Harry Potter: The Golden Viper

0485 Hermione’s Secret

Harry and Ron exchanged glances, both seeing the surprise in each other's eyes. They had known Hermione for so long, yet they had never heard her speak in such a tone.

"What's wrong?" Harry immediately sensed that Hermione was in big trouble. She seemed reluctant to let anyone know. After looking around to ensure no one was paying attention to them, Harry lowered his voice and asked, "What happened, Hermione?"

Hermione's fingers tightened around the strap of her worn leather school bag, her knuckles whitening with the force of her grip. Her eyes darted around the common room, scanning for potential eavesdroppers.

Only when she was satisfied that no one was paying them any attention did she speak. "You must keep this a secret,"

"Do you even need to ask?" Ron said eagerly. "Come on, Hermione, tell us what's going on!"

Perhaps it was the genuine worry evident in her friends' expressions that gave Hermione a modicum of courage. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though her grip on the bag remained firm. She cast another furtive glance towards Colin Creevey and his younger brother Dennis, who were huddled over a magical camera nearby, before motioning for Harry and Ron to come even closer.

"What are you up to?" Ron grumbled, reluctantly abandoning the comfortable embrace of the sofa. He and Harry pushed the heavy oak coffee table back a few inches. They perched on its edge, effectively creating a barrier between Hermione and any potentially prying eyes in the common room.

"Remember to keep your mouth shut, Ron!" Hermione hissed, her tone carrying a warning that made Ron's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Finally, with agonizing slowness, she loosened her death grip on the school bag she had been clutching so tightly. The sound of the zipper opening seemed unnaturally loud in the tense silence that had fallen over the trio.

Harry was holding his breath, half-expecting Hermione to reveal that she had actually broken into a professor's office and stolen something. After all, it wouldn't be the first time. But as the zipper parted, revealing the contents of the bag, Harry's eyes widened in shock. A small, timid head peeked out from the gap, its large, tennis-ball-sized eyes blinking owlishly in the dim light of the common room. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat, his entire face freezing in an expression of utter disbelief.

"My God, are you cra—" Ron's exclamation of surprise was abruptly cut short as Hermione's hand shot out, quickly pushing the little creature's head back into the bag. Her eyes flashed dangerously as she hissed, "Shut your mouth, Weasley!" She then shot a warning glance at Neville who had looked up from his textbook, curiosity piqued by the commotion. Frightened by Hermione's fierce gaze, Neville quickly lowered his head, pretending with all his might that he hadn't seen or heard a thing.

"Have you gone mad, Hermione?" Ron's voice had dropped to a barely audible whisper, but the intensity of his shock was evident in every syllable. His eyes were fixed on the bag Hermione was once again hugging protectively to her chest. "Even if you want to stand up for these house-elves, you didn't need to adopt one! They're not owls or toads, for Merlin's sake!"

"Thank you for the reminder, Weasley!" Hermione's tone could have frozen the Black Lake solid. The icy sarcasm in her voice made Ron visibly recoil.

Harry, his mind racing to make sense of the situation, couldn't help but ask the question that was burning in his thoughts. "Where did you get it from?" he whispered urgently.

A wild thought occurred to him, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "Did you sneak into the Hog's Head and win it from a stranger in some bizarre magical bet?"

The reference to their first year at Hogwarts hung in the air between them. They all remembered all too well how Hagrid had been tricked by Quirrell, who was possessed by Voldemort. Quirrell had used a dragon egg and a few well-placed drinks to loosen Hagrid's tongue, coaxing out the secret of how to get past the three-headed dog guarding the Philosopher's Stone.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," Hermione said, her irritation evident in the set of her jaw and the furrow of her brow. "Nobody sells house-elves like they're trinkets in a shop!" She took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself. "Can you both just be quiet for a moment? I'm about to explain everything, and I'd rather not have to repeat myself."

"We're all ears!" Ron said quickly, his curiosity clearly overriding any lingering fear of Hermione's wrath. He leaned in even closer, nearly toppling off the edge of the coffee table in his eagerness to hear the story.

The common room had grown quieter still as the night deepened. The newly appointed Head Boy was lax in his duties compared to his predecessor. His influence had spread to the prefects under his command, who were no longer as vigilant in their nightly patrols of the common room. Gone were the days when Percy Weasley, Ron's older brother, would lurk in the shadows, ever ready to send dawdlers scurrying back to their beds with a sharp word and a disapproving glare.

As Hermione began her tale, the flames in the grand fireplace gradually dwindled, casting long, dancing shadows across the room. The enchanted candles suspended from the vaulted ceiling, sensing the dwindling occupancy of the common room, dimmed their light to a soft, amber glow. In the vast space that usually buzzed with the chatter and laughter of Gryffindor students, only Hermione, Harry, and Ron remained, huddled together.

Hermione finished her story though she carefully omitted certain details she deemed too sensitive to share. She recounted how she had sought out Professor Watson alone after their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, supposedly to inquire about the part in the lesson he had skipped during class.

Harry and Ron stared at Hermione's bulging bag, falling into a long silence.

"Professor Watson and you, helping a house-elf give birth—" Ron finally broke the silence. He turned to Harry, his blue eyes wide with bewilderment. "I've never heard of anything so utterly bizarre in my entire life!"

Harry nodded emphatically. Despite having spent over three years in the Wizarding world, experiencing magic and adventures that would seem outlandish to any Muggle, he still found himself utterly flabbergasted by Hermione's experience.

Hermione's gaze was fixed on her bag, her eyes brimming with a cocktail of emotions – concern, determination, and a hint of fear.

"What do you plan to do, Hermione?" Harry asked tentatively, his voice gentle as he broached the question, they were all silently contemplating.

"I originally intended to return Fréodom to its mother, the elf called Reega—" Hermione said without hesitation, her tone suggesting she had been pondering over this dilemma for hours. She turned to Ron with a flicker of hope in her eyes. "But I don't know where the school kitchen is located—"

"Oh—" Ron immediately understood Hermione's intention. He hesitated before saying, "Fred and George do know. They often sneak food from the kitchen for their parties. I've asked them about their secret route countless times, but they've always refused to spill the beans." He paused, his brow furrowing deeper. "But hang on a minute – you really want to return this little elf to its mother?"

Harry understood the unspoken question lurking behind Ron's words. The events Hermione had experienced that night – the unsettling dynamics between the house-elf mother and child, the cryptic teachings of Professor Watson – all pointed to a harsh reality that made Harry feel that returning the little elf to its mother was probably just Hermione's wishful thinking.

"It was just born!" Hermione's voice rang out sharply in the quiet common room, startling both boys. "It needs care and nurturing. It must return to its mother!"

As if in response to Hermione's outburst, her bag wriggled slightly. The young Fréodom inside seemed to want to make a sound, to join the conversation about its fate, but bound by Hermione's earlier command, it could only remain quiet and still.

"Oh, come on, Hermione—" Ron's exasperated tone carried a hint of their long-standing disagreements about house-elf welfare. "Are you treating this house-elf like it's a wizard child, Hermione? Professor Watson has already explained that house-elves are inherently drawn to following orders. They're born with an instinct to work and serve. It's in their nature to love working!"

"No one is born inherently loving to cook, mop floors, and do laundry, Ronald Weasley!" Hermione snapped back, her cheeks flushing with anger. Her eyes flashed dangerously, daring Ron to continue his argument.

Harry, caught in the middle of this familiar tension between his two best friends, felt torn. He could see the flaws in Ron's argument, remembering all too well their encounters with Dobby. Yet he hesitated to voice his thoughts, wary of inadvertently 'encouraging' some of Hermione's 'unrealistic' ideas. So, he swallowed the words that were on the tip of his tongue, watching as Hermione and Ron glared at each other across the coffee table.

The standoff between Hermione and Ron was a scene Harry had witnessed countless times over the years. So, he was somewhat used to this scene by now.

"But what if—" Harry began hesitantly, trying to find a diplomatic way to voice his concerns. "What if the house-elf called Reega doesn't want her child back? Then what would we do?"

Even as he spoke, Harry knew his words were a gross understatement of the situation. Ron, for all his lack of tact, was right about one thing: you can't treat house-elves like wizards. If this was the way elf parents and children interacted, Hermione probably couldn't change it.

Hermione bit her lip and said nothing. From her reaction, Harry believed she was well aware of this issue. Although it was indeed hard to accept that a mother would willingly reject her newborn child, and that the child would in turn ignore its birth mother and chose a stranger who had only given it a piece of clothing as its master.

Although his parents had died at Voldemort's hands when he was very young, Harry at least knew that his parents loved him and were willing to sacrifice their lives for him.

"I can't allow Fréodom to simply go to the kitchen and join the ranks of the working house-elves—" Hermione's voice cut through the heavy silence, her tone resolute and filled with determination. "At the very least, I need to teach it to fight for its own rights, to understand that it deserves better than a life of servitude!"

"Oh, brilliant—" Ron's sarcastic clap echoed in the quiet room. "So, you're planning to keep it in the dormitory, are you? I bet by tomorrow at lunchtime, the entire Hogwarts will know you're hiding a house-elf in your dorm. What do you reckon Professor McGonagall will have to say about that?"

Ron's words struck at the heart of the practical issues surrounding Hermione's impulsive rescue. Despite her remarkable intelligence and usually meticulous planning, even Hermione couldn't deny the impossibility of keeping a house-elf hidden in the crowded Gryffindor tower.

Professor McGonagall, with her strict adherence to rules and her no-nonsense attitude, would never allow such a blatant violation of school regulations. Moreover, Parvati and Lavender, Hermione's chatty roommates, were unlikely to keep such a juicy secret to themselves. This was a house-elf, not a bug living in the wall cracks. There was no way they wouldn't notice, and she had no right to keep a talking house-elf in their shared dormitory.

A heavy silence fell over the trio once more. Hermione stared at her bag, her teeth worrying her lower lip until a bead of blood appeared. Seeing her upset like this, Ron's lips quivered a few times, and he stopped his taunting.

Harry didn't feel good either. Although he couldn't understand why Hermione was so adamant about helping the house-elves, Hermione was his good friend. They had faced countless challenges together over the years, and Harry knew without a doubt that he wouldn't have survived many of those ordeals without Hermione's help. She had always been the smartest among the three of them, always having ideas when they encountered problems. Seeing her look so helpless and cornered made Harry's heart ache with the desire to help.

"Let's go!" Harry's sudden declaration shattered the gloomy atmosphere that had settled over them. With a burst of energy, he quickly gathered up the half-written PE class essay on the table stuffed it into his bag, and then pulled out his invisibility cloak.

"Where to?" Hermione stared at the invisibility cloak in Harry's hand for a moment, then looked into Harry's green eyes.

"We're going to ask Hagrid for help—" Harry said, his voice filled with a sudden burst of determination. "Hagrid always used to secretly keep all sorts of magical creatures in the castle when he was a student. He's got loads of experience with this kind of thing. Maybe he can give you some advice on how to handle this situation."

"Hurry up," Harry urged, already moving towards the portrait hole. "We've got Potions first thing tomorrow morning, and you know Snape would love nothing more than for us to be late. He's probably dreaming up point deductions for Gryffindor as we speak."

With that, Harry grasped Hermione's arm gently but firmly, guiding her towards the exit.

"Great—" Ron shrugged helplessly again and followed them. "That's exactly why he was expelled."

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