught? Had they ultimately failed to save both mother and child? The thought was almost too much to bear. Hermione's face turned pale, as if struck by lightning.

In the midst of this unfolding drama, movement from the corner of the room drew their attention. Reega, the house-elf mother who had so recently hovered at death's door, was weakly crawling towards them. Her large, luminous eyes flashed with various emotions: Confusion swirled in their depths, giving way to fear, then a desperate, pleading look. But in the end, no words passed her lips. She simply stared at Bryan, her gaze blank yet somehow expectant.

Bryan, for his part, was in an unfamiliar territory. The details of wizarding healthcare, particularly when it came to magical creatures, were not his area of expertise. His mind raced through various possibilities, discarding and considering options at lightning speed. In the end, he made a decision born of his Muggle upbringing.

Turning to Reega, Bryan spoke with seriousness that diluted the uncertainty he felt. "I'm not certain if we can save her—"

With swift, decisive movements, Bryan set to work. His fingers now surprisingly gentle given their earlier forcefulness, carefully cleared the sticky amniotic fluid from the corners of the little elf's mouth. Then, with utmost care, he grasped the newborn's tiny body and turned her face-down.

What followed was a tense, rhythmic sequence of actions. Bryan's hand, large enough to support the elf's entire body, began a series of measured pats on her back with occasional pauses to rub.

Hermione, raised in the Muggle world like Bryan, recognized the technique immediately. Her eyes widened with a mix of hope and excitement.

"That's the Muggle way!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying a note of wonder. Memories of educational television programs flashed through her mind, scenes of emergency responders performing similar actions on human doll infants. After watching for a few moments, her natural curiosity got the better of her. "Will it work, Professor Watson?"

Bryan's response to Hermione's first exclamation was a noncommittal snort, but he offered no answer to her question. His focus remained entirely on the task at hand. Hermione, undeterred by his lack of response, continued to chatter, recounting in detail what she had seen on television and offering her own thoughts on the procedure.

The decaying classroom, with its peeling wallpaper and crumbling plaster, became a stage for this most primal of dramas. The persistent rustling of Bryan's movements was the only sound breaking the tense silence. It was as if Death and Life themselves stood in opposite corners of the room, waiting with bated breath to see which would claim victory.

For Hermione, it was the longest and most agonizing wait of her life. She stood to the side, her body tense with anxiety, watching Professor Watson's every move as he worked to revive the tiny elf. The feeling of helplessness weighed heavily upon her; her extensive knowledge of magic seemed utterly useless in this critical moment.

As the seconds stretched into minutes with no change in the newborn elf's condition, even Hermione's normally bright and determined eyes began to dim with despair. The hope that had flared so brightly at the sight of the newborn was slowly being extinguished, replaced by a sorrow so deep it seemed to physically weigh her down.

With a heavy heart, Hermione turned her gaze to Reega. The house-elf mother stood as still as a statue, her large eyes fixed unblinkingly on the motionless form of her child in Professor Watson's hands.

Cough, cough—

Just as dark despair was about to completely envelop Hermione's heart, she suddenly heard a faint coughing sound.

The sound was so weak that for a moment Hermione thought she had imagined it. But when Professor Watson, who had paused for an instant, suddenly resumed his efforts with renewed vigor, Hermione knew her ears had not deceived her.

"Uwah!"

The cry that followed was unlike anything Hermione had ever heard before. It was high-pitched and reedy, carrying notes of distress and confusion. But to Hermione, standing in that dark, musty classroom, it was the most beautiful sound in the world. It was as if someone had suddenly thrown open the curtains, flooding the room with brilliant sunlight.

"She's alive!" Hermione cheered was loudly. She began to jump up and down, her bushy hair bouncing wildly, tears of relief and happiness flying from her cheeks with each enthusiastic leap.

Curiously, Bryan's reaction was far more unresponsive. There was no smile of triumph, no sigh of relief. Instead, his eyes narrowed as he studied the tiny life now squirming in his palm. His light purple irises seemed to flicker with an inscrutable light that Hermione, in her elation, failed to notice.

"Here you go—" Bryan's voice was neutral as he bent down to return the newborn to its mother.

Reega, the house-elf who had endured so much in the past hours, seemed unable to fully process what was happening. As Bryan placed the baby in her arms, she accepted it instinctively, but her body remained hunched and motionless.

"She needs clothes!" Hermione's exclaimed breathlessly. Her eyes darted around the dilapidated classroom, searching for anything that could be used as makeshift clothing. The only option she found was a set of moth-eaten curtains hanging limply from a nearby window, but even in her frantic state, Hermione knew they were far from suitable.

For a few seconds, Hermione stood biting her lip, her brow furrowed in concentration as she struggled with the problem. Then, with a look of determination, she drew her wand. With a whispered incantation and a precise movement, she used a Severing Charm to cut a generous piece of fabric from her own robe.

Moving with gentle care, Hermione draped the cloth over the newborn elf, ensuring it was snug but not restrictive. As she stepped back to survey her handiwork, she caught sight of Professor Watson. His eyebrow was raised, his expression a mixture of surprise and something else Hermione couldn't quite decipher.

The tender moment was interrupted by a tiny, timid voice that seemed to fill the entire classroom despite its softness.

"Master—"

The source of the voice was none other than the newborn elf herself, who struggled out of Reega's arms and onto the floor. Attempting to stand for the first time, it stumbled several times, nearly falling. But it managed to straighten up, clutching the piece of cloth Hermione had given her, and bowed respectfully to Hermione.

"Oh, she can speak!" Hermione's voice was filled with wonder and amazement. The realization that this creature, just a few minutes old, was capable of speaking and walking had completely overturned her understanding of magical beings.

"Unlike human babies, some magical creatures are born with full consciousness and racial abilities. They pass on experiences through blood bonds—" Bryan explained calmly to the astonished Hermione. "This allows them to enter the world with a level of awareness and capability that human infants take months or even years to develop."

"That's amazing—" Hermione said eagerly, but suddenly her expression changed as she realized something. She took two steps back, looking at the newborn elf in horror. "I— I— you're mistaken. I'm not your master!"

"Oh, I'm afraid she hasn't made a mistake, Miss Granger—" Bryan's calm voice cut through Hermione's panic like a knife. His tone was matter-of-fact, as he explained the situation. "House-elves receive clothes in only two situations. The first is when they're dismissed by their previous masters, who give them clothes as a symbol of their freedom. The second is when they're accepting a new master, and they receive clothes then as a symbol of their new bond."

He paused, his gaze moving from Hermione to the newborn elf and back again. "Normally, these clothes accompany the house-elf for life. So, congratulations, Miss Granger. You've acquired a house-elf."

"No!" Hermione cried out in panic. "I don't want— I don't need a house-elf. I don't want to be anyone's master!"

Before Hermione could finish speaking, the newborn elf, who could barely walk, threw itself at Hermione's feet. It let out pitiful sobs and pleas, "Master, please don't send me away. I belong to you."

Just as Hermione thought the situation couldn't become any more complex, another unexpected turn of events caught her completely off guard.

Reega, the mother elf who had remained silent throughout this exchange, finally stirred. She gazed at her child at Hermione's feet, for a long moment. After taking a few deep, steadying breaths, she then asked with utmost respect, "Honored Professor Watson and esteemed Miss Granger, is there anything Reega can do to serve you?"

"What?" Hermione cried out. "Serve? Oh, I don't need— Wait, you need rest, Reega. Surely, you're not planning to continue working? And what about your child!"

"There is none—" Bryan said calmly.

In the wake of Bryan's answer, Reega bowed low, her long nose nearly touching the dusty stone floor at both Bryan and Hermione.

Then, without further ado, without even a glance at her newborn child still huddled at Hermione's feet, Reega disappeared. The crisp "pop" of her disapparition echoed in the musty classroom.

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, her mind struggling to process what had just transpired. The sudden absence of Reega seemed to have stolen her voice. When she finally managed to speak, her words came out as barely more than a whisper, tinged with disbelief and a growing sense of dread.

"Where— where did she go?"

"Perhaps back to the kitchen to tend the fires, or to clean, or to wash clothes for the students and staff of this castle—" Bryan said, his tone complex as he pressed his lips together.

"But her… her child..." The words seemed to physically pain Hermione as she choked them out.

"Heh, Miss Granger—" Bryan's complicated laugh masked the heaviness in his heart. "You didn't think house-elves have the same tradition of caring for their young as humans, did you?"

"Oh, of course—" He added, almost as an afterthought. "If their offspring don't immediately find a master, they do help look after them until the young ones find a wizard willing to accept them."

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