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"Tsk, what a shame I wasn't there. Of course I know what Harry was thinking. It's only natural for a boy his age to want to show off that he's got a house-elf too, especially in front of so many classmates. But—I'm sure you'd agree with me on this, Henry—external help is never as reliable as one's own skill. I know a very useful little trick to block a house-elf's magic. If I'd been there, I could have taught Harry…"
"Mhm," said Anthony.
He was walking down the corridor with Gilderoy Lockhart, heading toward the Great Hall. He knew he should have come down for breakfast earlier.
"I encountered a few deranged house-elves in Somalia once. They suddenly got interested in treasure. But then again, unless they've gone mad, a proper house-elf would never dare attack a wizard… At any rate, the local wizards were at a loss, but I knew exactly what to do the moment I arrived." Lockhart tapped his temple lightly with a curled finger. "An adventurer's intuition. I was like this." He flashed a brilliant smile and nodded at some passing students, then raised his wand before him, executed a charming flourish, and lifted it high above his head. "Watch closely. I tilted my chin up, stared the house-elf right in the eyes…"
"No magic in the corridors, Professor Lockhart," Anthony reminded him.
Lockhart paused, then smoothly lowered his wand. "Quite right, Henry, quite right. Though, if you're curious, I believe I mentioned a thing or two about it in Magical Me—"
A voice came from behind them. "Did you just say house-elves, Professor Lockhart?"
Anthony and Lockhart turned to see Hermione standing there, holding a small tin box. She was slightly breathless from hurrying to catch up. Harry and Ron stood a few paces behind her, both looking rather awkward.
"Were you discussing house-elves, Professor?" Hermione asked, her voice tight but unwavering. "Come to think of it, you've never used house-elves in your adventure series!"
Lockhart smiled and slowed his pace. "Indeed, Miss Granger, and intentionally so. The true joy of adventure lies in experiencing those thrilling moments firsthand…"
Hermione looked up at Lockhart, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright with fervor. "I know. You've always been committed to fighting dark forces, to eradicating evil in the world."
Lockhart's smile widened. He said with a knowing twinkle, "And don't forget, promoting my hair-care line."
Hermione gave a sweet smile, then raised the tin box that jingled with her movement. "So you'd definitely support house-elves gaining their rightful freedoms, wouldn't you? For centuries, they've endured inhuman servitude—we can't let this continue! Those arrogant wizards live in comfort, enjoying their elves' labor, yet deliberately refuse to give anything in return. Some even beat and curse them! The very thought makes me—I feel—I feel sick!"
She snapped the tin open. Inside was a pile of rather crudely made badges, each inscribed with 'S.P.E.W.'
"Spew?" Lockhart looked at the badges, confused. His pace slowed even more. Anthony peeked as well. Perhaps it was some pun on 'feeling sick.'
"Not 'spew.' S.P.E.W. The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare," Hermione explained patiently, as if reciting a well-rehearsed line. "It's a society to ensure house-elves receive fair wages and proper treatment. We believe no living being—no creature with intelligence and feelings—is born solely to serve another! For just two Sickles, you can buy a badge and show your support for the cause!"
She looked at Lockhart expectantly. He seemed momentarily taken aback, but the next second, his signature dazzling smile was back in place.
"Oh, my dear girl, that is a most… interesting viewpoint," he said kindly. "But you see, I don't have a single Knut on me at the moment—"
Hermione cut in immediately. "That's alright, Professor Lockhart. You can pay later." She held the tin higher. "Wearing the badge is also a form of support, and I believe in promoting the cause as soon as possible! You can take one now!"
They had reached the entrance to the Great Hall. Anthony glanced back. Harry and Ron still lingered not far behind, snickering and whispering. Leading the way, Lockhart suddenly stopped. He turned with dramatic flair, his expression shifting to one of grave seriousness.
"No, Miss Granger, I cannot do that." Lockhart's solemn face made the enthusiastic Hermione falter. "I am not the sort to use my fame for special privileges. It would be terribly unfair to others if I got a badge without paying, wouldn't it? Could I possibly do such a thing?" His smile returned, and he winked playfully at her. "Of course not. Now, enjoy your breakfast, Miss Granger."
With that, he strode briskly toward the staff table, his sky-blue robes fluttering dramatically behind him.
Hermione watched him go, then suddenly turned to Anthony, holding up the tin with stubborn determination. "Professor Anthony—"
"I'll think about it," Anthony promised.
Hermione looked a bit disappointed but undefeated. "Whenever you've thought it over, you can purchase a badge from me, Harry, or Ron. There are only twenty for now, but that definitely won't be enough, so I'm making more. Also, once I've mastered more magic, I plan to upgrade all our badges." She looked slightly sheepish. "I know they don't look like they're worth two Sickles, but they won't stay like this."
Anthony wasn't sure whether people would prefer the current plain, crude badges or a more beautiful, eye-catching 'SPEW.' But he simply said, "When people buy your badge, Miss Granger, I believe its appearance won't be the deciding factor."
"Exactly. The idea is what matters," Hermione said firmly. "Please think it over carefully." She turned and called to Harry and Ron with a touch of impatience. "Alright, stop making those faces. Come on."
"Brilliant. I'm starving," Ron said with relief. "What's for breakfast?"
For several days afterward, Anthony noticed Hermione in the library far more often than usual. She would be hunched over massive, open books, scribbling furiously on long rolls of parchment, undoubtedly conducting more research on elfish welfare. A few times, he overheard her trying to persuade Harry to convince Sirius to free Kreacher.
As far as he knew, Lockhart still hadn't bought a badge. This earned him some quiet criticism from Hermione, though she would still defend him when Ron sarcastically brought it up. She believed he had his reasons for not showing his true support yet—perhaps he thought it was a matter requiring serious consideration, maybe he hadn't heard her clearly, or he was out of money again, or he was busy looking for his quill, or the badge design clashed with his immaculate attire… "You don't think we find it good-looking, do you, Hermione?" Ron asked incredulously, pointing at the S.P.E.W. badge on his own chest.
Hermione's face flushed slightly. "Well… it wouldn't look as… jarring on him as it does on you."
Ron looked positively affronted.
"Besides," Hermione added breezily, "the idea it conveys is what's most important. If Professor Lockhart is hesitating just because of its looks, then I'd be the one looking down on him."
Anthony slipped away quietly, idly wondering if Hermione realized that a whole population of house-elves lived in Hogwarts, likely listening to their conversation. Regardless, aside from the day she'd tried to sell him a badge, Hermione never again pressed Anthony to join her society. She certainly didn't seem to be waiting for his two Sickles with the same anticipation she held for Lockhart's.
However, while S.P.E.W. wasn't—as those charity leaflets liked to put it—'eagerly awaiting his presence,' something else definitely was when he returned to his office.
A Screech Owl stood outside his window, half-dozing with its neck tucked in. On the other side of the glass, Cat, Chicken, and Rat were huddled by the Dittany pot, staring at the owl.
The moment Anthony closed the office door behind him, the three pets and the owl all fixed their eyes on him. The Screech Owl ruffled its feathers and began tapping its beak rhythmically against the windowpane.
"Shoo, shoo." Anthony waved the pets aside and opened the window. "Give it here, thanks. What is it? Do you want something to eat?"
The owl extended a leg with a small parcel tied to it. The moment Anthony untied it, the owl took off.
"Oh. Alright then," Anthony said, closing the window and sitting at his desk. Cat hopped onto the armrest, then wriggled under his arm to settle in his lap. Wraith Chicken and Wraith Rat gathered close, staring at the small parcel.
Anthony unwrapped the outer layer of paper, finding the contents swaddled in several layers of newspaper. Two notes fell out from the packaging. He picked up the nearest one and recognized the handwriting.
Ha, we're back! Well, I'm back, to be precise. Monsieur and Madame Flamel said they're returning to their seclusion. Before they left, they mentioned sending you a little souvenir, so I asked them to include this note. Hope the owl is reliable. A lot happened, but I'm too tired. I'll tell you all about it properly another time. I really, really need a bath.
Your exhausted, Lynd
Anthony chuckled and picked up the other note.
Dear Henry,
Enclosed is a small souvenir. Not a good thing, but not the worst either. We considered giving it to Albus, but after a discussion, Perenelle and I thought you might be a more suitable recipient. You can, of course, show it to Albus.
Whatever you do, don't tell anyone we found the thing. Not even that it's broken. Tell Albus you found it on the road, or it appeared on your pillow—never mind, I suppose you can tell Albus, but no one else. The Philosopher's Stone was enough trouble. Good heavens, my dear Perenelle, we truly are geniuses at finding interesting rocks and trouble for ourselves.
Adventuring really isn't for us. We either get bored or attract trouble.
Correction: Enclosed is a small piece of trouble.
N.F.
Puzzled, Anthony set the note aside and carefully unfolded the crumpled ball of newspaper. Devon news, dense listings for rental properties, an ad for discounted beef on Wednesdays… Finally, a small object clinked and rolled out onto the desk.
The cat perked up, its ears pricked. It placed its paws on the desk, stretching to bat at the object. Anthony quickly put a restraining hand on it.
It was a ring. A rather large one, with a heavy band and a cracked black stone set into it. A lingering aura of magical power clung to it, making the hairs on Anthony's arm stand up and sending a disturbing thrill through him just from holding it.
He had a very bad feeling about this. Nicolas Flamel had sent him a Dark artifact—or rather, a mostly broken one.
"What do you think the odds are that Minerva will like this news?" Anthony asked Wraith Chicken. "Well, at least the High Inquisitor will be delighted."
He wrapped the ring back in the newspaper, deciding to follow Nicolas's advice and report this to Dumbledore.
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