[Castling] Chapter 61

On the last Sunday of the month, when we were finally let out of the castle, I picked up some walnut halva in Hogsmeade, a pack of good tea, and went to visit Percy—to congratulate him on making it through his first month of teaching.

From what I’d heard, the first-years actually liked his lessons, though they all agreed he was strict and not someone you wanted to annoy. They had a point—push Percy too far, and he’d launch into a two-hour lecture on morals that would make you want to crawl under a rock from sheer embarrassment.

A few of the first-years would do their homework in our common room, chatting excitedly as they pored over pictures and solved riddles with encoded dates. Instead of boring old tests, they did crossword puzzles and word games, even put together group essays—each student getting a piece of the assignment before piecing it all together like a report with drawings and everything. Honestly, I almost felt jealous that History of Magic hadn’t been taught like that when we were younger.

Percy’s new quarters were right next to his office on the second floor—used to be Binns’ before he, well… died and moved into the staff room in his free time. The place was small but tidy—a cosy sitting room with a fireplace, a tiny bedroom, and a bathroom. Not bad for a bachelor. He even had his own personal house-elf. Now, Snape and Flitwick had much bigger quarters, but they were Heads of House. At least Percy had a big window, and it wasn’t damp or stuffy like the dungeons.

He was actually happy to see me, which wasn’t something I expected. He was all flustered and bustling about, and I felt kind of bad for him. He wasn’t used to being on his own without the family backing him up, and I reckoned he was terrified of messing up and disappointing everyone. But apart from Ginny, I was the only one he was really glad to see.

The twins? They’d completely fallen out with him within a week. They refused to take him seriously as a teacher, still treating him like their overly patient, ever-forgiving older brother. They’d show up at all hours, hammering on his door, demanding permission for the Restricted Section. They got pissed when he caught them out after curfew and docked points. They ignored his detentions. Basically, they were being utter prats.

Percy got so fed up with their antics that he had to involve Mum, Dad, and Dumbledore. After a private talk with the Headmaster, the twins finally backed off—but completely cut him off too. Wouldn’t talk to him, scowled whenever his name came up, like he was the one who’d betrayed them. Even me and Ginny got side-eyed for still visiting him.

And Percy was hurt by it. He wouldn’t admit it, but I could see it. Still, he tried not to make it sound like complaints—just… explaining things. Luckily, we moved on to school talk, and he started brightening up again.

"I’ve figured out the biggest flaw in Hogwarts’ education system, Ron," he declared dramatically, putting down his tea and gesturing so wildly I was sure he’d knock the cup over. He’d been going on for an hour, and at this point, my brain was drowning in information, my stomach bloated from tea.

"Muggle-born students need to learn the basics before they even set foot in Hogwarts! It’s like one kid already knows how to read, and the other hasn’t even seen letters before, yet they’re taught the same way, on one programme. I’ve already requested approval for a pre-Hogwarts elective for Muggle-borns. What do you think? Did I jump the wand on that?" He shot me a worried look.

"They come to you with questions anyway," I shrugged. "Might as well give them proper hours for it, or you’ll never get a break."

"I’ve been considering writing a book, Ron," Percy mused. "Something small, like a Ministry pamphlet. No dates or big events, just the essentials. You wouldn’t believe how many Muggle-borns think robes are just oversized nightgowns, or that flying a broom is some primitive medieval nonsense. I think it should be given to Muggle-born first-years before they even get to Diagon Alley."

"Good start," I nodded. "But if you ever do turn it into a full book, make it bright, fun. Add pictures, puzzles, maybe even some handwriting practice with a quill—something for younger kids, to get them used to it. The flashier it is, the more likely they’ll actually read it. But don’t rush anything, yeah? The Ministry might not love you poking the system. Feel it out first. No need to get Dumbledore in trouble over it, or ruin your own career before it’s even started."

"You’re right," Percy said, nodding thoughtfully. "But there’s so much I want to do… so much to fix. Once you see the flaws, you can’t unsee them."

"Percy, you’ve been teaching for a month," I snorted into my tea. "Slow down. If the system’s broken, it’s because someone likes it that way. So work on building your own reputation first—then you can change things. At least wait until you’ve graduated your first class before trying to take over the world."

I pulled out a small package and slid it across the table. "Here. Luna sent you this. A dreamcatcher. She says you probably don’t sleep well."

Percy blinked, clearly thrown, but took it carefully. "Er… tell her thanks, Ron."

Then, as if just remembering I had my own life, he hesitated. "How are you doing? My first salary’s coming in tomorrow, and I could give you five Galleons towards a new dress robe. Sorry it’s not more—most of my pay’s going towards supplies right now. The Ministry hasn’t approved them yet, so I have to cover the costs myself. And… well, now that I’m working, it feels weird asking Mum and Dad for help."

"Thanks, Perce," I smiled, pushing my cup forward so he could top it up. "But don’t worry—I’ve already found a robe, and I can afford it."

"And how’s Harry?" Percy asked, pouring more tea. "I heard something about Hermione—"

Hermione, in true Hermione fashion, had gone all in on the house-elf issue. She’d combed through the entire library, even made badges—actual enchanted badges. The moment she walked into the common room one evening, looking smug and self-satisfied, I knew we were in trouble.

Hermione didn’t do things by halves. Now, house-elves were about to get salaries, weekends off, and eventually—if she had her way—full-blown freedom and wands.

"Look, Hermione," I said after she’d rushed through her impassioned speech, "I get why you’re doing this, but I can’t sign up for it—not the way you’re going about it."

Harry, on the other hand? He just sighed, gave up, and bought the damn badge to shut her up.

"What are you on about?" Hermione frowned.

"Look, I'm happy to send a petition to Dumbledore asking him to ban the use of spells on house-elves in class, but I'm absolutely against freeing them, giving them wands, and all the rest of that nonsense—weekends off, holidays, salaries…"

"Nonsense?" Hermione snapped. "Since when did freedom and basic human rights become ‘nonsense’ to you, Ron Weasley?!"

"Exactly, Hermione. Basic human rights. But elves aren't human," I said evenly. "And you’re trying to force human values onto a race that doesn’t even want them—without actually understanding how they live. And meanwhile, you’ve made yourself the laughing stock of the whole school. Personally, I’ve got no interest in taking part in this doomed farce."

"All beings—humans and creatures alike—are equal!" she declared stubbornly. "They all have a right to freedom and equal treatment!"

"Right. So, let’s hand goblins wands and give them the right to kill wizards, then?" I shot back.

"Don’t twist my words," she retorted. "Goblins aren’t helpless, but house-elf slavery has been going on for centuries."

"It’s not slavery—it’s a symbiotic relationship," I said. "One that’s kept both wizards and elves alive. If you break that balance, someone’s going to end up dead—either us or them."

"And how, exactly, did you come to that ridiculous conclusion?" Hermione demanded, getting to her feet. "You’re just being narrow-minded and prejudiced, Ron. I’ve known that for ages, but I’ve tried to ignore it. But you keep proving me right."

"Hang on a second, Hermione," Harry interjected before she could go off on a full rant. "You were in the kitchens with us, yeah? Did any of them look unhappy? Did they complain about their lives?"

"They're conditioned to be obedient and dependent," Hermione said irritably. "They've never known any other way of life."

"Alright," I said, taking advantage of the pause. "Let’s put emotions aside and talk facts, yeah? What do you actually know about house-elves?"

"I know they live on a magical source and feed off magic," she answered instantly, then added bitterly, "And I know they're powerless slaves. Their masters can do whatever they want to them without consequence."

"Well, we’ve clearly been reading different books," I muttered.

"I've read every book on the subject in the library," Hermione snapped. "I doubt you've read more than me."

"More doesn’t always mean enough," I countered. "Now, how about you listen for once, like I listened to you, and then you can argue? House-elves are rare in the magical world. They're born from a new magical source, and their numbers depend on its strength. They feed off the source’s magic—but only when they're working. If they sit around doing nothing, they don’t get magic. Over time, they weaken, they get sick, they age, and eventually, they die. That’s why they’re so eager to work all the time. So tell me, Hermione—what do you think will happen to them if you force them to take days off?"

"That can’t be true," she said stubbornly. "I didn’t find anything like that in any of the books I read."

"I’ll write down the name of the one book I did read," I said calmly, not wanting to get into another shouting match. "Now, let’s move on. Elves are at their strongest when they feed off the magic that created them. They can absorb magic from another source, but it’ll never feel right—it won’t fit them. That’s why even changing owners is traumatic for them, let alone being freed—"

"If that’s true, then freedom would kill them," Harry murmured, glancing at Hermione, who still looked sceptical.

"And your whole idea about wands is rubbish," I continued. "They’ve already got more raw magical power than most wizards—without wands. And honestly, who knows what’d happen if the old agreements didn’t bind them? Try pissing off a house-elf, and see what happens. They won’t kill you, but they’ll make your life hell. They’ll polish the floor just right, so you slip and accidentally crack your head open on a table corner. I’m exaggerating, but you cannot underestimate them. They twist their masters’ words and commands like a bloody Niffler working a lock."

"Blimey," Harry muttered. "Should’ve seen that coming, though—Dobbie nearly killed me a few times, and he was trying to help."

"Bottom line, Hermione," I sighed, "you jumped the wand on this one. I get why you got upset seeing how Moody treated that elf. It made me uncomfortable too. But think about it—he didn’t actually hurt it, not any more than the Ministry hurt that poor Muggle groundskeeper at the Cup when they Obliviated him. House-elves are valuable—you can’t just make new ones. And sure, some wizards are bastards to them, but those cases? We’d never hear about them. In the end, an elf will always choose its source and master, even if that master’s a right git, over you and your useless ‘freedom’."

Hermione was silent for a long moment before sniffing and scooping up her badge and the bit of parchment I’d written the book title on. "I can’t argue with you right now, Ron," she said stiffly. "But once I’ve done my own research, we will have this conversation again."

A week later, I signed the petition to Dumbledore, same as everyone else. But we never talked about house-elves again. Hermione knew how to end an argument when she wanted to.

The day before the foreign guests arrived, the castle was a madhouse. Everyone had completely lost the plot. Even the normally unshakable professors—Flitwick, McGonagall—were on edge. And then McGonagall, of all people, went full Snape on Neville, just with a please tacked on:

"Longbottom, please, I beg you—do not attempt any magic in front of the Durmstrang students. If you botch even a basic transfiguration, it’ll be a disaster and bring eternal shame on Hogwarts."

I’d been at this school for years, and even I didn’t realise that one person could apparently represent the entire school. Neville, poor sod, went red as a tomato.

Meanwhile, Snape was his usual snide self, barely drawing breath between insults.

By this point, I’d gotten into the habit of asking him about Moody every week or so.

"As always, Weasley, nothing’s changed. The object of your undivided attention continues to wander his office, eat his meals, and teach his classes," Snape said with a smirk the day before the guests were set to arrive. "He has yet to transform into Crouch in any way, shape, or form. But, not to sound prophetic or steal any of your dream-induced glory, tomorrow, we will undoubtedly see Crouch appear on the map. And beyond it, too. I guarantee it."

What a snide Slytherin git.

Still, the castle-wide frenzy did have its advantages. Hogwarts had been scrubbed from top to bottom, every corridor scoured, even the gaps between the flagstones stuffed to stop the tapestries from swaying in the drafts. The place had a festive feel—looked as clean as Christmas.

On the 30th of October, lessons finished half an hour early, and by six, we were all lined up outside in our House groups. Thankfully, Ravenclaw was stationed next to Gryffindor, so I discreetly pulled Luna closer while Padma slipped over to Parvati and Lavender. No one noticed.

The evening was cold but clear, no rain. Still, it was bloody freezing, and even our enchanted cloaks weren’t much help. Fortunately, Hermione had taught us some warming charms over the summer, so we weren’t suffering too much.

The carriage appeared first, silhouetted against the moonlight, its dozen massive horses looking like something out of a Christmas card.

"Ho-ho-ho…" Harry and I muttered in unison, glancing at each other under our breath, drawing snickers from Hermione and the other Muggle-borns. McGonagall, however, was having none of it and silenced us with a sharp glare.

Madame Maxime was massive—even taller than Hagrid by a head. She was impressive, no denying that—elegant, well-groomed—but not Hagrid’s type. Even if there were no other half-giants in the world, I still wouldn’t have bet on it.

We barely spared her a glance, though; we were too busy gawking at her students. Stunning girls, all of them—long legs, curvy figures—the wind plastered their delicate blue robes to their bodies in a way that was very easy on the eyes. But they looked terrified, casting wary glances at the castle like they’d just arrived for an Azkaban tour instead of an inter-school tournament. Probably thought we were a bunch of barbaric lunatics living in a fortress.

Not that we had time to keep staring—the Beauxbatons lot were quickly ushered inside before they froze solid in their silk and lace.

Then the ship rose from the depths. Now that was something. Looked like it had sailed straight out of Pirates of the Caribbean.

The Durmstrang boys were massive—all built like Goyle and Crabbe, except taller and meaner. More like a trained militia than students. Wouldn’t have been surprised if they weren’t actually schoolboys at all—who even let students play for their country? But Krum… Krum had every girl in Hogwarts practically swooning.

As for Karkaroff? Didn’t like him one bit—looked like Malfoy Sr., but oily. The type you wouldn’t turn your back on. But whatever, not my problem. Was still mad interesting seeing people I’d only ever read about.

By the time the Durmstrang lot had disembarked, even with warming charms, the cold was biting. And we were starving. So we herded inside behind our guests, eager to get warm and fed.

Inside, under proper lighting, the Beauxbatons girls looked even more stunning—but their expressions said it all. They were not impressed. Not thrilled to be here, by the looks of it. Probably why they all but bolted back to their carriage after dinner.

The Durmstrang boys, on the other hand, seemed delighted—like they’d been living in barracks and eating gruel their whole lives. They ogled the golden plates, admired the floating candles, stared wide-eyed at the enchanted ceiling like they’d just walked into a palace.

Then Dumbledore gave his speech, the food appeared, and honestly? That was it—forget the guests. French cuisine didn’t do much for me—I only really liked grilled tiger prawns or straight-up fish. But there were these potato-and-meat things baked in some kind of sauce, and they were brilliant.

"Be so kind, please—pass ze bouillabaisse!" a voice purred near my ear.

I turned. A gorgeous blonde stood beside me.

I barely had time to process before Hermione slammed the bowl into her hands and spun back around, looking absolutely livid. Meanwhile, Harry and I just watched the girl go, our eyes inevitably drawn to the way her hips swayed as she walked.

"What was that about?" Harry asked in a hushed voice once the girl was gone.

"They’re insufferable," Hermione hissed. "Prancing around like they’re something special. We went mad cleaning the castle, and all they do is complain. It’s too cold, the food’s not right—honestly! What did they expect? They came to Scotland in nightgowns, and somehow we’re the problem?"

"Come on, Hermione," I said, grinning. "They’re just guests."

"Exactly," she snapped. "Which means they should have manners."

I didn’t argue—I was too full. I barely forced down the last of my dessert before the plates vanished.

Then, just as I was about to relax, two more familiar faces appeared at the High Table—Ludo Bagman and Mr. Crouch.

Dumbledore introduced them and explained the tournament rules. The moment he mentioned the age restriction, half the school erupted in protests. But they soon quieted when the Goblet of Fire was brought out.

"The Goblet will remain here, in the Entrance Hall, so all students may view it," Dumbledore announced. "Those who wish to participate must sign up with their Head of House. Tomorrow evening, before dinner, the candidates will assemble here and place their names into the Goblet in an orderly manner. The rest of the school will wait here to witness the selection. I will be placing powerful enchantments around the Goblet—so do not attempt to bypass them, because you will fail."

His eyes twinkled as they landed on the twins.

‘Thank Merlin Snape’s kept an eye on Moody, and Dumbledore’s actually taking things seriously for once,’ I thought, following the others back to Gryffindor Tower. ‘Maybe—just maybe—this year won’t be a complete disaster for Harry.’