A whole spectrum of emotions crossed the house-elf's face. His desire to enter a wizard's service battled with his loyalty to his former masters. In the end, the former prevailed.
"Wizard sir, if an outsider were torturing kittens with an Unforgivable Curse, Donky would reprimand them."
"Hmm… What a marvelous family!" Richard said with irony. "Your former young mistress must be a delightful girl…"
"Mistress is a wonderful witch," the house-elf said fervently, then lowered his gaze in shame. "But… she requires a little upbringing."
"Ah! Just the slightest bit!" Sarcasm practically overflowed from Richard. Ten years in Azkaban, he added silently to himself.
The house-elf looked at Richard like a beaten dog and said plaintively:
"If wizard sir wishes, Donky can become wizard master's servant."
"Not so fast. Let's start with you telling me how you ended up with the Creevey farmer family."
"Sir… Donky wandered a long time in search of a place to serve, but all wizards refused a bad house-elf. Donky starved for a long time, because Donky is not a thief and did not take food that was not his. And yesterday Donky saw two young wizards. Donky wanted to ask to serve them, but someone struck Donky on the head."
"I see. So you woke up tied in a cellar, freed yourself from the ropes, and Apparated to those very wizards, started bowing to them and begging for service."
"Wizard sir is absolutely right." The house-elf looked at Richard with admiration. "That is exactly what happened! But Donky was struck on the head again. Donky's former masters beat him many times. Donky is sturdy; magic will quickly heal the wounds and—"
"You can stop there. Now you'll take hold of this portkey, and we'll travel together to a witch I know. If she confirms your story, I'll take you into service."
"Sir!" Hope on the elf's face turned to rapture. "Wizard sir, Donky speaks the truth!"
"Lord!" the boy corrected him. "Lord Richard Grosvenor. In front of others, you will call me Lord. When we are alone—Master Richie or sir. Understood?"
"Yes, Lord!"
The house-elf's eyes shone with even greater delight. He seized the portkey chain like a drowning man clutching at a straw.
"Portus."
A moment later, the boy and the house-elf stood before the door to Griselda Marchbanks's home. As soon as Richard knocked, the door soon swung open.
The elderly witch looked at the visitors in puzzlement.
"My boy, isn't today Saturday?"
"No, Tutor. Good afternoon. Forgive the sudden intrusion. I've come on important business."
"Hmm… My boy, and what is that?"
The witch gestured toward the elf lying on the threshold with the wand that had unexpectedly appeared in her hand.
"A house-elf, ma'am. I found him wounded and dressed, assumed he belonged to no one, and thought of taking him for myself. But I wanted to consult you first."
"That is the right approach, Richard," the witch said loudly, in a satisfied tone. "Modern youth act first and think later. Well done. Now let's find out what sort of house-elf this is."
With a levitation charm, the elf was carried inside, after which Madam Marchbanks began questioning him. For the second time, Richard heard the story of the long-eared alien.
"Well, well, well…" the witch muttered. "So—Crucio. Someone from an old pure-blood family. I have a few suspicions as to who this elf's masters were."
"Ma'am? So what would you advise? May I take this elf into service?"
"My boy," the old woman fixed her ward with a warm gaze, "in the past, one could find a house-elf without difficulty. Now it's a problem. There are more wizards, and elves breed far too slowly, so there aren't enough for everyone. This one seems solid, trained—he even barely mangles his words."
Donky listened to every word of the witch with hope in his eyes. In his agitation, he held his breath, awaiting the verdict of the elder of the Wizengamot as though it were a judge's sentence.
"Yes, a decent house-elf," Madam Marchbanks continued. "As for being a bit battered—that's nothing. They heal quickly, like dogs. So, Richard, if you're not afraid of superstition, you may take this servant for yourself."
"Superstition, ma'am?"
"Some wizards believe that house-elves cast out by their masters bring misfortune."
"And in reality, ma'am?"
"In reality, it's utter nonsense!" the witch snorted disdainfully. "Of course, superstitions don't arise from nothing. There have been several cases where wizards cast out house-elves who had gone mad. And if another wizard took such an elf into service, it was only natural that nothing good would come of it. But this elf is normal—so far as they can be considered such at all. There is nothing to fear. My boy, do you still wish to accept him as your servant?"
"Yes, Tutor."
"Very well. Then I shall perform the Unbreakable Master–Servant Bond. How fortunate that you came to me. Wizards nowadays remember nothing of their roots and treat the old enchantments with contempt. Fools! And if they wished to acquire a house-elf of their own, what would they do? Sign an employment contract with him?! K-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
(End of Chapter)
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